If you haven't seen this...well watch it. I think it counts as canon.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
More backlog. Please tell me to stop. (If you want)
Okay guys, and dolls, here is a thing I wrote as an assignment for a class I took. The exercise was a simple but unobtainable goal. I like it. It's a fun adventure, and it was fun to write. Please comment. Tell me I suck if you must but don't be like that Goddamned radio station that still won't play my music for some reason.
A Simple Yet Impossible Goal
(A man leaves his apartment to get drunk. As he heads to his neighborhood bar he encounters a drunken man in the street)
Drunk--Hey man, do you got four dollars and sixty-three cents? I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for a bus ticket.
Man--Four dollars and sixty-three cents huh? I didn't realize they were charging such unusual amounts of money to ride the bus these days.
Drunk--(Blank stare)
No man. I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for the bus because my car broke down and my wife and baby are waiting for me.
Man--I see. But you had time to get drunk along the way huh? Tell you what. I'm heading up to the bar right now to get drunk myself. I've been on the wagon for six months but I've had a pisser of a day. I'm being honest with myself, I'm going to tie one on. Now you be honest with me. Just admit that you want the money to get drunk and I'll be happy to give it to you, or you can join me at the bar and I'll buy you whatever you want.
Drunk--(Momentary blank stare)
Yo, I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for the bus, but I'll walk with you to the bar if you're buying.
Man--That's what I figured. You can't keep the wife and the baby waiting eh?
Drunk--What?
Man--Nevermind.
(They enter the bar)
Man--So what are you having? I don't know about you but I'm thirsty as hell for a beer. Should I just get a pitcher and a couple of glasses?
Drunk--Word.
(The man approaches the bar)
Man--I'll take a pitcher of your pale ale and a two glasses please.
Bartender--Did you just bring him in here with you?
(He points at the drunk)
Man--(Pauses as he turns around to look)
Uh---Yeah. I'm just buying him a drink. It's my charity for the decade, you know.
Bartender--I'm sorry but he's got to go. He's been in here pestering my patrons all day. I just eighty-sixed him a few minutes ago.
Man--Aw, c'mon, he's okay. Can't he have just one?
Bartender--No he can't! Do yourself a favor buddy, and walk away from this situation. You don't want to get involved with the likes of him anyway.
(He pauses as he looks over at the drunk)
Oh holy Christ in hell!
(The drunk has pulled out his penis and begins to piss all over the cigarette machine)
Drunk--I used to smoke Marlboros, but now I smoke Camels.
(The bartender leaps over the bar and and pins the drunk)
Bartender--Valerie! Call the cops!
(The waitress calls the police and they arrive almost immediately)
Cop 1--(To the drunk, as he cuffs him)
Alright Bob, looks like you're gonna have to spend the night in the tank again.
Drunk--Gimmee a ham sammich,
Cop 2--Sorry about all the mess.
(The cops exit with the drunk)
Bartender--Goddamnit! I got piss on me! Valerie, watch the bar while I get cleaned up, and whatever you do, don't serve the Samaritan there.
(He pionts at the man)
Waitress--Okay boss.
Man--Oh come on. This wasn't my fault. He followed me in here. Can't I just have one beer?
Waitress--If I were you I'd leave before Tony gets back from the bathroom.
Man--But--
Waitress--Don't protest honey, just move along please. There are plenty of other bars in town.
Man--Grumble.
(He leaves the bar and walks down the street. He goes into a liquor store and grabs a 40 ounce beer)
Cashier--Will this be everything?
Man--I guess. For now. Suddenly I've got the inspiration to act in a depraved manner. I'm going down to the riverside to enjoy this beer right out of the sack like a bum.
Cashier--Hmmph! We all need goals. Here's your change, but if I were you I'd watch out for all the other bums.
Man--Thanks for the tip.
Cashier--Don't mention it.
(He exits the store and heads through the alley down to the train tracks. He tries to open his bottle and drops it. It shatters)
Man--NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! Oh God, why have you forsaken me?
(He attempts to salvage a few dribbles of liquid from on of the broken pieces, but abandons the idea and heads back toward the liquor store)
Cashier--Back so soon?
Man--Grumble.
(Speaks under his breath)
Your mama.
(He grabs a six pack of cans)
Cashier--That'll be four sixty-three.
Man--What?!
Cashier--Four dollars and sixty-three cents. Is that a problem? If it's too rich for you, you should consider quitting.
Man--Thanks, but I've already tried that. It's just strange that I've already encountered that number today.
(He takes his change and walks back toward the river. He is approached by two clean cut teenagers in dress slacks, white shirts, and black ties, walking their bikes along side the railroad tracks. He tries to avoid eye contact, but they walk right up to him)
Kid 1--Hello sir, we're from the chuch of immaculate confession and we're wondering if you've taken the time to find Jesus?
Man--No thank you. I'm busy.
Kid 2--You can never be too busy to find salvation. It's not too late for you yet. Here have this pamphlet.
Man--(Takes the pamphlet and jams it into his pocket)
Thanks, bye.
Kid 1--Wait a minute sir. If I may be so bold, you look as if you're lost spiritually. Our group is having a bible study tonight, and we think you should come with us.
Man--No you may not be so bold, and I'm sorry, but I don't have the time. So good day to you both--Now fuck off.
(The two kids look at eachother and nod. Then suddenly one of them restrains him as the other grabs his sack of beer)
Kid 1--Now don't fight us sir. We're doing this for your own good.
Man--Goddamnit, what are you two cultists doing to me? Let me go!
Kid 2--We'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from taking the lord's name in vain. Now what do you have in the sack?
(He looks inside)
Just what I thought. Devil juice.
Kid 1--We're here to free you from your sin,
(They take the beer and throw the man to the ground and race off on their bikes. The man gets up and starts chasing after them shouting)
Man--Why you no good hoodlums! Scoundrels! Iconoclasts! Jesus freaks! Hey you stole from me! What would the lord say about that?
(He watches them ride off amidst the dust of their wheels and stops short of breath. He shakes his fist at the sky)
This is all your fault, you bastard!
(Pauses)
Wait a minute.
(He pulls the pamphlet from his pocket and notes the address of the bible study)
I'm going to get you now!
(He goes back to the street and hails a cab)
Cabbie--Where to?
Man--327 Lexington.
Cabbie--10-4. So what's up with you on this fine evening?
Man--Well, I'm trying my damndest to fall off the wagon, but without any success. So now I'm going to church.
Cabbie--Church huh? Well that's probably the best thing for you. A man without a proper spiritual anchor is a lost soul, adrift in the sea of eternity.
Man--Everybody's a philosopher.
Cabbie--I'm just trying to make conversation.
Man--Well if you really want to know, I'm on my way to church to beat the crap out of a couple of teenagers, and then if I have the time I'm going to take a piss on their alter.
(The cab pulls over and stops suddenly)
Cabbie--Get out of my cab sir.
Man--What?
Cabbie--I'm a very religious man, and I won't be a party to such blasphemy. Please get out of my cab, I don’t need your fare that much.
Man--Hey. I was kidding. No harm done. Just drop me off at the nearest bar.
Cabbie--No sir. Just get out now please.
Man--Okay, okay.
(He gets out and the cab screeches off)
Now where the hell am I?
(He hears the pulsating drone of distant rythmns and wanders towards it. At a warehouse some people are standing around a door)
What's going on here?
Leather Clad Youth--It's a rave grandpa. You know, a dance.
Man--I know what a rave is. I'm not that old. Do you have any beer in there?
Leather Clad Youth--Whatever your poison is, you'll find it. Twenty bucks.
Man--Twenty bucks?! That's outrageous!
Leather Clad Youth--Then don't go in. Now please step aside.
(Two hip dressed kids approach the doorman and hand him forty dollars and he lets them inside. A young woman in a yellow dress doing cartwheels in the parking lot approaches the man)
Girl--It's a beautiful night, isn't it?
Man--I guess.
Girl--Are you going inside?
Man--Well, I was considering it.
Girl--Come on then.
(She grabs his arm and pulls him toward the door)
Leather Clad Youth--Forty bucks.
Man--But I--
Girl--Come on.
(She flips her hair cutely)
Man--Oh what the hell.
(He hands him the money and they go inside. She leads him into a loud sweaty room with bright flashing lights)
Girl--Stay right here. I'll be right back.
Man--But--
(She disappears, and he stands there watching the mass of flesh dancing as he curses himself for being such a sucker. After a minute he goes looking for the bar)
Man--Can I have a beer?
Pierced Man--What? Beer? We don't have any beer.
Man--Well, what do you have?
Pierced Man--Smart drinks.
Man--I see.
Girl--There you are. I thought I lost you.
Man--I was--
Girl--Come on.
(She leads him onto the dance floor and begins to slither about him seductively. After a minute she starts to kiss him)
Girl--Oh hey! There's my friend Toby.
Toby--Hey Sunshine, how have you been?
Girl--Great! This is----
Man--Stan.
Girl--Stan.
Toby--(Nods)
We're all heading over to Jimmy's. You coming?
Girl--Okay.
Toby--See you out front.
Man--Now wait a minute. I just paid forty dollars to get in here. We're not leaving yet are we?
Girl--Don't be such a stick in the mud. Let loose. Live a little. I've got to go to the bathroom, wait right here.
Man--Sure.
(He waits a minute and then starts looking for her)
Man--You haven't seen a girl in a yellow dress, have you?
Dancing Kid--What? No.
Man--Figures. My head is starting to spin. I think I'm on drugs.
