When we were little bitty kids, my baby brother, Tiny T, was extremely quiet. For any of you who now him now, you know sometimes it’s a wonder if the he’ll shut up. Back then, my parents thought there might be something wrong with his hearing since he never talked. When he was a bit older, my aunt thought he was on drugs. His explanation, “I don’t talk unless I have something to say.”
Novel concept. I think he was about 12 when he said that.
I can think of about 80 people I would like to present that to…
That popped into my head yesterday when I was listening to someone bloviate about all the things he knew and the places he’d been. High decibel announcements of anything in a pubic place just never seem as interesting to me. Blah, blah, and blah. But this man did make me think of my little bro’s high decibel announcement when he was about 3 or 4 years old.
I was the family piano player, or maybe it’s more accurate to say I was the only one who took piano lessons. The sitting was kind of hard for me. Still time was something I preferred to reserve for reading and being stuck at the piano bench when there was action outside was a bit torturous for the smaller version of myself. Plus, the budding feminist in me was always quick to question why I had to do anything that neither of my brothers had to do.
I don’t know if Tiny T wanted to take lessons, but his Mozart moment is burned into my mind. The moment “Radio in the Bathtub” was born.
We never understood from where the simple lyrics came, just a repetition of “Radio in the bathtub, raaaad-I-o in the bathtub” over and over, his tiny hands pounding in unison on the keys, stretching as far as they could reach, building with the intensity of Elton John working through the third hour of the concert. Rocketman, burnin’ through milk and cookies in Edgerton.
Once he realized he had an audience, there were encores, but “Radio in the Bathtub” left as quickly as it came with the burst of creative glory of our favorite one hit wonders. Or maybe it’s just the inspiration for future renditions of stupid shit I do like “Remote in the Fridge” or “Car Keys in the Backdoor…”
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
There is no kiss on this list...
I rant on occasion. Okay, that’s just a balls out lie. Man Friend can tell you that some of my biggest rants are at the television and they involve sports and political programming. My love to bitch and rant made me start a list of things that so much of the populace seems to dig, but I could give a shit about. So, it’s time to publish a list… we’ll think of it has a critical thinking list…
Mumford and Sons/Modest Mouse
I think I get equally disinterested in a band when celebrities and hipsters proclaim love for it. Maybe I shouldn’t watch an E!News. Maybe it’s because I was never cool enough to be a hipster. Or maybe I just don’t like music that gets filed under M. Although I totally own Maroon 5 as a guilty pleasure and do, in fact, have moves better than Jagger. So you don’t have to tell me which song I need to hear to understand or appreciate the music. I say, eh, and as long as we’re talking music, on to another musical dislike.
Needing to have credit for introducing someone to a musical artist
Someone once claimed to have introduced me to Bob Dylan, even though I had over 10 discs and three concerts under my belt prior to meeting him. I’ve never had a problem recommending music or a book or movies or whatever to someone. If s/he likes it, great, and if not, that’s cool, too. But I’ve known people who will fight over who introduced a band or artist to the friendship. Fucking balls, fight over healthcare reform or whether MJ or LeBron will go down as the greatest, but why argue over who found a band first. It’s like some weird badge of honor and self-importance to some people and I just don’t get it.
Colorado
Everyone around me used to talk about Colorado like it was the promised land. When I lived in Lincoln, lots of people cheered for the CO professional sports teams and talked about how cool Boulder was. And how young and hip everyone was. Then when I moved to So Dak, there was an odd exodus of people moving there. Everyone acted like it was this incredibly cool place filled with micro-breweries, pot, and never-ending fun. But I would read about really conservative, anti-choice politics and think about school shootings and really wonder. To me, it was So Dak with tits, meaning mountains. I’m sure there are lots of amazing people there and amazing scenery, but there also seemed to be a lot of conservative politics from the retired military and megachurch populations. Hello Mr. Haggard! And let’s not get started on the credit card hippies.
I’ve softened a bit on my CO stance and we’ll credit the fine work of Dog Chapman on the Denver episodes for that.
Qudoba
It’s a tortilla. It’s meat. It’s vegetables. I can make something more interesting, cheaper, and more healthful. I should admit that this annoyance primarily comes from a group of stoners I met when I first moved to So Dak and one would always want to “Go to the ‘Dob,” every time he was ripped. He was ripped a lot.
