Happy Halloween, dudes.
I'm stuck in a city that doesn't seem to appreciate it.
Then, maybe for me, Halloween will always be the old house on Surrey with the gang. Susan, Kris and I going all the way from Bridgetown Road to Lawrence, or trying to. Stopping down at LaRosas and the pony keg to see if they had any treats. Stopping at the Dairy Farmers for a free ice cream.
That guy on Childs who used to wear this white thing, and just chase people out of his yard without so much as a pencil. The people Angie and Brian knew, but I didn't, who passed out carmel corn homemade things, and I threw mine away because I was sure there was something nasty hidden in it.
Marcie and Marie, with thier bags of candy and dollars for all of us, even Susan and Kris, who they saw maybe once every Halloween.
The people who used to decorate their whole house for halloween. One time the woman there read my palm. She made all these noises about how wierd it was. At the time I was all embarrased. Why couldn't she have just said, "You're very creative and should be a writer".
Those people on Karen. One of them worked for Kahns. Every year, and I mean EVERY YEAR without fail, even after I was grown up and moved away. Every year they brought out this big ass grill and grilled hot dogs for the whole neighborhood. Free. For Halloween. With Coffee for the parents, too.
Good god, I miss that. One of my favorite memories- walking around on Halloween night. Susan and Kris and I got back first, no matter what. Hours later Kraig and Steve would come back with huge pillowcases full of stuff, and we never figured out how they managed to get so much candy.
I've always liked walking at night. You don't have to tell me it's not safe anymore, I know. There's something so magickal about Halloween at night though. I just love it.
It's not the same here, though. Almost like it's not really Halloween at all, if we're not at my old house, in the old neighborhood, with the old friends.
Things change, and some memories you can never get back. But I'll never forget the first time I saw Nightmare on Elm Street. It was another Halloween night. After we got back to the house and us kids were in the den, watching horror movies on TV. The moms and Grandmas were in the living room, talking. Know the scene where she's on the phone, with the tounge? Susan screemed bloody murder to wake the dead. I think my grandma almost had a heart attack at that. After that we were told to turn the TV off. I still love horror movies though. Shocking, I know.
I was a witch more times than I can remember. Cinderella. A cowgirl. A gypsy. And yes, I was even Smurfette. My mother has all the blackmail pictures, so don't look at me.
My favorite of course was Wonder Woman. I had my own WW bracelets. The costume was plastic and came in one of those boxes. Those plastic costumes in the box were the fucking SHIT. And another thing about being WW? It was ass freezing cold that year, kids. And mom made me wear my winter coat.
Wonder Woman doesn't do the whole Coat thing, though. So 'Wonder Woman' was allowed to wear her coat UNDER the costume. The plastic costume with flesh toned legs and arms, since all WW wears is a bathing suit. And if that's not screwy, I dunno what is.
I spend a lot of time dwelling on nostalgia, and memories, and moments in time that are lost forever, that I'll never get back. Every so often, it makes me a little sad. When I'm gone, who will remember those hot dogs on Karen, or the feeling of Halloween night back when it was actually held on Halloween, when people actually all passed out candy?
I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go
Walkin' with a dead man over my shoulder
Waiting for an invitation to arrive
Goin' to a party where no one's still alive
I was struck by lighting
Walkin' down the street
I was hit by something last night in my sleep
It's a dead man's party
Who could ask for more
Everybody's comin', leave your body at the door
Leave your body and soul at the door . . .
(don't run away it's only me)
All dressed up with nowhere to go
Walkin' with a dead man
Waitin' for an invitation to arrive
With a dead man . . . dead man . . .
Got my best suit and my tie
Shiny silver dollar on either eye
I hear the chauffeur comin' to the door
Says there's room for maybe just one more . . .
Don't run away it's only me
Don't be afraid of what you can't see
Don't run away it's only me . .
Saturday, October 30, 2004
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Kiel, What the FUCK???// miami, part 2
Kiel, BABE. I know it's not your job to take care of everyone, but what is going ON up there??
I was all about the rooting for the underdog in the Series the second the Yanks lost. But I'm on vacation, and I haven't been paying attention to the outside world, not really. Only the voices in my head, and otherwise.
I come back from Bagel&Deli with dinner and a Frosty~ gotta have my chocolate fix, even up here where they think ice cream is Cold Stone Crap.... and turn on the TV in anticipation of watching hopefully Sunday's eppysode of the Wire.
For some shitty reason, this hotel TV always pulls up with the CNN when you turn it on.
People are rioting and KILLING each other over your baseball team, Kiel. What the FUCK is up with that?? I can hear Lucien in the background, right now, for once in his life acting like he gives a damn and is in charge, telling you to get on it.
Killing and rioting over BASEBALL. When did America's pastime become violent? I thought only Pete Rose was supposed to be in charge of that. BASEBALL. At least in Cincy, they riot over racial issues, which are a problem anyway.
BASEBALL. I don't care if the antichrist Cards DO play them in the series. I'm not rooting for Boston, T. Your fans there are a little too freaky, even for me.