Dancing Kid--Cool.
Man--When that girl kissed me, I think I caught some drugs from her.
Dancing Kid--Cool.
Man--I can't breathe. I've got to get out of here.
(He runs outside)
Man--That girl I came in here with, have you seen her?
Leather Clad Youth--(Laughs)
Yeah, she just left in a van with some guys. Tough luck buster.
Man--I guess your right, but I should be more upset about it than I am. I think I caught some drugs from her.
Leather Clad Youth--You don't catch drugs. You catch herpes. You've ingested drugs.
Man--Yeah, well suddenly I feel very happy.
Leather Clad Youth--That'll happen.
Man--(Looks at the Leather Clad Youth for a moment)
Can I kiss you?
Leather Clad Youth--Okay, It's time for you to go.
(He pushes the man up the street. The man wanders and ends up in front of a liquor store)
Man--Oh yeah! I forgot! Beer!
(He digs in his pockets)
Oh no, I'm broke!
(A man walks out of the store)
Man--Hello, can I borrow four dollars and sixty-three cents?
Other Man--No you cannot, you freak. It looks as if you've had enough already.
Man--I'm not drunk. I'm on drugs.
Other Man--Figures.
(He walks off)
(Feeling over-confident the man goes into the store to steal a beer)
Cashier--Excuse me?
Man--What?
Cashier--Are you going to pay for that bottle you put in your pants?
Man--I was just looking.
Cashier--I can see it sticking out of your pocket. Just put it on the counter and walk away, or pay for it. Don't make me call the cops.
Man--I was just looking.
Cashier--Yeah, whatever, now put it back.
(The man runs and trips. He falls on the bottle and it breaks, cutting his leg open)
Cashier--Dude, you're bleeding real bad. I'm calling the cops.
Man--No I'm fine.
(He tries to get up but stumbles and falls)
Cashier--You're not going anywhere.
(He goes in to call the police)
(The man sits in the parking lot tripping out over all the blood on his hands from touching his wound)
Man--Lady MacBeth, what have I done?
(He starts laughing)
"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?"
Cashier--(Bringing the police)
Here he is. He looks pretty bad.
Cop 1--Okay sir, just relax. Put this towel on your leg and put pressure to the wound. The ambulance will be here soon.
Man--All I wanted was a beer. Can I please have one?
Cop 2--Alcohol thins the blood, and that's the last thing you need right now. Just sit tight and we'll get you the attention you need. You'll be charged with disorderly conduct, don't make things worse for yourself.
Man--Two Jesus freaks stole my six pack and I caught drugs from a hippy harpy, it can't get any worse.
Cop 1--That's your theory. Don't test it.
(The ambulance arrives)
Paramedic--Okay now, lets get you on the stretcher. I'm gonna have to cut your pants open to see the wound. We have to make sure we get all the glass out.
Man--This is why I quit drinking in the first place. It always gets me into trouble.
Paramedic--How much have you had to drink tonight?
Man--Nothing.
Paramedic--Are you sure? We need to know in order to help you.
Man--I think I'm on ecstacy.
Paramedic--You think?
Cop 1--We'll meet you at the hospital to take care of the paperwork.
Paramedic--Okay, see you there.
Man--Can I borrow four dollars and sixty-three cents?
A Simple Yet Impossible Goal
(A man leaves his apartment to get drunk. As he heads to his neighborhood bar he encounters a drunken man in the street)
Drunk--Hey man, do you got four dollars and sixty-three cents? I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for a bus ticket.
Man--Four dollars and sixty-three cents huh? I didn't realize they were charging such unusual amounts of money to ride the bus these days.
Drunk--(Blank stare)
No man. I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for the bus because my car broke down and my wife and baby are waiting for me.
Man--I see. But you had time to get drunk along the way huh? Tell you what. I'm heading up to the bar right now to get drunk myself. I've been on the wagon for six months but I've had a pisser of a day. I'm being honest with myself, I'm going to tie one on. Now you be honest with me. Just admit that you want the money to get drunk and I'll be happy to give it to you, or you can join me at the bar and I'll buy you whatever you want.
Drunk--(Momentary blank stare)
Yo, I need four dollars and sixty-three cents for the bus, but I'll walk with you to the bar if you're buying.
Man--That's what I figured. You can't keep the wife and the baby waiting eh?
Drunk--What?
Man--Nevermind.
(They enter the bar)
Man--So what are you having? I don't know about you but I'm thirsty as hell for a beer. Should I just get a pitcher and a couple of glasses?
Drunk--Word.
(The man approaches the bar)
Man--I'll take a pitcher of your pale ale and a two glasses please.
Bartender--Did you just bring him in here with you?
(He points at the drunk)
Man--(Pauses as he turns around to look)
Uh---Yeah. I'm just buying him a drink. It's my charity for the decade, you know.
Bartender--I'm sorry but he's got to go. He's been in here pestering my patrons all day. I just eighty-sixed him a few minutes ago.
Man--Aw, c'mon, he's okay. Can't he have just one?
Bartender--No he can't! Do yourself a favor buddy, and walk away from this situation. You don't want to get involved with the likes of him anyway.
(He pauses as he looks over at the drunk)
Oh holy Christ in hell!
(The drunk has pulled out his penis and begins to piss all over the cigarette machine)
Drunk--I used to smoke Marlboros, but now I smoke Camels.
(The bartender leaps over the bar and and pins the drunk)
Bartender--Valerie! Call the cops!
(The waitress calls the police and they arrive almost immediately)
Cop 1--(To the drunk, as he cuffs him)
Alright Bob, looks like you're gonna have to spend the night in the tank again.
Drunk--Gimmee a ham sammich,
Cop 2--Sorry about all the mess.
(The cops exit with the drunk)
Bartender--Goddamnit! I got piss on me! Valerie, watch the bar while I get cleaned up, and whatever you do, don't serve the Samaritan there.
(He pionts at the man)
Waitress--Okay boss.
Man--Oh come on. This wasn't my fault. He followed me in here. Can't I just have one beer?
Waitress--If I were you I'd leave before Tony gets back from the bathroom.
Man--But--
Waitress--Don't protest honey, just move along please. There are plenty of other bars in town.
Man--Grumble.
(He leaves the bar and walks down the street. He goes into a liquor store and grabs a 40 ounce beer)
Cashier--Will this be everything?
Man--I guess. For now. Suddenly I've got the inspiration to act in a depraved manner. I'm going down to the riverside to enjoy this beer right out of the sack like a bum.
Cashier--Hmmph! We all need goals. Here's your change, but if I were you I'd watch out for all the other bums.
Man--Thanks for the tip.
Cashier--Don't mention it.
(He exits the store and heads through the alley down to the train tracks. He tries to open his bottle and drops it. It shatters)
Man--NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! Oh God, why have you forsaken me?
(He attempts to salvage a few dribbles of liquid from on of the broken pieces, but abandons the idea and heads back toward the liquor store)
Cashier--Back so soon?
Man--Grumble.
(Speaks under his breath)
Your mama.
(He grabs a six pack of cans)
Cashier--That'll be four sixty-three.
Man--What?!
Cashier--Four dollars and sixty-three cents. Is that a problem? If it's too rich for you, you should consider quitting.
Man--Thanks, but I've already tried that. It's just strange that I've already encountered that number today.
(He takes his change and walks back toward the river. He is approached by two clean cut teenagers in dress slacks, white shirts, and black ties, walking their bikes along side the railroad tracks. He tries to avoid eye contact, but they walk right up to him)
Kid 1--Hello sir, we're from the chuch of immaculate confession and we're wondering if you've taken the time to find Jesus?
Man--No thank you. I'm busy.
Kid 2--You can never be too busy to find salvation. It's not too late for you yet. Here have this pamphlet.
Man--(Takes the pamphlet and jams it into his pocket)
Thanks, bye.
Kid 1--Wait a minute sir. If I may be so bold, you look as if you're lost spiritually. Our group is having a bible study tonight, and we think you should come with us.
Man--No you may not be so bold, and I'm sorry, but I don't have the time. So good day to you both--Now fuck off.
(The two kids look at eachother and nod. Then suddenly one of them restrains him as the other grabs his sack of beer)
Kid 1--Now don't fight us sir. We're doing this for your own good.
Man--Goddamnit, what are you two cultists doing to me? Let me go!
Kid 2--We'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from taking the lord's name in vain. Now what do you have in the sack?
(He looks inside)
Just what I thought. Devil juice.
Kid 1--We're here to free you from your sin,
(They take the beer and throw the man to the ground and race off on their bikes. The man gets up and starts chasing after them shouting)
Man--Why you no good hoodlums! Scoundrels! Iconoclasts! Jesus freaks! Hey you stole from me! What would the lord say about that?
(He watches them ride off amidst the dust of their wheels and stops short of breath. He shakes his fist at the sky)
This is all your fault, you bastard!
(Pauses)
Wait a minute.
(He pulls the pamphlet from his pocket and notes the address of the bible study)
I'm going to get you now!
(He goes back to the street and hails a cab)
Cabbie--Where to?
Man--327 Lexington.
Cabbie--10-4. So what's up with you on this fine evening?
Man--Well, I'm trying my damndest to fall off the wagon, but without any success. So now I'm going to church.
Cabbie--Church huh? Well that's probably the best thing for you. A man without a proper spiritual anchor is a lost soul, adrift in the sea of eternity.
Man--Everybody's a philosopher.
Cabbie--I'm just trying to make conversation.
