bad mother coitus

To the Newberry: A Love Letter

2010-11-08T18:37:00.002-06:00

The polished brick floor has been smoothed with the passing of feet. Murmurs and whispers bounce off the arched ceiling, dancing with one another like a secret in a schoolyard. There is peace here, a quiet solace extending to all those who walk through the front door, seeking the comfort of the Newberry Library.

Facing southward, toward the oldest park in the city, near a century and a quarter worth of history stand the walls of this library, but ten fold those 123 years is housed in the knowledge within. When the library was first built, the architects felt this southern exposure would offer the learned scholars entering the gentle grace of sunlight. However it is also this same light, lack of temperature and environmental control that mired the books into trouble.

To preserve these tomes, the Newberry erected a ten-story, windowless construct to the north. This building is not to be made accessible, but more in the lines of a wildlife reserve; a place books might dream deep dreams in their ideal environs, awaiting the day they shall be called upon to reveal their contents.

The door to this building is pulled open, and the smell washes out, washes over, drenching the invader. Not in any crude sense, but a beckoning, inviting one as an old friend from some past life who is known instantly upon meeting. Perhaps this is the feeling Odysseus accepted while lashed to the mast of his ship, listening to the song of the sirens. The book’s call is no less powerful. “Just slip open the cover, flip through a few pages.”

The books placement seems haphazard, until it is revealed they are housed with their family. Now in the care of the Newberry, available to all, the spine backs remain in the same collection from the one so generous as to have donated them.

In the quietude, with the spell of the books still lingering, the fourth floor’s special reading room is revealed. Researchers sit behind glass doors, lingering over the paper in front of them. One such researcher holds up a piece of paper, marked in a purposeful hand for the next book he needs, and a curator walks out to retrieve it. A humorous, yet telling sign is left in his wake: “Please limit your book requests. I only have access to 10 million today.”

Exiting to a crisp fall day, with the lightweight of history still resting on the shoulders, it is possible to see the orators gather at Bughouse Square. The mind feels an ease creep over as a last ray of summer strikes through the fire branded leaves in the trees. Feet press on farther down the pavement, inspired by the journey so many others have taken here before.

A special thanks to my guide, John Brady, the Newberry’s Bibliographer of Americana.

Quatum Suicide

2010-11-02T22:23:00.007-05:00

She's been talking for the past two hours, but he's tuned to a different station, believing what he wants to believe.

The publican is listening to the one a.m. lingua franca of a wreck regular. The elixir is poured, and a glass touches bar top, pressed to lips in a nocturnal kiss. The drunk's conversation resumes to the casualty at his elbow, "Listen to what I mean, not what I say."

They once called this pumpkin time--they don't anymore.

"He's not really that bad," the bartender assured. "Just comeback Saturday."

They paid a tab. He walked her home.

She hasn't said anything so he doesn't say anything.

A light was on in the front of her apartment. Their apartment.

They can't hug, so he is throwing an arm around her shoulders and she is grabbing his lower back. Silhouettes lay in the gutter, staring up at the three stars over Chicago.

Confessions strangled as they lolled on the tongue. Then dropped--all wrong. All wrong.

She left, walking up the steps to the apartment. He waited, watching the light, like a trigger, fire to black, taking all of the history with it.

St. Paul Part 7

2010-09-16T13:04:00.005-05:00

He exited from East 94 onto Snelling and turned north. He grumbled in front of his house over Adam's car taking up his usual space and considered rear ending the bumper of Adam's car.

He parked, and not wanting to face them, not wanting to deal with it, he began walking towards the Fair Ground. His shadow from the street light walked in front of him, mimicking his stumbling steps. He cursed it but continued to follow.

Walking South on Snelling he stopped at the top of the bridge. The space separating Como from the Midway; the space that would now divide the Twin Cities. He looked to his right, towards shiny Minneapolis with its colorful skyscrapers casting illumination and flirtation to the sky, and he knew he hated it. He picked up a stone and threw it at the bright lights, watching it sail out into the night and land on the dying part of St. Paul. Exhausted by the effort he slouched down into the curb. He felt the cigarettes in his pocket and pulled one out.

And suddenly a voice came crystal clear from the back of his memory. A voice from neither a long time ago nor yesterday. A time ago.

"You still there?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?"

"Same thing since you left two hours ago."

"What are you watching?"

"This weird thing with a bearded lady."

"Me too! You think it's real?"

"It has to be, you saw the way they were yanking on it."

"I still don't get it."

"What's not to get? The hormones could effect even the farthest Y chromosome, I suppose. Besides, you've seen those girls with the light blond hair, imagine if they were a little Mediterranean? Obviously, they'd have to shave to hide it."

"How can she stand to have them pull on it like that?"

"Okay, now I don't think it's real. See the way that it's kind of breaking to the right. No human beard could--Oh, hey Adam. How you doing?"

"Is that Adam? Tell him hi for me."

"Courtney says--oops, he's already gone upstairs. I think he's pissed and wants to use the phone. Either that or else he smells the cigarettes on me."

"You need to hang up?"

"No."

There would be a pause.

"I guess I should go, anyway."

"Yeah, me too."

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna come over and have one more cigarette?"

"Absolutely."

The memory, the voices stopped. He crushed out the cigarette and sat up on the curb, looking out across the bridge, looking east. And as he sat there the sun sparked its first light on the horizon, and he watched it rise over St. Paul.

St. Paul Part 6

2010-09-10T14:56:00.003-05:00

"What happened to you?" Steve wanted to know, he had moved away from the speaker making conversation was possible.

"I had to go upstairs; the line was really long down here."

"No, Steve said, looking a little shocked. "You look like a train wreck, you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." To hear his voice answer Steve he actually believed he might be fine. "I think I'm just allergic to all this smoke is all."

And Steve laughed because that was a good enough excuse for him, and he moved on to talking about another girl over on the side of the bar.

"I should go, Steve."

"We just got here."

"Two hours ago. I need to drive home before I pass out. You going to stay?"

"No, I guess I should probably be going home too." Steve looked dejected, taking only a sip off of his drink. "What if we stay for one more song?"

One more song turned into three and they ordered a last round of drinks for the road, then waved goodbye. He could still hear Steve laughing back to his car about some girl that was there.

He piled in behind the wheel but couldn't find the right song on the radio. The car went right instead of left on Hennipen and he found himself cruising past First Avenue where the kids were beginning to file out of the late show. He turned the car around and lit a cigarette at a stop light, fishing in his pocket for his phone, trying to comprehend the small numbers. He punched in the speed dial for his wife, a smile tightening the cigarette into his mouth.

She picked up and he said "Hey sweety. I'm drunk."

"Where are you, we've been worried sick."

"I'm okay. I'm just--who's we?"

"Adam's still over." He heard her say, the tin of the cell phone accenting her voice. "He wanted to see you."

He pulled the phone away from his ear, aiming his finger for the button in the middle, hanging up on her. He threw the phone onto the dashboard and poked out another cigarette.

The phone began ringing and vibrating so he turned up the radio louder. He was yelling obscenities out towards Minneapolis, the Grain Belt Bridge, Noreast. The car found the entrance to the highway, and with a scream he gunned the engine and entered traffic.

St. Paul Part 5

2010-09-07T18:10:00.002-05:00

They left work early and drove through Lowertown towards McGovern's. The bar was empty save for the smoking regulars sitting in their drinks at the bar. They ordered cocktails, and he lead Steve into a booth where he could keep an eye on the door.

They drank, and when Steve returned with a third round of drinks, he admitted "This place is kind of dead. Think we should check out a different one? What time is it, anyway?"

"Six o'clock, I guess." Steve said, looking down at his watch. "Why, you supposed to call the wife?"

He hadn't been thinking about it, but considered it. Then answered "No. She's probably busy."

Steve sucked on the last drops of his drink in an extremely annoying manner "Come on, let's go. I don't know the next time I'll get to do this."

"One more drink" he said, eying the door one last time. Then sat in silence feeling a cigarette calling him in his pocket. He pulled it out, placing it in his mouth.

"You smoke?" Steve asked him, letting the ice from his empty cup clink in the bottom of his glass as he put it down on the table.

"Only on the bad days." He inhaled, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth as he talked. "When do you think cheating happens? Do you think it's when two people fuck around with each other, or is it when two people, who are perfect for one another meet and can't do anything about it?"

"What?" Steve questioned, the nature of the argument not falling into his usual order of thinking.

"Nothing." He replied, stabbing out the freshly lit cigarette into the ashtray. "You're right, we should go."

Steve lead the way westbound down 94, pulling off on Cedar towards the heart of West Bank. Parking their cars proved to be a task, but they found one another in front of Grandma's and walked into the pile of writhing college students on the dance floor.

"Aren't we a little old for this place?"

"Nonsense." Steve asserted, pushing his way towards the bar. "What do you want?"

They drank their first drink and the second went down even easier. By the fourth and fifth drink they were ordering two at a time so as not to waste time wading through the masses.

"I wonder why Emma didn't come out?"

"What." Steve yelled, hearing him but not taking his eyes away from the girl working the beer tub.

"Emma. Coffee Shop Girl. I wonder why she didn't come out tonight?"

Steve, whose head was plastered to an over sized speaker, turned a drink and a smile towards him.

He informed Steve, "I need to use the bathroom."

Ordering another drink he looked at the long line waiting to use the bathroom. Knowing his usual inability to perform under pressure he found himself walking up the stairs towards the bar on the second floor.

A couple was making out in a booth, and a lazy bartender was playing with the channel changer, yawning. The bartender looked at him for a second, sizing him up to make sure he was all right, that he needed nothing, then went back to the television.

He went into the bathroom and washed his hands, pulling out his phone to look for messages. He placed the phone back in his pocket, re-scrubbing his hands. And a sudden mental image came to him. Adam bending his wife over the kitchen counter, taking her from behind. Her face winced as she finally felt the touch of a real man while they ground together.

She deserved better. Not his life. Not him. He felt himself readying to release all that had been consumed into the bathroom sink; the slick feeling of metallic growing up from his stomach. But then another body entered the bathroom, and he quelled it all back down.

He washed his hands again, splashing water on his face then wiping it off with a paper towel, while the other man let forth a glorious stream. The drink found his hand, and he trembled it off of the porcelain counter and back out the door.

St. Paul Part 4

2010-09-01T19:11:00.002-05:00

"That'll be nice if she comes out." Steve said, looking at Jimmy. But Jimmy had already removed himself from the conversation.

The office hadn't changed in their absence, and he grumbled out a good-bye to Steve to sit in his own chair, staring at the phone. He figured his wife would be having lunch right now. Probably the fettuccine, or at least that's what she used to always eat when they'd go to the little Italian diner on the Eastside. But he didn't know, he supposed Filio's wouldn't serve a meal that inexpensive. He thought about calling her, justifying it wouldn't be to interrupt her meal so much as he didn't want to bother her at work, and did want to see if she would want to catch a quick drink later on. But then he remembered she hadn't said yes to anything he'd asked her in the past couple of weeks. He thought out loud "Why start now?"

He stood from his desk, walking back towards the elevator and punching the down arrow. He emerged on the second floor, walking towards the convenience store only to find his mouth mumbling out "Pack of cigarettes."

"What type?"

"Does it matter?" He looked down, looked at his fingers on the counter. "Better make them lights, though."

The employee muttered something and handed over the cigarettes. He paid then rapped the top end of the pack into the palm of his hand, waiting for change. He asked "Do you have matches?"

"Just lighters."

He handed over more money and walked down the stairs into the outdoors. The cars were stuck in a jam all the way from the end of the street down to where the capitol stood. The creepy lady from payroll stood behind him, taking long drags and hacking good, phlegmy coughs.

A cigarette popped out of the pack and he looked it over, searching it for imperfections. He placed it in his mouth but let it hang there. His hands moved into his pants pocket, removing the cell phone in hope before replacing it.

Hands cupped around the end of the cigarette, even though it was a windless day, and he inhaled. The smoke streamed into his mouth, down his throat like he was meeting a friend who had been gone too long. A slight hint of nausea came back to him from four years ago, but he repressed it. He took another drag and sat down to watch the world roll by.

St. Paul Part 3

2010-08-31T21:13:00.002-05:00

Steve re-squinted his eyes at the menu board, attempting to figure out the new type of drink he wanted to order. But his train of thought was cut short as the woman behind the counter asked "So, how are things?"

"Steve thinks he's going to order a different drink today." He said, letting his face play into a caricature of doubts for her benefit.

She switched her brown eyes over to Steve, pushing a wisp of hair behind her ear, "Oh really?"

"Yeah." Steve said still looking up at the board, oblivious to the grumblings in the line behind him. "I was thinking something sweeter."

She pretended to screw her mouth and eyes into thought, looking away from Steve with a wink. "We could throw some white chocolate in, flavor it with some vanilla and almond?"

Steve worried. "I'm not really a big fan of white chocolate."

"How about vanilla and almond? It tastes just like a Christmas cookie."

"Well, it's too hot out for Christmas." Steve broke his concentration with the menu, pulling out his wallet. "Better just give me the usual."

She relayed the order over to her barista and turned back to them. "I'm buying today."

"You bought yesterday." Steve said, throwing a generous tip into the bowl.

"Yeah, but that's just cos I like you guys. Jimmy, usual cuppa?" she asked, handing him the coffee she had already prepared.

"Thanks, Emma." Jimmy said, then thought about it. "What are you doing tonight?"

"What?"

"What are you doing after work?" he looked over at Steve for support, but Steve was already collecting his mocha. "The two of us were thinking about catching a quick drink after work. You should come along."

Emma looked nervously at the line or in a look to think this over more, he couldn't be sure. She said "I'm supposed to meet a friend."

Jimmy didn't waste any time, he just impulsed "Sounds boring. Bring them along. Come on, I guarantee good times. I haven't done that in years."

This time she brushed the strand of hair that was already behind her ear. "I'll think about it. Or, I mean, I'll, you know, I'll talk it over with my friend, and together, we'll, sorta, see what we can do."

"Five-thirty, We'll all meet at McGovern's. It'll be fun."

She smiled this time "Definitely maybe."

Jimmy and Steve left the line with their coffees, heading back through the skyway, listening to her ask the next person in line "So, how are things?"

St. Paul Part 2

2010-08-30T15:42:00.002-05:00

The radio in the cubicle crackled with another report and again the topic was the merging of Minneapolis and St. Paul. According to the proposal, Minneapolis would annex all of St. Paul west of Snelling thus increasing the size of the states most major city and making it more national.

He stopped paying attention. He heard the name Minneapolis and thought about calling his old roommate Adam. Just a friendly call to see what was happening with Adam's life and his wife; how Adam's dad's money was still treating him. He removed his hand from the phone and went back to his keyboard.

Steve showed up, using his standard midweek salutation "Why, if it isn't the most miserable son of a bitch in the office. Aren't you going to take a break?"

"Yeah." He sighed, pushing the meaty part of his palms into his eyes to show the wear and tear, the stress level work was having on him.

"You want to grab a coffee or something?" Steve asked, playing the same sad part of the ritual out, then teased "If we go now you can see your coffee making girlfriend?"

The girl--woman now, of the coffee shop had graduated from the same college, the same degree and he was pretty sure she was smarter then him. She had chosen to go against the normal walk of work and started up her own coffee shop. They had been friends, it was a small enough school for that, but she had always remained on the outside, always with that boyfriend of hers.

"I think I'm going to order something different today." Steve said, craning his neck like all the other hopefuls at the drink menu.

"What are you thinking of?"

"I don't know, I'm feeling different, maybe something sweeter." Steve squinted his eyes, reading the fine print which explained what was in each of the drinks. Steve suddenly broke away, "Hey, what are you doing tonight?"

"The wife..." He tried to remember what he was doing, but all he could think about was Adam and his wife out for lunch. He did his best to push it back out of his head, looking blankly at Steve he said "I don't know. I don't think anything, but then again I don't run that part of my life."

"We could catch a drink or something?" Steve suggested.

"You could meet my friend Adam, then. He's taking my wife out to lunch this afternoon." He said it with a hope, wanting a weird look from Steve, something to say that this wasn't normal. Wives weren't supposed to go out with their husband's old college roommate.

Steve didn't take the bait, but went back to staring at the menu board "My wife is out of town, so really, I don't have anything. I wasn't thinking too late, just something to miss traffic."

He sighed, disappointed "Sure. This might turn into a regular thing if my wife gets her promotion."

"She's getting a raise?"

"Something like that. She's--" he took a second to collect his thoughts, group them together, let them fall out in the correct order. "She's prepping for the interview this afternoon with my old roommate Adam. Tomorrow she goes in to talk to her boss. She doesn't sound to worried about it though. She has Adam to help her."

"Well, that's exciting." Steve said, and his face clouded over as he did the math. "Hey, doesn't that mean she'll be making more money than you?"

"And she'll be out of town all the time."

"That's a shame." Steve said then moved back to the board. "You know what you're going to get?"

a note on st. paul and others to come

2010-08-27T19:25:00.001-05:00

dear gentle coitusers--

i'm not proud of this story, but it does floor me for how much i understood at the time. much has changed over the ten years since this was written, or maybe it hasn't.

an explanation for the change of venue: i began reading melville's moby dick, and while i am a good way through it, my annotated copy is roughly 750 pages. so instead of letting the site go sans post i'll be putting up some old short stories of mine, ones that i have no hope of publishing. i discovered all of these in an old box i haven't gone through in some time so all the stories are ten years old or older. please grant patience and credence to a young, aspiring writer who was still swinging for the fences.

this first one is of particular interest as it is a story that has been banging around in my head since i was about seven. over the course of the last 26 years i have attempted it on multiple occasions, and it is (hopefully) coming to fruition in the novel i am currently working on. none of the characters in this short story emerge in the novel, yet many of the overlying urges and wants remain the same. it is interesting how little i knew about the city at that point.

i always hate it when a band comes out with a rarity b-sides album and expects the fans to buy it, but since these haven't been released i hope you'll enjoy them. while all of these stories are short stories, i believe blogs should be quick reads so all of the following short stories shall be released in serial form.

h. (i am old) richter

St. Paul Part 1

2010-08-27T18:52:00.002-05:00

And as the soft blue light of morning slipped through the bedroom window he listened to his wife's soft snore, writing her another letter he would never send.

My mother never loved my father. Saturday mornings were the worst because he would work the early morning shift--maybe all days were like this, but this was the only one I was ever home for. Mom would sit next to me on the couch, holding me tightly while I watched cartoons. She never said much, but maybe that was because she was listening for the sound of the car pulling into the driveway. His key would fit into the lock and turn. She would squeeze me one last time, release me and walk gently, yet with purpose, into her room. I can still see her closing the door.

Dad would come in, and before he looked at me he'd look at the door to her room then let out this little sigh I've come to think of him as. He would walk over to me, scratch me on the head and walk into the kitchen to eat the lunch Ma made early in the morning. During her time.

They'd never yelled at each other; I wish they would've. I wish they would've just told each other exactly what they meant and then...

The letters were always left open ended which was his reason for never giving them to her, or this is what he told himself. He placed the scribbled over sheet methodically, carefully into his satchel. His hand paused over the rest of the letters, his greatest hits, and he looked up at the clock rationalizing how much time he had.

