Magical Missives

What I am Doing

2008-11-09T12:19:00.003-06:00

As of late:

I've been seeing a therapist. She's a very nice lady who seems more like a professional friend than an analyst. Apparently, I'm clinically depressed. Not manic or bipolar. Just depressed. Often suicidally depressed, which rarely turns-inside-out into anger.

I haven't had a drink in nearly a month. But I still smoke a bit. Usually three a day. Sometimes more. Sometimes not at all. One bad habit at a time.

I've been attending some churches. I think I prefer the high church to the regular ol' Sunday-go-to-meetin' gigs. Reason being: the only guess any of us can hazzard about the divine is that God is intrinsically unknowable. Mystical, man. Therefore, I like the churches where they chant in foreign languages. That way they don't say anything I might disagree with, thus ruining the experience of worship with their own biased interpretation of ancient texts, Americanized psuedo spiritualism, covert politics, and veiled messages to specific congregation members. I still haven't found my spiritual home base, but I'm searching ...

No. I don't have a girlfriend and I still work at a retail opearation where they treat me like a boy (even though it is a wonderful company which meets with my every approval except that they fully underestimate me ... their loss, I believe). However, I refuse to commit to print anything about any future possibilities (re: love and money) for the simple reason that I (quite superstitiously) don't want to jinx anything.

Improvements are coming. But I ain't forcin' nothin'.

I have taken a great interest in home repairs -- some from necessity, some from keen enthusiasm. I've learned a lot from a couple of handyman friends of mine and numerous trips to Home Depot. The three of us recently finished a monstrous bathroom project, and now I intend to lay down tile in said bathroom. Note: plumbing can be fun until the uglek starts bubbling up into your work space. Yech!

I'm working out with weights again and, thanks to the phsycial nature of my job, can still run long distances even efter taking a considerable hiatus from the tracks and trails.

My dad is now, and forever, my official hero. This year he kicked the collective asses of two kinds of cancer, staph infection, C-dif (an intestinal rot), and something called mersa. He has gained back twenty of the forty pounds he lost during chemo and, last week, he drove a car for the first time since falling ill. Here's to you dad! You da man! I should mention that my mom had to tend to him and clean up the mess. A real Florence Nightingale, that one. Maybe she's the real hero.

p.s. I'll cheer for Obama when the economy improves and the troops come home. I pray that no idiot white supremacist draws a bead on this man, because it would be a disaster for all of us.

Distance Makes the Head Go Barmy

2008-07-03T02:19:00.001-05:00

Today was my parents' 48th wedding anniversary. I called them at their place in New Mexico. It was indescribably good to talk to them. My poor dad is still laid up. He has had everything the fates could possibly throw at a person and yet he is still hanging in there. Weak as a kitten. Totally dependent. He has had prostate cancer, lymph cancer, two staph infections, an intestinal goo called C-diff, arthritis (for which he couldn't take the treatments while undergoing chemo, so now his hands are useless to him) and now, after everything else, he has developed some kind of malignancy on his feet against which normal antibiotics can do nothing. I don't remember what it's called, but I am learning a lot about all kinds of ailments I had no experience with before. I'll have to call back and ask again the name of the foot fungus, so I can research it.

In spite of everything, though, Dad was so happy to hear from me, and he was so very sweet on the phone. "You always remember every special day," he said. I just wish I could be there with him and Mom.

He told me there is a woman who comes around a few times a week to bathe him. I said, "Wow. Lucky you."

My mom and some friends took him to the Rio Grande to watch rafters having fun on the water (or something like that). It was his request. I hope he enjoyed it.

The wheels in my head are spinning like crazy. I can't sleep, so I went for a late night 5 mile run in the park. It was very refreshing, but not tiring enough to knock me out for the evening. I tried to call my best friend in the world, but she was already asleep. Which is understandable at nearly midnight.

My poor dad. I mean, he's had an amazing life, and seen a lot of success. Maybe if I were more of a success, too, that would be the cherry on the sundae. The situation at home makes me want to walk away from everything else in my life, say "sod you" to all my little problems, run home, and hang out with Dad until the end. He's always in my thoughts. Sometimes I feel so emotional, angry, weak, and sensitive. But I figure if he can smile through all he's been through, I should try to do the same. If my mom can go through all those caretaking chores (and some of them have been ugly), then maybe I should stop whining and try to be equally as strong.