Man--Well if you really want to know, I'm on my way to church to beat the crap out of a couple of teenagers, and then if I have the time I'm going to take a piss on their alter.
(The cab pulls over and stops suddenly)
Cabbie--Get out of my cab sir.
Man--What?
Cabbie--I'm a very religious man, and I won't be a party to such blasphemy. Please get out of my cab, I don’t need your fare that much.
Man--Hey. I was kidding. No harm done. Just drop me off at the nearest bar.
Cabbie--No sir. Just get out now please.
Man--Okay, okay.
(He gets out and the cab screeches off)
Now where the hell am I?
(He hears the pulsating drone of distant rythmns and wanders towards it. At a warehouse some people are standing around a door)
What's going on here?
Leather Clad Youth--It's a rave grandpa. You know, a dance.
Man--I know what a rave is. I'm not that old. Do you have any beer in there?
Leather Clad Youth--Whatever your poison is, you'll find it. Twenty bucks.
Man--Twenty bucks?! That's outrageous!
Leather Clad Youth--Then don't go in. Now please step aside.
(Two hip dressed kids approach the doorman and hand him forty dollars and he lets them inside. A young woman in a yellow dress doing cartwheels in the parking lot approaches the man)
Girl--It's a beautiful night, isn't it?
Man--I guess.
Girl--Are you going inside?
Man--Well, I was considering it.
Girl--Come on then.
(She grabs his arm and pulls him toward the door)
Leather Clad Youth--Forty bucks.
Man--But I--
Girl--Come on.
(She flips her hair cutely)
Man--Oh what the hell.
(He hands him the money and they go inside. She leads him into a loud sweaty room with bright flashing lights)
Girl--Stay right here. I'll be right back.
Man--But--
(She disappears, and he stands there watching the mass of flesh dancing as he curses himself for being such a sucker. After a minute he goes looking for the bar)
Man--Can I have a beer?
Pierced Man--What? Beer? We don't have any beer.
Man--Well, what do you have?
Pierced Man--Smart drinks.
Man--I see.
Girl--There you are. I thought I lost you.
Man--I was--
Girl--Come on.
(She leads him onto the dance floor and begins to slither about him seductively. After a minute she starts to kiss him)
Girl--Oh hey! There's my friend Toby.
Toby--Hey Sunshine, how have you been?
Girl--Great! This is----
Man--Stan.
Girl--Stan.
Toby--(Nods)
We're all heading over to Jimmy's. You coming?
Girl--Okay.
Toby--See you out front.
Man--Now wait a minute. I just paid forty dollars to get in here. We're not leaving yet are we?
Girl--Don't be such a stick in the mud. Let loose. Live a little. I've got to go to the bathroom, wait right here.
Man--Sure.
(He waits a minute and then starts looking for her)
Man--You haven't seen a girl in a yellow dress, have you?
Dancing Kid--What? No.
Man--Figures. My head is starting to spin. I think I'm on drugs.
Dancing Kid--Cool.
Man--When that girl kissed me, I think I caught some drugs from her.
Dancing Kid--Cool.
Man--I can't breathe. I've got to get out of here.
(He runs outside)
Man--That girl I came in here with, have you seen her?
Leather Clad Youth--(Laughs)
Yeah, she just left in a van with some guys. Tough luck buster.
Man--I guess your right, but I should be more upset about it than I am. I think I caught some drugs from her.
Leather Clad Youth--You don't catch drugs. You catch herpes. You've ingested drugs.
Man--Yeah, well suddenly I feel very happy.
Leather Clad Youth--That'll happen.
Man--(Looks at the Leather Clad Youth for a moment)
Can I kiss you?
Leather Clad Youth--Okay, It's time for you to go.
(He pushes the man up the street. The man wanders and ends up in front of a liquor store)
Man--Oh yeah! I forgot! Beer!
(He digs in his pockets)
Oh no, I'm broke!
(A man walks out of the store)
Man--Hello, can I borrow four dollars and sixty-three cents?
Other Man--No you cannot, you freak. It looks as if you've had enough already.
Man--I'm not drunk. I'm on drugs.
Other Man--Figures.
(He walks off)
(Feeling over-confident the man goes into the store to steal a beer)
Cashier--Excuse me?
Man--What?
Cashier--Are you going to pay for that bottle you put in your pants?
Man--I was just looking.
Cashier--I can see it sticking out of your pocket. Just put it on the counter and walk away, or pay for it. Don't make me call the cops.
Man--I was just looking.
Cashier--Yeah, whatever, now put it back.
(The man runs and trips. He falls on the bottle and it breaks, cutting his leg open)
Cashier--Dude, you're bleeding real bad. I'm calling the cops.
Man--No I'm fine.
(He tries to get up but stumbles and falls)
Cashier--You're not going anywhere.
(He goes in to call the police)
(The man sits in the parking lot tripping out over all the blood on his hands from touching his wound)
Man--Lady MacBeth, what have I done?
(He starts laughing)
"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?"
Cashier--(Bringing the police)
Here he is. He looks pretty bad.
Cop 1--Okay sir, just relax. Put this towel on your leg and put pressure to the wound. The ambulance will be here soon.
Man--All I wanted was a beer. Can I please have one?
Cop 2--Alcohol thins the blood, and that's the last thing you need right now. Just sit tight and we'll get you the attention you need. You'll be charged with disorderly conduct, don't make things worse for yourself.
Man--Two Jesus freaks stole my six pack and I caught drugs from a hippy harpy, it can't get any worse.
Cop 1--That's your theory. Don't test it.
(The ambulance arrives)
Paramedic--Okay now, lets get you on the stretcher. I'm gonna have to cut your pants open to see the wound. We have to make sure we get all the glass out.
Man--This is why I quit drinking in the first place. It always gets me into trouble.
Paramedic--How much have you had to drink tonight?
Man--Nothing.
Paramedic--Are you sure? We need to know in order to help you.
Man--I think I'm on ecstacy.
Paramedic--You think?
Cop 1--We'll meet you at the hospital to take care of the paperwork.
Paramedic--Okay, see you there.
Man--Can I borrow four dollars and sixty-three cents?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Tuna Pie
Recently it has come to my attention that there is a fast food item out there called Tuna Pie. It is supposedly an ethnic food. What ethnicity you might ask? Why, midwestern American my friends! I started thinking about it and the more I pondered the concept of Tuna Pie the more delicious it sounded. I imagined a tuna pot pie, or a tuna Hotpocket type of thing. I decided to create my own Tuna Pie recipe, and folks, it was absolutely scrumptious.
I decided to make a basic tuna noodle casserole type of thing and just simply put it in a pie crust. It is ethnic food, pure and simple. It comes from the culture I grew up in and I'm proud of it. For that authentic 70's taste, I made sure to use mostly canned ingredients; one can of Campbell's Cream of Potato soup, one can of carrots and peas, egg noodles, all mixed together in a frozen pie crust. It's the kind of thing you could throw together in the post apocalypse.
For you health conscious organic minded folks out there, you could use a dolphin friendly tuna, buy fresh vegetables from your local farmers market, and bake your own pie crust using all the expensive fancy ingredients that are important to you. I loved my tuna pie, though I think a little sauteed onion and garlic thrown in would have piqued the flavor a bit. Maybe a few aromatics. Fresh sage perhaps?
The best part is yet to come. I can't wait for tomorrow, and the promise of leftover tuna pie. MMMMMMM! Heaven!
I decided to make a basic tuna noodle casserole type of thing and just simply put it in a pie crust. It is ethnic food, pure and simple. It comes from the culture I grew up in and I'm proud of it. For that authentic 70's taste, I made sure to use mostly canned ingredients; one can of Campbell's Cream of Potato soup, one can of carrots and peas, egg noodles, all mixed together in a frozen pie crust. It's the kind of thing you could throw together in the post apocalypse.
For you health conscious organic minded folks out there, you could use a dolphin friendly tuna, buy fresh vegetables from your local farmers market, and bake your own pie crust using all the expensive fancy ingredients that are important to you. I loved my tuna pie, though I think a little sauteed onion and garlic thrown in would have piqued the flavor a bit. Maybe a few aromatics. Fresh sage perhaps?
The best part is yet to come. I can't wait for tomorrow, and the promise of leftover tuna pie. MMMMMMM! Heaven!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Embarrassing mom stuff
A friend of mine and I were talking about our troubling teenage years, and about how our mothers could sometimes make us feel like degenerates. My friend is gay, and when he came out his mom first wanted him to go to counseling. I guess to "fix" him. Later she discovered in the VCR, a gay porn, which he had accidentally left there. He was young, it was like his first gay porn. (I'm thinking Fisher Price here, My First Gay Porn) He had barely watched it himself. Someone came home and he shut it off and ran away in fear and forgot about it. Later, to his horror, his mother decided that to try to be compassionate and understanding, she would watch the entire movie herself just so she could understand how gay people behave with one another. That's like someone trying to understand a straight relationship by watching Big Booty Titty Fuckers Volume 69. I mean, really? Anyway it was a deeply troubling experience for the poor young lad, even though she meant well.
I am a self centered prick. If you know me personally you know what I'm talking about. I thought I had to try to top that experience. Of course I couldn't, but I do have some embarrassing mom moments of my own which I will share with you now.