Bacon
Can we please just get over bacon? Having worked in restaurants for years, I am yet to find any chef or cook who is not over the moon for this salty chunk of fat. Then there are the contests devoted to cooking with it and people using it in dessert. Yes, I think everyone should eat less meat and yes, I think hog confinements are deplorable. But this isn’t an ecological or animal welfare argument. I just really don’t think bacon is very good. I will enjoy pork tenderloin from time to time. Bacon is just entirely over-rated. The stupid Facebook memes of piglets as “Bacon Seeds.” Eh. Eh. Eh.
Shopping
This is probably listed more because of my status as a chick. You know how we’re supposed to enjoy shopping and want to spend a whole day doing it? Malls are supposed to be magical and all that retail therapy bullshit? I know exactly what I want when I go shopping, get it, and leave. The only possible exceptions to this are grocery and price club shopping, because checking out other people’s carts is a fascinating, judgmental process. Carts with obese children, those stories write themselves. And as far as price club, it’s mystical to see someone with cheap wine, a bag of pre-cut broccoli, and a gianormous pack of adult diapers. So I guess non-essential shopping is really the eh for me. How many pairs of shoes do you really need? It’s not like the shoes are gonna hug you.
Cars for non-essential transportation
I get that there’s a whole culture of people who fix cars or restore them or race them or whatever. That’s nice for them. I just think it’s really weird. Like I’m sure they think it’s weird that I buy three or four pairs of running shoes every year.
“How I Met Your Mother”
What a stupid show, primarily due to that idiot redheaded girl. Maybe vapid and clueless is funny to some, but she wrecks the whole thing for me. Or maybe my love of Jason Seigel and Neil Patrick Harris made my expectations way too high. Doogie Howser as the ultimate womanizer should be a laugh riot. Sadly, it is not.
William S. Burroughs
I know I’m supposed to be able to separate the art from the artist. I know. And while I will acknowledge that he is a good writer, I just personally can’t get past what a sucky human he was. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead… Hitler was a vegetarian, so that’s nice. But seriously, Mr. Burroughs, you shot your wife and were a terrible addict. Your son was so messed up he drank himself to death at 33. At some point, the art matters less than the mess he left in his wake.
Ron Paul
If you put a gun to my head, I would probably tell you I am a Libertarian. I really don’t give a fuck what people do. Wanna smoke pot, own an arsenal of firearms or porn, or have access to a medically safe abortion? Go nuts. Grow a field of pot. I don’t care. But so many younger people fell victim to the Ron Paul cult this year. It might be because of his appeal as an alternative candidate or the fact that the man does have principles. But his anti-choice stance will never fly with this chick and the weird racist stuff is just over the top for me. Back to my Libertarianism, I believe in the First Amendment and if someone wants to Join the KKK, they can. But I sure as fuck don’t have to agree with them and am not gonna have my picture taken with them. Yikes. Eh. P.S. Rand is a turd.
Fake holidays
New Year’s Eve, St. Patricks, Cinco de Mayo, and the like. Just gianormous excuses to get wasted. Amateur hour for 24. The professionals don’t need this excuse. It’s not like the chick that shit her pants or the guy throwing up on the boulevard was out to celebrate Catholicism coming to Ireland. And a bunch of white people stumbling around in Dollar Store sombreros…
I give Derby Days a pass here since it is a fake holiday centered around a sporting event. No culture or religion is being ripped off or compromised.
Contemporary church services
Bass guitars and raising your hands to the air doesn’t make it more interesting or fun. It makes it creepy and cult-like. I like my religion old-timey. In all honesty, if I were religious, I think I would go Catholic, if I didn’t have to check so many feminist credentials at the door. Or maybe Jewish. Hmm…
Please don’t hate or send me invites to your super fun service where everybody wears jeans. I believe what I believe and it works for me.
Pregnancy
A couple of teenagers in the backseat of a car trying to get cast on the next season of “Teen Mom” is a real miracle. Almost everyone has the ability to get pregnant or get someone pregnant. (My gay and lesbian friends get a pass here. The work a gay or lesbian couple has to go through to get pregnant is proof of how much they want to parent.) Maybe I’ve gotten a little jaded from hearing too many unplanned pregnancy stories, but I don’t see getting knocked up as much of an accomplishment. Call me when you graduate, set a new PR, or get your dream job.
