RIP Janoct Ajda 1949-2013, Earth...

Surprisingly, I don’t remember the first time I met him. He just always showed up at the coffee shop, telling stories about seemingly crazy adventures while riding the rails. I often wondered if he was full of shit, but the fact that I possibly knew an actual hobo was way more interesting than trying to cipher through exaggerations. And frankly, even if he made it all up, he was so captivating it didn’t really matter.

Captivating, definitely, at times to the point where I almost felt captive. The man’s attitude and energy were aggravating to me at certain points in my life, when I wasn’t healthy.

INVITE PEOPLE INTO YOUR LIFE
I think I was jealous that someone knew how to live so large. And large wasn’t about things, it was about ideas and experiences. The mayoral runs weren’t about winning. They were about doing what he thought was right. They were about getting people involved and communicating. Janoct was so good at bringing people into his realm.

WORK HARD & MAKE THINGS RIGHT
I remember a Sunday in August, back in 2010, that terribly hot summer. I’d been griping to the slumlord, bless his soul, about getting the trees trimmed. They hanged awkwardly into my yard and were taking over his. They were growing into the house. You read that right.

I was getting ready to go to a Dylan concert in Lincoln and as I walked out into my backyard, who did I see all rigged up in the slumlord’s trees? Janoct, of course. The man could work like a horse. There he was, in his 60s, the tree probably had a couple decades on him, a hundred degrees outside and he’s yelling, “Hey girl!” without missing a beat.

One of the larger branches he was trimming fell and took a little notch off one of my fence pickets. It really wasn’t a big deal, but he apologized and said he’d make it right. He replaced the picket within the week.

DO THE UNEXPECTED
Janoct was a fixture downtown, stopping in at the local shops and events. Back in September of this year, I was involved in a recovery-themed art show. Since my medium of artistic expression is cake, I designed and caked a special cake for the show.
We hadn’t run into each other in awhile, so I was pretty excited to see him and experience that energy he brought everywhere. There’s a great picture of us taken that night.

I pointed out my cake and he said, "Girl, you can't bring a cake and not expect a Black man to eat it."

I told him to go ahead and have some. I figured we'd eat the cake at some point during the show anyway. He marched right over to it and cut a big hunk out. Some of the attendees were worried that I would be upset, like he’d defaced the cake or something. It was pretty awesome. He grabbed the hunk of cake and brought it over to Haskett’s for our friends to enjoy. Leave it to Janoct to turn my cake into performance art.

KNOW WHEN TO BE QUIET
I remember sitting by the window at the coffee shop one day, just wanting to not be bothered. Because someone who doesn’t want to be bothered would naturally go to the coffee shop where she knows 90% of the patrons. I did the “My ear buds are in and I’m obviously working on homework, so move along” set up at my table, thinking that would kindly move people along.

I had recently been through a strange break-up and the details of said break-up were still spilling through the community, as they often do. Of course, several people stopped to say something… who they were or what they said escapes me now, but what I do remember was Janoct walking over to my table with that, “Hey girl” look on his face and he just kissed the top of my head and walked away.
At that moment, I was thinking, “What the hell?” Still being hurt and unhealthy myself, I was slightly offended by his gesture. I was such a ball of anger at that point in my life. I just sat there and fumed a bit, pissed off at anything and anyone.

I thought of that moment today and I bawled. Janoct, one of the most talkative people I’ve ever met, showed me kindness in the most gentle way, with a kiss on the top of my head. He knew I was hurting, shit, the whole town knew I was hurting and instead of trying to get details from me or offer advice, he simply let me know he cared.

Cycling Newsman said, ”Janoct talked to everybody. There were times when it seemed that life was just one long conversation to him, just bouncing from person to person as they passed in and out of his sphere.”

For those of us fortunate enough to stay in the sphere awhile, we’ll be telling his stories and missing his smile. No matter how you knew him—Candidate, Christian, Hobo, Storyteller, Friend, you won’t forget him. And if you didn’t know him, stop by Black Sheep or M.B. Haskett and I’m sure someone will fill you in…

RIP Janoct Ajda 1949-2013, Earth

I Love the Paws...

I did the TC Marathon over the weekend. I've been starting to reflect on the experience and hoping to craft a decent blog for you, dear readers. It was a bit overwhelming, to be honest, and I just can't process it all yet. So I had to do something silly in the meanwhile.