Remember the beginning of Boogie Nights, where Eddie Adams of Torrence who later becomes Dirk Diggler came home and his mom was all drinking and being psycho? She said to him, "You don't think I know what's going on. I know what's going on. I wash your sheets." Well my mom wasn't mean or psycho like that, but when I first saw that movie I had a little bit of deja vu. My mom once actually said to me, "I wash your sheets, I've seen your pecker tracks." Now other than my mother I have never heard the term pecker tracks before or since. Oh I love it now. I've put my name in my winning video games as peckertrax many times. I even wanted to call one of my bands Pecker Tracks, or write a song called Pecker Tracks. I find it hilarious, but at age 16 I was horrified.
Once I had a girl in my room. It was in the summer and my mom came home from lunch unexpectedly. My mom was pissed that my friend had parked her car in the middle of our driveway so my mom had to park in the street. She came crashing into the house all mad, and me and my friend quietly walked upstairs to greet her. My friend said goodbye and left. When she was gone my mother glared at me and asked, "What did you do to that little girl?" That my friends, made me feel like shit. What did you do to that little girl? It made me sound like a pervert. "Nothing", I said guiltily. "We were just listening to the Doors." Which was true. Okay, she was 16 and I was 17, and well, we had been doing "stuff". But it was just kissing and mild groping. Teenager stuff. No big deal really.
Anyway I am curious if any of you out there have had any similar experiences. And as older folks now, and parents, how will we deal with these situations with our own kids?
I am a self centered prick. If you know me personally you know what I'm talking about. I thought I had to try to top that experience. Of course I couldn't, but I do have some embarrassing mom moments of my own which I will share with you now.
Remember the beginning of Boogie Nights, where Eddie Adams of Torrence who later becomes Dirk Diggler came home and his mom was all drinking and being psycho? She said to him, "You don't think I know what's going on. I know what's going on. I wash your sheets." Well my mom wasn't mean or psycho like that, but when I first saw that movie I had a little bit of deja vu. My mom once actually said to me, "I wash your sheets, I've seen your pecker tracks." Now other than my mother I have never heard the term pecker tracks before or since. Oh I love it now. I've put my name in my winning video games as peckertrax many times. I even wanted to call one of my bands Pecker Tracks, or write a song called Pecker Tracks. I find it hilarious, but at age 16 I was horrified.
Once I had a girl in my room. It was in the summer and my mom came home from lunch unexpectedly. My mom was pissed that my friend had parked her car in the middle of our driveway so my mom had to park in the street. She came crashing into the house all mad, and me and my friend quietly walked upstairs to greet her. My friend said goodbye and left. When she was gone my mother glared at me and asked, "What did you do to that little girl?" That my friends, made me feel like shit. What did you do to that little girl? It made me sound like a pervert. "Nothing", I said guiltily. "We were just listening to the Doors." Which was true. Okay, she was 16 and I was 17, and well, we had been doing "stuff". But it was just kissing and mild groping. Teenager stuff. No big deal really.
Anyway I am curious if any of you out there have had any similar experiences. And as older folks now, and parents, how will we deal with these situations with our own kids?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
God at an AA meeting.
(I know it might be uninteresting or boring as shit to have me post my various scribblings. Then again this is my forum so I can do whatever I want. There are probably only two or three people who read this blog anyway. That being said, for you two or three, here is a little thing I wrote during a time where I was trying my hand at writing sketch comedy. This particular piece was the result of my own dealings with a certain sobriety group. I hope you enjoy it. Please comment even if you hate it. I am extremely needy.)
I'd like to thank you all for coming. It's really good for me to have these group sessions. Sometimes being all powerful can make you take for granted what it is like to NOT be God. All of you certainly know what it's like to not be me, and as you are my closest associates, I can't think of anybody else with whom I'd like to share my feelings with.
So that being said. My name is God and I'm an alcoholic.
(Hi God.)
Thanks in no small part to these meetings I have been sober for 91 years. Of course as you all know, my tendency to celebrate with wine usually falls in line with a period where I am smiting. I'm not sure which one is the actual problem. Drinking or smiting? The two are inextricably linked. Sometimes I smite and then get drunk, and other times I get drunk and then I smite. So what I'm really trying to say is it's been 91 years since I've smited.
I guess it boils down to my essential addiction to power. I am God after all. I'm the greatest. The most cool. I look at all of you dear friends here with me now and all I can think of is how much better I look in my outfit than the rest of you do in yours. I'm stronger, and faster, and smarter . I can do magic tricks, and I'm the center of attention wherever I go. Being mad for power just goes with the gig.
Sometimes I just feel this uncontrollable urge to smite. It happened to me last night but I called Methusalah and he helped me fight it off. Thanks again Methy. What worries me most I guess is that I don’t want to smite for any specific wrong that may have been committed. I'm just talking about general smiting here. Smiting for smitings sake.
I guess I'm just pensive about the old days. Some of you remember. Back when I was always laying down the law in the harshest manner possible. And in darn creative ways too if I do say so myself. Death of the first born. Raining animals, earthquakes. There were some wonderful plagues. Metatron remember that time we put all the boils on that King's nutsack? That was a laugh riot. Oh right, David! That was you! Sorry man, I'm just playing.
But sometimes I think fondly upon the days where I rained down fire and demanded sacrifices. Abraham I told you to kill your own son and you were going to do it. I thought that it was the funniest thing ever, and didn't really think about how something like that would effect you. I was just trying to test your loyalty. Again I'm so sorry.
Oh I know that it is for the best that I take a back seat role in the affairs of mankind. But old habits die hard, and I'm sure that it will be just a matter of time before my next relapse. It's like the Titanic incident. My last relapse. I had been going along for a good long while without any drinking or smiting. It had been since the Renaissance. Nearly 300 years, which is a good streak for me, and then these medamned arrogant little cocksuckers got to go and build an "unsinkable" ship. It just pissed me off. It was like I was being dared. I don't like being dared. So I sank the ship, and it was exhilerating. Of course the next couple of days I felt like shit. I wasn't so upset by the smiting, but was more sad for the loss of my good streak. And since the Titanic there have been thousands of reasons to smite for real and I didn't. I wanted to do much nastier things to Hitler's nutsack but I held back. Why have I held back all this time? Because I can see through the fact that I have a problem.
I've been focusing a lot of energy these days on my more creative pursuits. I didn't really remember how much I missed the creative process. I've picked up the electric guitar, I'm working on a documentary film about the daily life of being a deity, and I'm finishing up the final stages of a new universe, and I should have life on it by this upcoming Saturday. By the way I'm sleeping in on Sunday, but if you want to stop by I'll show it to anybody who is interested on Monday morning. You'll love it. It's a complete departure from the work I did on earth, and the people won't be in my own image this time. Trust me. You'll get used to it. And I'm proud to say that Jesus here helped me quite a bit on it. It was a regular ol' father and son activity. He's very good with plantlife in particular. That is another reason that I choose to stay away from smiting. I get more time to spend with my kids.
But I would also love to evolve my new people super fast and have them conquer the earth. But by the grace of me I'll think things through. I'm just being honest with myself, admitting that the urge is there. I only wish I had a higher power that I could give myself to in those sensitive moments. Sometimes I just feel that it isn't fair. Everybody else has a higher power, but what do I got? I invented everything. Sometimes I get the urge to create a better God than me, so I'd have someone to worship too. But that would be cheating, and besides I have a power issue, I'd end up having to kick His ass. And that would only bring me right back to where I am now. I guess it's all perspective isn't it? In a way I think of this group as my higher power. This is the only place where I almost feel like I am one of the group and not just merely above the group, which I most certainly am. But it feels good to talk to you all as sort of equals, I almost get the illusion that it matters what you think about me. Anyway thanks for listening. With that I'll pass.
I'd like to thank you all for coming. It's really good for me to have these group sessions. Sometimes being all powerful can make you take for granted what it is like to NOT be God. All of you certainly know what it's like to not be me, and as you are my closest associates, I can't think of anybody else with whom I'd like to share my feelings with.
So that being said. My name is God and I'm an alcoholic.
(Hi God.)
Thanks in no small part to these meetings I have been sober for 91 years. Of course as you all know, my tendency to celebrate with wine usually falls in line with a period where I am smiting. I'm not sure which one is the actual problem. Drinking or smiting? The two are inextricably linked. Sometimes I smite and then get drunk, and other times I get drunk and then I smite. So what I'm really trying to say is it's been 91 years since I've smited.
I guess it boils down to my essential addiction to power. I am God after all. I'm the greatest. The most cool. I look at all of you dear friends here with me now and all I can think of is how much better I look in my outfit than the rest of you do in yours. I'm stronger, and faster, and smarter . I can do magic tricks, and I'm the center of attention wherever I go. Being mad for power just goes with the gig.
Sometimes I just feel this uncontrollable urge to smite. It happened to me last night but I called Methusalah and he helped me fight it off. Thanks again Methy. What worries me most I guess is that I don’t want to smite for any specific wrong that may have been committed. I'm just talking about general smiting here. Smiting for smitings sake.
I guess I'm just pensive about the old days. Some of you remember. Back when I was always laying down the law in the harshest manner possible. And in darn creative ways too if I do say so myself. Death of the first born. Raining animals, earthquakes. There were some wonderful plagues. Metatron remember that time we put all the boils on that King's nutsack? That was a laugh riot. Oh right, David! That was you! Sorry man, I'm just playing.
But sometimes I think fondly upon the days where I rained down fire and demanded sacrifices. Abraham I told you to kill your own son and you were going to do it. I thought that it was the funniest thing ever, and didn't really think about how something like that would effect you. I was just trying to test your loyalty. Again I'm so sorry.