Miami. I am loving this vacation. Sucks to be Sherrilyn Kenyon, who got the big zip on the book signing and workshop, after driving up here from Nashville. Me, though- It was the most amazing thing. She is the most amazing, talented person. Friendly and funny and smart as hell.
Right now, the Miami part is almost done. I'm sad, a little. Not for the leaving Miami tomorrow, but for the end of my peaceful retreat. Going back to Mom's will be all with the "what do you mean you need to be on the computer/internet/read, come on i want to spend time with you".
Well Mom, I do too. Thing is though, every time I see you, you're all about the same, not understanding me or my husband at all questions. And our idea of hanging out?? Not the same. I can only take so much of the questions and annoying nagging before I go nuts. This is myvacation. Who knows when I'll get another chance like this.
I'm not getting THE writing done. Originally, I'd intended to go over Joey's stuff, do some rewrites and edits, see what I think of it after taking a long break from it. Muse about Liz, X, Sarah, R, Kennie, Jordan and everyone else, see where they take me. Get back to Illusions and see if I can make that work.
I didn't really do much of that, but I did get back into the groove of writing. A HUGE step. Thank you Ren, thank you Sin. Your voices are going to be permanently etched in my mind, I can tell, even if I never write another word for either of you. I'll never be able to say or write or hear the word 'God' again without hearing your voice, saying, yes? Thank you Shade, for just lurking in the background, the promise of a really great story if ever I get around to it. Thank you Joey, for passing the Punk reigns over to Ren, for a while. I know you're there, haven't forgotten you. He's still somewhat in hibernation, disgust for the Pod People here quite evident. Thank you Buffy, for being my comic relief, while I search for two moronic brothers lost in a sea of college chicks. Thank you Cait, just for being Cait. Very rare that I find someone who understands.
Thanks to Sherrilyn Kenyon, for sitting through a combined total of four hours with a nervous, excited, thrilled fan, and just being another cool somebody who's easy to talk to. I'll have the Graeter's ready when you stop in Lvll. You amaze me and inspire me, and never again will I be afraid of doing something I love, that makes me happy.
For all of you out there that don't get it, or don't get me? Good on you, just keep me out of it. Ren's acting like a damned softie, and hasn't bothered to put spiders in anyone's car at ALL yet. Sin needs his godlypowers or whatever back, and BTW dude, quit it with the nuclear melting of everyone's computers. Big with the getting old on that one, man.
Thank you, Miami. For reminding me of where I've been, where I was when I finally started to see who I could be. Okay, so I took a lot of stumbles along the way. But I learned something last night, and today from one of the coolest people ever. I already knew, but maybe forgot for a while. It's the little things, the little flaws, small imperfections, that make us unique, make us interesting, make us human.
Jason, I miss you. I miss your goofy grin and the holding up of the cats for me to see when I get stressed out frustrated, or just need a hug. This week has kind of been all about me, but my hear is all with the being about you.
Give me the beat, boys and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock n roll, and drift away...
I was all about the rooting for the underdog in the Series the second the Yanks lost. But I'm on vacation, and I haven't been paying attention to the outside world, not really. Only the voices in my head, and otherwise.
I come back from Bagel&Deli with dinner and a Frosty~ gotta have my chocolate fix, even up here where they think ice cream is Cold Stone Crap.... and turn on the TV in anticipation of watching hopefully Sunday's eppysode of the Wire.
For some shitty reason, this hotel TV always pulls up with the CNN when you turn it on.
People are rioting and KILLING each other over your baseball team, Kiel. What the FUCK is up with that?? I can hear Lucien in the background, right now, for once in his life acting like he gives a damn and is in charge, telling you to get on it.
Killing and rioting over BASEBALL. When did America's pastime become violent? I thought only Pete Rose was supposed to be in charge of that. BASEBALL. At least in Cincy, they riot over racial issues, which are a problem anyway.
BASEBALL. I don't care if the antichrist Cards DO play them in the series. I'm not rooting for Boston, T. Your fans there are a little too freaky, even for me.
Miami. I am loving this vacation. Sucks to be Sherrilyn Kenyon, who got the big zip on the book signing and workshop, after driving up here from Nashville. Me, though- It was the most amazing thing. She is the most amazing, talented person. Friendly and funny and smart as hell.
Right now, the Miami part is almost done. I'm sad, a little. Not for the leaving Miami tomorrow, but for the end of my peaceful retreat. Going back to Mom's will be all with the "what do you mean you need to be on the computer/internet/read, come on i want to spend time with you".
Well Mom, I do too. Thing is though, every time I see you, you're all about the same, not understanding me or my husband at all questions. And our idea of hanging out?? Not the same. I can only take so much of the questions and annoying nagging before I go nuts. This is myvacation. Who knows when I'll get another chance like this.