He excused himself from his desk, the letters and his wife, walking into the bathroom where he went to work on another morning ritual. A ritual that didn't last as long anymore, and brought him a lot less thrills than it used to.

After cleaning up with the usual guilt and trying not to make eye contact with the mirror, he made his way into the kitchen where he saw his wife's list of things to do. She had always been organized like that, always starting her lists with Courtney's Things to Do. He'd never been able to keep his life that organized, no matter how much she'd tried to help him.

He poured himself a mug of coffee letting his eyes glance over the list. There was the name: Adam. Adam, his friend Adam. Adam who was his old roommate in college, not hers. Adam who, since moving into his cushy Minneapolis suburban three bedroom, two bath bachelor pad had not left her Courtney's Things To Do. That day the note read Lunch with Adam at Filio's to prep for interview.

Adam: the name stared at him more than he stared at it. He contemplated crossing Adam's name off the list, and putting his own in its place. He even went so far as to take a couple of practice swipes across a piece of scratch paper to see if he could mimic her soft penmanship. These met with limited success and instead he did what he always did: cross off her Things To Do, replacing it with Others To Do. He hoped she would understand the subtle sarcasm.

The pen was placed back into his pocket, and he fished around on the counter for his car keys.

'the great gatsby' by f. scott fitzgerald

2010-08-24T16:47:00.002-05:00

when i was younger i was enthralled by the romantic qualities of jay gatsby, but now i am older and see only the pathetic characteristics he possessed. the close of the book mentions being "borne back ceaselessly into the past", but for gatsby he never changed. the riches, the luster, even daisey herself meant nothing to him so much as that past.

the great gatsby is a book meant for the hottest month of summer. the perfect short read with a wealth of lines allowing the reader to forget the heat, the imposition of oncoming winter; it is a book designed for cigarettes and a gin rickey. it is a novel of little wasted words with all ideas building upon one another, clamoring towards the conclusion.

gatsby was not an idealist but a singular action. a dreamer of dangerous levels who set his life on a course where only the absolute would mean success. his problems perhaps are obliged by the fact he is not a materialist, but an extremely insecure man, basing most of what he views as success on the opinions others have. when he finds daisey it is less the woman he falls in love with, than others opinion of her and, in turn, her opinion over other objects.

this is not to say he was a man who wanted what he could not have; gatsby did not know what he wanted. he was capable of only creating an opulent desire and building on that desire until, eventually, he found a desire no one is capable of doing: turning back the hands of time. despite the fact he had daisey again, it was not enough for him to simply take her, he had to have her renounce the lost years.

it is impossible not to pity and love gatsby, despite the inability he had to give up, move on. should he have emerged from the pool on that pre-autumnal afternoon, he would not be able to believe it was all over. he was not a man capable of taking his own life, but his plans would have become more radical, more hopeless and desperate. if his own inattention to his and wolfsheim's business did not catch up with him, he would have continued on the trail of daisey. daisey's love for him, for whatever it was worth, would never live up to what he wanted, needed.

the book largely mirrors fitzgerald's own relationship with the chicago heiress ginevra king, who broke off a relationship with fitzgerald to marry, the also wealthy, william mitchell. while fitzgerald ended up marrying zelda sayer, perhaps his sweetest revenge came in immortalizing king forever in his works of fiction. the finest piece being a line he delivered to king after she asked him which character she was in fitzgerald's the beautiful and damned: "which bitch do you think you are."

the great gatsby never was a commercial success in fitzgerald's life. fitzgerald would grade his life as a general failure and himself a hack. the alcohol, zelda, tuberculosis all culminated in a massive heart attack while he was writing bit parts in movies for the quick cash he could get in hollywood.

perhaps the best way to remember fitzgerald comes from his off and on friend ernest hemmingway. this is one of my favorite quotes and comes from hemmingway's a moveable feast:

his talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust from a butterfly's wings. at one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. later he became conscious of his damaged wings and and their construction and he learned to think and and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.

'the book thief' by markus zusak

2010-08-11T10:53:00.004-05:00

this book is like crack.

my sister gave me markus zusak's, the book thief a couple of weeks ago. since then there has been a night where i was up until four in the morning reading, the inevitable "i should go grocery shopping, but i could read one chapter more" scenario, followed by the undesirable druggie habit of looking at the stash and trying to make it last as long as possible.

the actual plot of the book didn't seem intriguing, even the title of the book put me off somewhat. the broad plot is an orphan girl in nazi germany living with foster parents that hide a jew. she steals books as her act of escapism, bonds with her foster parents and learns that jews aren't bad people.

but there is so much more. this is a book about words and less about stories. it's how words can change a life. the power hitler had over words in how he conveyed an entire nation of people. and how stolen words and given words have the ability to shape and make a life.

it is told from the perspective of death, producing a piece of enjoyable meta-fiction as most of the book is his recounting of the autobiography of the main character, liesel meminger. a character that author zusak claims took him three years to fully develop. death is a conceited character, one who has no qualms with beginning the book with how the story will end. because to the character death, beginnings and endings don't matter, it is how the time is spent living that make the human experience interesting. death fleshes out the life and surrounding cast of lives, covering a five year period of the nazi rise to power and the bombing of munich.

to read that statement back, it sounds like this is a blatant rip off of a kurt vonnegut book. but while vonnegut is constantly pushing the story, zusak allows the characters to develop, tantalizing the reader with each drippy sentence to read the next chapter.

perhaps this review is put best into practical terms by my friend audra, who stated this is the sort of book you don't lend out, you tell people about and expect them to go buy it.

another book review: 'the scarlet letter' nathaniel hawthorne

2010-07-28T16:06:00.004-05:00

i have no idea why i picked the book up. it's been on my shelf for well over a decade since i've read it. perhaps it was a feeling of identification with hester prynne, but after reading it i feel a lot more like roger chillingsworth.

egocentric reading seeps in, no matter how disinterested and almost scientific a reader attempts to be--it is an impossible task to divorce oneself from. a fact that would have been a much more difficult subject matter for hawthorne's readers in the mid-nineteenth century, when so many of them loved the first part of the book, the custom-house, and were made clearly uncomfortable by the part of the text dealing with the actual dealings with the scarlet letter.

this was intentional on the part of hawthorne, who delighted upon his wife wife reading the concluding chapter of the work when: "it broke her heart and sent her to bed with a grievous headache--which i look upon as a triumphant success."

with that as an albatross it might be difficult to interpret the intentions for this writing, namely that hawthrone did not set out to write a feminist book, but to kick around the punchline of his time, puritanism, and perhaps more to write a book about what it is like to be alone. it's only through an anachronistic reading, and even then it seems thin, that a reader is able to pull a feminist track out of this.

perhaps this is best placed into context in the quote from the first quarter of the book: "but there is a fatality a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariable compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the color to their lifetime; and still the more irresistibly, the darker the tine that saddens it."

ms. prynne is a strong feminine character, one that held to her beliefs with both pride and convictions. and it could be argued she triumphed in this adversity. but these triumphs were less for the female, and more so for the the individual. yes, it is given that she was a female, that dimmsdale, the other half of the sin, experienced a completely different reaction from the same population over the seven year course of the novella, and that this burden was laid upon hester on the sole account that she was a female and carried first the physical presence of a child out of wedlock, then the scarlet letter personified in pearl.

however, based on the context of the overall work, it is far more accessible to place the entire context of the work into the meaning of what the meaning of being alone is about, and how the human experience grows and adapts to it. no matter who the individual is within the text they are always alone, and the actions that they carry are crosses to bear on their own.

Book Review: 'Burgundy Stars' by William Echikson

2010-07-20T15:57:00.003-05:00

the third of july was once a special time for chicago. a time when a massive amount of fireworks would be launched at the twilight sky, and the whole herd of the city would deposit themselves down on the lake front to watch the spectacle play itself out. but due to budgetary cuts this year the annual event was canceled.

thus, i found myself hanging out with my friend, meg, over at cafe fresco, a couple doors down from my apartment. we huddled on the back patio listening to the sound of the neighborhood firing off their fireworks all around us, confessing a mutual fear to one another of an errant firework blasting us in the head or the more unrealistic scenario of some punk kid with a gun taking the opportunity to disguise the noise of his gun to shoot us.

after that night, i had no real wish to drink, and whats more no real plans for the actual fourth. i locked myself in my white and black tiled sepulchre, only exiting to my fire escape for a much needed accoutrement when the fireworks began to pick up in rhythm. it was then that the curious artist living in the garden level of my building asked me to bomb down. not wanting to be blasted in the head by firework or bullet, i agreed.

over the course of cocktails, i told him of my interest in wine, especially french wine. he produced the wonderful book burgundy stars by william echikson which covers a year in the life of the french chef bernard loiseau and his quest for three michelin stars.

in the hands of a lesser writer, the personality of bernard loiseau would have taken over. but echilkson deftly takes this on, not pulling any punches towards loiseau's considerable ego. he takes time within the narrative to weave in the rich evolution of french haute cuisine, and brings further depth to the book by fleshing out the different surrounding staff of the restaurant, la cote d'or, and how much it means to the entire restaurant--the considerable expense each staff member undergoes to achieve the three star level.

living in america, home of such gastronomical entities as champp's, tgi fridays and applebees, where more care is taken to piling up a plate with enough to feed a family of three, it is easy to take food as art for granted. loiseau's love and care of food, the craftsmanship that went into both the design and application is handled by echikson with descriptions allowing each dish to fall off the page. the considerable insight he uses to describe the world of food reviewers is no less daunting to somebody that enjoys cooking and flavors.

i prize used books (well, read books) most of all. reading a book annotated by the previous reader makes reading seem more of a communal activity than carefully holding the spine of a freshly cracked work. and this tomb did not disappoint. included in it was the bookmark from a store in amsterdam where it was originally purchased, and also a follow-up story written by echikson for the new yorker on what became of loiseau.

there has been talk of whales here lately and perhaps the final coda that came as the last word on loiseau adds poignancy to it. the book concludes in 1991, by 2003 loiseau was dead. at the age of 52, after having maintained his three stars for twelve years there were rumors michelin was going to lower his ranking back down to two. they didn't, but by that point the fire was gone. loiseau had achieved what he had always wanted, but he discontinued to push himself for new excellence. he fell into depression, and in that depression he took his own life.

thorntown kids

2010-07-16T15:28:00.003-05:00

there were these two kids from back in high school--forever ago. one, ziggy, was the classic underachiever with a lot of potential being held back by the people he hung-out with. the other, jones, was a "jerk"--not quite a "jock" not quite a "nerd" but somewhere in the gray areas of both.

one of them had the locker down by the gymnasium, the old gymnasium, that is, not the new one, and that's where they would congregate after second period. there they would discuss the myriad of subjects that scratched the superficial surface of their everyday lives (topics covered: the legendary adventures of hercules, star trek: the next generation and an ongoing drama of how to talk their chemistry teacher, mr. zuphyr, into letting them stay after class to ditch their next period).

they made an odd pairing despite this common ground they had constructed their friendship upon. it was after their junior year they found a new dynamic, where jones met people, leaving it up to ziggy to maintain these friendships. this was highlighted on an idle sunday afternoon when a friend of jones called him for ziggy's phone number. jones relayed the phone number, then called ziggy to find out what he was up to, only to find out that ziggy was going over to the other kid's house.

perhaps the strangest story follows the pair on new years eve where they had been slated to attend party ushering in 1996. they met a group of people at their friend kirsten's house, where it was immediately decided the ensemble should go downtown and try to get into first avenue. on paper this looked to be a good idea until a series of mishaps occurred, or at least for ziggy and jones. first was the transportation where the size of the group dictated three cars would be a legal necessity. secondly, was the amount of snow both falling and accumulating. last was jones' knowledge, or lack thereof, of the geographical locations within, and whereabouts of, the city of minneapolis.

as was documented by charles darwin in 1859's origin of species there is a hierarchy within all species. this would be expanded upon after darwin had ceased the mortal coil but could be constructed into a matrix that describes high school. and so while the majority of the group piled into two cars it was jones' car left most bare, containing only jones, jones' sophomore valet: bachmann, and ziggy, who joined them in an odd sense of loyalty despite the fact he had a girlfriend in one of the other cars that he had every intention, nay right, to make-out with at midnight.

the caravan started off well until the first two cars made a stoplight going across the grain belt bridge, leaving jones' car separated. despite the fact the location of first avenue, based exclusively on the name of the establishment, should have been an easy enough locale to find, jones quickly became lost and headed the wrong way on 35W into an area he would later discover to be the small suburb of richfield.

these were the savage days before cellular technology had become an economically feasible means to the masses. thus the three of them devolved into a game ziggy and jones had discovered the year prior, when neither of them had gone to prom. in it, they would take the same turns indicated by the car behind them until the driver of the vehicle became wise to their ruse and would lose them with a fake directional signal at the first available stop sign. these were the limitations of entertainment they had at their disposal.

in a ditch effort, they returned to thorntown, stumbling through the different abodes of their acquaintance in an attempt to locate their separated friends. they even went so far as to stop at the home of the girl jones was sweet on, which her mother had recently vacated the family from after she was re-married. at this, the lowest point of the trip, they managed to beach jones' car in the snow strewn driveway and had to push it out--ziggy took the liberty of writing 'shovel me' in the fresh powder.

with midnight approaching, they gave up hope, or at least ziggy gave up the hope of making out at midnight; for the other two their wasn't much hope to begin with. the three repaired back to jones' house to suffer the new year in, in a similar fashion replayed on many of the nights before.

and that is when the final breath of kindness from 1995 occurred. in one of jones' more understated comments he had confided in ziggy how he supposed most folk really only entertained him as a friend due to the liberal nature his parents subscribed to. this truth was complimented by the fact that every child in thorntown knew the location of the key to jones' house. thus, it should not have surprised them as much when they discovered the lost attachment of their group mingling in the basement.

in the end, ziggy got to make-out with his girlfriend at midnight, and they were able to usher in the new year surrounded by friends.

there is an interesting coda to the story. apparently the girls had secured several bottles of champagne upon the knowledge the girl jones was sweet on would have an empty house. they most likely would have gotten away with it, too, should there not have been tire marks gouged in her driveway, and so all the girls were suspended from the cross-country ski team. this did not earn jones any points.

where ziggy and jones are now is anybody's guess. ziggy, it was said, made something of himself and may be a mad scientist who plots at unleashing a biological creature of his own design upon the known world from his secret lair. jones fell further off the radar, and was last seen wandering the midwest; this is only speculation, however, based on the rise of disturbed and angry people residing there who most likely are living in his wake.

re: c-jack...

2010-07-09T14:56:00.001-05:00

dear starbuck,

well, if you know j. then i'm truly sorry about everything. i thought i was doing the right thing, or what i believed in. i really did believe in it. i think she's forgiven me for it. i liked hanging out with all of you; you guys were great. j. seems likes she's in a good spot with s. and the times i've hung out with her she seems happy. i'm mature enough to be happy for her and do miss you guys.

answers are easy. realistically, there are only answers. i'm trying to make a point of being honest with everybody and expecting honesty out of everybody else. i removed myself from the 'Sota not to be independent, but not to be dependent. i've wanted this city for two years cos i've missed it. i want to be a better person.

if by "her" you mean m., my ex-wife, then yes i do love her even if it is what it is. i told j. i don't regret what i did, and she respects it. and look on the bright side, she's got s. so... yay!

oh! as for books, i'm reading Burgundy Stars which, thank you, you just ruined the end for me by having me look it up on wikipedia.... shit, that totally bums me out. anyway, nice way to go into depression...

yes, i think i am depressed. i've taken this honesty to extreme which has hurt and cost friends. i am alone. i don't regret it, i don't regret moving here, nor do i regret this depression. i would a thousand times over rather stand by what i want, what i believe in then the lies i used to make people feel comfortable.

and that's it. comfortable. i don't want to feel comfortable. i'm so sick of being comfortable with what i'm doing, who my friends are, what's going on. i don't want people with their pulses on the next big thing, or what everybody says is fantastic. i just want stupid satisfaction.

i want somebody to watch juvenile tv with, listen to a cranked up radio, cook with, pull the cork on a bottle of wine for the taste of it, somebody i can go to a movie theater with and realize there isn't a movie we want to watch and pick up a bag of movie popcorn to go home and watch something on our own.

i know... i'm stupid. i hope "refriended" isn't... honest to fucking God i hope "refriended" isn't.

alison

2010-07-02T10:14:00.004-05:00

the slats in the fire escape look all the way down. technically, this measures only two stories cos it's at the very top of the second story, but at this point, all the stories have been told. there is only here and now.

the word "unfriended" doesn't exist in a spellcheck... well, yet.

there is a phone call. it's not as drunk as you would think it would be, but confirms a lousy week or maybe years. chicago is a city consisting of 2.8 million people, and yet a person might be ostracized from the community quickly.

the phone offers options in bars, as though it has thought this quagmire over previously: the first is 'the otter' on ashland, which isn't the right scene. the second is a bar on hoyne and charleston which the phone, ironically, cannot remember the name of, but is not a possibility for a myriad of reasons.

the phone hangs up with promises of calling the next day, which will never happen. it's another closed chapter.

a car makes a u-turn down ogden. people cross the street loudly, they seem happy as a cabby honks at them to get out of the way. to the east the loop has shut down. the hancock building has silenced the lights. the city sleeps. the song alison off of elvis costello's debut album plays at random. my aim is true came out on the day i was born. i am alone.

a memory fades in. i had gone into a record store to buy a new album, and when i come out the keys are locked in my truck--this happens to me on an alarming basis. my folks are in madison and everybody else i try calling either doesn't pick up or are in dispose. it's a 3 mile round trip to walk, pick up a spare set of keys and then come back, but there is the horrible feeling of being alone; on my own.

chicago is the city i want to be in--an irony as i only leave the apartment once a day to go jogging. i don't know if i made the right decision; i do not know how i will come out of this. i'm searching for a positive or uplifting way of ending this, but it doesn't exist. i'm here now. i'm listening to alison by elvis costello. i've never thought i suck at life more.

FiFA LOVES THE SAMBA

2010-06-28T07:46:00.004-05:00

I want to take this time to thank FIFA for allowing Brazil to waltz on thru to the Semi Finals.

I usually cheer for Brazil but it’s very difficult when on paper there competiton is non existent really.?! No disrespect to the other teams in that Bracket but C’mon !

All you Fantasy Team players should be envious,imagine you and your mates sitting at a Pub drinking Guinness discussing what you would like to see happen in the World’s Largest Sporting event and then making it happen.

Fifa puts together these Groups and Brackets and play percentages hoping that Sven gets the most Office points .

My question is I wonder what Germany, Spain, Argentina and Portugal did to piss them off.?