Oh I know that it is for the best that I take a back seat role in the affairs of mankind. But old habits die hard, and I'm sure that it will be just a matter of time before my next relapse. It's like the Titanic incident. My last relapse. I had been going along for a good long while without any drinking or smiting. It had been since the Renaissance. Nearly 300 years, which is a good streak for me, and then these medamned arrogant little cocksuckers got to go and build an "unsinkable" ship. It just pissed me off. It was like I was being dared. I don't like being dared. So I sank the ship, and it was exhilerating. Of course the next couple of days I felt like shit. I wasn't so upset by the smiting, but was more sad for the loss of my good streak. And since the Titanic there have been thousands of reasons to smite for real and I didn't. I wanted to do much nastier things to Hitler's nutsack but I held back. Why have I held back all this time? Because I can see through the fact that I have a problem.
I've been focusing a lot of energy these days on my more creative pursuits. I didn't really remember how much I missed the creative process. I've picked up the electric guitar, I'm working on a documentary film about the daily life of being a deity, and I'm finishing up the final stages of a new universe, and I should have life on it by this upcoming Saturday. By the way I'm sleeping in on Sunday, but if you want to stop by I'll show it to anybody who is interested on Monday morning. You'll love it. It's a complete departure from the work I did on earth, and the people won't be in my own image this time. Trust me. You'll get used to it. And I'm proud to say that Jesus here helped me quite a bit on it. It was a regular ol' father and son activity. He's very good with plantlife in particular. That is another reason that I choose to stay away from smiting. I get more time to spend with my kids.
But I would also love to evolve my new people super fast and have them conquer the earth. But by the grace of me I'll think things through. I'm just being honest with myself, admitting that the urge is there. I only wish I had a higher power that I could give myself to in those sensitive moments. Sometimes I just feel that it isn't fair. Everybody else has a higher power, but what do I got? I invented everything. Sometimes I get the urge to create a better God than me, so I'd have someone to worship too. But that would be cheating, and besides I have a power issue, I'd end up having to kick His ass. And that would only bring me right back to where I am now. I guess it's all perspective isn't it? In a way I think of this group as my higher power. This is the only place where I almost feel like I am one of the group and not just merely above the group, which I most certainly am. But it feels good to talk to you all as sort of equals, I almost get the illusion that it matters what you think about me. Anyway thanks for listening. With that I'll pass.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
potty mouth
Kirk has a sense of humor. I'm glad of that. I love to laugh, and I love comedy of all stripes. Comedy is my favorite escape so I am naturally quite pleased at this development in my child. His laughter is infectious too. We'll be trying to snuggle back to sleep after he has conned me into inviting him into our bed at 4 in the morning, and he'll start telling stories. It's hard to tell what he's saying with his milk sippy in his mouth, but he'll start to laugh at his own silliness. One time in particular he said something about a "muffin bottom". I asked him, "did you just say muffin bottom", and he started cracking up, and then I did too. Pretty soon we were like two teenagers at a sleep over all slap happy, laughing uncontrollably about the muffin bottom. Until the wife told us to shut up and go back to sleep. Then we were quiet for a minute just looking at each other with smiles on our faces trying to hold back the laughter, when suddenly one of us whispered "muffin bottom", and then it was all over and the hysterics resumed.
Later I asked where he came up with the term muffin bottom anyway, and discovered he simply ate muffins the day before at daycare and loved the concept. I tried to tell him about the Seinfeld episode where Elaine had a muffin top shop and couldn't even give away the bottoms to the homeless. He really didn't understand that at all, he never saw the episode, and he's like not really even three yet, still the boy knows from funny.
Lately his humor has revolved mainly among butts. He thinks it is hilarious to call everything a butt. He makes me sing happy birthday as happy butt butt. I ask him if he wants to eat fishsticks, and he says he wants to eat fishbutts, and then he giggles. Now I know you are probably thinking he got this from me, and sure I have the knack for potty humor as well, but I usually work in the medium of poops or farts. Kirk will branch into poops and farts certainly, but his primary bit is butts. He comes up with this stuff on his own as if he were some sort of fully fledged big brained homo-sapien or something. Weird. It's gotten ridiculous. The word butt is coming out of his mouth all the time. The sun is a big bright butt, we drive a butt car, Thomas the train is a butt engine, and on and on. I don't mean to laugh all the time, but I can't help it sometimes.
Kirk has an imaginary band called Steggy Steggy, and they practice and have gigs and stuff, and his kitties are in the band (he says I'm the bass player,but I always tell him I'm just filling in until he gets a new bass player, I have my own band and don't have time for another). They have a new song. It's called Butt Butt Butt.
Tonight I decided to talk to him about spirituality. I asked him if he heard of god. I just want to get him started in my particular brand of brainwashing that is the right of all parents. I was trying to tell him simply that god is the love that I feel for him and his mommy, and the love he feels for us. God is love, basic stuff. He looked at me, smiled, put his nose against mine and said, "god is butt." He's a goddamn zen master that one.
I am a first class swearer. I come from a long line of professional swearers. My dad swore a blue streak all the time when I was a kid. I heard it all. I do try to censor myself around my child, but when I'm telling a story sometimes the profanities slide through. I'm surprised he hasn't picked up any real curse words. My friend's 3 year old actually once said, "change my fucking diaper." She told me she was both shocked and appalled, yet a little proud of the correct usage. That incident did lead however to a more rigorous potty training regimen. I'm a little embarrassed at Kirk's butt talk, but considering who his father is, I think he's right on track. Butt!
Later I asked where he came up with the term muffin bottom anyway, and discovered he simply ate muffins the day before at daycare and loved the concept. I tried to tell him about the Seinfeld episode where Elaine had a muffin top shop and couldn't even give away the bottoms to the homeless. He really didn't understand that at all, he never saw the episode, and he's like not really even three yet, still the boy knows from funny.
Lately his humor has revolved mainly among butts. He thinks it is hilarious to call everything a butt. He makes me sing happy birthday as happy butt butt. I ask him if he wants to eat fishsticks, and he says he wants to eat fishbutts, and then he giggles. Now I know you are probably thinking he got this from me, and sure I have the knack for potty humor as well, but I usually work in the medium of poops or farts. Kirk will branch into poops and farts certainly, but his primary bit is butts. He comes up with this stuff on his own as if he were some sort of fully fledged big brained homo-sapien or something. Weird. It's gotten ridiculous. The word butt is coming out of his mouth all the time. The sun is a big bright butt, we drive a butt car, Thomas the train is a butt engine, and on and on. I don't mean to laugh all the time, but I can't help it sometimes.
Kirk has an imaginary band called Steggy Steggy, and they practice and have gigs and stuff, and his kitties are in the band (he says I'm the bass player,but I always tell him I'm just filling in until he gets a new bass player, I have my own band and don't have time for another). They have a new song. It's called Butt Butt Butt.
Tonight I decided to talk to him about spirituality. I asked him if he heard of god. I just want to get him started in my particular brand of brainwashing that is the right of all parents. I was trying to tell him simply that god is the love that I feel for him and his mommy, and the love he feels for us. God is love, basic stuff. He looked at me, smiled, put his nose against mine and said, "god is butt." He's a goddamn zen master that one.
I am a first class swearer. I come from a long line of professional swearers. My dad swore a blue streak all the time when I was a kid. I heard it all. I do try to censor myself around my child, but when I'm telling a story sometimes the profanities slide through. I'm surprised he hasn't picked up any real curse words. My friend's 3 year old actually once said, "change my fucking diaper." She told me she was both shocked and appalled, yet a little proud of the correct usage. That incident did lead however to a more rigorous potty training regimen. I'm a little embarrassed at Kirk's butt talk, but considering who his father is, I think he's right on track. Butt!
Monday, June 16, 2008
Empathy
Sometimes when Kirk is misbehaving he will try to lash out and tell me he doesn't like me or he'll try to hit me. It's a big problem. I have decided to not let him get away with being mean to people including me. I say things like, "it hurts peoples feelings when you say you don't like them", and he will usually concede the point and say he's sorry. The problem with using empathy as a tool with a three year old is they are smart enough to try to use it back. The other day when I was trying to get him into bed for a nap he kept running from me telling me I was making him sad. He said, "it hurts my feelings when you make me nap." Then when I tried to change his pants before said nap he started yelling and saying that I was hurting his other feelings.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
New story, written years ago.
A friend of mine got a DWI a few years back. I took him to court. I watched people and dreamed up this little sick love story.
We met in court. That fact alone should have clued me in to the type of relationship we would forge together. I knew it would eventually go badly looking back, but I always think things will go badly. I’m a pessimist, and so was she, but we met in a time of forced optimism for both of us. Neither of us wanted to get sent to jail. I was there for driving intoxicated and she was there on a charge of aggravated assault after she got in a fight at a bar and slugged the bouncer. We both had booze in common, and that was all we needed at the time, that and lonliness, I guess.
If you’ve ever had to deal with the legal system before you will know that it is extremely boring. There is a lot of time sitting around waiting. So we waited. And in the process we found ourselves conversing with the other various miscreants present. It was the usual assortment—drug violations, traffic situations, and the lot—regular people having a bad week. We sort of found eachother by default. We were the same age and race, so we had similar backgrounds. It was court so we were on our best behavior. I was dressed in my cleanest clothes, I was showered, shaved, and I had my hair neatly put into place. She was wearing the type of suit you would expect a female CEO of a fortune 500 company to wear. It was new, she bought it for the occasion. She was quite beautiful, but that was the first and only time I would ever see her looking like that. After hours of sitting and chatting together we decided to have dinner. We had, as a result of the days proceedings, both lost our driving privledges, so we took a cab to a bar and grill to celebrate not having to go to jail.