I'm not getting THE writing done. Originally, I'd intended to go over Joey's stuff, do some rewrites and edits, see what I think of it after taking a long break from it. Muse about Liz, X, Sarah, R, Kennie, Jordan and everyone else, see where they take me. Get back to Illusions and see if I can make that work.
I didn't really do much of that, but I did get back into the groove of writing. A HUGE step. Thank you Ren, thank you Sin. Your voices are going to be permanently etched in my mind, I can tell, even if I never write another word for either of you. I'll never be able to say or write or hear the word 'God' again without hearing your voice, saying, yes? Thank you Shade, for just lurking in the background, the promise of a really great story if ever I get around to it. Thank you Joey, for passing the Punk reigns over to Ren, for a while. I know you're there, haven't forgotten you. He's still somewhat in hibernation, disgust for the Pod People here quite evident. Thank you Buffy, for being my comic relief, while I search for two moronic brothers lost in a sea of college chicks. Thank you Cait, just for being Cait. Very rare that I find someone who understands.
Thanks to Sherrilyn Kenyon, for sitting through a combined total of four hours with a nervous, excited, thrilled fan, and just being another cool somebody who's easy to talk to. I'll have the Graeter's ready when you stop in Lvll. You amaze me and inspire me, and never again will I be afraid of doing something I love, that makes me happy.
For all of you out there that don't get it, or don't get me? Good on you, just keep me out of it. Ren's acting like a damned softie, and hasn't bothered to put spiders in anyone's car at ALL yet. Sin needs his godlypowers or whatever back, and BTW dude, quit it with the nuclear melting of everyone's computers. Big with the getting old on that one, man.
Thank you, Miami. For reminding me of where I've been, where I was when I finally started to see who I could be. Okay, so I took a lot of stumbles along the way. But I learned something last night, and today from one of the coolest people ever. I already knew, but maybe forgot for a while. It's the little things, the little flaws, small imperfections, that make us unique, make us interesting, make us human.
Jason, I miss you. I miss your goofy grin and the holding up of the cats for me to see when I get stressed out frustrated, or just need a hug. This week has kind of been all about me, but my hear is all with the being about you.
Give me the beat, boys and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock n roll, and drift away...
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
musings from Miami, part 1
Well, i'm finally on vacation. In Oxford, Ohio, where I went to college. Haven't really spent any time on campus in about ten years. So far, I'm loving it. I've got a new hotel room all to myself, with a Skyline, BW3, Brunos pizza, and Skippers pub in walking distance.
Anyone who can name this movie quote, email me and you get a hundred points, plus a pint of Graeter's next time you're in Louvull.
97X.....BAM! The future of Rocknroll....97X.....BAM! The future of Rocknroll... 97X...
Anyhow, no fair to cheaters who are from Cincy, dudes.
I love this place. Sure, part of me hated college, but I love Oxford. Hopefully, tomorrow it will be sunny and I can take some pictures. Old red brick and trees everywhere, cute little college town. Some things change, others stay the same.
Skipper's is still on the corner of Uptown. Brunos is still selling pizza, for a dollar a slice on the weekend evenings I'd bet. Phan Shin, still htere. LooneyTBird's is gone, and I have to wonder, where are these kids supposed to get their CDs from? No wonder the free pirated download people do so well.
Wild Berry is still there. Best place on earth. They make the best incense on earth, anywhere, and you can find it everywhere, too. I was in heaven, smelling it all. I love incense and never get to burn it at home, because of Jason and his allergies. So, bought five dollars worth, which is a lot. And now I smell like Dragon's Blood and Fairy Dust, whatever that is, kids, I dunno, but it smells good.
Miami is... a very different thing for me. You won't find Carter, Joey, or hell especially not Ren here. Aspen, once upon a dream, but not anymore. Ever. Parker, oh Parker would fit RIGHT in here, in his khakis and plaid shirts, all rumpled and looking like a JCrew ad that got slept in, picked up, still looks as good as when it first showed up in your mailbox. With his glasses and distraction, I think I must have been channelling a bit of Oxford when I wrote him.
Jack and Ryan. I can SO see thier stupid fool asses going from frat house to frat house, doing the godzilla and king kong thing, conning guys out of free beer and picking up on the freshman women.
Carter sits quiet, wondering where his ocean went to. Joey's pacing the room, trying to get the hell out of here and back to Zero where they know good music from bad. Ren's pissy, saying whatever you do, stay in the hotel room, don't go out or their preppiness might rub off. I haven't seen Jack and Ryan since we got here, but I'm sure they're wherever the women are, showing off and being clowns.
Some cute little college guy with a great tattoo on his arm was totally checking me out in Starbucks earlier. Me. Duh, like THAT happens everyday. Anyhow, it made me chuckle. Must have been the leather blazer.
Or, maybe, it was the fact that I was wearing it in the rain, not caring, smiling, having a grand old time just being myself, and not worrying what everyone else thinks. Not having to listen to anyone but my own muses, for a while.