I’m really excited to see the Group Brazil gets Next World Cup, N Korea, Togo perhaps?? The possibilities are endless..

the rambler

2010-06-22T20:03:00.004-05:00

i graduated from college ten years ago. i mean, really, i did graduate. you can't tell, but i did.

before that my profs smile, they tell me i have a gift. they site a mock prosecution i make, and i disagree. it's said i'm throwing away my god given talent if i don't become the lawyer like my uncle or my cousin would... like i was supposed to. and what can i say: i have a morale issue? i'm not capable of entering a system of defending or opposing something i don't believe in. i believe in constitutional rights; i don't believe in my ability to defend something i don't believe in. dad tries to make the best of it: i could work in immigration law. but i don't want to.

i find out i'm graduating over thanksgiving. this is after i've already made plans to live with jord next year, and the courses i want to take. going to grad school is all but a wash. all i ever wanted to be was a teacher. they try to sign me up as a newspaper editor, which is a laugh. they drag five of us in and wait for us to fail.

i'm not bitter, honestly. i love stories and fiction, almost too most--like anybody i've ever tried to love. but dad breaks his hip, grandpa and grandma need help, i find work at a coffee shop. the rest is/or was a love story, of sorts: history.

now it's ten years later and i'm hawking my soul to a private school to work in pr/ads. no grad school will touch me. i'm going to be in school with joneses 15 years younger than me.

i'm scared shitless.

fans

2010-06-19T02:43:00.004-05:00

i do not like it when a window fans 'max power' option is directly next to the off switch so when the fan is switched on it zooms right to mach one thousand. instead, i like to work my way from 'low' to 'high'--it makes me feel like i'm really earning something.

or else i could just get an air conditioner...

2010 World Cup my first Sound off !!

2010-06-17T12:04:00.002-05:00

Africa for the love of god !!!! Get it together!!!!

Let’s be clear the talent is there the teams can dribble for ever now gents let’s just get some more Goals .

Real fans of Futbol are rooting for you, even if they already have their Favorite team God Bless Nelson Mandela for bringing the game to South Africa because we all know if it were not for him, there would be no World Cup in Africa .

Anyway I need to sound off on a few people and Teams .

1. Sani Kaita – Thanks for pissing away Nigeria’s chances you big fucking Child !!Losing your temper when your ahead in a match ! And then you try and pretend that you are some victim . Do you not realize that the actions of the one sadly will reflect on the Whole . That’s right dumb ass when one African team loses or even ties , All African teams are generalized.
You Twat.

2.Switzerland – Thank you for shaking up the Tournament nuff said .

And last but not Least I have to Blast Uruguay!

I want to thank you Uruguay , for displaying your fucking unimportant complex and fucking up the spirit of the Games..

Yeah I get it.
You guys are a tiny country over shadowed by Argentina and Brazil

I know that must be difficult You’re the Canada of Latin America I get it , I get it , you feel like you have something to Prove .

Uruguay ! A poor Man’s Argentina !

I mean really? Couldn’t you just Tie the game on Purpose Like England did for the U.S .

four conversrations

2010-06-14T11:32:00.002-05:00

people seldom do what they believe in
they do what is convenient
then repent.

-bob dylan

i smoke a cigarette thinking about those words; this is my last night in minnesota for some time. all my worldly possessions have been packed and are neatly stacked. most of the boxes contain books, some hold the ridiculous amount of cd's i've picked up, the rest is kitchen equipment. it's all piled expecting the moving truck i will pick-up, then load tomorrow.

these past couple of weeks have been difficult. it's the physical reality of what i have felt over the last two years with one foot in chicago and one foot in st. paul. it's been a realizations of waking up in a familiar room yet still trying to figure out what city i'm in. it's been defining relationships with friends, being honest with emotions and then building or re-building on it all.

it would be easier to stay in st. paul, and accept my failures and shortcomings. but scared or not, i am moving. the reasons for this might be explained in four conversations from four completely different women, all of whom have had remarkable effects upon my life; all of whom i still consider incredible friends: a, j, m. and b.

i receive a text from a. a week and a half ago. it's simple but states she's thankful we've always stayed friends. she cites examples of everybody else she has lived with, and how they've always abandoned her after they've lived together. my immediate, minnesotan knee-jerk reaction is to automatically feel guilty at this statement. a. and i don't talk that often, and when the two of us lived together, back in college, things were strained so much that there were nights she didn't want to be in the same room as me. back then, i didn't tell her i liked her, she didn't call me on it and we slowly dwindled to the married couple that stays together for the kids, or at least our apartment. but, we're both morons and the friendship endured.

j. and i haven't talked in a year. this is the opposite of a. where the relationship died, and we respected its death. she's a white sox fan, so obviously nothing could have ever come out of our relationship--a fact i stated at the onset of it. a year later she says that she appreciated my honesty that it helped her figure out her own life. i'm not in a position to doubt her or even call her on it. we resumed talking over the show lost; she was always a lost buddy. now she's doing well, dating a nice man that takes care of her and sees to her needs. even if something dies a newness might come out of it. relationships always needs to be defined, but it helps to have good footing to define them on.

while packing, i find a bunch of letters from m. these are from eight some years ago. i still don't know what to make of them. these are vague letters, or ones looking for strength. they're difficult to read. i stash them all in a wooden box, not sure if i should bury it or bring it. i pack it, reluctantly in a box to deal with later.

the conversation with b. is easy. we don't need to talk cos our friendship slips like a hand into a comfortable glove. we drive up from chicago with the radio turned to eleven stopping at the wine shop and sip on sampler wines.

i was afraid of moving back to chicago based on who i am, or was, and my motivations for moving back. i still don't know if this is the right decision, but it's what i believe in. this isn't a convenient choice, and i readily admit it might not be healthy. i am not repenting for past sins or seeking forgiveness for what i've done. in four conversations all i can do is accept what i've done, where i've come from and who i want to be.

when i was young i needed, but needs aren't necessities: they are things i needed for myself. now i'm older, and now i want. wants are desires i am incapable of reaching by myself, and in some way or form i need to ask others to help me.

i dropped b. off last week and drove north to pack. i listen to Green Gloves by The National for the first two hours of it before stopping at a gas station for cigarettes and to write this down:

slowly i unfold myself.
i might be in over my head,
or this is oxygen i'm finally tasting.
beginnings never really start,
ends never truly finish.
things just happen.
this is a come back story...

i believe it and have people that believe in themselves with me. this might hurt before it makes sense. but what's the point of life and love without...

by the green light of gatsby

2010-05-17T22:51:00.004-05:00

two of my friends make love in the other room. this is pillow talk right now--who did what to whom. this is a month divorced from what happened. this is two and a half years divorced from what should have happened. this is now. not then.

different girl. x and h cut up the relationship. these are words spoken in soft, civil tones: defined--this is mucky business. this hurts but at least it's a foundation, a truth, the reality. there is an 'i' in 'reality' but there is no 'we'.

i throw-up what i didn't eat. i wouldn't believe this was possible if i hadn't done it before. this might be because of the cigarettes or the stress or it might be life. i have no idea. throwing up, though, feels like the right decision--the only time that i feel o.k. well, that's kind of a lie. at least when i smoke i feel like i'm doing something; working towards an end.

ah, dear coitusers, what is to be done? is it better to admit a dream is dead well after the chase of that dream has ended, or is there more honor in continuing the quest in some vain hope that one day we'll run faster, stretch our arms out further... and one fine morning--so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

hallelujah

2010-05-12T18:12:00.001-05:00

lu, of course, did not appreciate the pomp and circumstance paid to her birthday: the wine, the birthday merriment--i drew a line and did not get her a cake. i did play her the song for which she's named, and her favorite game of bitey/scratchy. she liked it, but she's two and these things happen every day.

my parents have, by and large, given up on their eldest child ever having children, and have regulated themselves to my nephew and to my cat. which was why they made such a big deal out of the party, and asked me to stay up here, in the Sota, to celebrate. most of my friends have made the leap to parenthood or are dialed into some form of raging coupledom, so perhaps this is as close to a win as i get in that regard.

i understand this time of life; i get the inevitable conclusion to have children, settle down, find somebody that makes you happy. i've always been the oldest, the one to go through most things first. it's like being the lead-off hitter in baseball: you need to let the rest of the team see the pitcher, the bite of the breaking ball, the strike-zone this particular ump has.

i'm not afraid of children so much as i am afraid of my nephew. i watch him run around and don't understand what he's doing, moreover i don't want to be responsible if or when something bad happens. i fail to understand why it takes him so long to grasp concepts that seems so easy even an infant should be able to understand it. he seems like he is the last hope for my family, and therefore should be graded to a higher standard.

i'm not afraid of all children; i love kids. my friend sel has two of the most beautiful girls in the entire world, and nelly has an infant daughter that brightens up the entire world. a friend of mine even passed along a video of her niece and nephew wishing her happy birthday--the video was better than could've been written, down to them even forgetting my friend's name.

little hallelujah is now sitting on my computer, blocking my view. she wants the comfort of chewing on my sweatshirt and the knowledge that as soon as this is done i will scratch her behind the ears--the one place her little maine coon claws fail to do a descent job. i will, and next time i'm having a rough day she'll claw her way up, into my lap, and let me pet her or cry little tears into her waterproof coat. she's a good cat like that.

ghosts

2010-04-20T10:27:00.005-05:00

i have long labored under the belief there is unfinished business in life. and this works for me on several different levels. there are things like how a cigarette tastes in chicago, how some nights taste like an evening in richfield (that sweet cusp of adulthood), or feeling the infinity when everything seems to fall into place. catching those moments almost feels like borrowed time or time given to me.

i think of this at a coffee shop cos the jones sitting across from me looks like an old grade school friend of mine. my folks moved the six blocks from st. paul to thorntown when i was eleven, forcing me to switch school districts, find new kids to bike around with, join a different baseball league. john was my best friend, but after i moved he slipped into the realm of mom reports, which were repeated to me after run-ins at the grocery store.

and it's not just old friends that come back to haunt me. there are times i see older or younger versions of family members, even myself. they'll be standing off to the side in a bookstore or down the bar. they never look at me as much as i look at them, and i wonder why they're there--if something special or horrific happens that day to if they get passes to come and visit me. still, a little direction from them would be nice.

john died probably twelve or fourteen years ago, meaning i haven't talked to him in well over half a lifetime. i believe he was one of two friends that threw themselves off the grain belt bridge in minneapolis--i've always felt too guilty to find out the specifics or, perhaps more importantly, the 'why-he-did-it'.

specters of the past, perhaps of the future, are around all the time. i know at this point of life there is no point in waxing sentimental about them. but it's comforting knowing they're there, that they're part of me. like john is now; he's happy, sitting on his mac, checking email--he looks younger than he should, but i like to think that's more of a personal choice.

Flight Delayed

2010-04-20T08:33:00.000-05:00

If your still stuck in Europe due to the Icelandic Volcanic Ash blame Bjork .

That is all

Latinos Are Susceptible to Hypnotism or Latino Están Susceptible al Hipnotismo

2010-04-20T08:13:00.002-05:00

I like many of you filled out the 2010 Census Forms and sent it back it took no time at all and for the most part pretty self explanatory the only part I kind of was like really ? Was the Negro option to define one’s Self.
Check box under African American, Black or Negro really ? What is that about ..Believe it or not that fun fact is not the Topic on hand this is ..

Many states are not filling out the 2010 Census forms and sending it back, now pay attention this is where is gets tricky .

Latinos I AM TALKING TO YOU !!

I have figured out why our Spanish Speaking brethren have not embraced the Census it’s very easy..

Latinos are easily susceptible to hypnotism . What ??

Yes that’s right, leave to me to get to the heart of the matter .

In States like Arizona , California, New Mexico and Texas there is a large Republican push to keep folks from filling out the forms especially if your race ends with a Can .

Dominican , Puerto Rican, Mexican why?

Because you will be the majority and that is a thought that frightens some people, so they are pulling out all there scary hypnotic rhetoric to keep you from participating.

You hear all the confusing hypnotic Conservative comments like ...

“ It’s really a form to intrude on your Freedom.”
“It’s not really anonymous “ and my favorite
“ They’re going to use this information to take you away Just like they did the Japanese after Pearl Harbor . “ ( Michelle Bachman you silly girl you)

Latinos wake up when I count to 3 and snap my fingers you will stop being fooled by a Party that does not like you organize, and realize this ..
El Censo envía dinero a su vecindario para Escuelas, otros acontecimientos de la Comunidad. si usted no es contado usted será dejado atrás

My Spanish may not be the best but you get the Point !
BLOVE Out

Kudos to Russia for Banning the U.S.

2010-04-16T09:15:00.002-05:00

I for one am overjoyed that Russia has decided to ban U.S. Citizens from adopting their Children.
Why because right now this Country is crazy!!

The South thinks it’s a good idea to reignite the Confederacy, Tea Party Groups thrashing anyone who doesn’t share their views.

Pundits getting on T.V. shouting out that they want to destroy their Government, Governors backing the idea of Armed Right Wing Militia, Texas and other Southern States want to succeed from the Union.

Now more than ever is a good time to avoid coming to the U.S. especially if you’re a Foreigner.

I don’t blame the Russians, how are they to know that this country is going thru an attack from within, this attack comes from inbreed, Uneducated, delusional, super hypocritical, Bible thumping zealots.

We all know that this is Race Related, Black President; Brown People will be the Majority in a few years so the urgency right now to always bring up the “Founding FATHERS “ in conversation is the Rallying cry for Scared White Folks to unite.

Don’t get angry, but it’s true as of late a lot of these Southern States have been flat out useless, just spewing Hate and Terroristic threats to the Nation.
How would Russia know the inner workings or mind set of any America Citizen?

They like most Foreign Countries assume that America is still this land of Opportunity, where people can be level headed, Diplomatic , that the spirit of Live and let live is still fabric of the American way of life .

There is a pass that Americans get in Adopting Children from other Countries an unspoken entitlement.

Don’t believe me?

Who do you think would get First Consideration for this Child that was sent on plane?

The lady from Tennessee who sent the child back, a couple from Canada, Spain, or for Shits and Giggles let’s say S Africa or anywhere in Africa.

Who do you think gets First dibs...?

So Kudos to you Russia , as for any Child Seeking a loving Family I pray for you all no matter where you’re from but right now.

A Child with a Strong Accent trying to fit in to the Current Climate of THIS Nation let alone trying to fit in to the South.

HA That‘s an ABC movie waiting to happen.

Doing it Raw in the Middle E part 1

2010-04-15T11:20:00.003-05:00

Life is long .
That’s right, life is long and everyone has a pocket of time that needs to be filled, filled with a different experience, everyone has to honor your Life, with a memory that you can take with you and pass that knowledge to the next person thus enriching there life.

This is the essence of the Human Condition this enriches the tapestry of the human condition .

For the first time in my life I am tossing caution to the wind and giving in, I am giving in to enriching my life the best way I know how, and I can’t think of a better way to start this journey then by adding Arabic women to my list of Women I need to Bang .

This revelation came to me while I was watching the Iran Election Struggle I will not comment on their President ( Make a Move I’m a Dinner Jacket ) I’m no Political Pundit but I digress.

Arabic Women at least in the Western World are not considered, Why this lapse in judgment?
I’m sure the real answer to that is some religious , political nonsense but I, unlike Europe and The Republican Party don’t hate the Arab World I want to Do it !!!

In men’s Magazines usually it’s Always European or North American or South American Ladies that get the top spots.. . So what does this mean ? Long Story Short !!!

It means Balddee is heading to the Middle East First Stop the Mecca of the Hot Chicks Lebanon .
Just remember I come in Peace to get a major Piece of your Countries Assets so brake out the Hookah and let’s DO this .. Like Brutus.

weakend

2010-04-13T12:17:00.006-05:00

jonnie was invited only on a whim, and the other party goers don't necessarily like him for what he did. he still steals a glance at clara, who holds court amongst her friends and co-workers. clara's elbows rest on her spread knees, an ankle length skirt drapes down to the ground between her legs providing a back drop to the cigarette she occasionally pulls on between her long hair. she pushes out a long train of smoke, looking through the campfire at the couple arguing.

jonnie is curbed up on the uncomfortable bench--a recently liberated artifact from one of the parks, here, on the southside. next to him is some jones from her work; the only sober person at the party who is getting the full force of jonnie's humerous wealth. jonnie's trying to talk loud enough over the din so that clara can hear him; let her remember how funny he is.

clara joins in with the arguing couple. she's airing her own grievances against her current boyfriend, even though he's inside the house, unable to defend himself. tears are bubbling beneath her glasses, and she rolls her eyes up to the night sky above her as she wipes them away--the end of her cigarette comes close to her cheek.

jonnie excuses himself from his conversation, and is now leaning against the garage, now lighting a cigarette of his own. he's trying to look cool, but barely keeping his balance. clara turns a question on him, catching jonnie further off guard.

and he says something that he means, but backs-up on it saying it all doesn't really matter, it can't matter. and she takes it with a steamroller, running down whatever she wants. her co-workers and friends are set asunder, the drunkest one rushing inside to get her boyfriend.

the boyfriend comes out, a spray of rum escaping his lips as he spits out, 'who the fuck is jonnie'.

jonnie comes forward, listing this way or that. holding onto his beer in one hand, the cigarette in the other.

the first punch cracks jonnie's ribs, dropping him to his knees, his fallen beer pools in the cold, spring dirt. the second one smacks the other side, and now the boyfriend is asking, 'have you had enough?'

jonnie doesn't look at him but says, 'no, i think i need one more.'

another dull thud of fist punching through jacket, and jonnie falls onto his back, his head splashing into the beer puddle. he brings the cigarette up to his lips, wincing as he inhales, trying to think about what to do next.

eau claire

2010-04-09T12:59:00.001-05:00

believe, dear friends, believe. give parlance to hope. then again, maybe craig finn is right--maybe in the end nobody learns a lesson.

the check engine light came back on when i hit wisconsin, now the storm is here with the rain and wind and trucks trying to run me off the road. this is all being weighed against the last two weeks. two weeks of goodness--it's most likely madness to leave. it was buddy lunzer taking me under the wing, and the two of us hanging off one another as we enter the new twins stadium. under normal circumstances this would've been an uncomfortable situation for everybody around us if everybody around us wasn't doing the exact same thing. it was the curling club for the weekend. somebody was trying to pull me in a direction, but i still have this annoying, grounding feeling like i can't or shouldn't. and friends. friends. friends...

worse than the storm is thinking about this upcoming weekend. this is the conversation i did not have with any of my friends because i know exactly how it would happen. i would jones around for something and end up saying, "but it's the twins playing in chicago."

and the chorus would chime in with the refrain, "this is a bad idea" and "what do you really think is going to happen out of this?"

i'm barely outside of eau claire and can barely see anything because of the semi in front of me kicking up the rain off the road. the music is blared to eleven, and i'm getting wet because, of course, i need a cigarette in this situation. foolish as it may be, the smoke talks to me. the smoke reassures me that all i can do is go. if i'm crucified then at least i'll know i did what i could.

and that's chicago. this is starting over again. finding my way. it's where i've been headed for a long while. this is about starting over, cutting it up, blowing up the bullshit and just being. alone or with an army of folk, this is the birth of me.

all there is to do now is check the blindside for traffic coming on my left and ease the pedal further down onto the floor. pick up speed, pass the truck. head home.

Hollywood Hates Asian !!

2009-12-28T07:46:00.000-06:00

Oh Paramount Pictures and Shamalama dingdong ..