As I said, we had booze in common, so it is not unusual that we found ourselves to soon be uncommonly drunk. After dinner and many cocktails we stummbled down the street together laughing at nothing in particular. We were having the time of our lives. We were like two soldiers surviving combat sharing in our mutual joy with gleeful camaraderie. We would pause every few blocks or so and make out. Eventually we stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of vodka and a case of beer and went back to her place.
The rest of the night was quite blurry. We drank and we fucked. Then we ordered chinese food, ate, and then drank and fucked some more. When I woke up it was still dark outside. My mouth was dry and my head was spinning. For a moment I had no idea where the hell I was. I sat up and as my eyes ajusted to the darkness it became clear that I was lying on the floor somewhere. I was in a hallway. I focused on a cobweb in the corner of the wall and the ceiling for a minute and then rested my gaze on a poster on the wall that was half lighted from an outside street lamp. It was from some foreign movie I had never heard of. I looked at it for a seeming eternity. It featured a man in a cape on a horse holding a sword. “Who the hell is this broad anyway?” I kept wondering to myself. Then I picked myself up off the floor and noticed a pile of rice and vegetables splattered on the floor next to me. It was on my chest too. I was naked. I found the bathroom, washed myself off and took gargantuan gulps of water from the faucet. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were blood red, my face was pale, and I still had bits of undigested rice in my sticky hair that looked like maggots to me. “Why am I such a hopeless lout?” I derided myself. “Well at least I got laid.” I smiled at my reflection but the smile I received seemed beleagered and sad. I went to look for my clothes.
I found my underwear in the kitchen and my pants on the radiator. I put my pants on and cleaned up my vomit with my underwear. I threw the whole mess in the bathroom garbage and went looking for my shirt. I was still too shaky and still too drunk to feel guilty, but I knew the guilt was coming. If only my mother could see me know, I thought, she’d be so proud. That actually made me laugh at the time.
I couldn’t find my shirt anywhere and I knew it had to be behind the closed door to the bedroom. I was reticent to enter. She was in there. I was embarrassed. I considered walking home topless, but as I heard the birds chirping in dawn and the early morning hum of the busses outside, I decided not to subject the working people of the city to that type of weirdness. The sun was rising. Orange light splashed on the furniture in the room. It was lovely. I layed down on the couch and fell asleep once more.
When I awoke next I was hot. The sun was shining brightly upon me. I was thirsty. I sat up quickly and stared about the room. Everything was still strangely quiet. The poster of the horseman stared back at me. I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. I drank it down in four gulps. Then I walked gently to the bedroom door. I knocked lightly, and upon hearing nothing I carefully and slowly turned the knob and peered inside. She was still sleeping. The shade was drawn and the room looked gray. She was on the bed at an angle. The covers were on the floor. She was wearing my shirt but below the waist she was naked. There was a dark spot on the bed next to her. She must have pissed the bed, I thought, or maybe I did before I ended up in the hallway. She looked so peaceful. I looked at her legs pressed together and at her triangle vagina, I actually yearned to lie next to her and be her boyfriend. The clock by her bed read 10:47. I had missed work. Again. I climbed in bed beside her and spooned her avoiding the pee stain, and fell asleep again.
I opened my eyes. The clock read 1:26. She was gone. I rose and went to the bathroom. She was in there, brushing her teeth. She smiled at me through foam and toothbrush. I smiled back and went to the couch and sat down. A minute later she came out and sat next to me and put her arms around me.
“Thanks for staying”, she said.
“I almost didn’t”, I admitted. “But you were too cute in my shirt.”
She laughed and tossled my hair, but soon she lept back and stated, “You’re gross, get in the shower. I’ll put our clothes in the laundry. Feel free to use my toothbrush too.”
After my shower I put on one of her robes and went into the kitchen where she was cooking. The rest of the apartment looked clean.
“Your clothes will be done in an hour or so, until then we’ll have omlettes. The grease will be good for your hangover”, she said while stirring.
We ate our breakfast in silence, and once my clothes were dry she handed them to me straight faced.
“So I guess you have to go home and take care of missing work and everything”, she said.
“Yeah, and I have to try to get my drivers license back.” I looked at her and she seemed sad, or was it the same guilt that I felt for being so drunk and stupid the night before.
We kissed goodbye and it was one of those unemotional kisses, an uncomfortable kiss, a kiss that is merely protocol for the situation. I promised to call her and went out the door. I walked down the hall and pressed the down button on the elevator. The doors opened. I stepped inside. Then, just as the doors were closing I put my hand out, the doors reopenened and I went back to her door and knocked. She opened the door and smiled at me with such beauty that I pulled her to me and kissed her for real. She kissed me back passionately. We stumbled back into her apartment and I made love to her on the sun drenched sofa. That was the beginning of our relationship.
Her friends hated me. I hated them too. Hell, I think they hated her. They were all getting married and starting families, and she was off getting involved with another drunk. I can’t blame them for hating me, I hated me too. We ruined all their parties with our recklessness. I fell into a china cabinet once and I even sneezed on one of their babies. We were never invited out again.
My friends liked her okay. They thought she was cute enough, but never tried to get to know her. She didn’t get along with their wives or girlfriends, so we weren’t invited out much. We remained very much alone, and we remained very drunk. We were in love, so the rest of the world could fuck off for all we cared.
We drank together all the time. We rarely had sex at all. Drinking was our pleasure. Sometimes we would fuck in the morning to shake off a hangover, but mostly we drank. We would work, and then we would drink.
Strangely enough her parents loved me. Her family were a bunch of rednecks who thought of me as “good people”. My mother also loved her. She just wanted me to get her pregnant. She figured the responsibility of children would cure us of our wayward lifestyle. But we both hated our families, because we were elitist asshole city slickers. Actually we hated everybody.
We had grand times together, avoiding other people. We had hot dogs on thanksgiving, and we made turkey dinner for the fourth of July. But eventually we started to hate eachother as well. She drank too much, and so did I. It wasn’t long before we were in court for breaking probation. We were ordered to go into treatment and that was the end of us. We didn’t have anything in common after that.
I got sober eventually and I met someone in my new life, got married, and started a family. She killed herself a year after treatment. I think of her everyday.
We met in court. That fact alone should have clued me in to the type of relationship we would forge together. I knew it would eventually go badly looking back, but I always think things will go badly. I’m a pessimist, and so was she, but we met in a time of forced optimism for both of us. Neither of us wanted to get sent to jail. I was there for driving intoxicated and she was there on a charge of aggravated assault after she got in a fight at a bar and slugged the bouncer. We both had booze in common, and that was all we needed at the time, that and lonliness, I guess.
If you’ve ever had to deal with the legal system before you will know that it is extremely boring. There is a lot of time sitting around waiting. So we waited. And in the process we found ourselves conversing with the other various miscreants present. It was the usual assortment—drug violations, traffic situations, and the lot—regular people having a bad week. We sort of found eachother by default. We were the same age and race, so we had similar backgrounds. It was court so we were on our best behavior. I was dressed in my cleanest clothes, I was showered, shaved, and I had my hair neatly put into place. She was wearing the type of suit you would expect a female CEO of a fortune 500 company to wear. It was new, she bought it for the occasion. She was quite beautiful, but that was the first and only time I would ever see her looking like that. After hours of sitting and chatting together we decided to have dinner. We had, as a result of the days proceedings, both lost our driving privledges, so we took a cab to a bar and grill to celebrate not having to go to jail.
As I said, we had booze in common, so it is not unusual that we found ourselves to soon be uncommonly drunk. After dinner and many cocktails we stummbled down the street together laughing at nothing in particular. We were having the time of our lives. We were like two soldiers surviving combat sharing in our mutual joy with gleeful camaraderie. We would pause every few blocks or so and make out. Eventually we stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of vodka and a case of beer and went back to her place.
The rest of the night was quite blurry. We drank and we fucked. Then we ordered chinese food, ate, and then drank and fucked some more. When I woke up it was still dark outside. My mouth was dry and my head was spinning. For a moment I had no idea where the hell I was. I sat up and as my eyes ajusted to the darkness it became clear that I was lying on the floor somewhere. I was in a hallway. I focused on a cobweb in the corner of the wall and the ceiling for a minute and then rested my gaze on a poster on the wall that was half lighted from an outside street lamp. It was from some foreign movie I had never heard of. I looked at it for a seeming eternity. It featured a man in a cape on a horse holding a sword. “Who the hell is this broad anyway?” I kept wondering to myself. Then I picked myself up off the floor and noticed a pile of rice and vegetables splattered on the floor next to me. It was on my chest too. I was naked. I found the bathroom, washed myself off and took gargantuan gulps of water from the faucet. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were blood red, my face was pale, and I still had bits of undigested rice in my sticky hair that looked like maggots to me. “Why am I such a hopeless lout?” I derided myself. “Well at least I got laid.” I smiled at my reflection but the smile I received seemed beleagered and sad. I went to look for my clothes.
I found my underwear in the kitchen and my pants on the radiator. I put my pants on and cleaned up my vomit with my underwear. I threw the whole mess in the bathroom garbage and went looking for my shirt. I was still too shaky and still too drunk to feel guilty, but I knew the guilt was coming. If only my mother could see me know, I thought, she’d be so proud. That actually made me laugh at the time.