I love my life, love LOVE my husband, am really lucky in all of that. And today, I'm thankful for this hotel, this laptop, HBO for free, guilty pleasures food, and Wild Berry Incense. Now, thanks to the internet, you can order it online at www.wild-berry.com
Aspen's off talking in the corner of the castle to a ghost, so I've gotta go help her out now. Stay tuned tommorrow night, for the report on the writer's workshop thing at Lane Library, with the Author Goddess herself. God, I am SO nervous.
Anyone who can name this movie quote, email me and you get a hundred points, plus a pint of Graeter's next time you're in Louvull.
97X.....BAM! The future of Rocknroll....97X.....BAM! The future of Rocknroll... 97X...
Anyhow, no fair to cheaters who are from Cincy, dudes.
I love this place. Sure, part of me hated college, but I love Oxford. Hopefully, tomorrow it will be sunny and I can take some pictures. Old red brick and trees everywhere, cute little college town. Some things change, others stay the same.
Skipper's is still on the corner of Uptown. Brunos is still selling pizza, for a dollar a slice on the weekend evenings I'd bet. Phan Shin, still htere. LooneyTBird's is gone, and I have to wonder, where are these kids supposed to get their CDs from? No wonder the free pirated download people do so well.
Wild Berry is still there. Best place on earth. They make the best incense on earth, anywhere, and you can find it everywhere, too. I was in heaven, smelling it all. I love incense and never get to burn it at home, because of Jason and his allergies. So, bought five dollars worth, which is a lot. And now I smell like Dragon's Blood and Fairy Dust, whatever that is, kids, I dunno, but it smells good.
Miami is... a very different thing for me. You won't find Carter, Joey, or hell especially not Ren here. Aspen, once upon a dream, but not anymore. Ever. Parker, oh Parker would fit RIGHT in here, in his khakis and plaid shirts, all rumpled and looking like a JCrew ad that got slept in, picked up, still looks as good as when it first showed up in your mailbox. With his glasses and distraction, I think I must have been channelling a bit of Oxford when I wrote him.
Jack and Ryan. I can SO see thier stupid fool asses going from frat house to frat house, doing the godzilla and king kong thing, conning guys out of free beer and picking up on the freshman women.
Carter sits quiet, wondering where his ocean went to. Joey's pacing the room, trying to get the hell out of here and back to Zero where they know good music from bad. Ren's pissy, saying whatever you do, stay in the hotel room, don't go out or their preppiness might rub off. I haven't seen Jack and Ryan since we got here, but I'm sure they're wherever the women are, showing off and being clowns.
Some cute little college guy with a great tattoo on his arm was totally checking me out in Starbucks earlier. Me. Duh, like THAT happens everyday. Anyhow, it made me chuckle. Must have been the leather blazer.
Or, maybe, it was the fact that I was wearing it in the rain, not caring, smiling, having a grand old time just being myself, and not worrying what everyone else thinks. Not having to listen to anyone but my own muses, for a while.
I love my life, love LOVE my husband, am really lucky in all of that. And today, I'm thankful for this hotel, this laptop, HBO for free, guilty pleasures food, and Wild Berry Incense. Now, thanks to the internet, you can order it online at www.wild-berry.com
Aspen's off talking in the corner of the castle to a ghost, so I've gotta go help her out now. Stay tuned tommorrow night, for the report on the writer's workshop thing at Lane Library, with the Author Goddess herself. God, I am SO nervous.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Joey goes to Taco Hell
Please, please note. The only reason I'm posting this at ALL, is that everything has been so negative lately. Stuff that's depressing and downright violent. And if I Blog today about RL, it's going to be an angry rant about my friend who was raped Tuesday, and violence, and my warring opinions on gun control.
Instead, I'm handing the Blog over to Joey, who has been itching to tell this one for a while. Next to Jack and Ryan Raven, it's probably some of the funniest stuff I've written so far. Not funny haha for everyone else, but funny for me, because it happened to us, late one night on the way home. Some of the best stuff I write comes from things that actually happened. And when I find myself in a big writer's block, it's usually because I've been sitting in front of the computer too long and not out DOING things.
Anyhow, the disclaimer. This is going to come off sounding, I'm sure, a LOT politically incorrect. Maybe racist, Gods, please don't take any of this the wrong way. The truth is, there are a lot of foriegn folks who work at the fast food joints out in Springhurst, and frequently there are those who can't speak any more English than what is required to do their job.
I'm not saying anything bad about them. I wish them well. I'm not going to say any more. If someone out there takes issue with this, especially any of my friends, please email me at arawenne@yahoo.com.
And now for a laugh, if only for my own sake, to get us back on track with the lighter, blonder, side of my psyche.
It was late Friday night when we pulled into the local Taco drive-thru. It’s very rare for Jo and I to drive anywhere, but we’d been dancing for hours and were both craving Mexican food. Apparently everyone else in the known universe had the same thought, because the line was almost out on the street when we got there. Content to talk in the car, relax for a while and listen to the stereo, we sat and waited. This is when Tad filled me in on all that had been going on with the Carter situation. A lot of it I knew already, but I got the 411 with details and Jo’s observations. We both had a good laugh over all of it.