Thank you for helping me realize just how racially insensitive you all are !
I never really realized how Disrespected Asians were in Hollywood. Until I heard that the Main Characters of the Last Air Bender were all Caucasian. Really ? If you unfamiliar with the Animation Series I will help you understand what’s Not included in the series.
• There are no Signs of European cultures in the Avatar world! No Castles, No Knights No Christian Values type Stuff , No European Influence what So ever.

• There Are no African/Arabic or African American influence in The Avatar World ! No Pyramids NO Islamic Values type stuff. QUITE Frankly no Black folks in the Story line what so ever( Which is Fine cause it all takes place in Asian Continent)
So how Does a Show that dealt with Chinese , Korean, Tibetan, Japanese and Inuit Culture have an White Kid in Tibetan Clothes ? I really want someone to justify this one for me Seriously !!

chapter 20 (forgot this one)

2009-10-29T20:30:00.002-05:00

And that’s how they found us. The door to the conference room began to jiggle and then the door opened and in walked Balddee. As is his nature, he had no idea who we were until we explained that we were waiting to interview with Mule for a possible unpaid internship.

“You guys need jobs?” Balddee asked, waving around the revolver that had been discarded in Marlon Maxey’s room.

Almost everybody agreed. There was some tri-sexual named Vicki or vicci that declined the offer, too freaked out to do anything accept cry. But Fents, MF, Evilsmurf (who nobody really liked) and I, all walked out into the chaos that had been an office not twelve hours ago.

“Do you guys have any food?” Evilsmurf questioned. “We’ve been trapped inside of that room all day.”

“You gotta square?” Balddee asked back, eyeing Evilsmurf with an air of questions.

“Yeah, Spirits alright?”

“They’ll do. Look in the break room. Watch out for the blood on the floor.”

“What the hell happened here?” MF whispered looking around.

“Who are these people?” Satchel or Bel asked, walking up towards our little group.

“New staff.” Balddee grunted.

“Fuck, that was quick.” Said Bel or Satchel, taking us in before looking back at Balddee, “Shouldn’t we at least, you know, wait until the last staff is in the ground or something?”

“No time. They need to train.”

And so that’s what we’ve been doing for the past couple of months. Pedro, the cat, took us to a place in the Himalayas where we were trained in writing by a monk named Bathsauras. He seems to be a fair man but doesn’t speak a lick of English (or Japanese) so much of his teachings were lost in translations.

During our training time the owner of the building that houses Bad Mother Coitus informed us it was a bad idea to open that door and questioned us whether or not we had seen his sign? We tried to play coy, but I still think he saw through our lies.

Ellen was finally cut down after a couple of months when we were sure that she was, indeed, not a zombie. However, this put us in a bit of a bind as she was threatening legal action against the offices of the BMC. With Marlon dead and no immediate legal representation to fall back on we gave her the office where she is now the manager-in-chief of the mag and instilling a Nazi like regime. Still no word on whether or not it will take.

Satchel and Bel are still stoned but Balddee is due back from wandering the earth any day now don’t know what he found while he was out there, but I don’t know if he was looking for anything.

The offices have been re-vamped and while still not up to code or modern by any stretch of the imagination, to steal a line from Pedro, at least the toilette flushes.

Mahalo–

Balddee Get's to Break the Law .

2009-09-25T09:14:00.001-05:00

I alone got to sit and smoke Gloriously inside the Club I snickered at the group of people planted outside smoking content with the status quoe .

While I sat there high on my mountain reveling days of yonder, Drink in hand puffing away security passing me by taking my empty Cups.

It was like that shot in any Hipster Film the Main Character sit’s as everything and everyone passes him by at a Rapid pace but he remains firmly planted in whichever stance he sees fit,in My case it was a soft leather barstool.

The city can be unforgiving but tonight she held me in her warm embrace, as the Bartender gingerly poured me another pain reliever a smirk exuded from my face. I exhaled the sweet smoke of my American spirit into the Club Air I watched the smoke Climb to heavens slowly,I was a dragon content in its cave bellowing my majesty exuding my dominance.
The City once again whispering her Sweet words , telling me just for tonight I can ravish her however I please ..

Country Music and the VMA'S

2009-09-18T13:35:00.002-05:00

I don’t quite understand why the powers that be, are trying so hard to integrate Country Music into the mainstream. I physically cannot listen to Country Music the Twang sends a shiver down my Spine and now with all the Crossover Artists coming out I fear for my safety.
My greatest Fear came to light when Taylor Swift won a VMA for Best Video.
(Really?)
This enraged me Country Music have no Place in this venue!
“Oh I’m too mean!
I’m a Jerk!
I remember listening to Jami Foxx recall his story of when he went to the CMA's much to the surprise and bewilderment of the Crowd, basically he said the Crowd didn’t want him there regardless that He’s from Texas and he was asked to Pay Tribute to some Country Singer that he grew up on and liked.
I say keep THINGS SEPERATE it that way no more Swift, Flats, Bobby Jimmy or whatever at the VMA’s THE ONLY Neutral place is the Grammy’s.
Don’t start with me hypocrites; IF Green Day beat Sugarland some fan of COUNTRY MUSIC WOULD BE POSTING THIS . SO SUCK IT!!
So in Closing Yeah he was rude, but he was right! Beyonce did have a better video! Deal with it!!

At Target Center last Saturday

2009-09-14T10:35:00.003-05:00

I had no real intention of going to the rally last Saturday, despite what I had said earlier. There had been talk and invitations, however, at my heart I am a squelcher. And, what's more, there was an airtight argument to not go: the "It's Morning" defense, an unbreakable set of inherit truths that I hold to be self evident enough that everybody should understand. Chief amongst which is I am not a morning person. My friend C knows this, which is what makes it all that much more difficult. An approximate of our exchange:

C: Obama time?

h: go away

C: You're already up

h: vommittneedsleepcoffeeecivicdutybastardgooooawaaay

After coffee, grumblings and procrastination of the finest vintage, we parked downtown around 10ish. Balddee and his troupe had arrived before us, but refused to give us tails. C who is, after all, a diabolical plotter of the most Hellish degree, lead the charge for the two of us to cut in line where we quickly made friends with those around us. The line itself had a feeling of optimism not unlike the primary voting experience last year; that same air of magic which is palpable in the air for all of those willing to taste it.

Unfortunately, there was only one real protester-- a major disappointment when half the fun is going to see the freaks. He was a pastor who did a poor job of conveying his message and stood across the street holding up a bible for all to see. His passionate discourse did lead to one inadvertent epiphany. As he was building to his rousing effect of singing the praises of his lord and savior Jesus Christ, he paused for emphasis before saying "Jesus Christ", at which point the mini-donut vendor snuck in to call out his wares, giving the entire line a good laugh. The epiphany came when C purchased a bag of mini-donuts and goaded me into having one. I haven't been able to eat a mini-donut since I worked the stand at the State Fair my sophomore year of high school. But they tasted excellent; the day was off to a good start.

Target Center was the picture of organized chaos. The line in had more people pressed together than a skin flick and body odor ran rank. We were introduced into the arena in sections; a fine thing for security and to ensure that nobody was trampled, but an entirely different matter for ease of use. Those that had either camped out the night before or who had arrived early in the morning were rewarded with seats closest to the podium. The only problem with this logic was the organizers decision to then fill the remainder of the seats in with a clock-wise fashion. And hence, Balddee, the coward, who had refused to give me tailseys, was sitting directly across the arena from me despite the fact that he had been forced to wait in line an additional two hours. For those keeping track at home that would be h. 1, Balddee 0. Still, even that briefest of victories didn't make up for the fact that neither C or I had a pen, and were therefore incapable of writing anything down in our crossword puzzle.

The speech was excellent, the rhetoric was similar, if not wholesale lifted from his message to congress. Mr. Obama spoke with the voice of a friend offering advice and, despite the size of the event, it came off as being a very intimate affair. The speech had been meant to last fifteen to twenty minutes, but he ended up extending it to well over 40. The tone was more of a rally than it was of the "hail mary" pass that many of the conservative pundits have claimed it to be, and it challenged people to have civil discussion with neighbors, family members and friends on the state of health care. At the heart of it all was Mr. Obama, and his great strength of speaking to a room of over 17,000 people and yet have each individual feel as though he is talking directly to him or her.

We retired after the speech, stopping at Surdyk's for strong beer and good wine, and headed over to Balddee's Panther Pergola in Nordeast where much was discussed. Why did Mr. Obama come to our little burgh to discuss this? Was it, as Balddee said, a pre-emptive pee on Pawlenty's presidential run? Is Minny a good den of liberal ideals where he would be able to drum up support? Was it just our turn as this is the first time that he has been here since becoming President?

All in all it was a fine day, one that inspired and let people know that it is okay to want a better future, that hope isn't necessarily a bad thing, that you can believe in yourself and make a difference. Perhaps this is best exemplified by the national anthem that was sung before Mr. Obama came on stage. The microphone kept cutting out, so that the singer could only be heard in snippets. And so the crowd put our voices into it, lifting the singer all the way to the finish line, all of us helping one another out.

I am glad that my friend woke up to do this; time to help everybody else wake up too.

Warriors Tale Backstory .

2009-08-28T08:21:00.002-05:00

No one really knows when or how it started but it has been going on for Centuries …

There are many of them spread throughout the planet walking amongst you Immortals ..
We look just like any other person Yeah your probably thinking Highlander much..
But that is a Movie and nobody likes a Smart Ass.

In the Real world,if you cut off my head I will come back in about 2 hours or so ..

These short stories that I am sharing with you, have happened over the course of time, long before your Conventional History was ever scratched onto a Cave wall But what is time for an Immortal .

There was not much to back then, mortal man was just beginning to make his mark on the Planet ( Had we known how Man would Fuck up the Planet we would of ended Humanity back then,were Immortal not Psychics)

So a group of us decided to have our own brand of Competition just something to do to dull the Boredom.We decided to have a Contest to see who could die the most imagine if you will 2 teams of 6 people Why Six ? Why not ..

On my team for this Story let’s just Call him Nelly ..

La Poem ..aka my New Mantra

2009-08-26T11:34:00.001-05:00

When the world is looking grim ..
And there’s no place you seem to fit in think these. So pretty mama just
Bask !!!!!! In the Awesomeness of Me !!
Don’t fight the Feeling just .
Bask !!!!!! In the Awesomeness of Me !!
You don’t know what to do who cares!! I’m so much better than you, I can tell you what to feel this utopia is so real so sexy mama just .
Bask !!!!!! In the Awesomeness of Me !!
I’m a human orgasm just .
Bask !!!!!! In the Awesomeness of Me !!
Who’s in your Mouth ??
Bask !!!!!! In the Awesomeness of Me !!

Warriors tale

2009-08-26T11:16:00.002-05:00

Shrieking in anger at the sight of Nelly's broken body a victory that I so meticulously planned from the beginning.

Sully Lunges at me full speed, Nunchuks whirling around before him, I throw my Scabbard on the ground He trips, the Nunchuks fly out of his grasp hitting Mule Square in the temple, killing him instantly.

While still Falling to the Ground Sully quickly feels the Cold tip of my Blade, turn his guts to mush, the contest was over before it began.

I put my cigarette out in Nelly forehead and head to the bar .

WARRIORS TALE

Go Lightly

2008-11-24T09:48:00.009-06:00

This is what's remembered:

He's sitting shot-gun, doing this trick that makes the beer disappear, rapping on something in his clicky-clack't staccato. They're calling her Holly Golightly- not cos she looks like Audrey Hepburn, more cos she kinda looks like Holly Hunter. He tries to give her this line from Sep Sunday, and she goes all mental about how it isn't really applicable.

He's talking in circles, knives out, using unuseable slang to explain hisself. The new girls are wondering if he's friends with his friends for the verbal lashing he dishes down. He makes it up by saying something cute about stockinged capped jones being a winner.

She talks in music, running on sentences, hitching hold to whatever part of the conversation is dangling her way. She's pulling the party back toward the apartment. They're conspiring over cupped shaped fingers about how to get the other two to kiss; the other two kick them out so they can make-out in the renovating apartment.

He goes your less like Holly Hunter; you're more like Irene Adler. You might be the life of me. She mumbles back, I'm married.

He's walking back home; she's getting driven back to her home. His buddy drops something like you okay? And he goes, Yeah, well, I guess... What was her real name again?

Come Back

2008-11-12T17:12:00.002-06:00

If I keep holding out
Will the light shine through

Under this broken roof
Its only rain that I feel
Ive been wishing out the days

Come back

I have been planning out
All that I'd say to you
Since you slipped away
Know that I still remain true

I've been wishing out the days

Please say that if you hadn't gone now
I wouldn't have lost you another way

From wherever you are
Come back

And these days they linger on
And in the night I've been waiting for
The real possibility that I may meet you in my dreams
I go to sleep

If I don't fall apart, will my memory stay clear

So you had to go, and I had to remain here

But the strangest thing today
So far away and yet you feel so close
And I'm not gonna question any other way

There must be an open door
For you to come back

And the days they linger on
And every night when I'm waiting for
The real possibility that I may meet you in my dreams
Sometimes you're there and you're talking back to me
Come the morning I can swear that you're next to me

And its okay

It's ok...

It's ok

I'll be here
Come back, Come back

I need you
Come back, Come back

I'll be here
Come back, Come back

untouchable face

2008-11-12T07:36:00.001-06:00

think i'm going for a walk now
i feel a little unsteady
i don't want nobody to follow me
'cept maybe you
i could make you happy you know
if you weren't already
i could do a lot of things
and i do

tell you the truth i prefer
the worst of you
too bad you had to have a better half
she's not really my type
but i think you two are forever
and i hate to say it but
you're perfect together

so fuck you
and your untouchable face
and fuck you
for existing in the first place
and who am i
that i should be vying for your touch
and who am i
i bet you can't even tell me that much

two-thirty in the morning
and my gas tank will be empty soon
neon sign on the horizon
rubbing elbows with the moon
a safe haven of sleepless
where the deep fryer's always on
radio is counting down
the top 20 country songs
and out on the porch the fly strip is
waving like a flag in the wind
y'know, i don't look forward
to seeing you again soon
you'll look like a photograph of yourself
taken from far far away
and i won't know what to do
and i won't know what to say

except fuck you...

i see you and i'm so perplexed
what was i thinking
what will i think of next
where can i hide
in the back room there's a lamp
that hangs over the pool table
and when the fan is on it swings
gently side to side
there's a changing constellation
of balls as we are playing
i see orion and say nothing
the only thing i can think of saying

is fuck you...

How Can You Be Sure?

2008-11-08T11:34:00.001-06:00

i don't want you, anymore

Seen all good things and bad
Running down the hill
All so
Battered and
Brought to the ground
I am hungry again
I am drunk again
With all the money I owe to my friends

When i'm like this how can you be smiling
Saying
How can you be sure?
How can you be sure?

If you walk out the door
Will I see you again?
If so much of me lies in your eyes
I am hungry again
I am drunk again
With all the money I owe to my friends

When I'm like this how can you be smiling
saying
how can you be sure?
(I don't want you anymore)
How can you be sure?
(I don't want you anymore)
How can you be sure?
(I don't want you anymore)
How can you be sure?

I don't want you
I don't want you anymore
I don't want you
I don't want you anymore

Balddee's a Bastard

2008-10-24T10:33:00.001-05:00

the thing about dogs

2008-10-01T22:00:00.002-05:00

the thing about dogs is they can lie down anywhere and be ready to die. i mean this literally. my dog has an uncanny knack for plopping himself down in the exact place where, if i roll over in the middle of the night, will virtually guarantee his death.

he doesn't seem to mind that he's a bad dream for me from the end of it all. he likes the heat. likes to be part of the pack. so he's willing to put up with occasionally hairy moments like being launched from the bed and down to the floor if mom needs more covers. it's not clear if he understands, but it's clear he's going to be there in the mix no matter what.

i don't point these things out to show how admirable dogs can be. or to imply that they know what they're doing. i don't know if he does or not. but there's something good about having an animal that notices when you're gone. it makes sense. i don't know who first domesticated dogs but the next time i have a drink i'll try to remember to make a toast to 'em.

Depression... Blessed and you're healed

2008-09-30T22:40:00.007-05:00

Tonight fucking sucked. Twins... Twins... Twins...

First day walking through Wrig Town, jones wearing a Twins cap, offered him a beer. Bets said: This is too close to Boystown, but that's cool- jones didn't take it. Walking by the Newport on Southport, where it should be. Costellos was like that tonight.... Why? Why? Why?

Bitch Sux fans at Costellos. Cool, cool. They were at Tuman's- I was at Tuman's. I might've bought them a beer at Tuman's, while they were at the mercy of El Presidente. Before Cleo's. 2007 double header on the Southside, Morneau hits 1500 (low estimate) RBI in a double header. Best way to leave... in a sour way. Go Twins.

That perfect sunlight hits the North Side. Walking by the stadium in the winter. Touching something that is alive. Guthrie's on a cold night. Bad food, pricey beer, a porch to smoke, room enough for all your friends. Friends, friends, friends. Best times, best times, best times.

I just texted Ho: i dot thnk i couln live anyhere besides the nrthsid. These are stale cigarettes from last year. Chris texted that he's having twins, moving back to Chicago-can't get hold of him. He's teaching his kids to be Stealers fans. Please grow up Twins fans, please grown up Twins fans. Best fans in the world.

Ma is watching us do bar tricks at the Port, Irish Carbombs, and then advises where to pee in front of Northwestern Hospital park prior to going to the Blue Stem. Let me get back to St. Paul.

Ohn says something, two years ago on Marshfield, after the Bears lost, like: there is a saying we have, "There is Always Next Year". He used full caps to make it feel more poignant than the Jamison, on the rocks, Audra left an hour ago at Costellos that I drank.

Then I walked out the door.

Til next year.

Fuck.

Writing

2008-09-22T20:01:00.003-05:00

There are few things more derelict in the world than a writer realizing the entire labor is complete and utter crap. That this stupid jones has somehow strung together a semi-redundant story over now 109 double spaced typewriter pages which only seen has fit to repeat and repeat and repeat itself.

Oh for a fire, Prometheus, some wayward flame, some more poignant burn than this cigarette, something to torch it all! Would it be but better for the world never to have known them than for me to have to return to this shit; to this variable puddle of words shit onto a page that must be dealt with tomorrow.

And this isn't the most hefty of writing assignments. No dear coituser, this Friday, I'm cast as this Man of Honor in the play of my sister's wedding. Thus I find myself called upon to make a speech on marriage. This venerable institution that I find little evidence or want to believe in.

Speak. Speak from the God blessed heart. Let the heavens ring with the sounds of you solidifying all. Oh but the weight of the Morning Star is upon us all. That utterly romantic tale of being in love so much that you're blinded to love en totale.

How are we supposed to exemplify love? What is it? Love is only regret... on repeat.

Gettysburg Address

2008-09-18T22:55:00.006-05:00

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.

Gay Republicans Part 3

2008-09-04T18:48:00.004-05:00

I light a cigarette prior to explaining neo-conservatism to Balddee. While perhaps all political parties are in part to blame for the no smoking bill, at least these folks I don't mind if I offend.