I couldn’t find my shirt anywhere and I knew it had to be behind the closed door to the bedroom. I was reticent to enter. She was in there. I was embarrassed. I considered walking home topless, but as I heard the birds chirping in dawn and the early morning hum of the busses outside, I decided not to subject the working people of the city to that type of weirdness. The sun was rising. Orange light splashed on the furniture in the room. It was lovely. I layed down on the couch and fell asleep once more.
When I awoke next I was hot. The sun was shining brightly upon me. I was thirsty. I sat up quickly and stared about the room. Everything was still strangely quiet. The poster of the horseman stared back at me. I went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. I drank it down in four gulps. Then I walked gently to the bedroom door. I knocked lightly, and upon hearing nothing I carefully and slowly turned the knob and peered inside. She was still sleeping. The shade was drawn and the room looked gray. She was on the bed at an angle. The covers were on the floor. She was wearing my shirt but below the waist she was naked. There was a dark spot on the bed next to her. She must have pissed the bed, I thought, or maybe I did before I ended up in the hallway. She looked so peaceful. I looked at her legs pressed together and at her triangle vagina, I actually yearned to lie next to her and be her boyfriend. The clock by her bed read 10:47. I had missed work. Again. I climbed in bed beside her and spooned her avoiding the pee stain, and fell asleep again.
I opened my eyes. The clock read 1:26. She was gone. I rose and went to the bathroom. She was in there, brushing her teeth. She smiled at me through foam and toothbrush. I smiled back and went to the couch and sat down. A minute later she came out and sat next to me and put her arms around me.
“Thanks for staying”, she said.
“I almost didn’t”, I admitted. “But you were too cute in my shirt.”
She laughed and tossled my hair, but soon she lept back and stated, “You’re gross, get in the shower. I’ll put our clothes in the laundry. Feel free to use my toothbrush too.”
After my shower I put on one of her robes and went into the kitchen where she was cooking. The rest of the apartment looked clean.
“Your clothes will be done in an hour or so, until then we’ll have omlettes. The grease will be good for your hangover”, she said while stirring.
We ate our breakfast in silence, and once my clothes were dry she handed them to me straight faced.
“So I guess you have to go home and take care of missing work and everything”, she said.
“Yeah, and I have to try to get my drivers license back.” I looked at her and she seemed sad, or was it the same guilt that I felt for being so drunk and stupid the night before.
We kissed goodbye and it was one of those unemotional kisses, an uncomfortable kiss, a kiss that is merely protocol for the situation. I promised to call her and went out the door. I walked down the hall and pressed the down button on the elevator. The doors opened. I stepped inside. Then, just as the doors were closing I put my hand out, the doors reopenened and I went back to her door and knocked. She opened the door and smiled at me with such beauty that I pulled her to me and kissed her for real. She kissed me back passionately. We stumbled back into her apartment and I made love to her on the sun drenched sofa. That was the beginning of our relationship.
Her friends hated me. I hated them too. Hell, I think they hated her. They were all getting married and starting families, and she was off getting involved with another drunk. I can’t blame them for hating me, I hated me too. We ruined all their parties with our recklessness. I fell into a china cabinet once and I even sneezed on one of their babies. We were never invited out again.
My friends liked her okay. They thought she was cute enough, but never tried to get to know her. She didn’t get along with their wives or girlfriends, so we weren’t invited out much. We remained very much alone, and we remained very drunk. We were in love, so the rest of the world could fuck off for all we cared.
We drank together all the time. We rarely had sex at all. Drinking was our pleasure. Sometimes we would fuck in the morning to shake off a hangover, but mostly we drank. We would work, and then we would drink.
Strangely enough her parents loved me. Her family were a bunch of rednecks who thought of me as “good people”. My mother also loved her. She just wanted me to get her pregnant. She figured the responsibility of children would cure us of our wayward lifestyle. But we both hated our families, because we were elitist asshole city slickers. Actually we hated everybody.
We had grand times together, avoiding other people. We had hot dogs on thanksgiving, and we made turkey dinner for the fourth of July. But eventually we started to hate eachother as well. She drank too much, and so did I. It wasn’t long before we were in court for breaking probation. We were ordered to go into treatment and that was the end of us. We didn’t have anything in common after that.
I got sober eventually and I met someone in my new life, got married, and started a family. She killed herself a year after treatment. I think of her everyday.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Dear old Matty Van. I'm a president nerd, remember?
Here is something I wrote once. It has no ending. At least I don't think it does. I really don't know what to do with it, but I really like how it captures the essence of a highway journey, albeit a crazy highway journey. Please let me know what you think.
I’m thinking about killing myself again. But why? Rationally I ask myself the same question over and over. I never seem to find the answer. Possibly there is no answer. It really doesn’t matter anyway. I’m starting to see reason again. There is no satisfaction in death. There is no exaltation. There is nothing.
These thoughts then get me to thinking about metaphysical matters. What is the soul? Does it exist? How much does it weigh, or what is its color?
None of it matters anyway. I look upon the person at the counter and grin robotically.
“Yes, it is a nice day out. Oh, yes, I do think there will be rain after all.”
I take my candy bar, my mineral water and my luxurious stick of jerkied beef back to my newly filled gasoline combustion machine.
As I drive I begin to wonder what it was that brought me to my current state. Is there anything truly wrong with me, I wonder. It even seems as though I am forcing myself to suffer for some future deed as yet unfolded. Hmm.?
As I drive I try to conjure up any notion that lets me believe that what I am attempting is anything except crazy.
“I’m not crazy! Everyone else is crazy.”
I haven’t done anything crazy yet, but what I am contemplating still weighs weary on my mind.
“You see, I am an artist. That is all. I’m just making a grand presentation.”
Just a grand presentation. Yes. After all it’s not like I want to hurt anyone. Far from it, I’m merely making a demonstration of my love. It’s a gentle intimate thing. Not unlike a wedding proposal on a billboard. Just more unique. That’s it, more unique. I always try to be somewhat original. It’s my strong suit. But maybe I am grasping for straws. Maybe this whole goddamned trip is futile. Nobody likes an insane man. And isn’t that exactly the type of person I am presenting if I go on with this?
I turn on the radio. It fills my cabin with blissful forgetfulness for awhile. I like that. I sing along to the popular songs of my childhood in nostalgic reverie. I sing along. I sing along. And I hum. And I tap out familiar rhythms upon my steering wheel. All is good. Yes. It does feel good to be on the road. The road is entrancing. It bumps and pulsates giddily along. Flashing past so swiftly, so forgetting. So forgetting. I sip at my water and flap my tongue lovingly at the tingling. The bubbles.
After some time I find that I have traveled far, indeed, far through time, if not in space. I look upon my speedometer and start to make the calculations again. Okay, at 70 miles per hour after seven hours I should be getting near where I need to sleep tonight. For some reason I loathe the notion of stopping. I just want to plow through past daybreak. But it’s not reasonable. It’s not rational. I need some rest. I’ve been on this road for a day now, and if I didn’t think I was capable of being crazy then, I surely should by now. I need to sleep it out. Think things through.
“I need to keep myself awake until I find a place to stay.”
I’m beginning to grow so tired. I even try to slap myself, but it is only a facsimile of a slap. I chuckle to myself.
“I can’t even slap myself, how could I expect to kill myself?”
I turn up the music. Louder and louder. I roll down the windows in an attempt to revive consciousness while looking like an air eating dog. I bounce up and down in my seat and pray for a hotel. Eventually it comes.
It is late. Far past midnight. The girl at the counter takes my credit card without looking up, and I hardly notice. I bring myself to my room and flop down instantly. I lay there for quite awhile staring at the textured ceiling. Sleep doesn’t come. It merely teases me. I find myself looking up in the yellow illumination of the hotel lamp. The bed is neat yet hard. It is stiff. It is unyielding. Pulling myself out of my clothes I grab instinctively for the remote control and crawl into the sack amidst an array of flashing imagery. The TV sings it’s lullaby and I finally submit to sleep.
“You don’t know who you are.”
“I’m the man you find sleeping.”
I awake for a moment to find the station all a fuzz with indifference. I click it off and resume my slumber.
Morning comes, and I choose to shower. The hot water is blissful upon my waking back. I see more clearful.
“I am alive”
The hot water drabs down and I start to sob.
“Why can’t she see me as clearly as I?”
“Fuck her! Fuck everybody!”
I begin to pound my head against the hollow fiberglass. Boom boom boom.
“Jesus this must be an interminable racket.”
I step out of the shower and turn on the fake red ticking lamp just for fun. Seated on the toilet I hang my head. I hang my head and sit. For a while.
The phone rings.
My heart stops.
Pause.
The phone rings again.
I get up and answer,
“Hello.”
“Oh yes, thank you.”
I hang up having forgotten the wake up call I had asked for.
Bunching my spare clothes together in my sack, I dress and head for the outdoors. I am greeted by the cool breeze of freshness in my wet head as I climb into my car and make haste for the freeway.
Driving again I start to feel more relaxed.
“Sadness gropes me.”
Like a molester, despair plunges it’s fangs into my being from out of nowhere.
“Why am I such a pussy?”
After a while I begin to feel human. The endless monotony of the interstate placates my madness momentarily. I count to myself, trying to figure out my gas mileage, my distance from my goal, and how I’m supposed to dig up the body of President Martin Van Buren and win back my lost love.
I’m thinking about killing myself again. But why? Rationally I ask myself the same question over and over. I never seem to find the answer. Possibly there is no answer. It really doesn’t matter anyway. I’m starting to see reason again. There is no satisfaction in death. There is no exaltation. There is nothing.