I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the line; the people that take your order in the Drive-thru forgot how to have any manners. My sister Rachel worked at the Burger King down the street from the high school when she was a teenager. She and her friends there were always so polite. Now I get stunted sentences without even a Hello. “Take your order!” replaces “welcome to taco land, can I help you?” and “upsize?”, that’s the whole sentence, replaces “will that be all?” And let us not forget my favorite, “(insert undecipherable scrambled jumble of words here) first window”.
Amazingly, we eventually made it to the “Pay” window. Having sat in the car for well over twenty minutes, we had plenty of time to get the money ready. Some foreign looking employee stood there smiling at us, saying and doing nothing else. Since I was holding the money out the window, ready for him to take, this seemed like a pretty stupid thing for him to do. Then again, I never went to the high tech world of fast food training school, so what do I know. Giving up, I asked what the total was supposed to be. I could swear he said one hundred thirteen dollars and twenty eight cents. This seemed a little high for four tacos and two Cokes, so I handed over a twenty. Finally, some progress, he took it. Instead of change, he gave me a wad of napkins and a straw. I know these items are probably priceless somewhere in the world, but here in the US, I want some George Washingtons back, at the very least. He asked a question in what I can only assume is Taco Speak. I looked at Tad, who informed me I was being asked if we needed any sauce. Promptly, the nice fellow thrust fifteen packets of hot sauce in my hands, where they joined the napkins and straws in my lap. Um, thanks mister taco dude, but I’m trying to drive here. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this shit? And besides, the guy in the Ford Explorer in front of me got all his sauces and napkins in a neat little plastic bag. Apparently, having Tad along for the ride ticked off the Taco gods or something. The car in front of us pulled away. Hallelujah, Mexican food at last, possibly made by real Mexicans! Then I remembered that I still didn’t get any change. I looked expectantly at the guy, who was still standing there smiling at us. “Um, I guess I’ll hold all this great stuff you gave me, but do you think I could get my change?” His response was friendly, and long, and not in English OR taco language. I looked at Jo, and she shrugged. The kid vanished suddenly… not Pip and he’s gone, just, ran off. Sigh. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, and found myself singing along through most of Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song before the kid came back with some money. Hell, I didn’t even count it at that point; I just wanted cash and food.
At the next window, the teenage boy spoke English and had our food waiting. I smiled and told him their napkin and sauce system left a lot to be desired. He saw the pile of junk in my lap and laughed good-naturedly. Apparently this was a common, but unfixable, problem- since many of the other employees don’t speak much English. We took the bag of tacos, and our cokes, and I peeled the hell out of there before anyone tried to take away our rather large stash of hot sauce. I looked at the hot sauce, and looked at Tad, raised a brow and gave her a wicked grin. She laughed and ignored me. Oh well. As we pulled out onto the street and stopped at a red light, I looked over at Tad and we both had the same thought that we shouted out loud to each other, laughing hysterically. I could tell you what it is, but then I'd have to kill you.
I know, it sounds a bit like a rant, but it makes me smile every time. Thank you, Joey. And now I must yeild the floor to Jack and Ryan, my true comedic muses. We downloaded Napster the other day, and so I'm setting about to DL the Godzilla song, because those cowboys are just so damned cute in their Godzilla and King Kong costumes. Don't ask.
Instead, I'm handing the Blog over to Joey, who has been itching to tell this one for a while. Next to Jack and Ryan Raven, it's probably some of the funniest stuff I've written so far. Not funny haha for everyone else, but funny for me, because it happened to us, late one night on the way home. Some of the best stuff I write comes from things that actually happened. And when I find myself in a big writer's block, it's usually because I've been sitting in front of the computer too long and not out DOING things.
Anyhow, the disclaimer. This is going to come off sounding, I'm sure, a LOT politically incorrect. Maybe racist, Gods, please don't take any of this the wrong way. The truth is, there are a lot of foriegn folks who work at the fast food joints out in Springhurst, and frequently there are those who can't speak any more English than what is required to do their job.
I'm not saying anything bad about them. I wish them well. I'm not going to say any more. If someone out there takes issue with this, especially any of my friends, please email me at arawenne@yahoo.com.
And now for a laugh, if only for my own sake, to get us back on track with the lighter, blonder, side of my psyche.
It was late Friday night when we pulled into the local Taco drive-thru. It’s very rare for Jo and I to drive anywhere, but we’d been dancing for hours and were both craving Mexican food. Apparently everyone else in the known universe had the same thought, because the line was almost out on the street when we got there. Content to talk in the car, relax for a while and listen to the stereo, we sat and waited. This is when Tad filled me in on all that had been going on with the Carter situation. A lot of it I knew already, but I got the 411 with details and Jo’s observations. We both had a good laugh over all of it.