"You see Bald-O," Says I, clenching down on the end of my cigarette, letting the smoke roll deliciously out my nose, "They believe in the Republican idiom of don't tread on me. Or: Don't take my money even though they're not thinking of it from the big picture."

"I don't get it." Balddee says.

"You commie bastards. You think just because we don't want to give up our money, the money we worked for no less, that we don't care. We give more money to charities than your tight liberal asses do; it's just we get to choose who we are giving our money to."

"I don't get it." Balddee says.

"So are you saying that we're supposed to trust everybody to give to charities? Like we're supposed to trust in businesses to 'Do the Right Thing'?"

"But they're gay?" Balddee says.

"Yeah, but who gives you guys jobs? You get jobs from the businesses that we give tax breaks to."

"But you're gay?" Balddee says.

"True, but that mattered something before businesses acted like they were doing us a favor in giving us jobs then started moving those jobs overseas. Not to mention that they stopped paying the 40% of the taxes that they were paying back in the 1950s. You people make everybody afraid for their jobs, instill fear in people that the government is trying to take their money rather than help them, and then tell me I'm not American because of it."

"Who are you calling You People?"

"Oh go suck a cock."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"No, because people's sexual preferences shouldn't be contingent upon their beliefs."

"Exactly. Now there is the meaning of a being a Gay Republican."

"What just happened?" Balddee says.

Gay Republican part 1

2008-09-04T13:53:00.001-05:00

There are times in history when the human condition takes a turn for the extremely odd . No one can explain when or why or how this happens but it does, you read about it in your history books , Hell it happened Nationally when Bush won his re-election all those many moons ago.
That I thought would be the last time I personally witnessed this phenomenon until Last night I leave the Political comments to Killer Smurf so I won’t go into which candidate I choose but I will talk about what the B-Love knows best the stupidity of Man /Woman ..
I am in Minneapolis/St Paul Killer Smurf dragged me here for the Republican Convention , seems Fair cause Mule and Harmon took me to the Democratic one a couple of weeks ago I am standing outside the Daddy Yankee concert that’s right little old DY is a McCain Supporter go figure ..
So there I am amidst a bunch of Scantily clad Latinas and eager young republicans ready to dance ? and Party ? Republicans REALLY ?...

Don’t worry kids I have no intention of going into this show one I can’t stand the Music and more so Whenever I see a picture of Daddy Yankee his whole persona seems to utterly asinine but as usual I digress.
Instead we head into Downtown Minneapolis cause frankly St.Paul looks like a scene from Escape from New York or some other Futuristic Movie where there is a heavily Policed State you can just see the tax dollars being tossed away to protect the one Party who has had 8 Years to destroy our Economy after a surplus.
But again I digress…

Gay Republican part 2

2008-09-04T13:50:00.001-05:00

Downtown is buzzing , Palin just got done speaking and all the young Republicans all 10 of them are fired up .
These ten young men resemble your average Frat boy, except they wear suits if there was some Magna Cum Laude pageant these guys would fit right in there amusing to watch their prancing around in a circle kind of like a Pagan Cult would dance around a raging Fire pit . But this is sad cause there is no Fire Pit just ten guys making noise while dancing around there imaginary Christian fire pit .
But the saddest thing I have ever seen not more than 10 feet away from the big group, were two guys doing their own circle dance.
I was puzzled and asked them “Hey your Group is over there” .
They smiled and looked at me and said.. “ They don’t want us in there group”
I was taken aback.
“ why ? “ I asked ..
“Cause were Gay. “ They replied .
I was puzzled then it hit me.
“ Wait your Republicans”? I replied .
They kept doing there Fire pit dance “yep” one of the guys replied.
All at once I had images of the wagon train scene from Blazing Saddles .

I began to laugh hysterically while pointing at the two outsiders grasping for air I exclaimed
“ You too are celebrating a Party that hates you are you Fucking Kidding me.” I yelled out
They stopped dancing and began to frown I could see I hit a nerve and I could sense their rage that they were going to try and unleash ..

I Have A Dream

2008-08-28T22:08:00.003-05:00

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

After the Party

2008-08-20T22:36:00.003-05:00

Peter asks her, while listening to the end of the mixtape, Is there anything more sensual than a cigarette while listening to that one song?

She was drinking wine, stoned off it. She did something else and has been calling herself Persephone all night, only speaking in syllables, No.

You see, says Peter as the last play of the night winds itself down, Everybody makes this stink about track one, side one. But if they really knew what they were doing, they'd listen to their track.

Persephone laughs, one foot in hell, I know what you mean.

Peter says, I think you're missing the point, almost.

She laughs, holding onto the word 'almost' like it's the desert after a meal she's been slighted for.

Peter sits in silence watching the television blare.

And she says, I'm not going to fuck you.

And he says, after a while, That's cool.

And she doesn't say anything, but lays back. She lets his hands fall on her. Letting his guilt fall onto her. She closes her eyes then goes, What are you doing?

Peter pulls back, feeling like the third blasphemy, lighting a cigarette: apology, apology, apology.

Persephone rings, It's okay they do it all the time.

Peter hates himself more, the couple on the porch is fighting, there is a cell phone that is floating in the rented hot tub.

Sorry.

Everybody does it.

Hanging with Harmon part 6

2008-07-11T16:00:00.000-05:00

I begin to panic... I can feel the rage taking over me all the years and Months of Anger Management being tossed to Shit.

I make another call to the only person I know who has the patience to deal with what I’m seeing Killer Smurf after a brief conversation I return to the Living room only to see Satchel , Bel and Harmon playing pass the Ball gag , yeah they were passing it too each other via mouf to mouf .

I was beside myself I yelled “I’m getting the fuck out of here this is fucked up “.

Harmon stopped and looked at me with such sadness it literally stopped me in my tracks.
“Sorry men were just relaxing before the main event “he explained.

“Main Event”? I said.

Yup he replies as he moves away from me rubbing his belly “Guess who’s bringing the Sexy? “ He shouts out and grabs the Corona from Bel and slams it down his gullet.

I hear the sound of a loud motor in the drive way I can’t believe it Mule Actually showed up. I can’t even begin to explain to you the dancing that Harmon and his crew got into all I remember is going to bathroom and staring at myself in the mirror , don’t hurt anyone man I kept thinking to myself don’t hurt anyone . In the distance I can hear Harmon and Satchel belting out Mariah Carey’s Touch my Body. I can’t take anymore of this. When I leave this bathroom they are going to die!

Hanging With Harmon part 5

2008-07-11T15:59:00.000-05:00

I felt horrible for smacking Harmon but it was the only way to wake him up from whatever he was on. You don’t answer the door dressed like that c’mon.

He began to sob this was really starting off on the wrong foot I begged him please do not start crying around me I don’t have a compassionate bone in my body to hear a Man cry it really pisses me off.

I could see the tear begging to form in the corner of his eye as his eyes began to swell I unconsciously my fist began to ball up and form. Suddenly footsteps coming from upstairs it got my attention “Who that “? II ask?

“Satchel he’s upstairs”. Harmon Replies rubbing his cheek

Now since you nice folks don’t understand the only thing that’s upstairs in Harmon’s Place is his master bedroom and his work office. He never and I mean Never lets anyone into his work office so naturally Satchel had to be in his Bedroom...

“What the fuck is going on here “! I yell out.

Nothing Satchel calmly replies

As Satchel walks up to me I can’t help but notice that he is wearing a French Maid Outfit
Unconsciously my fist starts zooming in on his head when. Yet again I hear footsteps coming from the Basement It’s Bel and he has a beer in his hand and WEARING Short shorts and a t- Shirt that reads Condoleezza the San Francisco treat .

I reach for my Phone and call Mule he doesn’t Pick up I scream into the Phone
"Get over here I’m going to Fucking kill Harmon!!! And hang up.

Hanging with Harmon part 4

2008-07-11T09:20:00.001-05:00

He says in that cliché drunken stupor that you have heard people do in countless movies. I shrug him off “Balddee”! I explain are you kidding me.
My comment pissed Mule off without another word he grabs me and pushes me to the Kitchen where I can’t believe what I ‘m seeing.

“Now do you understand?” Mule says “Harmon is the President of the Judge Dredd Movie Fan Club East Coast chapter”.
There he is Harmon, Satchel & Bel In full costume dressed as the Cannibalistic Angel Family... You remember them they were going to eat Dredd after his plane crash. (Mule caught me up to speed on all that)
Satchel is Link, Bel is Junior and Harmon is the mutated Ming.

I am disgusted, as I look around my gaze catches an enraged and Bloody Balddee staring at me from the corner of the room. I approach him cautiously and quietly ask “Why is Harmon’s finger Broken and why Judge Dredd? “

Hanging With Harmon part 3

2008-07-11T08:33:00.000-05:00

I was sitting down preparing my famous triple stack Mushroom and Cheese filled Veggie burger when the phone rang.
I really contemplated answering the phone because I needed some down time.
I should followed my instincts, I picked up the line to hear balddee telling me that I need to come over to Harmon’s, Mule and a couple of the guys from Work were there already and apparently an intervention was in order to prevent Harmon from hurting himself .
Now truth is told I can’t stand Balddee he’s a Jerk and Harmon will probably be safer with me looking out for his interest then Balddee.

I don’t even remember driving to Harmon’s I just remember knocking on his door, Mule answers the door begrudgingly he hands me an opened beer clearly he had be sipping on cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth he looks frustrated to say the least . I decline his beverage and make my way past him and continue on to the Kitchen where I hear the commotion but before I can enter Mule grabs my shoulder hey “ Fucker hold up he says you don’t want to go in there it’s really bad let Balddee deal with it “ .

Hanging with Harmon Part 2

2008-07-09T10:45:00.002-05:00

I arrived at Harmon's house around 6:30ish. Not too early so I would have to hang out that late; not too late where he would already be into some of his kinky shit. But judging by the pink hot pants, I had guessed wrong.

"So this is why you haven't been blogging lately?" I said, removing a cigarette and openly smoking in his house. A sin that Harmon largely frowned upon, and a tricky habit I usually was only capable of doing in his bathroom.

I pulled in on the cigarette, what had happened here? Why was there a ball gag in Harmon's mouth? Why were all of his fingers broken? Was one of his cruel live action role playing friends extending the boundaries of the game? Was this some sort of revenge by a co-worker making amends for Harmon's heinous gas? Or was this just some local tough that had seen a grown man wearing hot pants and decided to send a message to the rest of the neighborhood?

I thought of asking Harmon. But as I bandied about my blade watching the light catch the cold, blue steel and stream into Harmon's pleading eyes, I thought better of it. There is something simple and nice about hanging out with a Harmon that can't talk.

Hanging With Harmon Part 1

2008-07-09T09:35:00.002-05:00

Against my better judgment I decided to hang out with Harmon let me rephrase .

In a desperate move I was contacted by Harmon’s Physiatrists who then, strongly urged me to please keep an eye on Harmon as currently he was in a bad mental state .

Who am I to not help someone in need I ‘m like Mother Theresa but with Man Parts

For those of you who may not know ole Harmy you probably read about him in the paper at the Last Star Trek convention he got his beat up by trekkies for Dressing up like a Klingon / Sith Lord yep Harmon bought a Lightsaber to a Star Trek Convention.

Those Trekkies beat the crap out of him but that’s Harmon.

So where was I ….oh yeah so I show up at his place to see how he’s doing .

He answers the door wearing a Pink Charlie’s Angels Shirt , Black Spandex pants and bright red Flip flops upon seeing this my first and only instinct was to slap the shit out of him and I did .

So I'm riding up the elevator...

2008-07-03T16:07:00.004-05:00

mule - after picking up a bag of cheetos (anything to 1. rid me of this vicious vicious hangover and 2. sober me up should be roughly equated with manna from the Gods) and I have a plastic knife in my hand (because... well, why wouldn't I), when the notion creeps into my head: How many people could I kill with said butter knife prior to being stomped, restrained or beaten within an inch of my life.

This thought crossed my mind as three folk had the indecency to crowd into my elevator, and proceed to talk the entire time we were enclosed together. All three of them were older members of the human herd, and despite their age wise handicap I'm certain that one of them was some sort of Korean veteran or at least a Wiley veteran. So, essay question of Wednesday:

How many groups of three older folk (including one Korean Vets/Wiley Vet) do you think you could take, armed only with a plastic butter knife in a confined situation?

If you think you could take more than the first three, let us assume that an additional 3 would drop, a la the original Double Dragon side scrolling awesomeness, from the ceiling so you could continue. Along with that, you will not receive a new batch until justice has been dispensed on all three of a grouping.

Night Train - I think I could go until the knife breaks.

mule - I considered that, but wouldn't the butter knife then be sharper and more pointy and you would have two, and with dos deuces, the prawn cracker always wins.

balddee - WTF !!!

Unless You have spent any … amount of time researching you would have to know that For the best efficiency of said blade you would have to get some sort of edge and reinforce the blade handle with a lot of tape . I’m not clear .. Are we looking for clean kills or massive Conan style slashing ??

mule - Well, you are using a plastic butter knife so I would say massive Conan style slashing, obviously.

Harmon - will the felled bodies remain piled up on the floor, thus limiting range and access to weak points, as you move through the sets of 3? or do the new 3 drag the previous 3 out prior to submitting to plastic butter knife justice?

mule - I considered this too, because the amount of damaged goods would seem like a Denise Richard's show, but yeah, the footing would definitely play a factor. I think you have to remove the bodies, but I will give you a caveat. You have to justificate all over the current three prior to the elevator door opening, otherwise they remain on the floor while you have a new grouping of three and the time to cleanse the elevator would strike again. Thusly, if you were a slow and unsavage killer the bodies would stack up gloriously and you would probably die.

Harmon - i disagree. if you're a savvy and brilliant plastic knifesman you could (and by "you" i mean "me", because you're incompetent) drop the carcasses in such a way that would protect your exposed side whilst attacking the new set of 3. if done properly one (but not you people) could certainly route your attackers into an even more confined space, where only the business end of a plastic butterknife awaits them. it's sort of a really extreme and more amply clothed version of the battle of thermopylae.

mule - So what, Charlie, you're going to hold the carcass of some dead Korean war vet at your side while you're fighting the next set of three... That sounds like some fuzzy math and yet again, your history fails you. You're going to be expending far too much energy cord stacking old people to have enough to battle the next round.

Besides, what size space are you going for? Like the back of a Volkswagen?

Now who's incompetent... and I mean that like it's an incompliment.

Harmon - i won't be doing any stacking. i'll be attacking in a manner that will force them to fall a certain way. no extra energy used and i've made myself a meatfort.

mule - Meatfort? You can take the Harmon out of gay pride, but you can't take the gay out of Harmon. Your logic still alludes me. You're standing in a 4 x 6 box which we'll generously say it's 10 feet deep... even if you're killing them in such a manner that they stay on their feet, you're still screwed... your kung fu is weak old man. Speaking of weak: Balddee. I can't believe he went to that movie by himself, and oh, look no my phone didn't ring... and get this, they work both ways... jerk... justice will be dispensed on him after he gets back from his tiny manhood therapy session.

Harmon - the box is 4x6 but we'll generously say it's 10 feet deep? uh, no we won't. in this scenario does the 6 represent the height of the elevator? i don't know if you know this but generally when the depth is 4 feet and the width is 6 feet you wouldn't normally then expect the depth to be anything other than what you just defined, which is 4 feet. are you just adding the numbers together and hoping for the best? what year did you letter in high school for your work with the mathletes?

Night Train - Do these people ascribe to 1 particular geographic location? I reason that a chain smoking former vegas cocktail waitress will have more leathery skin, which may impede the mad slashing. You get three of those at the same time and it's game over.

Harmon - true, but if you do manage to puncture their salty hides i think they just explode into a cloud of dust, so there's a big payoff.

mule - What sort of busted ass geography did they teach you at Holy Angels High School? 10 feet from floor to effing ceiling, four feet from door to effing back wall, 6 feet from side wall to effing side wall. Notice how I through cute ephanisms for swear words in there, so you're MTV programmed mind would have the attention span to stick with the entire message. Take that Fall-out Boy!

Harmon - you're right, i'm crazy for thinking that when you say "deep" you're talking about depth, rather than height. So is Lanky Beaver33 6 feet, 6 inches deep? and, for the record, i realize that last sentence demands a dirty followup such as "in your mom" but i'm just too classy to do it.

other corrections from muley's email: I didn't go to Holy Angels, it's spelled "euphemisms", it's "threw" instead of "through" and i have never heard a fall out boy song.

mule 0 - harmayo 2 billion (rounded down).

Lanky Beaver33 - Thanks for the compliment Harm but I'm just the national average plus 3"

mule - Wow, you're deep.

You and your little Scientologist pal Night Train must be laughing all the way back to the alien space craft on this one. Are you sure you didn't go to Holy Angels? Isn't that where all you Southtown Girls go? Although I just threw my queso up through my nose at the picture of Harmayo in a cath-- ugh, there it goes again -- ish PIGTAILS... NO, Dear God No!

Harmon - i think you owe it to america to never fantasize about me in pigtails again. i mean, it's 2 days from the 4th of july, have you no patriotic pride?

mule - Oh, eff no... not, Harmayo in - [vulgar throw up sound] catholic... holy shi-- angels [barf, barf, etc. etc.] hiding [spew] behind the cap'n america shield... [mule throws up so hard he passes out] One of Night Trains' alien buddies revives him... and purges his memory of that uncontrollably evil alien... Maybe those Scientologists are okay after all. I still despise Night Train though...

Harmon - for being so horrified you certainly seem to want to keep on revisiting it.

mule - I've always hated you...

One Night at Starbucks

2008-06-26T12:06:00.002-05:00

So I finally did it!

I was bombing around the local Starbucks, inside an area Barnes and Noble, slurping down their acidically burnt coffee while putting ice on my wallet's balls after it had re-allocated funds for four new tires on the Truckzilla. I enjoy these cups of coffee with the headphones on, oversized numbers, of course, to ultimately discourage any conversation from members of adjacent tables that errantly float in my air space. It should have been good times, but as though life doesn't suck enough, this jones looks over at me, and starts walking in my direction.

A brief aside as ways of explanation to the ensuing events: high-school, my dear coitusers, was some time ago, and by and large a four year point that I have tried, through creative cocktails of alcohol, minor drugs and nicotine, to block out. But my existence with high-school and really college and, well, really life itself is this: They are best times left to themselves. When my ten year reunion rolled around I let the invitation fall stillborn from the letter carrier. It's not that I'm a snob... Well, yes, it is actually that I'm a snob, but in my defense I see all of the people from high school that I would want to see, so why do I need to see any more?

So this jones is approaching, and distant memories come un-compressed: a date at the Science Museum where my special lady friend ditched me for a romp in the wig-wam with some hockey player; my pants pulled down while looking through a telescope in science class, and the ensuing "action/reaction" of the slippery fart passing loudly between my buttocks; thousands of hours spent debating the merits of Xena: Warrior Princes over the Adventures of Hercules-- one show you're staring at the same chick every episode, the other you're staring at dudes, but they give you a different hotty almost ever week (I think there is some correlation between single life and marriage in there somewhere).