I want to be there with them all the time. It stinks to be so far away.

Pan-dimensional Tourism (aka PDT)

2008-06-14T21:47:00.001-05:00

I am seriously considering a career in pan-dimensional tourism.

Magic is everywhere, but only the well-trained pan-dimensional adventurer (such as myself) knows how (and where) to find it. As a PDT guide, I would take people out into the urban wilderness and show them all the things they have been missing.

Charter your pan-dimensional tour now. Meet your handsome guide. Travel naked by torchlight. Get lost and starve. Eat your handsome guide. Pay with tears and laughter (and money).

I could even open up a school for PDT guide training.

The pan-dimensional tour is coming to take you away. Coming to take you away, take you today.

Update

2008-02-25T20:40:00.001-06:00

My dad is seriously ill. He's undergoing chemotherapy. There have been major complications, because he has also developed a blood clot in his arm. I've talked to him on the phone, but I can't go to New Mexico and see him since I just started a new job. My mom is staying with him, at the hospital, as much as possible. Apparently, he is the apple of everyone's eye, and all the nurses dote on him. Mom says he is very sweet to everyone except her. She, alone, sees his ornery side. Dad says everyone is very nice to him, but that his hospital bed is, basically, a torture chamber. This is only his second chemo treatment and, at one point, he was completely unable to move. My mom had to call 911 and they had to lift him out of bed and put him on a stretcher. Blood transfusions helped him get his strength back, a little. He can get around with a walker, but spends most of his time in bed hooked up to all kinds of tubes, etc. I don't know what will happen after the remaining treatments since they get progressively stronger. He is unable to take his arthristis medicine due to the other chemicals, and mom says his hands are getting even worse than before.
I'll be sending him some humorous books and sudoku I picked up at work. Cards (or gifts) can be sent to Robert and Helen South. 110 La Loma. Taos, New Mexico 87571.

Prison Reform for a New Generation

2008-02-10T13:47:00.000-06:00

Last night, I was having dinner with a couple of dear old friends. During the flow of conversation, one (or both) of them introduced me to an interesting proposal vis a vis the nature of criminal reform.

It seems that many prisoners take up weightlifting during their sentences and emerge, when their time is done, as powerhouse bodybuilders. Meanwhile, they have been learning all manner of skills with various & sundry tools and instruments. This means, once they re-enter society, our streets become populated by muscled-up sociopaths with mad skills. Super criminals! Is this really what we need?

My friends' suggestion was that we supply them, instead, with x-boxes and/or wiis (or whatever the kids are using these days), plenty of marijuana and the paraphernalia with which to smoke it, and tons of the obligatory munchies (like cheese doodles, pizza, and twinkies). Then, when the prisoner in question is released, he (or she) has become soft and sedentary, a challenge to nobody. An inert blob.

The main drawback (which I pointed out to my worthy compadres) is that slackers everywhere will break the law so as to gain entrance into what they might view as a sort of paradise. They get to laze around on Uncle Sam's nickel, playing Guitar Hero, getting high, and gobbling down unhealthy foods.

Obviously, there are some bugs to be worked out. But the proposal is on the table and I think it deserves consideration.

What do you think?

Lord of the Ringos

2008-01-24T13:15:00.001-06:00

It's a little known fact ... that in the late 1960's, when the Beatles were searching for projects to occupy their creative energies, talk of a Fab Four/Tolkien animated film was bandied about. Think Yellow Submarine with orcs instead of blue meanies. The casting was to be as follows:

George Harrison as Gandalf

Paul McCartney as Frodo Baggins

Ringo Starr as Sam Gamgee

and John Lennon as Gollum (though I, personally, imagine him as more of a Gandalf)

I don't think this project would have flown, but it is, at least, an interesting historical footnote. But I wonder what LOTR-based Beatle songs would've sounded like. "Happiness is a Wormtongue". "Luthien in the sky with" ... no, no, no. Nevermind.