I drove up to St. Paul on Saturday afternoon and was doing a bit of radio hopping. The drive up Highway 60 was a bit nostalgic for me, thinking of driving up to the Dome for a Twins game with my family and of traveling lots of highway miles for high school events. The radio stations are great while traveling--I love local commercials. But the format was predictable in the country, classic rock, or pop formats. I listened to a lot of pop radio. Full disclosure, I am not a pop music hater. I love me some Katy Perry, Kelly Clarkson, and Pink. But the song I kept hearing over and over again was "Applause" by Lady Gaga. And I also love me some Gaga. So I penned 2BDL-appropriate lyrics... there may or may not be an Instagram video of the birth of this floating around. I'm sure Gaga will use these alternate lyrics on her next tour...


"The Paws"

[Verse 1:]
You sit here waiting for me to grab the leash
To crash the critic saying, "Is it short or is it long?"
If only love had an I.V., Brownhead I could bear
Being away from you, I found the vein, put it in here

I love Alli’s paws, the paws, the paws
I love Joey’s paws-paws
Love the Brownhead paws-paws
Love for the way that you run and run with me
The run, walk, run, walk, run

Give me that thing that I love (Runnin’ with the Bitches)
Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run (make it real far)
Give me that thing that I love (Runnin’ with the Bitches)
Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run (make it real fast)

(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Make it real far
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Make it real fast
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run

[Verse 2:]
I've overheard a theory "That is just a dog"
Hell no sir, watch your tongue, & come with us for a jog
Those little Brownhead babies trained me for a marathon
They’ll go for 20 miles and be your heart when you get home

I love Alli’s paws, the paws, the paws
I love Joey’s paws-paws
Love the Brownhead paws-paws
Love for the way that you run and run with me
The run, walk, run, walk, run

Give me that thing that I love (Runnin’ with the Bitches)
Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run (make it real far)
Give me that thing that I love (Runnin’ with the Bitches)
Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run (make it real fast)


(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Make it real far
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Make it real fast
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run

[Bridge:]
Run, run
Run, run now
Ooh-ooh-ooh-hoo
Ooh-ooh-ooh-hoo
Ooh-ooh-ooh-hoo
Ooh-ooh

I love Alli’s paws, the paws, the paws
I love Joey’s paws-paws
Love the Brownhead paws-paws
Love for the way that you run and run with me
The run, walk, run, walk, run

Give me that thing that I love (Runnin’ with the Bitches)
Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run (make it real far)
Give me that thing that I love (Runnin’ with the Bitches)
Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run (make it real fast)

(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Make it real far
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Make it real fast
(R-U-N-N-I-N-G) Lace my shoes up, make 'em run, run

B-I-T-C-H-E-S

More Than Words...

I just saw a little comic, like a drawing, not a short comedian, on The Book that caught my attention. Drawn by a 14 year old, it was a four panel illustration titled, "The Value of a Dog."

The first panel showed a girl siting in the corner, all by herself. She's curled up and her head is down, she's obviously upset about something. In the next panel, she starts to cry and her dog pokes it's little face into the frame, matching it's sniffs with the girl's sniffles. In the third panel, the dog approaches her and she looks up, while in the final panel the dog is snuggled into her arm, comforting her as she wipes her tears away.

Sigh. Sniffle. Truth.

My favorite part of the comic is that there are no words. The intuitiveness of a dog. I know they can't speak our human words in our human languages, but I doubt they would even if they could. They are far too smart for that and they trust their feelings in a way that is completely foreign to most of us humans. Many of us are fixers or we over process our feelings, like we can't just own the feelings; we have to assign special meanings to them (yes, I am totally guilty) or inflate our senses of self-worth with them.

Both of the bitches are being extra snuggly and protective tonight. They pick up the energy. It was one of those days in which a few tears were shed. Two people I care very deeply about are struggling with cancer. One had some pretty good news, while the other's wasn't so great. Two people I love more than nearly any other humans are struggling with addiction. One got wasted today and the other called me from treatment to say hello. I have to recognize that balance and be grateful that there is healing in this world. And I am going to try and help my friends with a cue from my Bitches--that sometimes, just being there for them and their families, is the best gift I can give. No words are needed. A listening ear and a hug, just like the paw that's draped over my foot as I type.