Mumford and Sons/Modest Mouse
I think I get equally disinterested in a band when celebrities and hipsters proclaim love for it. Maybe I shouldn’t watch an E!News. Maybe it’s because I was never cool enough to be a hipster. Or maybe I just don’t like music that gets filed under M. Although I totally own Maroon 5 as a guilty pleasure and do, in fact, have moves better than Jagger. So you don’t have to tell me which song I need to hear to understand or appreciate the music. I say, eh, and as long as we’re talking music, on to another musical dislike.
Needing to have credit for introducing someone to a musical artist
Someone once claimed to have introduced me to Bob Dylan, even though I had over 10 discs and three concerts under my belt prior to meeting him. I’ve never had a problem recommending music or a book or movies or whatever to someone. If s/he likes it, great, and if not, that’s cool, too. But I’ve known people who will fight over who introduced a band or artist to the friendship. Fucking balls, fight over healthcare reform or whether MJ or LeBron will go down as the greatest, but why argue over who found a band first. It’s like some weird badge of honor and self-importance to some people and I just don’t get it.
Colorado
Everyone around me used to talk about Colorado like it was the promised land. When I lived in Lincoln, lots of people cheered for the CO professional sports teams and talked about how cool Boulder was. And how young and hip everyone was. Then when I moved to So Dak, there was an odd exodus of people moving there. Everyone acted like it was this incredibly cool place filled with micro-breweries, pot, and never-ending fun. But I would read about really conservative, anti-choice politics and think about school shootings and really wonder. To me, it was So Dak with tits, meaning mountains. I’m sure there are lots of amazing people there and amazing scenery, but there also seemed to be a lot of conservative politics from the retired military and megachurch populations. Hello Mr. Haggard! And let’s not get started on the credit card hippies.
I’ve softened a bit on my CO stance and we’ll credit the fine work of Dog Chapman on the Denver episodes for that.
Qudoba
It’s a tortilla. It’s meat. It’s vegetables. I can make something more interesting, cheaper, and more healthful. I should admit that this annoyance primarily comes from a group of stoners I met when I first moved to So Dak and one would always want to “Go to the ‘Dob,” every time he was ripped. He was ripped a lot.
Bacon
Can we please just get over bacon? Having worked in restaurants for years, I am yet to find any chef or cook who is not over the moon for this salty chunk of fat. Then there are the contests devoted to cooking with it and people using it in dessert. Yes, I think everyone should eat less meat and yes, I think hog confinements are deplorable. But this isn’t an ecological or animal welfare argument. I just really don’t think bacon is very good. I will enjoy pork tenderloin from time to time. Bacon is just entirely over-rated. The stupid Facebook memes of piglets as “Bacon Seeds.” Eh. Eh. Eh.
Shopping
This is probably listed more because of my status as a chick. You know how we’re supposed to enjoy shopping and want to spend a whole day doing it? Malls are supposed to be magical and all that retail therapy bullshit? I know exactly what I want when I go shopping, get it, and leave. The only possible exceptions to this are grocery and price club shopping, because checking out other people’s carts is a fascinating, judgmental process. Carts with obese children, those stories write themselves. And as far as price club, it’s mystical to see someone with cheap wine, a bag of pre-cut broccoli, and a gianormous pack of adult diapers. So I guess non-essential shopping is really the eh for me. How many pairs of shoes do you really need? It’s not like the shoes are gonna hug you.
Cars for non-essential transportation
I get that there’s a whole culture of people who fix cars or restore them or race them or whatever. That’s nice for them. I just think it’s really weird. Like I’m sure they think it’s weird that I buy three or four pairs of running shoes every year.
“How I Met Your Mother”
What a stupid show, primarily due to that idiot redheaded girl. Maybe vapid and clueless is funny to some, but she wrecks the whole thing for me. Or maybe my love of Jason Seigel and Neil Patrick Harris made my expectations way too high. Doogie Howser as the ultimate womanizer should be a laugh riot. Sadly, it is not.
William S. Burroughs
I know I’m supposed to be able to separate the art from the artist. I know. And while I will acknowledge that he is a good writer, I just personally can’t get past what a sucky human he was. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead… Hitler was a vegetarian, so that’s nice. But seriously, Mr. Burroughs, you shot your wife and were a terrible addict. Your son was so messed up he drank himself to death at 33. At some point, the art matters less than the mess he left in his wake.