I hope I haven't ruined either of these fine artistic snacks for anybody. Don't blame me if you have visions of Frodo singing "Hey Jude" to Gollum.

Master Snickup's Cloak

2007-12-23T02:14:00.000-06:00

by Alexander Theroux

One morning it was ...

The Middle Ages.

The sun shone down on the foundling home at the end of Duck's-foot lane in the quiet little dorp of Sleutel in the Netherlands. The year was 1307 (by Pope Hilarius's corrected calendar, of course). Master Snickup, a tiny ward there - wearing the black and red uniform of the home - gleefully played punchball against the cobbled wall beneath a yew tree near the town weigh-house. It was a feast day: the Pardon of St. They. Cattle were blessed. Children processed. You heard litanies.

"Wat is Uw naam?" asked a new little orphan girl who suddenly appeared at his side, smiling, plum-cheeked, and wearing a chaste wimple. Her beauty put to shame the roses of Paestrum. Superfecta - for this was the name of the flax-haired froikin - immediately stole Master Snickup's heart away.

The two children, thereafter, spent day after day playing games of noughts-and-crosses, stickjaw, stitch away tailor, egg-in-cap, ducking mummy, backy-o, all the winkles. And skip-rope, when they frisked and jumped to the jingle,

"Do you love me,

Or do you not?

You told me once,

But I forgot."

Happily, Master Snickup even did her chores for her, cups, dipping tallow, and decoaling the squinches; he did the wash pots, as well. She played the dulcimer.

A decade passed, just like that.

Superfecta, who'd bloomed into indescribable loveliness, now drew smiles from each and all. There is no potential for permenance, Master Snickup told his heart, without fear of threat.

And so they were betrothed one day at the shrine of St. Puttock of Erpingham and swapped gifts; he gave her two white pigeons and received at her hands a wonderful blue cloak.

Now there lived on the verge of the village, at that time, one of the richest burghers in all Gelderland - the ill-living Mijnheer van Cats, an unctuous cheesegobbling fat pants who smoked a clay pipe and wanted sons. He owned the black windmill.

But who'd be his wife? A purse of 2,000 gulden was put up. In vain did the merchants of the guild offer their daughters, a group of off-sorts who had pointed noses and pointed caps. "Knapweed!" "Hake!" "Twisses!" screeched van Cats and hurled other unprintable names at them. Modest pious folk covered their eyes.

One winter dusk, it so turned out, the orphans were all given special dispensation to go to the Haymarket to watch the "illuminations". Mijnheer can Cats, in attendance, sat up on the balustrade of the guildhall, whereupon his gaze fell - fatefully - upon Superfecta. That little boompjes, thought he, will soon be mine. An ouch of heavy gold was hers the day following; his was a sealed envelope - which he slit open with his pipestem. What could be the decision? "Yaw, yaw" guffawed the fat Dutchman.

A record of the wedding can be found to this day as a small entry in the old chronicle of Nuewenburgensis. You will do, as the diverb has it, what you are.

Master Snickup - disedged with grief - took up scrip and staff and, wearing only his blue cloak, set out to pick his way across nearer Europe. He sought the antipodes. Hither was yon, yon hither.

Mountains were climbed, mazes thrid. He crossed a sea that had no motion on the ship, What is Pseudonymry, and came to a desert where he said penances and fed on caper buds, dormice, lentils. Still he pilgrimaged, reading the footprints of geese in the air.

To reach eventually the Black Sea where, living alone on a shale island, he chastised himself with thongs and subsisted only on air and dew. Rain fell on his blue cloak, which he sucked, supplying himself with vitamin B12. Swallows sang upon his wrists.

"Sero te amavi," whispered Master Snickup, and he prayed constantly with perfectly folded hands, a shape best fitted for that motion. Small furious devils hated that and visited him in a variety of shapes and torments:

Six-fingered Anaks freexes, ansicernous beetles, chain-shaking kobolds, Sauba ants, red-eyed swads, sorcerers who could disconnect their legs and flap about like bats and pin-headed Hippopodes with reversed feet, who leapt instead of walking. Master Snickup fell ill. But who could help? For ships in sight there were none.