So jones goes [in a typical son of a bitch sort of way]: "Do I know you?"

Me [in a polite leave me the fuck alone]: "I don't think so, I'm usually pretty good with faces and names."

Jones [randomly bastardly]: "Roseville alum of 96?"

Me [while turning up the volume on my headphones]: "Sorry, no..."

Outside of being dumped or cheated on throughout my entire governmentally funded academic career, my only other real claim to fame was having a truly fucked up name. It is so egregious that it is capable of producing a wide array of insults and also is kind enough to work into many mnemonic devices so that it is as easy to remember as a soda-pop commercial.

So jones says my name with this proud look on his face, and a sickening sense fills the void like he wants to pull up a chair so we might effectively "catch-up".

Rather than allow him one mucky-from-condensation-from-his-frozen-latte finger from forming a beach head on my precious area of zen, I turn on the smile and say, "Oh, you're thinking about my cousin! I'm Mike from Mahtomedi. Ha, Ha, this sort of confusion is always happening. Wait until I tell my cousin about this!"

The exclamation point at the end of that statement seemed excessive, and as we both shook hands I couldn't help but wonder if I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew it was me...

And then I went back to wondering why I don't have any friends...

RECTAL JUSTICE !!!

2008-06-18T11:25:00.002-05:00

After reading the Paper or watching the Local or International news I have slowly and sadly begun to accept that evil doers really don’t get what they deserve. There is a cosmic unbalance in this world and it needs to be countered and set right post haste. There needs to be a return to installing fear into the hearts of those who seek to usurped the civil liberties of law abiding citizens what could that be?

I propose that Forced Rectal Penetration be administrated to First time offenders and Juveniles as part of a rehabilitation program. I also believe that it should be a practice in interrogating people who are accused of a crime. Why torture average American Citizens you may ask?

Why not I say!

Let’s be real we Torture people accused of being terrorists, and honestly You or someone you know(heaven forbid) would sooner have a run in with an average American Degenerate then some Guy from Guantanamo Prison OR Abu Ghraib or a Communist leader or whatever else Bush had you believe harms your civil Liberties . You may disagree I say let’s try it and see what happens.

I inspire

2008-06-10T16:03:00.001-05:00

I love New York best when I’m not doing anything ..
I am sitting outside a restaurant with a cool drink listening to a remix from Estelle, under a shaded Umbrella waiting for the waitress to bring my entrée Joining me on this Hot day in the Big Apple is Killer Smurf.
KS is not a Downtown or Uptown type of Personality and very soon I learn that it was a bad idea to invite him to have lunch with me Fucking Hippie.
The heat is downright unbearable people are crabbier then usual hell you would be too somewhere Gore is loving this but that’s not what I’m Trying to get at here.

Heat aside I for one am enjoying myself Fania All Stars begins playing and I’m reminded that the Puerto Rican day Parade will be kicking into High gear soon. My thoughts of Cuba Libres , and Mojitos are Cut short by Killer Smurf, he’s angry cause the Salad didn’t come with a tomato he starts huffing, and pouting he sits there on this glorious day forgetting the fact that he’s in a wondrous City, Beautiful Women all around literally as far as the eye can see .

Families out walking together , children eating ice cream, lovers holding hands all these things he’s missing over a tomato . I am quite glad to remind him in the most condescending tone I can muster that there is a Tomato Recall.
Veggie boy is still not satisfied.

I inspire prt2

2008-06-10T16:01:00.000-05:00

I turn my attention away from him return to people watching . My vibe is pleasant my Chi energy is as POSITIVE as I can get and that’s saying a lot kids .( read past Blogs ) KS is just rambling on about the current Political Climate Hilary this , McCain that, Obama this … I for one don’t really care at the moment , I just want to take in the sites .
But he keeps going on and on not seeing what I’m seeing even though I point out ALL THIS WONDERMENT SURROUNDING US to him He wants to complain and requests more Brussels Sprouts for his veggie Entre I can feel the rage just bubbling to the forefront when all of the sudden my thought are cut short by someone saying .

“Jezz Son Your Fucking Up HIS VIBE .” To my surprise two Elderly ladies sitting behind me had been watching our pathetic table drama unfold they were getting up to leave from their own meal and one of them placed her hand on my shoulder and thanked me for reminding them to stop grumbling and take in the beauty of their city and with that they left their tip and walked away Rare is it that I’m known for creating Warm Fuzzys . I felt invigorated
Manhattan still inspires me .

Black Balloon

2008-05-18T17:23:00.004-05:00

Several years ago VH1 launched a show where people would talk about songs that had influenced their lives, and describe the emotion they felt because of them. Before the onset, the possibilities were limitless; a show to promote real life situations and tie them to the emotion of music seemed as close to perfection as is humanly possible. But then the show aired, and put on display how shallow and boring people really are.

There is only one story that I recall from that show. One about a jones who had been dumped by his girl and Bryan Adam's song Cut Like a Knife came on the radio. He said it sucked because whenever he heard that song it would always remind him of that situation where they had been sitting in his truck and she told him she didn't love him anymore.

Several years go by and either jones has obviously moved on or stopped listening to Bryan Adams all together. He and his smoking hot new girlfriend enter the local bar and who should be there but his ex-girlfriend, and what song should be the juke box but Cuts Like a Knife. Jones says that he and his ex-girlfriend made eye contact and he just smiled at her. The circle was now complete; he had regained the song.

Now quite obviously anybody that listened to Bryan Adams obviously has issues enough. Likewise any social degenerate that carries that much animosity towards somebody for something as silly as dumping them probably should be seeing a shrink. His explanations of the song and the break-up are surely enough damning evidence to point in his ex's favor in any relationship court; especially if she would've presented evidence that he had a small penis, was terrible in the sack and she had moved on to some muscular Latino lover.

Still, it would've been a lot cooler if he would've played Black Balloon.

Black Balloon - The Kills

The Perfect Wild Rivery Storm

2008-05-05T12:32:00.003-05:00

To set this clip up it must be remembered all of the free time that we had on our hands. There were five of us living together at the time, and I think only one of us had a "real" job. Left to our own devices this is the best thing we could come up with.

Hope you enjoy,

h.

Tricia Walsh-Smith sucks

2008-04-16T15:11:00.000-05:00

Tricia Walsh -Smith has no class what so ever. If you don’t know who she is she's the Tramp who decides to flaunt her failed marriage on you tube (You tube has replaced the Jerry Springer Show in allowing Classless inbreed people a voice)
There's a place for this type of name-calling and humiliation and it begins right here in the Columns of BMC that’s right I said it. I mean C'mon clearly this Chick is looking to boost her sagging Breast and Career here’s to the sucker that's going to give her an acting job, Here’s to the Ass wipe that will defend her, and here’s to You Tube for becoming the Window to the trash of America!!
I'm not running for President anymore so I can say what I please !
Killer Smurf
oh before I Forget Special Thanks to Balddee for his assistance with the Foul Language

On an Idle Wednesday

2008-04-11T10:06:00.002-05:00

Remo came back from Mad Jacks with frosty brew in stomach, and an enlightened mind in the skull. He posed an interested question, "Given the opportunity to have sex with one woman, celebrity or otherwise, but only one woman how long would you do it for-- the caveat: after your time is up you no longer get to have sex for the rest of your life."

I thought about this with a much furrowed brow. "You mean at the end that would be it? I don't know, five years, maybe?"

Remo watched the television for a second, then offered a follow-up question, "What if you were given the option of having sex with any woman that you wanted, but at the end of the time you couldn't have sex for the rest of your life? So, for instance, you're thinking of a good looking woman and, 'BOOM' there she is waiting for you."

"Wow, the TV would take on a new version of the Home Shopping Network; live television would change as we know it."

"What's the minimum amount of days that you would do that?"

"I dunno, six months?"

"I think I would go even as low as thirty days, hell, probably a day. Think about the opportunities. And it's not like there isn't legal precedence behind this, it's not like we've actually done anything with ourselves for the past couple of years anyway."

"Oh I'd have to kill myself when it was all over. A) I would never be able to accomplish anything so great in the rest of my life, and B) What else would I try to do? Or, snap, best way to do it, bring Salma Hayek over to Balddee's house, and have your way with her."

Remo shot whiskey out of his nose and down the front of his shirt, "Balddee wants to be my dick, Balddee wants to be my dick, Balddee wants to be my dick."

"Just calling him, and asking for the name of various Brazilian girls would be worth it. Hell, for the comedic value alone I would probably be able to go for like 30 days."

Remo and I both slurped silently on our brimful of whiskys, each amassing a list in his head for how we would spend our 30 days.

Saturday Night Live -Hillary Clinton

2008-04-07T15:38:00.002-05:00

I am very disheartened to see Saturday Night Live plunge their hat into the Political Ring and endorse a Candidate. I am fairly new to the Code of Conduct for any Television Show but I thought that neutrality was the unspoken word.

This is what the Writers Strike hath rot upon the viewing public? We go months without Writers only to so see them come back and throw their Political point of view down our throats. And SNL is so scared to stand up to them cause there just happy too not Air anymore reruns. The Tina Fey Clinton stomping was cute the Counterpoint from Tracy Morgan was funny as well but enough is enough.

I want jokes not this constant feeble attempt to sway the audience with calculated Acting and commentary in Support of Senator Clinton.

As you will recall I recently put an end to my Campaign for President I had sent a wonderful 30 page get to know Killer Smurf Campaign package to SNL and you know what those Hemorrhoids Did.

THEY SENT IT BACK TO ME SAYING THEY DONT ENDORSE CANDIDATES.
Well then what the HELL ARE YOU PUTTING ME THRU EVERY FUCKING SATURDAY YOU PUNCHERED DILDOS!! BY MAKING EXCUSES FOR LITTLE OLD RAP MASTER HILLARY!!!

Sorry I'm Bitter about dropping out of the Presidential Race

Spitzer was Hung out to Dry

2008-04-03T09:25:00.001-05:00

That got your attention .
If you are new to the haloed halls of the BMC let me introduce myself.
My name is Balddee and I am the Love Guru.
In the next few days we are going to discuss Sex and America's fear of it. Why?
Because someone has to Challenge the status quote on this Subject and who better then me the Love Guru.

Compared to the rest of the World America has the most Conservative Attitude toward Sex we watch Porn in all it's various Form yet if someone is open about their desires they are Shot down faster then anybody telling Bush not to invade Iraq
(yeah I said it!!)

So what are we going to discuss the Topics will be.

· Should Elliot Spitzer have resigned for paying for Prostitution?
· Legalizing Anal Sex
· Why can’t I find a Good Brothel in Connecticut?
There will be more topics as this Dialogue continues so stay tuned .

Presidential Campaign

2008-03-28T12:16:00.000-05:00

Before I begin.
I want to thank all the Volunteers, for all the hard work, and their tireless efforts in supporting this brief but honorable Campaign .

Short lived as it was.

I believe we showed the Nation and the World what a handful of spirited individuals could achieve in such a short space and Time.

With a humble heart I step down and make way for the true candidate who will earn the Place as President of the United States.

With that said let me share with you some things

What I have learned thus Far from the 2008 Race to The White House and the Media

· Nobody takes you seriously if Hare Krishna’s endorse you.
· Mc Cain Still can’t raise his Arms.
· There are Repercussions for dry humping Furniture.
· Smoking while walking down the streets of Berkley gives one a brief glimpse into Nazi Politics (Lighten Up Guys Seriously.)
· Hillary Clinton really is a Gangster! She has her Donors Send the Heads of Horses to Nancy Pelosi to ensure her vote. Gangster
· If you play an Accordion nobody wants you in there Rock n Roll Band.
· Balddee makes a horrible Hot Dish.
· Rev James David Manning needs a Hug
· According to Fox News Obama has to apologize for any and every Single Comment that any and every single African American has to say.
· Why is nobody talking about McCain’s endorsement from Gay hating Preacher John Hagee or more important why isn’t Fox News?
· Obama.. Still sounds like a Starship Commander from Star Trek .

I dropped out of the Race but not the war.

Lucious Evil Smurf

Isaac Biachu

2008-03-27T14:53:00.003-05:00

I was thinking about that I.N.S Agent you know the one in New York who was just Busted for abusing his Authority. Don't Know what I'm talking about ?

Short Story An Immigration agent would get sex in-exchange for Green Cards . Yes. oh the horror! oh the humanity !!

But Because I have absolutely NO Class what so ever lets look at the Upside to this shall we ??

Seriously you know he had to be happy as hell to wake up in the morning and get to work he couldn't wait .

Could you imagine while brushing your teeth you spin the Globe and stop it with you finger and where your Finger Lands that's the piece of Ass your tapping ? Imagine his works Schedule
Monday : Brazil
Tuesday : China
Wed : Colombia

Say what ya want there is a bright spot this go ahead tell me I'm wrong.

Which leads me to this was he really wrong ?

Isn't there a time during your work day that you don't wish you could Meet Debbie by the water cooler for a little BJ and all you had to do is make an Office run to Staples ?
Isaac Biachu is my new hero he put's the Sle in Sleaze the best part is he got Punished with Pay talk about getting away with it all .

Conversations ~ four of nine

2008-03-20T21:58:00.003-05:00

where was I?

in the past.

how long?

as long as you needed. your childhood.

it was limited and free.

you're being poetic.

yes?

people don't talk like that.

no.

the great tragedy of modern man may be the loss of poetry in everyday language and the absence of suits and hats.

if only that were the only great tragedy.

what else is there?

war

you are not one of those people.

none of us are. until the day we are.

why?

the anger has to go somewhere.

what anger?

it's in my mind when i wake up.

don't we all have that?

whether you have it or not doesn't matter. i do.

what do you have to be angry about?

no one knows who i am.

so show them.

i can't.

why?

i don't want to surround myself with confused and angry people.

have you hidden yourself that well?

yes. dammit.

I want u !!!!

2008-02-25T12:08:00.001-06:00

Evil Smurf wants your VOTE !!

I want to toss my hat in the Political arena! Tired of the Political Right ? Tired of the Political Left ?

Tired of the fake politicians saying whatever they can to win you vote, and then once in office your needs are forgotten .

I have an exit strategy for any situation in any War torn Country that includes Iraq , I have a plan for Health Care , I have a plan to stop Cat Juggling ( Just want to see if your Paying attention. )

I have a plan that consists of a plan that includes a Solid Plan . I am the most qualified to represent this great Nation look at my competition .

Nader is Running as an Independent but he's on the Republican Payroll ( nuff said )
McCain, if someone walks up behind him he will have a heart attack. He cant fully raise his arms can you really trust someone who cant raise there arms fully ?
Barack Obama sounds like a Star Wars Character not a Predsident .
Hillary Clinton she should be running a Hip Hop Label.
Huckabee I just hear the Dueling Banjoes whenever someone says his name

My name is Lucious Evil Smurf and I want your vote

Birth of a Prophet

2008-02-21T22:58:00.006-06:00

After the blithe romance ended, we mixed Scotch and American whiskey to see the effects. A rookie, with the right intentions, threw in a pinch of Minnesota's finest shwag and we all ashed an American Spirit just to see the effect-- then we waited.

The waiting is, as always, the hardest part. What, dear reader, was the wait of mighty Zeus in observing his Athenian headache before asking the cuckolded Hephaestus for hammer and chisel to relieve the pain? Or was it even the pain that lead him to render his skull asunder? Was it the curiosity?

An area witch doctor, Hecate, who had been observing the entire proceedings with a keen interest and wary eye, finally stepped into the proceedings. Grabbing hold of the concoction, she gave it three turns, shook it, then decanted a slight bit of bile while queuing up track eight from the Screamin' Cheetah Wheelies seminal album Big Wheel.

A partial, guttural question was induced over the acrid potion- "Why is their no handicap parking at the special Olympics?" -before a glorious mist of smoke was given forth.

The office of the BMC sat in awe and mixed wonder. Not so much for the magic at hand, but with deep respect for the smoke and mirrors that causes our simplistic minds to stop for traffic accidents and the self-inflicted pain brought upon by others.

And up from the depths, 30 stories high with his head in the sky was birthed the Rehab Prophet. Critics of the BMC were skeptical at first siting the BMC's inability to accept rehab in the past (we say nooooooo, nooooooo, noooooooo). But critics agreed, an ombudsman and fellow faithless compatriot is a good idea amongst the savagry of our ranks.

Hailing from the North Country, it has been mentioned in some socialite circles that he is the illegitimate son of Ignatius J. Reilly though this has only been proved by a mutual love of Boethius. A steppenwolfe, a scholar, a creation to bring an end to to the phony hipster movement that currently blights our fair country.

The Rehab Prophet.

Mojo Rising part 1

2008-02-21T08:33:00.001-06:00

It's been a while since I graced the BMC office to be honest, I have been ashamed to show my face, once my fellow comrades read of my failed exploits in Europe the mockery was too much my trip to Europe had left me a broken man.

I did finish my trip however, I went to Paris and stayed there for the remainder of my time .

There I was walking around one the most lovely cities in the world sulking like a jilted lover my Mojo had been broken no getting around it .

But fear not your hero will prevail I am now inspired, how you may ask what shook me out of my funk ?

You can thank the Kim Kardashian Sex Tape for that there I sat, watching a dismal performance from her then Lover and then I had an epiphany .

I need to record my exploits for all the world to see .

Stay tuned kids

Sweden Pants Enjoys War, Remains Neutral

2008-02-20T20:49:00.002-06:00

War? A war! I wasn't aware of a war! I've read the postings of the first two days though, and find myself conscious. Perhaps if I were in the metro area with all you lads I could join the allies. The fight of a sedentary unsummer lifestyle is testing my belt and you gentlemen have the right idea. Bully! As it is, maybe I'll up the defenses in the Lakes Area?

Let me introduce myself; I'm a friend of H.'s from Duluth. I think that I know other contributorz too, but I'm not 100% sure. I've been reading this blog for a while and enjoying it. I'll check back frequently throughout this war and maybe write an outsider's perspective based on the bloggy dispatches from the front. "The Red Sweatpants of Courage". Forgive me a double pun upon the idea of sweat pants, but I really think that humor can be sustained here. Be good.

Into the future. . .

Day 2 of the 100 Day War

2008-02-19T11:11:00.002-06:00

It is another cruel day in Minnesota. After a warm-up granted a simple reprieve, Winter has re-emerged from its' bivouac to re-declare the battle. There is something mildly depressing towards the thought that 27 degrees is warm, but right now it is this side of paradise.

With the temperature dropping back down to a balmy seven, and the wind chill assisting with spiraling negative delirium, any sojourns into the hinterland for purposes of the 100 Day War were left to the treadmill in the basement.

Ah, the sweet bliss of the treadmill! Walking in one place for forty minutes on end, and not moving anywhere; that swayful sea-sickness of leaving it, that feeling as though you are moving at a million miles per hour yet still standing still. But first there is the epic battle to correctly adjust the height, a battle I lost yesterday, and thus was unable to work-out. In retrospect, it might have been one of the finer ab workouts my body has ever has had as the derivative of curse words that were hurled towards the treadmill were both numerous, loud and not prone to let this person breathe.