Ron Paul
If you put a gun to my head, I would probably tell you I am a Libertarian. I really don’t give a fuck what people do. Wanna smoke pot, own an arsenal of firearms or porn, or have access to a medically safe abortion? Go nuts. Grow a field of pot. I don’t care. But so many younger people fell victim to the Ron Paul cult this year. It might be because of his appeal as an alternative candidate or the fact that the man does have principles. But his anti-choice stance will never fly with this chick and the weird racist stuff is just over the top for me. Back to my Libertarianism, I believe in the First Amendment and if someone wants to Join the KKK, they can. But I sure as fuck don’t have to agree with them and am not gonna have my picture taken with them. Yikes. Eh. P.S. Rand is a turd.
Fake holidays
New Year’s Eve, St. Patricks, Cinco de Mayo, and the like. Just gianormous excuses to get wasted. Amateur hour for 24. The professionals don’t need this excuse. It’s not like the chick that shit her pants or the guy throwing up on the boulevard was out to celebrate Catholicism coming to Ireland. And a bunch of white people stumbling around in Dollar Store sombreros…
I give Derby Days a pass here since it is a fake holiday centered around a sporting event. No culture or religion is being ripped off or compromised.
Contemporary church services
Bass guitars and raising your hands to the air doesn’t make it more interesting or fun. It makes it creepy and cult-like. I like my religion old-timey. In all honesty, if I were religious, I think I would go Catholic, if I didn’t have to check so many feminist credentials at the door. Or maybe Jewish. Hmm…
Please don’t hate or send me invites to your super fun service where everybody wears jeans. I believe what I believe and it works for me.
Pregnancy
A couple of teenagers in the backseat of a car trying to get cast on the next season of “Teen Mom” is a real miracle. Almost everyone has the ability to get pregnant or get someone pregnant. (My gay and lesbian friends get a pass here. The work a gay or lesbian couple has to go through to get pregnant is proof of how much they want to parent.) Maybe I’ve gotten a little jaded from hearing too many unplanned pregnancy stories, but I don’t see getting knocked up as much of an accomplishment. Call me when you graduate, set a new PR, or get your dream job.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Just Waiting on a Friend
The bitches are pretty clear about what they like. Food, play, and sleep top the list. They like to run, they like to have their ears scratched, and I’m pretty sure they like to practice being cute while I’m at work. Most of the things they really seem to like have to do with getting my attention.
Canines are pretty good at commanding attention. To be more precise, I should say they demand your attention. Anyone who has ever been followed around the house by his dog or felt that nose pushing under her hand, just begging for some petting knows exacting what I’m talking about. Even when they’ve been naughty, after a little time has passed, I’m totally okay if I sit down to read or watch TV and suddenly a little furry brownhead is resting on my thigh as if to say, “I’m here, I love you, and please love me back.”
Humans aren’t as quick to demand attention or ask for forgiveness, at least the ones who need it most. Babies rightfully have the capacity and we all know some adult babies who will suck the life out of you if you let them. Today I have been thinking about one particular friend of mine who just got a special visit from someone very dear to him.
Saturday was my friend’s birthday, you see, and while he is a very young man, life has been difficult. It wasn’t for lack of family or love, but rather issues with anger and drugs that led to some horrible choices that have made this life a hard one for him. This birthday and many, many future birthdays will be spent in prison. This isn’t a debate about any aspect of the judicial system. My friend was part of a crime that led to the death of another person. Some might say that letting him rot in a cell for decades is exactly what he deserves. Others, like me, would say that we shouldn’t be singularly judged by the worst of our actions. But that isn’t why I was thinking about my friend.
The last time I saw him, he was standing on a corner downtown. He was barefoot, babbling to himself, and obviously messed up. I knew he wasn’t in contact with his PO. He hadn’t been working at the restaurant with me for a few weeks and by the looks of him, I doubted that he had a job. He didn’t notice me and for a second, I thought about making the call. Not much time had passed since a DWI and I remembered the name of the PO. Then I thought about something a former boss said to me in regards to people with substance abuse issues, “Sometimes you gotta give them enough rope to let them hang themselves.”
Since I never thought of myself as a snitch, I sided with the latter advice and figured he would miss enough appointments, eventually find himself back in court, and maybe have a good shot at sobriety this time. Unknowingly, maybe he was begging for my attention, just like the bitches do. In my wildest dreams, I never thought he would be charged in a murder case.