There is an art to demo...

It's quiet in my house. It isn't particularly late, but the Bitches are napping, as is Man Friend. The dishwasher is sloshing along in all its glory. I wonder if it realizes it will be the first appliance to go once I've saved up the money for a new one. I wonder why I always personify inanimate objects.

Yes, the remodel is still going. The going is slow, but I have three turtle tatts and only one hare, so you know where I fall on that side of the story. It's always functional--we won't starve for lack of ability to cook. And while it might be easy to get frustrated at the lack of speed in the process of the remodel, I can't help but think it's a larger metaphor for what's going on in my life.

For anyone who had never been to my house before the wall came down, (and yes, there were Gorbachev jokes) you'll just have to imagine how dark and small the dining room felt. Now, with the wall between the kitchen and dining room out there's an open run through the entire south side of the house. Natural light at the dining room table is no longer a dream.

Just getting the wall down was quite a feat, as the house was built in 1925, when lathe and plaster was the norm. I knew that hanging pictures was a chore, but I didn't appreciate the dusty, choking mess of ripping into that beast. Man Friend was completely in charge; he kept saying, "There is an art to demo."

I had TV images of home improvement shows with sledge hammers and wrecking balls in mind when I heard demo. I was afraid. New motto? #trustmanfriend

I never contemplated the finesse of an artisan in relation to doing a demo. I was thinking Shaq when I should have been thinking Grant Hill.

We're both in states of change, Man Friend and I, and I think it may result in a huge time of growth for each of us. If we're lucky, our relationship will be included. I guess we're both doing some life demo and my usual bull in a china shop approach to change seems extreme and a bit immature when I remember that there is an art to demo.

75,000 Reasons to Shut Your Mouth, Sir...

I'm not overly excited about the Spurs/Heat match-up for the NBA Finals this year. Normally, watching any basketball is a decent way to spend time, no matter the level of play. I still think OKC would be in this if Westbrook wasn't injured, but they all have bigger fish to fry in that part of the country right now and the actual games aren't the point of my rant.

I want to slap Roy Hibbert.

I'm not going to get on a plane and hunt him down to slap him. I know that physically slapping him wouldn't do any good or solve anything. Commissioner Stern already fined him for his mouth, although 75,000 dollars to him is probably like me forgetting to pay a parking ticket. So, I will slap him the only way I can--the blog slap.

The homophobia in sports is just irritating. The heterocentric nature of some sports, especially among males, has got to go. I remember a season or two ago, Kobe had to pay a 100K fine for calling a ref a "fa**ot" after they disagreed on a call. News flash dude, the cameras are rolling, the world is watching. You are a role model. I don't care about "just because I dunk a basketball, I shouldn't raise your kids" Barkley commercial from when I was a kid. You are a role model. You are a role model. You are a role model. When you sign that contract, you become a role model, for better or worse. Kids look up to you and want to be like you. Call me crazy, but I think that calls for an ounce of social responsibility. Don't want any responsibility? Accountability? SEE: ALLEN IVERSON.

When Jason Collins came out early this year, there was a bit of the "Nobody celebrates openly Christian athletes, like Tim Tebow." I also don't recall anyone mocking any Christian athletes or using anti-Christian slurs during press conferences. I don't remember reading any stories about kids committing suicide for being teased about being Christian or being perceived as being Christian on the radar lately.

Kids who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgendered, or PERCEIVED as such, are often the targets of bullies. Growing up sucks enough, but imagine being bullied and possibly having to keep that type of secret about who you are from your friends and family. Brittney Griner, who plays for the Mercury, was asked to keep her sexuality to herself when she played at Baylor, as her coach feared it would hurt the recruiting process at the Christian university.

According to the Suicide Prevention Resource Center, between 30 and 40% of LGBT youth, depending on age and sex groups, have attempted suicide. We need more Brittney Griner and Jason Collins-caliber athletes to come out and be role models for these kids. We need the Kobe Bryants and Roy Hibberts of the world to realize the power and impact that their words have.

Maybe Roy should take another 75K and deliver it to a youth center or counseling program. He might save a life.

They aren't all misogynists...