Instead Sully and I went and grabbed a beer at the new hangout, then went grocery shopping.

Grocery shopping after a beer is a fine thing. Between the exposure to the elements, the lack of dinner and the soothing elevator music there is the manic need to get in and get out with as little time involved as possible. Booze is not like other, more illicit drugs that give a man time and pause to wonder over the certain merits of the word "rutabaga", nor wanton dropping to one's knees to give thanks at the snack food isle before turning into a complete savage and purchasing the entire stock. No booze dresses you up, gets you in and gets you out.

Other Items:

Sully did want to add to his work out regimen the following announcement: That along with only doing weight lifting he will NOT be doing any cardio workouts nor stretching prior to.

The official first weigh in:

Greggy's weighed in at 261, and has added a new caveat to his 100 Day War goal: Being able to dunk a basketball.

Sully came in at 196. His side goals are: run 3 miles in 25 minutes.

Jord is 206 though most of that is probably his jerk weight. He has no side goal, but he could improve his attitude.

Consumed yesterday:

Peanut Butter and Jelly toast (with Vegetable Juice)
Rice and cheese tossed in a barbecue sauce
Bean, cheese, broccoli and tomato Burrito in a spinach wrap (beer)

Day 1 of the 100 Day War

2008-02-18T11:15:00.002-06:00

Past Diet:
Salt Bagel with plain cream cheese from St. Paul Bagelry (Cup of Coffee, Gatorade)
1/3 pound pepper jack cheese burger from Champps (consumed over two sittings) with, of course, fries and the seasoned sour cream (bloody mary, several Guinnesses)

There is nothing that makes a person cringe more than discussions and blogs about losing weight. Somewhere down the road, when our lives are put into perspective there will be ill feelings of contempt and subtle hatred for those that have polluted the net with the trials and tribulations of their slim down programs.

And with that in mind, BMC is proud to announce the first ever Slim Down Program! A 100 Day War of epic proportions pitting friend against friend, cunning against guile, and sheer sweat and determination against the laziness that plagues our everyday lives.

This is a statement borne out of the sheer inactivity of four former high-school Jerks (not quite Jock, not quite Nerd but somewhere in between = Jerk) who seek to find themselves in better condition, and not the slobs that make up the lowest denominators of society. Years from now (well, probably not) scholars will ponder how this conflict began, but even as we stand on Day One of this savage conflict there is no one to blame... but ourselves.

While watching the finale last night, Greg, Sully and I exchanged texts to see how much of a head start Greggy would need to keep American Gladiator's Eliminator competitive between him and his wife; the panel roundly agreed upon 30 seconds, and even then he would need to have the run of his life. Not that anybody else in our little quartet would have a shot at beating her, but... Greg's goal is to drop about 15 pounds.

Greg's tactics: A hybrid of jogging and weight lifting.

Being in relatively good shape with none of the vices supported by the rest of the group, Jordan is, more or less, along for the ride. He brings a competitive spirit and severe acts of spite. A father to be, his motivation seem stringent upon personal betterment and being a complete asshole. Jordan's goal is drop about 10 pounds.

Jordan's tactics: Being a complete asshole and playing more World of Warcraft to displace need for food. (Actually, I can't back any of this up. He's being very closed doored, and strictly hush hush on his work out and self improvement regimen. Therefore being a complete asshole is only being surmised by this writer despite the more or likeliness of it being true.)

Sully, is the only one trying to put weight on. Having the sort of body where it looks like a hot shower would cause him to lose weight, Sully has been in the position of trying to add muscle to himself for the past ever. Prone to wearing girlie shirts that are a size too small in an attempt to give him a more robust size, Sully's reward for completing the 100 Day War is to buy new clothes. Sully's goal add 6 pounds.

Sully's tactics: Russian Bear, lifting and ogling Arnold Schwartzawhatever.

My participation is the next logical step towards becoming some sort of sainthood. With quitting accoutrements, cutting back on the booze and resolving not to talk to women for a year, the only other logical thing to further cut out of my life is food. My goal is to drop about 10-12 pounds.

My tactics: Jogging and eating correctly. May turn bulemic if necessary to beat Jordan.

The results from the initial weigh in should be coming through this evening, then the game shall be completely under way.

Strange Tidings from the Woman's Bathroom

2008-02-11T16:09:00.000-06:00

It is not often bizarre for me to have the trust and confidence of women over their bathroom escapades. Perhaps this is my non-threatening, asexual nature, or my love of good/bawdy humor, or maybe it's just the fact that I have a propensity to wander around, and these are stories that need be told.

Stories that have been told to me in the past:

The hygenical means and non-dietary uses of baking soda
What really happens with soiled feminine napkins
Women's secret fears of others knowing that they are pooping, and how they will go so far as to catch stools in attempts to avoid a splash

While walking back into the office this afternoon I bumped into Katie, the new BMC intern, that quickly sped by me with her arms folded.

"Are you cold?" I asked, more out of politeness and as a rhetorical question-- the temperature here continues to hover around negative ten with a windchill approaching death.

She unfolded her arms and came back to me, speaking in a hushed whisper loud enough for everybody to hear. She spoke, "No, I didn't want you to shake my hand. I just went to the bathroom, and -- I don't know who it is -- but that was the worst smell I've ever come across."

"Like farting?"

"Yes!"

"Hangover or Fast Food?"

"It was like something that I've never come across before. It was a combination of both of those along with a third element. Maybe a condom fart?"

My Adam's apple bobbed to force the vomit back down. I attempted to lighten up/end the conversation, "Maybe you should go grab one of the respirators, go back in there so you can, you know, finish tidying up?"

She looked around her before commencing, "I think some of it seeped into my clothes."

I edged away.

Now there are strange things we come across in the human experience, the Freak Show complex being one of the most subtle and hardest to ignore. It's a simple thought process that bores into the brain where nasty, disgusting and often embarrassing things enamel themselves to the core of our being and makes it so that we need to blow somebody else's candle out so ours shines that much brighter.

And so, as I wandered into a break room to buy her a can of V8 (honestly, this was not for the potential humor that was involved with it, it's because I couldn't get my hands on the gasoline that we keep locked up here, and the fact she needed to douse herself in something.) I heard the door to the woman's bathroom open, and I paused.

I knew that I could go into the break room, hide myself there so that I wouldn't be able to see the shame of the person that emerged from their den of filth. I could even, maybe, crack the door open or stand there long enough so a sideways glance could be thrown, and I could see who the perpetrator of the nastiness was.

Or I could just turn around, jaw agape and let my basic, stupid instincts take over.

Which I did.

There are several happy poop dances. As alluded to in previous articles, I grew up raised by and large by dogs. Having said that I consider myself to be a bit of an officianado when it comes to the delicate footwork that comes with such glee.

And there, dancing in front of me was Ellen, my employer. Strutting her stuff while careening through the air. She caught sight of me mid pirouette and came to a stop, adjusted her pantsuit (which in a disgusting moment I found myself contemplating: had touched the bathroom floor) and walked back down the hall to her large office.

In this day and age it is difficult to come across such joy as the poop dance, or the reward of having accomplished or made something with you day. It is high time that we all cut the poop dancers some slack and let them have fun they so richly deserved.

To White Castle and then the Bar!!

At the Caucus

2008-02-06T09:43:00.000-06:00

There is magic in the air, and the notion that what we are doing is right is palpable at every instant. The crowd waits in line with the crackle of sheer electricity flying through us. After three long years -- seven if you want to be technical about it -- we are making a difference; change is finally at the forefront.

The throng of people, semi-confused by where they are supposed to be, smush together. Neighbors exchange nervous chatter as we wait to see how the caucus works. At last papers are signed; volunteers have run out of the official form so people are putting their name and address on blank sheets of paper.

Tonight it is Mom, Dad and I making the trip back to my old high school. Despite the fact that I have lived at six or seven different addresses (plus a couple of states) over the past two years, I still have yet to change my legal address. So tonight I go home and vote with my parents.

The three of us are in agreement to vote for Barak. Mom has a more defensive stance as she feels he represents the best chance of winning; Dad likes him more for his charismatic nature, and the fact that he could unite the country. Over a dinner of overly done pot roast we have discussed his takes on Health Care, his values and his past voting record-- is there any time better to be a political junkie then now; it's basically on par with spring training being over, and going to the ball park for Opening Day.

The line of cars to reach the caucus started half a mile away. By the time we find parking spots people are walking out; knowing, friendly smiles are exchanged with these veterans. The ability to participate in our civil and democratic duty has never tasted so sweet.

Four years ago, Minnesota had 50,000 people, across the state, come out to vote. Tonight DFL'ers were hoping to have 100,000. In all actuality the total amount of people would more than double that. Crossing the threshold of my high school, which typically sees graduating classes around 500 kids, will be over 20,000 people. My Dad had wanted to be part of the actual caucus, but by the time we enter the classroom we see that the entire room is swamped, and we won't be able to sit down.

Despite the fact we are only forty-five minutes arriving after the caucus officially opened, an exasperated woman informs us that they have run out of the formal voting ballots. Instead we are given little squares of paper (Ma, was quick to notice that they at least had patriotic red, white and blue stars on them) to write in the name of our choice for the next President. A few quick strokes with a pen and the name is slipped into a cardboard shoe box with a slit cut into the top-- after thanking the woman behind the counter she told me it was my perogative whether I folded my ballot or not.

These past years, it has been easy to be discouraged over America, and the direction that we've been headed. Tonight, seeing this many people instills a sense of pride in our democracy. That there is still something good, that there are still people that believe, that what we're doing is worth fighting for.

A single vote may not seem like it matters much, but tonight we are an army.

Blue Balls from London Conclusion

2008-02-01T10:49:00.000-06:00

Marcy again takes advantage of my situation and makes another swing at my Manhood .
" What the Fuck is wrong with you!" I yell out

"Oh your little friend told us everything " Marcy screams as Barry and Stacy keep her off of me.

With that Marcy lets me know that Barry in passing told them both my true reasons for visiting London .

I'm enraged, more importantly I am in Pain, Frantically I make my way for the door Once I'm free I fall to the Floor there I lay crying, my balls are on Fire I lay on the floor in the middle of there hallway with my pants down to my ankles and my Cock totally exposed I am ashamed, I just lay there still erect and sore it could get worse. Someone could walk into the Hallway see me, then call the cops then I would truly be Fucked I couldn't run it took all I had just to make it out the door well at least I'm free from Marcy Kung fu Kicks .

I pass out ..

Blue Balls From London part 7

2008-01-24T08:57:00.000-06:00

I am caught unawares .
" Your going to try and have me be your little British Conquest I know what your game is you Fuck you think your on some Fucking sex tour! "

She says in a firm and mean tone .

I feel the blood leave my face I have to try and salvage the situation .
" I'm just visiting I didn't mean to offend you. " I replied

"You dirty little Fucker!" she gets up and without missing a beat punches me dead on in the Dick !!

I fall grasping for air "You Stupid Bitch !!"I yell out holding my head, then my Cock NOT KNOWING WHICH ONE TO COMFORT And within seconds she kicks at it again and grazes the shaft with her foot.
I scream in pain Barry and Stacy Rush out of the Bedroom naked " What the Fuck !! Stacey screams

Sarsaparilla Cowboys

2008-01-23T11:19:00.000-06:00

Quitting smoking before his ten year reunion is something Miguel considers the biggest regret of his life. He began smoking in order to hang out with the cool kids in high school; what sort of holier than thou attitude does it take to stop four days prior to seeing them again? Also, there would be nothing finer than drowning this stress for arriving unadorned, unemployed and broken-up to the social event of the season, than the silky, sweet inhale of that cigarette.

Towards the door, a cloud of smokers stand, smoking gloriously, in the frozen sub zero temperature. He leaves the car running, warming his gloveless hands by cupping them and exhaling warm, humid air.

His motivation rapidly eroded forty minutes ago when Elisabeth called telling him she wouldn't make it-- "The sitter didn't show up; I'm so sorry. Max, went out with some friends and I can't get him home. Go, though. If I get a hold of Max I'll see if he'll come home, and I'm trying to find another sitter, it's just that it's late. I really want to be there with you."

Fucking Max. Fucking Fuck that Fucking Fucker.

Miguel eyeballed the highway again, looking North then South for a gas station that he could purchase a pack of cigarettes. His mind slipped from gear to gear, and he changed the radio station to sort himself out. A country song came on that solidified the moment.

Mindy O'Neal, of the more popular girls, walks by the car, peaking her head in and doing an awkward wave. Time has passed so that the stratification of popularity has been destroyed; still Miguel knows his place well enough not to do more than wave back. With a certain air of satisfaction he notices that Mindy has put on weight; with an air of loathing he figures it is probably from having children or doing something meaningful with her life.

Miguel drums his fingers against the steering wheel, before taking out the phone to stare at it again. He types out another message of guilt and grief, then folds it back up without sending it. He looks at the bar, and changes the song on the radio again.

You are Beautiful In the Morning

2008-01-22T10:54:00.000-06:00

There are few finer things than those dewy first drops of morning. Waking up to that feeling of warmth and excitement, blue skies, possibilities and love all around. Sheer bliss, and that raw sensation that you are part of everything.

The opening aria to this beautiful life: a loved one sitting with you at the table, doing the daily crossword puzzle together over coffee while the rest of the house sleeps. The new dog coming up and nuzzling you under the arm for attention, temporarily breaking you away from the paper to look down and address her. The knowledge that there is good in the world, and that there are things that are worth fighting for.

Perhaps these are the delusions that go through the mind of Republicans, and what allows them their unique take on social and fiscal matters.

For the rest of us there are four degree below air temps and negative 25 windchill. Stale toast that you fought the mouse of the house over, and are still not convinced it was a fight worth winning. A check engine light merrily winking from the dash of your truck, and the eerie reality that your only reason to have left bed, and face the raw morning is to go to work.

These sorts of mornings beg for a hangover or something that would at least set the bar for a low point to to the day. Instead there are just morning people. They pop up out of nowhere, spewing their well wishes and morning inquiries to your previous night's engagements. These foul creatures will attempt humor and even use a thoroughly unnecessary high pitched voice-- they may well even laugh.

I'm not saying they should all die. I'm only saying that we should make broad new social policies that specifically dictate where and when they can talk. If this becomes too difficult perhaps we should move them all to one centralized location, like North Dakota. Because anybody that can be happy in the morning will surely be happy anywhere.

These Highschoolers Think I'm Homeless

2008-01-16T10:50:00.000-06:00

The Starbucks on Fairview and 36 has become haunted by high schoolers. These are the high end models made self-important by mall-purchasable-only attire. These are not normal High schoolers who stay home from Prom, and leave gross messages detailing sexual positions that attendee's, of the dance, parents are doing whilst they are out. No, these are the fucking cool kids. And it is for this reason, dear Coitusers, that I believe they think I am a homeless person.

As you have read in the past, my general apparel is taken from a little known faction of fashion known as "Hangover Chic". The "Basic Look" requires jeans washed within the past month, hooded sweatshirt and a sensible t-shirt with little to medium stainagt; in essence, hipster before people began paying money to look like they weren't paying money, and the hipster look became immediately purchasable.

Studying has ensued to learn more about these pretty people. These common observations develop a hypothesis that everyday grooming and the monetary and time amount spent upon attire leads to a mate; a self evident point as all of the individuals here, on a Tuesday night no less, are ringed by a member of the opposite sex-- in fact one has had the audacity to bring in flowers. Flowers in the middle of winter!

Truly these are fucking high schooler 2.0. These aren't the kids that listened to the 'Mats or the Pixies, or still remember the time Abby Bleaker came over and squished onto a too crowded couch for the entire duration of Benny and June. No these are Frankenschoolers, built for only the operation of getting sex, living off their parents income and eventually having jobs where they will be my boss.

There is no comeback for these fools. There is no dark alley where a switch blade could be drawn, and a throat could be slashed. These are modern times where Jets and Sharks no longer exist, and a more modern caste system has been developed, by parents, to ensure nobody gets hell beat out of them. It probably is forward thinking, but looking out at all these damn fools sitting around me I envy them not-- or maybe I do.

The Sad Puppy Complex

2008-01-15T10:29:00.000-06:00

As though my sister life wasn't difficult enough, my parents, as of late, have decided to set her up with a boyfriend. This should be all well and good, and in most circles demonstrates a firm bond between parents and daughter. However, while the gesture is sweet, the real problem with it is my parents infatuation, bordering on religion, with the Sad Puppy Complex.

The Sad Puppy Complex would be an easy enough psychological development to blame on my parents affinity for dogs-- and in many ways it would be a correct assumption. The dogs that have often graced the family household have been the puppies that hide in the corner, or the ones that look particularly sad, pathetic and/or neurotic.

Feona, the current occupant of this position, has all of these emotions down in spades. In fact she is so good she has successfully guilted her way into my parents heartsfar more readily than either my sister or I have enjoyed over the past several years. News on whether my parents have amended the family will to now include Feona has been spotty at best, but a rare Kersto-Hanslican truce may be in development after thirteen years of animosity.

But this is not where the Complex stops. Dad shows his dependancy with a need to swap cars every few years. This is not based on the fact that he wants a new one, rather it is a matter of necessity for him to find one that still runs. His latest vehicle of choice is a Nash Rambler that has no heat, no shocks and an engine that will start only when it's daily breakfast of oil is dangled over its' head. Mom too is not immune. On a recent trip to the grocery store she informed me that she needed cheese. After much hemming and hawing she eventually landed on the most beat up block, telling me that she felt sorry for it.

And so it came as no surprise when my parents brought my sister home a boyfriend. I still don't know his real name, but his level of nicknames has evolved thusly: Chuckles begat NAAd (Non Amusing Anecdotes) begat Ironhead begat Puddin' Head begat Butters. Butters, I'm all but certain, is a nice guy who means well it's just he has little if no ability to socially interact with the outside world.

Case Study #1

Tact

I have often espoused the merits of having any individual show up with booze to be drunk by all [sic me]; this most primative of e-thoughts is what makes this all the more painful. On the night of December 31st, Butters shows up at my sisters house with a case of beer and several bottles of whiskey. Not really having known this young man I willingly accepted the gift, but did so with mixed emotions: what was his motivation in trying to get into my good graces, did this person want to involve me in a heady conversation. Only later did his reasons become apparent; Butters was trying to get me drunk so that I would pass out and he could pork my sister. He, however, had stepped into the wrong dojo...

Case Study #2

He is not funny... really not funny...

This one is more egregious. I still don't know which hell it was that my parents picked Butters up from; my good friend Ohn, a scholar of Chinese Hells, informed me it was probably the Hell of Upside Down Brains. Butters demonstrates this by not being able to come up with jokes. In a sad twist of mental engineering irony, Butters is capable of recognizing points in a conversation when a witty aside could be included however he lacks the mental resolve to say something funny. He still attempts to chuck something up there however it only acts as a conversation killer-- mysterious and silent is not something Butters understands.

Did Butters pork my sister... yes. Did I respond to this in a mature manner by banging pots and pans together at 4 in the morning... yes. Did I make sure that all members were up at 7 in the morning to make me breakfast... yes.