I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the line; the people that take your order in the Drive-thru forgot how to have any manners. My sister Rachel worked at the Burger King down the street from the high school when she was a teenager. She and her friends there were always so polite. Now I get stunted sentences without even a Hello. “Take your order!” replaces “welcome to taco land, can I help you?” and “upsize?”, that’s the whole sentence, replaces “will that be all?” And let us not forget my favorite, “(insert undecipherable scrambled jumble of words here) first window”.
Amazingly, we eventually made it to the “Pay” window. Having sat in the car for well over twenty minutes, we had plenty of time to get the money ready. Some foreign looking employee stood there smiling at us, saying and doing nothing else. Since I was holding the money out the window, ready for him to take, this seemed like a pretty stupid thing for him to do. Then again, I never went to the high tech world of fast food training school, so what do I know. Giving up, I asked what the total was supposed to be. I could swear he said one hundred thirteen dollars and twenty eight cents. This seemed a little high for four tacos and two Cokes, so I handed over a twenty. Finally, some progress, he took it. Instead of change, he gave me a wad of napkins and a straw. I know these items are probably priceless somewhere in the world, but here in the US, I want some George Washingtons back, at the very least. He asked a question in what I can only assume is Taco Speak. I looked at Tad, who informed me I was being asked if we needed any sauce. Promptly, the nice fellow thrust fifteen packets of hot sauce in my hands, where they joined the napkins and straws in my lap. Um, thanks mister taco dude, but I’m trying to drive here. What the hell am I supposed to do with all this shit? And besides, the guy in the Ford Explorer in front of me got all his sauces and napkins in a neat little plastic bag. Apparently, having Tad along for the ride ticked off the Taco gods or something. The car in front of us pulled away. Hallelujah, Mexican food at last, possibly made by real Mexicans! Then I remembered that I still didn’t get any change. I looked expectantly at the guy, who was still standing there smiling at us. “Um, I guess I’ll hold all this great stuff you gave me, but do you think I could get my change?” His response was friendly, and long, and not in English OR taco language. I looked at Jo, and she shrugged. The kid vanished suddenly… not Pip and he’s gone, just, ran off. Sigh. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, and found myself singing along through most of Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song before the kid came back with some money. Hell, I didn’t even count it at that point; I just wanted cash and food.
At the next window, the teenage boy spoke English and had our food waiting. I smiled and told him their napkin and sauce system left a lot to be desired. He saw the pile of junk in my lap and laughed good-naturedly. Apparently this was a common, but unfixable, problem- since many of the other employees don’t speak much English. We took the bag of tacos, and our cokes, and I peeled the hell out of there before anyone tried to take away our rather large stash of hot sauce. I looked at the hot sauce, and looked at Tad, raised a brow and gave her a wicked grin. She laughed and ignored me. Oh well. As we pulled out onto the street and stopped at a red light, I looked over at Tad and we both had the same thought that we shouted out loud to each other, laughing hysterically. I could tell you what it is, but then I'd have to kill you.
I know, it sounds a bit like a rant, but it makes me smile every time. Thank you, Joey. And now I must yeild the floor to Jack and Ryan, my true comedic muses. We downloaded Napster the other day, and so I'm setting about to DL the Godzilla song, because those cowboys are just so damned cute in their Godzilla and King Kong costumes. Don't ask.
carter speaks
It isn't often that I feel completely helpless.
It was late, and I was out on the beach, surfing in my own private ocean. The water smells different at night; I know it's an illusion, but it sticks with me. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed, I take a deep breath and can almost smell it, even from home. The ocean speaks to us, not in any language meant to be understood, but it speaks nonetheless.
Tonight, it was angry, and violent. Good for my kind of surfing, but it made me wonder what was wrong in the world, that the water could slash against my skin, along the board, through the air, and into the sky in such a manner.
When I went home, I found Karina lying on my bed. Not so much lying, because that implies sleep, and peace. She was wearing one of my old shirts; it looked like she'd taken a shower and then thrown on the first thing she found.
Time after time her fists slammed into the mattress, almost hard enough to split the seams and have feathers spewing everywhere. I touched her shoulder, and she jerked in response.
Karina sprang off the bed, and I thought she was going to throw herself at me, but she didn't. Instead, she started fighting me. Her temper is like this; when it gets hot enough, she needs to lash out at something. Since I am not your average Parker, I can withstand quite a bit of her pummeling, so I let her do her worst until she got it all out of her system.
By the time her fists were almost raw, she let me pick her up, and carry her to the bed. I wrapped my arms around her while she cried, and waited.
The story she told me was enough to make me wonder about humans, and my need suddenly to be around them. Why did I bother worrying over my own demons, when there were things much worse, among their own kind?
One of her friends had been attacked. There are people in the world that you might say "oh, so and so is so sweet, so nice, such fun to be around." But you don't really mean it; not entirely. This woman, this friend of Karina's, really WAS such a person. I knew instantly who Karina meant, because the little bit of a thing had made an impression on even me. She'd made me laugh, and smile, and feel at home and at ease in her little store. Rare, for someone who stayed hidden from the world for hundreds of years.