I haven't made it to the new Star Trek movie. Yet. Big yet there. I love sci-fi, not necessarily books, but sci-fi movies. Something appeals to my nerd and my sense of wonder simultaneously, whether it's Event Horizon or Blade Runner. For better, worse, or a bit of both, it's interesting to watch a director's take on our potential. I guess by saying potential, I really give myself away--my favorite part of sci-fi is how technology changes the human experience, or how we interact with it. Star Wars without R2D2 or C3PO? Nope. Looper? Never. And other than the obvious, like the Maxtrix or the Force, there are guiding principles and ideas in which great sci-fi actually teaches us about our humanity.


So, although I own no Vulcan ears and wouldn't profess to be a super fan, I'm always down for a new installment of Star Trek. And while my nerdiness never made me watch all the installments of The Next Generation on FOX, I do like Patrick Stewart. Obviously, he also gets X-Men points, but that's not what I'm getting at here. I always thought he was a good actor. I never read any crazy press about him. He just seemed like a decent dude who landed some career-defining roles and had a big audience of fans. But then I saw a video of him at a comic convention (see previously mentioned fan base) and now I have quite a bit of respect for him as a person. He spoke very openly about growing up in a home in which his mother was abused and because he witnessed that, he has been an advocate for a UK group that provides services for victims of domestic violence. He also spoke of how he's learned that his father suffered from PTSD from his service in WWII, so he now also does work with an organization that assists vets returning from war zones. I admire him for not blaming, but rather working to understand the totality of the issues within his family and instead of continuing to be a victim, discussing these issues and working to help others.


It's easy to forget how much our childhoods define us. While we might grow up, we never grow out of our experiences. The real key that defines us as adults is what we do with those experiences. If we had a stable, loving environment, it's easy to take it for granted. I'm only now really beginning to realize what chaos can do to a child.


"I do what I do in my mother's name because I couldn't help her then."


You could hear the little boy in his voice as he said that.


"Now I can."

Girl... You'll Be A Woman...

One of Man Friend's friends stopped by the other night. We hadn't seen him in a long time and it was nice to catch up. He used to just live a few blocks away, so I got to know him fairly well last summer and found him to be a really cool, sincere guy. He also works in construction, so he and Man Friend always had plenty to talk about. He had gone through a messy divorce and was sharing custody of his three kids; I always liked to hear stories about what the kids were up to, so naturally, I asked how the kids were.

"Oh good," he said quickly, and then paused. "My oldest daughter got her, you know, period thing," he said and started turning bright red.

You all know I'm evil, so I couldn't help myself and started laughing and kept saying, "Period thing," and laughing demonically.

I forgot how much a period can freak a dude out.

I always look at periods like a gift since it means you're not knocked up.

I forgot how much a period can freak a dude out. Like really freak a dude out. Even a cool-headed, incredibly loving father-type dude.

Especially a dude who didn't have sisters to torment him about periods or make him understand that tampons in the bathroom cupboard aren't scary. You'd think tampons were live grenades the way some guys shrink in fear at the sight of a feminine product.

So of course our poor single dad friend didn't have any products in the house. He started calling his mom, his ex-wife, his girlfriend, anyone with ovaries who might help. Of course, it was the one time no one in his contact list with experience riding the crimson wave was answering their phone.

He did what any good dad would do. He headed to Walmart. I'm sure the only pads he'd ever bought in his life were brake pads, so I can only imagine the level of anxiety on that trip.

"Did she come with you?" I asked.

"No, I told her hang tight and not sit on the couch."

More demonic laughter from this bitch, like a little seventh grade girl's first period is gonna be something like the elevator blood scene in "The Shining" or maybe the locker room scene from "Carrie?" Do guys learn about periods from Stephen King novels? This is a problem. And a mandate for comprehensive sex ed in our schools.

"So she just stayed in the bathroom?" I asked.

"I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!" he replied, still blushing.

"So you went to Walmart..."

"Yes, I went to Walmart..."

"And a lady who worked there helped you?"

"Well, I asked her if all the pad things were the same and she said they were."

"OH MY GOD," I said, "Did you buy the poor little thing foot-long, inch-thick pads with wings? They are not all the same! Did you get pads that were the size of her thigh?"

Of course there was a thought of poor little girl, I'm sure she was embarrassed and scared. But then I also thought, they got through it. She can ask her mom any old questions she wants when she's at her house. And her dad handled it the best he could, even if he still thinks...