I knew him as a charming, fun young man who was a good worker. I’ve known his grandma for many years and consider her a friend as well. She absolutely loved and adored him from the moment he was born. When he was getting into trouble as a kid, she always made a point to visit him and remind him that he was loved no matter what. But the last arrest was it for her and she couldn’t bring herself to visit him over the past couple of years.
I can’t imagine the feeling of seeing all the hopes and dreams you have for a child you love crushed, whether by his own actions or the actions of another. It must be one of the worst feelings in the entire world. One of the old adages about prison is that it isn’t just the person on the inside who is doing time. It’s also the ones who love them. No matter how reprehensible the crime, it’s a near certainty that the prisoner is important to someone and loved by someone. So I guess you hang on to hope, just like I had to when the bitches weren’t getting along. The hope that no matter whether freedom comes in 40 days or 40 years, everyone can find a little peace along the way.
His grandma went to visit on his birthday. We talked a little about it, about the emotions, the tears, and how he has changed. She had to distance herself from all of it for a long time, just to protect herself, I guess. And to be honest, I don’t really feel like that reunion is my story to share right now. I’m just incredibly thankful that it happened.
Canines are pretty good at commanding attention. To be more precise, I should say they demand your attention. Anyone who has ever been followed around the house by his dog or felt that nose pushing under her hand, just begging for some petting knows exacting what I’m talking about. Even when they’ve been naughty, after a little time has passed, I’m totally okay if I sit down to read or watch TV and suddenly a little furry brownhead is resting on my thigh as if to say, “I’m here, I love you, and please love me back.”
Humans aren’t as quick to demand attention or ask for forgiveness, at least the ones who need it most. Babies rightfully have the capacity and we all know some adult babies who will suck the life out of you if you let them. Today I have been thinking about one particular friend of mine who just got a special visit from someone very dear to him.
Saturday was my friend’s birthday, you see, and while he is a very young man, life has been difficult. It wasn’t for lack of family or love, but rather issues with anger and drugs that led to some horrible choices that have made this life a hard one for him. This birthday and many, many future birthdays will be spent in prison. This isn’t a debate about any aspect of the judicial system. My friend was part of a crime that led to the death of another person. Some might say that letting him rot in a cell for decades is exactly what he deserves. Others, like me, would say that we shouldn’t be singularly judged by the worst of our actions. But that isn’t why I was thinking about my friend.
The last time I saw him, he was standing on a corner downtown. He was barefoot, babbling to himself, and obviously messed up. I knew he wasn’t in contact with his PO. He hadn’t been working at the restaurant with me for a few weeks and by the looks of him, I doubted that he had a job. He didn’t notice me and for a second, I thought about making the call. Not much time had passed since a DWI and I remembered the name of the PO. Then I thought about something a former boss said to me in regards to people with substance abuse issues, “Sometimes you gotta give them enough rope to let them hang themselves.”
Since I never thought of myself as a snitch, I sided with the latter advice and figured he would miss enough appointments, eventually find himself back in court, and maybe have a good shot at sobriety this time. Unknowingly, maybe he was begging for my attention, just like the bitches do. In my wildest dreams, I never thought he would be charged in a murder case.
I knew him as a charming, fun young man who was a good worker. I’ve known his grandma for many years and consider her a friend as well. She absolutely loved and adored him from the moment he was born. When he was getting into trouble as a kid, she always made a point to visit him and remind him that he was loved no matter what. But the last arrest was it for her and she couldn’t bring herself to visit him over the past couple of years.
I can’t imagine the feeling of seeing all the hopes and dreams you have for a child you love crushed, whether by his own actions or the actions of another. It must be one of the worst feelings in the entire world. One of the old adages about prison is that it isn’t just the person on the inside who is doing time. It’s also the ones who love them. No matter how reprehensible the crime, it’s a near certainty that the prisoner is important to someone and loved by someone. So I guess you hang on to hope, just like I had to when the bitches weren’t getting along. The hope that no matter whether freedom comes in 40 days or 40 years, everyone can find a little peace along the way.
His grandma went to visit on his birthday. We talked a little about it, about the emotions, the tears, and how he has changed. She had to distance herself from all of it for a long time, just to protect herself, I guess. And to be honest, I don’t really feel like that reunion is my story to share right now. I’m just incredibly thankful that it happened.
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