Karina's little friend had been attacked. It's one of those ugly, horrible truths about life that you don't believe until it happens to someone you know. I believe the worst in life as a rule, but Karina.... she hasn't seen the worst of it, yet.
The young woman, barely old enough to have completed college, had been in her own home. Full of life and cats and fun. And some ugly, hideous, disgusting monster broke into her little apartment, and attacked her.
People think I am a monster, but humans are a thousand times worse.
Of course, Karina's friend was out of the hospital the following day, and two days later, she was ready to get back to work and move on with life. Karina looked up at me with growing horror, as she began to realize the full effect of the event, for her friend.
How could you ever feel safe alone, at home, after something like that? How could you stand to let someone touch you, get near you? Issues that many have had to overcome. Nothing that hasn't happened before.
But how many times have you stopped to wonder, could it happen to you?
I write this because I advise you to look at your life, and be safe. There will be no more days where Karina takes out the trash, at night, alone, or walks to her car in a dark parking lot without her phone. She'll look a little more closely to be sure she's locked up the house, and the windows tightly.
And you can bet I'll be watching, and waiting.
That's all from me. There's a Great White somewhere in the area, and I intend to find it.
It was late, and I was out on the beach, surfing in my own private ocean. The water smells different at night; I know it's an illusion, but it sticks with me. Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed, I take a deep breath and can almost smell it, even from home. The ocean speaks to us, not in any language meant to be understood, but it speaks nonetheless.
Tonight, it was angry, and violent. Good for my kind of surfing, but it made me wonder what was wrong in the world, that the water could slash against my skin, along the board, through the air, and into the sky in such a manner.
When I went home, I found Karina lying on my bed. Not so much lying, because that implies sleep, and peace. She was wearing one of my old shirts; it looked like she'd taken a shower and then thrown on the first thing she found.
Time after time her fists slammed into the mattress, almost hard enough to split the seams and have feathers spewing everywhere. I touched her shoulder, and she jerked in response.
Karina sprang off the bed, and I thought she was going to throw herself at me, but she didn't. Instead, she started fighting me. Her temper is like this; when it gets hot enough, she needs to lash out at something. Since I am not your average Parker, I can withstand quite a bit of her pummeling, so I let her do her worst until she got it all out of her system.
By the time her fists were almost raw, she let me pick her up, and carry her to the bed. I wrapped my arms around her while she cried, and waited.
The story she told me was enough to make me wonder about humans, and my need suddenly to be around them. Why did I bother worrying over my own demons, when there were things much worse, among their own kind?
One of her friends had been attacked. There are people in the world that you might say "oh, so and so is so sweet, so nice, such fun to be around." But you don't really mean it; not entirely. This woman, this friend of Karina's, really WAS such a person. I knew instantly who Karina meant, because the little bit of a thing had made an impression on even me. She'd made me laugh, and smile, and feel at home and at ease in her little store. Rare, for someone who stayed hidden from the world for hundreds of years.
Karina's little friend had been attacked. It's one of those ugly, horrible truths about life that you don't believe until it happens to someone you know. I believe the worst in life as a rule, but Karina.... she hasn't seen the worst of it, yet.
The young woman, barely old enough to have completed college, had been in her own home. Full of life and cats and fun. And some ugly, hideous, disgusting monster broke into her little apartment, and attacked her.
People think I am a monster, but humans are a thousand times worse.
Of course, Karina's friend was out of the hospital the following day, and two days later, she was ready to get back to work and move on with life. Karina looked up at me with growing horror, as she began to realize the full effect of the event, for her friend.
How could you ever feel safe alone, at home, after something like that? How could you stand to let someone touch you, get near you? Issues that many have had to overcome. Nothing that hasn't happened before.
But how many times have you stopped to wonder, could it happen to you?
I write this because I advise you to look at your life, and be safe. There will be no more days where Karina takes out the trash, at night, alone, or walks to her car in a dark parking lot without her phone. She'll look a little more closely to be sure she's locked up the house, and the windows tightly.
And you can bet I'll be watching, and waiting.
That's all from me. There's a Great White somewhere in the area, and I intend to find it.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Sing out loud like nobody's listening
Sing with me, sing for the years
Sing for the laughter and sing for the tears
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away
One year ago this Saturday, we lost a very good friend. Clay was one of Jason's best friends and the first person I ever met when I came here to Louisville. Sure he suffered from strange Nsync hair at times, but a better guy you'll never meet.
He was driving in his car, on the way home from a night at the bar where he was more well loved and known than Norm at Cheers. He was on the road I drive every day, to and from work. It's twisty and turny and he didn't have on his seat belt.
That's it, he just wasn't wearing his seat belt. Chances are good he'd be alive right now, up at Good Times singing Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy, or Whiskey Lullaby or some equally good song, if he had only been wearing his seat belt.
Of all of Jason's friends, Clay was the first one who ever made me feel welcome. Now that he's gone, I feel like I was cheated out of the chance to really get to know him. He was young, in his 20s, and engaged to the sweetest girl, Nikki. God how I can't even begin to imagine how she must have felt.