In America, dear Coitusers, we are trained to believe in the little guy, that we actively want him/her to win; the American Dream is our destiny and one day we'll all have happiness and success, and perhaps within all of that is where the Sad Puppy Complex thrives truest. Is it wrong; who is to say. Is it right; most likely not. Still, if it helps you get laid, even at the expense of it being my sister, I think you still have to salute it.

chapter nineteen

2008-01-14T23:28:00.000-06:00

“If that bitch wouldn’t have shot me he wouldn’t have been that much of a bitch. I must be slipping.” Said Balddee releasing the creature at last.

“How do we move him? We only have two minutes and sixty-six seconds to get him into the hole.” Asked Satchel or Bel.

“Maybe he’ll follow the music?” replied Bel or Satchel.

Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah’s Satan Said Dance came on, and the group made a processional through the office. The creature, moving in a funeral like dirge, followed the music; the rest of the group walked behind.

They reached the cleaning supply closet and entered. Balddee stooped and threw his whole back into lifting the heavy iron door that covered the hole from whence the creature had come.

There was a grunting from behind them as the creature played his final savage card. All the creatures had re-awoken. Moving slower than they had before, and with no life left in their eyes; they stumbled down the hall towards the small group.

“Thirty seconds.” Satchel or Bel cried out. “What the fuck are we going to do with all of them?”

“Try throwing things at them?” Balddee answered, flexing his arms as he sweated the giant door.

Balddee yelled one final time and the iron door opened. “In the hole, ugly.”

Satchel or Bel threw the stereo into the hole where the creature complied, and finished his slow sad march into the hole.

An alarm sounded indicating that the time was up. Their was a scream of rage from inside the hole then the thud as the iron door clanged shut.

Then more thuds as the group behind them collapsed– their connection broken. Dead Dirty Orpheus, the last and final connection, letting out a final gasp of anguish.

“I guess their shit was weak.” Satchel or Bel exclaimed.

The four remaining survivors looked down at the wreck of the office, the barricade that held in front of Harmon’s, the pile of dead bodies who were twisted into various shapes, the emptiness of it all.

chapter eighteen

2008-01-07T23:12:00.001-06:00

There was a moving picture playing before Dirty's eyes. Not in dull black and white like his usual wants or desires; this played in front of him in visceral color where everything was touchable, everything was within reach.

The hold loosened on crude reality, and he drank in the sweet nectar of It. He cupped his hands around the base of the jaw leaning in, cocking his head. He felt the thickness and weight of hair, the lips parted smile which closed as he moved in for that one and most important first kiss.

He watched Balddee rush into the room. Saw in slow motion as Balddee, now framed in a bleeding sepia photograph, grab and try to stop a hand posed above his chest. Then he watched Balddee's grip loosen and the hand plunge into him wrenching out his heart.

The heart is such a simple thing, the size of a clenched fist. And he laughed to himself, he thought he'd already given that away.

Balddee’s answer is too loud, too guttural to understand. Dirty felt the creature reaching out to Balddee. Reminding Balddee of a party where the steaks were under done, but everybody he cared about was there, and how Baldee chased people around with a chef’s knife.

Dirty and the creature looked over at the face of Balddee to see a face not of happiness but of anger and rage.

The creature became angry at Balddee for not wanting to be happy, and Dirty felt an intense need to kill him.

The sepia faded away as noises return. The world became faster, sharper. “Two minutes and thirty seconds! Balddee how much longer can you hold him?”

“Eighteen seconds.”

The power coursed through Dead Dirty’s body and it reached for whatever weapon is available to him.

Satchel or Bel, the one not holding onto the radio, noticed, “Pedro, Dirty! He’s coming back to life!”

Dead Dirty felt Pedro’s claws scratching at its’ face, its’ eyes. It heard the time being yelled again: “Just ten more seconds!”

It ripped Pedro off of its’ face and grabbed hold of Balddee’s arm intent on rendering it from his body.

“Five seconds!”

It noticed, too late, that Balddee had relaxed his grip and felt the crushing elbow thunder down, breaking its’ nose. Then everything stood still again and its’ arms felt chained to his sides.

“That should be it.” Satchel or Bel said, looking curiously at Dead Dirty.

“Good,” said Balddee. “Last things last though.”

And Balddee picked up the knife that Marjorie had fallen on; it had become re-exposed during the fight. He picked up the knife and Dead Dirty felt it plunge into his chest through the place that his heart used to be.

Then all went black.

Blue Balls From London Chapter 6

2008-01-07T11:47:00.000-06:00

She takes the lead I do nothing but submit to her advances finally she tells me to undo her Bra I begin to show attention to her breast I lick and suck them she can feel me throbbing through my pants her moaning gets me going she grabs and loosens my belt buckle shoves her hand down the front of my pants and proceeds to caress my Manhood.

I become engorged her perfume is faint yet pleasant I nuzzle her cleavage, I move my hands underneath her underwear and begin to stimulate her .

This is where it all went wrong .she moans grinding on my hand
So .. so your leaving for Paris? " she whispers through heavy breathing ."
Huh ? I replied
Sharply and very suddenly, She stops all movement I freeze confused by her sudden withdraw .
" Is there something wrong ?" I say grasping for air
"So what kind of girl do you think I am ." she yells out

Blue Balls from London chapter 5

2007-12-31T11:07:00.000-06:00

They have a nice Apartment, I make the usual pleasantries nice place ECT, and then we begin again to more small talk. " You want something to drink" Marcy asks
"Yes Thank you " I reply.
She makes her way to the fridge and grabs me a beer in the mean time Stacey turns on some music "Goldfrapp ok?" She says " fine with me “ I replied.

It's clear they are the seductresses there timing, smooth, flawless it's exciting but also kind of eerie you know like when you watch a scary movie the Vampires ease there victims into a false sense of relaxation then they fuck em up it's kind of like that I try to make eye contact with Barry but Stacey has him in her power he cant take his eyes off her.

The song starts a mellow number it adds to the dim lit living room and to the now heightened sense that there is nudity coming, you don’t know when, but you must be ready for it. Stacey makes her way towards Barry and they begin their own Conversation.

Marcy stands in front of me holding a beer with a shrewd look on her face she starts.

"So ". She begins " I forgot to ask how long are you in London?"
(Looking back I should have kept the conversation on her cause this Question would come back to me as the deal or no deal breaker.)
I respond " 4 days then I'm traveling to visit more friends in Paris”. (ARGHH YOU IDIOT!!! WHY DID YOU SAY THIS!! )
Stacey and Marcy make eye contact and I swear you can see the night unfold with just that glance.

Marcy gently faintly , touches the side of my face " Let me show you something." She whispers.
As if on cue without any hesitation as though they had planned there moves Stacey takes Barry by the hand "C'mon you, let these two get acquainted." She snaps out
And they make there way out .

Music Playing wea re still we know what's going to happen I can see here make the choice to let me in suddenly in the Background we hear Stacy moaning followed by Barry .
That was all we needed to hear .

Our eyes meet this is part, I know I can play , she leans in we kiss , short soft kisses the kind that say " Hello I'm nervous about this but if you act right we can proceed further " I oblige this is what I was made for ..

I take control slowly stroking her hair letting her know I will take my time until she feels comfortable we Kiss again this time longer, I feel her let go she takes control holding my head, slowly and softly opening her mouth to see if I will catch her vibe I'm there, she wants to feel embraced not just fucked by a stranger.

We kiss in this fashion for hours it seems, I only take the lead if an advance is given, by this time she has straddled me I hold her firmly she begins to grind finally another chapter .

BlueBalls From London chapter 4

2007-12-20T11:51:00.000-06:00

So on and on the night goes by and not a bite yet a lot talk but it’s all in passing.
Finally I’m introduced to some more ladies Lets call them (Stacey and Marcy) and they are just what doctor ordered Marcy is hot sandy brown hair ample cleavage not a lot of make up and above all she’s wearing a Cowgirl hat Yee fucking Haw

By this time my need to seal the deal has met it’s zenith, I take this time to reflect I don’t know what the fuck was wrong with me I couldn't’t calm down that night.
Amsterdam reaped it revenge my Confidence was my undoing I found a place to gather my senses took several deep breathes and returned to the battle by this time I could sense Barry was in Mack Attack mode he sensed there was a disturbance in my force and like any good wing man would do he covered for me until I could get my shit together,I could not let his diligence go to waste.

I smile and re-entered the conversation again, it starts off with the same questions which by this time I'm at peace with myself I am refocused my mission is clear. I set my attention to Marcy I flip the Balddee interrogation and presume to question her instead Let the interest in Marcy conversation begin (I’m such a jerk)
I ask her to dance Cowgirl, is a great dancer so this time I give a lot more this is a One on One game, Barry and Stacey have abandoned us that is the sign for hey there probably gonna fuck tonight what say you and I give it a go?

After dancing to what seemed the longest mix in history I get a tap on my shoulder its Stacey.
" Let's get out of Here! " she yells out.
I smile leading Marcy ahead of me we make our way back to the bar I turn to Stacy with a shy smile I ask
" What's the Plan."
"Finish this first. " She says
She grabs her shot glass and slams it, we all follow suit after the slamming of beverages we make for the door. We say our goodbye's, nice to meet you, catch you later , to various people head for the stairs and.

Finally were out of the Club we clear the clutter of hang abouters and get to a space where we can formulate what I hope in details a someone riding me hard evening.
I light up a Cig and repeat my previous unanswered question
" What's the Plan.? "

Stacey is the navigator so I ask her while I smile at Marcy
"Our Place” she says .

Blueballs from London chapter 3

2007-12-19T12:13:00.000-06:00

I make my ways downstairs and I can hear the music pumping in the distance, I let Barry take the lead it’s clear he has hunted these halls before.
I take his signals and I snap out of my day dreaming game face on.

We enter, and it’s loud bodies moving in a hypnotic excuse the cliche but trance we make our way thru the crowd and set up shop close to the bar. Barry knows a gang of people and it feels like the first 2 hours consist of me shaking hands, Nodding hello and giving kisses to various girls, who all tell me they Loooovve Barry he’s such sweetie ect all this is fine but which one of you can I bend over is all I kept thinking, calm yourself Man I thought this isn’t Amsterdam the time will come be patient she hasn’t been spotted yet.

I do a lot of talking I explain what I do for a living, what lead me to visit Barry, how long have Barry and I been buddies , a lot of wasted conversation but what are you gonna do ?
I mean don't get me wrong I like the friendly conversation but not right now !

Nothing good can come from this and in my experience the general outcome of these conversations usually ends in lets go somewhere after the Party not to Fuck mind you It leans toward the I want to learn more about You area which is fine as well but I’m on mission. Someone must get done!

chapter seventeen

2007-12-18T17:35:00.000-06:00

Bel or Satchel looked at everybody else and spoke, “What do we do now?”

Balddee had two fists rolled on the desktop of Dirty Orpheus’ desk. His brow furrowed then relaxed as he looked up at the rest of the group, “We need to separate. It is the only way to find the creature.”

The other member’s shoulders sank. Pedro, ever the inquisitive cat, toyed with a piece of paper that had fallen on the floor. He flipped it open, then scratched at Dirty’s leg.

“Not now Pedro.”

Pedro continued to scratch, lifting the piece of paper up; Dirty sighed then picked it up.

He read through the letter twice before handing it to Balddee, “This must’ve been where the creature came from.”

“Who the fuck is Bob from Pequot Lakes?”

The group left the office and walked through the dark hallway to the cleaning room where, with the help of Pedro's cat vision, they discovered the small trap door though they did not open it.

“Well, this explains something.” Balddee said, his dark complexion tying knots in the muted light.

“It gives us somewhere to put it.” Dirty offered.

A pause fell over the group until Bel or Satchel spoke, “But it doesn’t change anything; we still need to separate to draw it out.”

Balddee sighed then spoke: “Everybody go to an office, not your own. If this thing wants us to be friends it’s better if we’re not close to things that make us feel comfortable-- keep your wits about you.”

The group broke and Satchel or Bel stumbled into Dr. Gonzo’s office toying with a boom box liberated from one of the intern’s desks. On the event of the creature’s appearance, the play button was to be pressed and the creature attacked.

The window looked out towards the East, the rain continued to fall in great sheets onto St. Paul. The Cathedral stood as a mirage; an unreachable safe haven. The office was quiet, peaceful. Any other afternoon this tranquility would’ve been a welcome sound from the muddle of noises and exclamations that littered the hallways of BMC headquarters. But now Satchel or Bel wanted it back, all the noises and happy rage.

“Dirty!” Balddee’s voice carried, “Everybody to Marlon’s office.”

Blueballs From London Part 2

2007-12-18T08:49:00.000-06:00

So with all that said I met up with my buddy lets call him (Barry) short background on Barry. His family moved to London from the Caribbean when he was 8 that's all you need to know, we meet up at a watering hole near his Apartment or is it Flat?

Hugs and greetings are exchanged I am happy to see him (Look at that ole B-love has a kind streak) we shoot the Willie Bobo you know, when you ask about families, work, ECT then I get to the point.
I explain my reasons for visiting and what I hope to accomplish he laughs shaking his head.
He pulls out his phone and checks his calendar “ we will give this a go you free tonight“ he says .
Barry is the perfect wing man fearless and confident always keeping his eye on the hunt, while I tend to go for a GQ Smooth look he has the Urban Downtown Chic thing going on, he could fit in where ever we counter balance each other perfectly .

I’m informed that were heading to Bloomsbury tonight to a little house gathering and if that don’t work The End ((that’s a Club in case you were wondering)
I wont talk about the house gathering cause it was just a Meet and Greet there were a lot of people there but it would take a lot of work to get one of ladies there to drop her trousers, and I have a mission to accomplish the best thing about Barry is he is Plugged in to the Club scene he used to do a lot of Promotion work for a lot of Clubs in London so he’s that person who walks past the line and they let him and his entourage right in while you stand there looking like what the Fuck.

And in a nutshell that’s what we did.

Blueballs from London

2007-12-17T14:42:00.000-06:00

I wake up from a brisk nap turn on the old I-pod and take in the sounds of Sweetback Gaze is the track of choice for me as I roll into London.
This is a hard town, it’s very expensive so one has to be very careful about what you do and where you spend your money.
Amsterdam was a great groundbreaker and I had high expectations for London, For one I could speak the Language which is a plus and I have one of the faces that work when traveling abroad and as fucked up as this sounds I don’t Look American so I can pass for any various ethnic group as long as I keep my mouth shut I get in where I fit in depending on where you go this is important. (But that's a different STORY)
So I begin my ritual hotel check in secure my luggage and shower.
This trip will be different I have some friends who live here so even though I like to run it solo an experienced Wing man helps, especially here.
Unlike other cities London competes with itself to PRESSINING LEVELS to provide as many different SCENES if you will, in various spread out areas it’s like New York in that sense, there may be tons of dance Clubs Lounges ect in Brooklyn, but THEE Club to be seen at is in Manhattan Club BLAH BLAH BLAH.

London is like that plus ten but that’s my opinion. The Underground events are where I want to hang my hat on this trip and this is the Place to find it but to know where it is, you have to know someone, specially if your visiting cause getting to the right one on the right night is crucial remember, I’m on a mission and this trip.
I want to shoot my load on an Underground Club girl.

Sexing up Europe Prt 6 Amsterdam

2007-12-14T12:30:00.001-06:00

Not looking like Thor played to my advantage, I'm being hunted, but the huntress has yet to make herself known several hour go by and I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I ask where and Jen say's " I'm going to go as well, I will show you"
Which means they all get up to go.
Naturally there is a line for the women's restroom and I stand with them we joke around it doesn't matter where you go in the World there's always a line for the Ladies Room.
I wait with them joking the whole time as they enter I make my way to the men's room.

Upon exiting I see Jen the sweet booze has kicked in now this is where my experience pays off.

If you have never read one of my Blogs know this.
When it comes to women, a smart man knows that for all the compliments, smiling,
Cool pick up lines you think you have in your Mack Daddy arsenal the Women, decide if your going to get laid all you have to do is show them that your not an idiot.
Show that you have restraint and respect and the world is yours. That’s the twist to my story no I didn't talk 3 chicks into sleeping with me, yeah it would of made a better story but it didn't happen.

Jen Steps out of the ladies room followed by Olga and Jill who smile and pass me by this is there stamp of approval.
Jen gets closer waiting to see what my intention is I switch from nice guy to nice guy who wants to punish her doggy style.
I pull her close so that she can feel my bulge, I can feel her breath, I can hear her mind race with thoughts as I grind into her, and I stroke her hair we kiss.
A door has been opened.

Sexing Up Europe prt 5 Amsterdam

2007-12-14T11:51:00.000-06:00

So here I am ..
With three local ladies the best thing to do in this situation is bide your time talk to all three.
Especially Olga, seem disappointed that you can’t communicate with her.
Give them all Equal and respectful attention then shift.
"You all look so lovely tonight, " I said with a friendly smile on my face.

Mind you I have now complimented them on their outfit and they have been sitting with me drinking for at least an hour.
Olga leans over to Jen
" We come here a lot but rare is it that we do this?" She says
"This? " I retort.
" Yeah sit with a tourist and drink ". She exclaims
I laugh
“Am I making you uncomfortable? " I say
" No your Cool." She replies with a smile

I knew all this would play out so I reserve myself, the music and liquor start to kick in and the dancing begins I ask Olga first. She smiles and accepts, I give her the safe space dance but show a fraction of my moves.
Naturally her girls are watching we smile a lot and briefly we do the fake couples partner dancing this is the safe way to feel the other person out.
We dance thru 4 songs she starts to loosen up Jill shows up with Olga's drink they slam it down and in typical College girl fashion yell out a woo then all hell breaks loose.

Sexing up Europe : Amsterdam part 4

2007-12-14T11:41:00.000-06:00

Like I was saying ..
I was stepping out thanking them for the conversation Jen, who initially started the conversation asked, “Where are your friends?”
The games afoot.
I gave a faint smile “I 'm alone.” I replied
" Why?" she said with a puzzled look on her face
I looked past her to my table and bit my bottom lip real quick to let her know something was not working out she turned around to see what I was looking at.
" Is that your table? " she asked.
" Yeah" I said
"I'm such a tourist I see some people checking it out I should head back ."
Jill and Jen laughed.
“I asked them if they would care to join me.”
They translate to Olga who smiled and said " yes. " And with Olga’s permission we left the bar and headed to my table.

Sexing up Europe Amsterdam prt 3

2007-12-14T11:40:00.000-06:00

I smile and respond in kind I ask the usual tourist question, about what to see, what clubs to go to. Her English is great strong accent better then any attempt I would make to speak her dialect, which I apologize for emphatically, this takes all of them back and they appreciate the fact that I feel bad for not speaking the National Language.

I pace my self I don't compliment their attire until a few more silly questions about where to buy music Clothes ECT. They all toss in there 2 cents only one didn't speak English so there was a lot of translating which I enjoyed cause that kept the conversation going much longer which is what I wanted.

I apologized again beginning to make my way out of their spot since I don't recall there names lets call them Jen, Jill and Olga “cause she didn't speak English”
They were all very lovely, very tall, thin and busty, they were female and they had a pulse and I had a mission.