These thoughts then get me to thinking about metaphysical matters. What is the soul? Does it exist? How much does it weigh, or what is its color?
None of it matters anyway. I look upon the person at the counter and grin robotically.
“Yes, it is a nice day out. Oh, yes, I do think there will be rain after all.”
I take my candy bar, my mineral water and my luxurious stick of jerkied beef back to my newly filled gasoline combustion machine.
As I drive I begin to wonder what it was that brought me to my current state. Is there anything truly wrong with me, I wonder. It even seems as though I am forcing myself to suffer for some future deed as yet unfolded. Hmm.?
As I drive I try to conjure up any notion that lets me believe that what I am attempting is anything except crazy.
“I’m not crazy! Everyone else is crazy.”
I haven’t done anything crazy yet, but what I am contemplating still weighs weary on my mind.
“You see, I am an artist. That is all. I’m just making a grand presentation.”
Just a grand presentation. Yes. After all it’s not like I want to hurt anyone. Far from it, I’m merely making a demonstration of my love. It’s a gentle intimate thing. Not unlike a wedding proposal on a billboard. Just more unique. That’s it, more unique. I always try to be somewhat original. It’s my strong suit. But maybe I am grasping for straws. Maybe this whole goddamned trip is futile. Nobody likes an insane man. And isn’t that exactly the type of person I am presenting if I go on with this?
I turn on the radio. It fills my cabin with blissful forgetfulness for awhile. I like that. I sing along to the popular songs of my childhood in nostalgic reverie. I sing along. I sing along. And I hum. And I tap out familiar rhythms upon my steering wheel. All is good. Yes. It does feel good to be on the road. The road is entrancing. It bumps and pulsates giddily along. Flashing past so swiftly, so forgetting. So forgetting. I sip at my water and flap my tongue lovingly at the tingling. The bubbles.
After some time I find that I have traveled far, indeed, far through time, if not in space. I look upon my speedometer and start to make the calculations again. Okay, at 70 miles per hour after seven hours I should be getting near where I need to sleep tonight. For some reason I loathe the notion of stopping. I just want to plow through past daybreak. But it’s not reasonable. It’s not rational. I need some rest. I’ve been on this road for a day now, and if I didn’t think I was capable of being crazy then, I surely should by now. I need to sleep it out. Think things through.
“I need to keep myself awake until I find a place to stay.”
I’m beginning to grow so tired. I even try to slap myself, but it is only a facsimile of a slap. I chuckle to myself.
“I can’t even slap myself, how could I expect to kill myself?”
I turn up the music. Louder and louder. I roll down the windows in an attempt to revive consciousness while looking like an air eating dog. I bounce up and down in my seat and pray for a hotel. Eventually it comes.
It is late. Far past midnight. The girl at the counter takes my credit card without looking up, and I hardly notice. I bring myself to my room and flop down instantly. I lay there for quite awhile staring at the textured ceiling. Sleep doesn’t come. It merely teases me. I find myself looking up in the yellow illumination of the hotel lamp. The bed is neat yet hard. It is stiff. It is unyielding. Pulling myself out of my clothes I grab instinctively for the remote control and crawl into the sack amidst an array of flashing imagery. The TV sings it’s lullaby and I finally submit to sleep.
“You don’t know who you are.”
“I’m the man you find sleeping.”
I awake for a moment to find the station all a fuzz with indifference. I click it off and resume my slumber.
Morning comes, and I choose to shower. The hot water is blissful upon my waking back. I see more clearful.
“I am alive”
The hot water drabs down and I start to sob.
“Why can’t she see me as clearly as I?”
“Fuck her! Fuck everybody!”
I begin to pound my head against the hollow fiberglass. Boom boom boom.
“Jesus this must be an interminable racket.”
I step out of the shower and turn on the fake red ticking lamp just for fun. Seated on the toilet I hang my head. I hang my head and sit. For a while.
The phone rings.
My heart stops.
Pause.
The phone rings again.
I get up and answer,
“Hello.”
“Oh yes, thank you.”
I hang up having forgotten the wake up call I had asked for.
Bunching my spare clothes together in my sack, I dress and head for the outdoors. I am greeted by the cool breeze of freshness in my wet head as I climb into my car and make haste for the freeway.
Driving again I start to feel more relaxed.
“Sadness gropes me.”
Like a molester, despair plunges it’s fangs into my being from out of nowhere.
“Why am I such a pussy?”
After a while I begin to feel human. The endless monotony of the interstate placates my madness momentarily. I count to myself, trying to figure out my gas mileage, my distance from my goal, and how I’m supposed to dig up the body of President Martin Van Buren and win back my lost love.
Lot's O' stuff: new CD, fashion show, and the color fascist
Hello all. It was a busy week for me last week, and a busy weekend. On Saturday my groovy electro-pop/rock band played our CD release party. We have just put out our second EP and we are quite proud of it. You can get your hands on one by going here. You can also get it from itunes, or by writing to me. If you are in Minneapolis the CD will also be available at all Cheapo locations and at The Electric Fetus.
Also the new video, as posted earlier, is officially released, so please, if anyone wants to splash it all over their various blogs and stuff, feel free. It was pretty silly that I had to remove it from myspace last week, especially considering the DVD player was broken at the club, and we weren't even able to premier it, but hey I was just following orders.
The show was a great success. Thanks to all who performed or attended. Here's a picture from our performance. In typical Zahn fashion I would have to say I look awesomely awesome. I love me in this band. I think my Dr. Who look came off quite nicely.
Anyway that's enough about me, now I'd like to take some time to talk about other peoples art. On Thursday night I attended a local fashion show. It was billed as "cliche's fourth anniversary runway event". It took place in a community center near the uptown area of Minneapolis. This town has a lot of art, music, and theatre. It often feels like the only events I ever attend are musically related, so it was nice to take part in a different type of scene. It was in a big room with a runway, DJ's, a wine bar, and lots of beautiful people. I think folks dress differently for a fashion show than for a rock show. There seems to be more daring, more people trying to make a statement rather than just looking slutty on the dance floor, (which I am a fan of, don't misunderstand). Anyway one of my coworkers was showing her designs. She designs under the name Karmadandi, and I think she is really exceptionally talented. Her line is sophisticated yet completely practical. I took some video, but my camera was not up to the task for this type of event. The funniest part of this video are the stupid comments you can hear me making. Sadly Belsum could not attend. It would have been right up her alley. I went instead with a couple of other friends. It was really fun to just comment on the designs and give opinions, and argue whether a particular item was sexy or not. I had fun.
One of my friends was Ellie, see photo. We had an eventful day prior to the show. We were naughty. I got a jewish girl to eat bacon. Don't tell her mother. My other friend Rex, was also naughty at my urging, and having had to work early the next morning with a hangover, I'm sure he cursed my name plenty. Hey, it's a fair cop. Hey look I'm wearing the same sweater I wore in my music video. I do wear that a lot don't I?Lastly. Kirk was cranky at having to go to bed last night. As I read a little Elmo book about colors, he had negative things to say for every page, and when I got to the end and asked, "what's your favorite color?" He said, "I don't like colors." I thought it was pretty absurdly funny. I mean c'mon, is there really a human being alive who just plain doesn't like color? Prefers a black and white world maybe? Waxes nostalgic about the good old days, when everything was in black and white as evidenced by the tv, movies, and photos from yesteryear? I'll have to ponder that. Goodnight.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
I'm young again!!!
This is a quote from a recent Mercurial Rage write up.
"Mercurial Rage aren't British; they were born during the era they are referencing" See full article here.
That meant that we were born during the height of Depeche Mode and new wave. I'm the oldest member of the band, so that officially takes at least 10 years off my age. Maybe more if you put the era in the mid 1980's. In reality I was born during the era of SuperGlam-T Rex, David Bowie, and The Sweet, baby. A sexy time in it's own right. But I don't mind the age demotion. One question? Does this printed statement only make my alter ego Christopher Church 25, or do I get to be young with the gang? My real identity is only credited as a lyric writer, not really a full band member, but I think I should be ,ahem, grandfathered in. Ya know? Compromise. I get to say I'm 28. That sounds good to me. The only problem is at 28 I can't continue to run for President. I may have to switch my myspace profile to Chris Hill for Congress.
Oh hell, who am I kidding. I'm wearing an argyle cardigan in our music video. I'm obviously somebody's dad. Speaking of being a dad, the other day Kirk told me to play guitar while he played drums. After a while he got confused and threw his arms in the air and shouted, "Stop the music!"
"Mercurial Rage aren't British; they were born during the era they are referencing" See full article here.
That meant that we were born during the height of Depeche Mode and new wave. I'm the oldest member of the band, so that officially takes at least 10 years off my age. Maybe more if you put the era in the mid 1980's. In reality I was born during the era of SuperGlam-T Rex, David Bowie, and The Sweet, baby. A sexy time in it's own right. But I don't mind the age demotion. One question? Does this printed statement only make my alter ego Christopher Church 25, or do I get to be young with the gang? My real identity is only credited as a lyric writer, not really a full band member, but I think I should be ,ahem, grandfathered in. Ya know? Compromise. I get to say I'm 28. That sounds good to me. The only problem is at 28 I can't continue to run for President. I may have to switch my myspace profile to Chris Hill for Congress.
Oh hell, who am I kidding. I'm wearing an argyle cardigan in our music video. I'm obviously somebody's dad. Speaking of being a dad, the other day Kirk told me to play guitar while he played drums. After a while he got confused and threw his arms in the air and shouted, "Stop the music!"
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