The funeral was unreal. It went on for like eight hours and I've never seen so many people. I think Nikki said something like 800 people showed up. Let's just say Clay never met a stranger and he was always making friends. Hell, he had seven grooomsmen scheduled to be in his wedding, and I'm pretty damn certain he'd asked every one of them, including J, to be his best man. If there's a person in Louisville who didn't know him, I'd be suprised.
After the funeral a bunch of Jason's gang got together at my house and we had a big party where we proceeded to get tanked. I drank what, maybe three bottles of red wine thanks to Jason's pal Josh who works at the liquor store. This saturday we're all getting together again in Clay's honor.
In the short time I knew him, Clay touched my life more than some of the people who I've known my whole life. The lesson I learned is simple. Sing out loud and enjoy life, no matter what anyone else thinks. If you love yourself, and love life, everything else is gravy.
Clay certainly loved life. You could tell. And when we were at the wake, and got to say goodbye, there's never been a clearer message from beyond that there is more out there than just this life. He was happy, he was loved, and he loved others. But in that funeral home, he was just gone. I've seen dead bodies in funeral homes before, but never experienced anything quite like what I did seeing Clay's that day. In J's words, "he just wasn't there anymore. Whatever made Clay, Clay, was just gone." And you can't tell me that whatever that was, that magnificent something, that it's just simply slipped out into the void and will be no more.
I don't believe that, because I know better. I'm not sure I believe in the concrete idea of the pearly gates, or hell either for that matter, but I know there's more than what we see. Someone out there is responsible for the fabulousness of this world, and all the people in it. It didn't just happen by some freak explosion.
Somewhere out there, Clay is still singing. I plan to sing along, to my own tunes, from here, for quite a long time. A very very long time, because I love my own life and just about everything in it. But on the day I sing my last, there will be more than just long lost family waiting for me.
Rest In Peace seems highly inaccurate. Rest in Joy, in song, in laughter and in love.
And in all that, we'll remember Stephen Clay Crockett, one of my most favorite people of all time.
Sing for the laughter and sing for the tears
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away
One year ago this Saturday, we lost a very good friend. Clay was one of Jason's best friends and the first person I ever met when I came here to Louisville. Sure he suffered from strange Nsync hair at times, but a better guy you'll never meet.
He was driving in his car, on the way home from a night at the bar where he was more well loved and known than Norm at Cheers. He was on the road I drive every day, to and from work. It's twisty and turny and he didn't have on his seat belt.
That's it, he just wasn't wearing his seat belt. Chances are good he'd be alive right now, up at Good Times singing Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy, or Whiskey Lullaby or some equally good song, if he had only been wearing his seat belt.
Of all of Jason's friends, Clay was the first one who ever made me feel welcome. Now that he's gone, I feel like I was cheated out of the chance to really get to know him. He was young, in his 20s, and engaged to the sweetest girl, Nikki. God how I can't even begin to imagine how she must have felt.
The funeral was unreal. It went on for like eight hours and I've never seen so many people. I think Nikki said something like 800 people showed up. Let's just say Clay never met a stranger and he was always making friends. Hell, he had seven grooomsmen scheduled to be in his wedding, and I'm pretty damn certain he'd asked every one of them, including J, to be his best man. If there's a person in Louisville who didn't know him, I'd be suprised.
After the funeral a bunch of Jason's gang got together at my house and we had a big party where we proceeded to get tanked. I drank what, maybe three bottles of red wine thanks to Jason's pal Josh who works at the liquor store. This saturday we're all getting together again in Clay's honor.
In the short time I knew him, Clay touched my life more than some of the people who I've known my whole life. The lesson I learned is simple. Sing out loud and enjoy life, no matter what anyone else thinks. If you love yourself, and love life, everything else is gravy.
Clay certainly loved life. You could tell. And when we were at the wake, and got to say goodbye, there's never been a clearer message from beyond that there is more out there than just this life. He was happy, he was loved, and he loved others. But in that funeral home, he was just gone. I've seen dead bodies in funeral homes before, but never experienced anything quite like what I did seeing Clay's that day. In J's words, "he just wasn't there anymore. Whatever made Clay, Clay, was just gone." And you can't tell me that whatever that was, that magnificent something, that it's just simply slipped out into the void and will be no more.
I don't believe that, because I know better. I'm not sure I believe in the concrete idea of the pearly gates, or hell either for that matter, but I know there's more than what we see. Someone out there is responsible for the fabulousness of this world, and all the people in it. It didn't just happen by some freak explosion.
Somewhere out there, Clay is still singing. I plan to sing along, to my own tunes, from here, for quite a long time. A very very long time, because I love my own life and just about everything in it. But on the day I sing my last, there will be more than just long lost family waiting for me.
Rest In Peace seems highly inaccurate. Rest in Joy, in song, in laughter and in love.
And in all that, we'll remember Stephen Clay Crockett, one of my most favorite people of all time.
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