The town of Sleutel, meanwhile, rang with news. Superfecta van Cats was delivered of a son. "A witty child? Can it swear? The father's dearling! Give it two plums!" boasted its sire, butterballing it with his gouty feet.

But hear of more. Mijnheer van Cats, now fattened on perfidy itself, had turned syphilitic and even more hateful than before. He sang curses against his wife in the taproom and, roiling and hissing, streeled home. He locked her nights in the black windmill. He chased her through town slashing her with wet timothies. Sadism and farce are always inexplicably linked.

The orphanage, in the meantime, closed down - without so much as two coppers snapped together to prevent it, despite the bulging wallets of all the soap-boilers, razor makers, brewers, and guilder gobbling rentiers that lived nearby. O events! God could not believe man could be so cruel.

Winter settled hard over the Black Sea. The soul of Master Snickup now grew pure - a hagiographical commonplace - as his body grew diseased. He never washed his bed save with tears. The tattered blue cloak had become infested with worms and rotifers, which also battened on his holy flesh.

It snew. And on that desolate shale island, since fabled, Master Snickup one day actually looked into the heart of silence, rose, and - with a tweak-and-shake of finger and thumb toward the sky - died. Rats performed the exequies. The moon, suddenly, was o'ercast blood-red in an eclipse. Thunder rumbled. Boding? - Ill.

A rat flea, black in wing and hackle, flittered out of the shred of blue cloak and flew inland - as if carried along by destiny - toward the Crimean trading port of Kaffa. The infamous date was 1346.

Stinks were soon smelt - in malt, barrels of sprats, chimney flues. Physicians lost patients in spates. Plague! Plague! bellowed the chief magistrate running swiftly in circles, his fauces black, streaks of jet vivid along his nose and wicks - and dropped dead as a stone. Fires were lighted. The harbour was sealed.

But it was too late. Ships, laden with produce, had already set sail in the pestiferous winds and headed out along the trades to Constantinople, to Cyprus, to Sardinia, to Avignon, and pints beyond - Sleutel, among them: a town that, recently, had expanded and grown to the clink of gold in the guilds, the crackle of flames in the tile-kilns, and the mercantile sermons in the new protestant kerks.

There was even entertainment. The town brothel - formerly the orphanage - represented the major holding of a certain Mijnheer van Cats who lived alone with his son, the dissolute half-wit seen once a year moping into town to paint its shutters and touch up the wooden sign out front that read: De Valk Gravin.

It became famous. Merchant sailors, visiting in droves, always wept with laughter at the idle boast of its madam, that she had once been the village beauty. Or was Time, indeed, the archsatirist? For the place was run by an ooidal-shaped sow, with chin hairs, a venomous breath, and grit-colored hair, who always carried a ladle and trounced her girls. They called her "Mother Spatula".

The legacies passed on by the sailors were worse than the legacies they received. It began with "the sweats". The town of Sleutel was soon aflame with flews, black spots, boils, pink eye, and the stinking wind that broadcast one to another. Lost souls screamed aloud to be crimped with knives like codfish. A whole Arabian pharmacy could do no good. Nothing could stop the contagion, neither chanters nor flagellants.

The townsfolk spun into dancing fits, cat-concerts, and fell to biting each other and frying Jews. Men castrated themselves and flung their severed genitals into the hopeless sky to placate an angry God. "The Black Death" struck, and struck, and struck. Bodies fell like the leaves of Vallombrosa. It beggared rhetoric: recorded only by historians as the worst disaster that had ever visited the world.

Mijnheer van Cats, having stared upon his son's flapping black tongue and drooling insanity, waddled up high into the black windmill, took off his clogs, and - pinching his nose - stepped past the revolving vanes and cowardly made his quietus.

They went to their accounts impenitent.

Mother Spatula ran into her dank room, made mouths in a glass, and shrieked! Horrified at the tell-tale nosebleed, her drazels held to her lips a little statue of St. Roch the Plague Saint; but she went deaf as a beetle to their pleas, curled up into a fork and died, notwithstanding the fact that, to her black feet - in order to draw the vapors from her head - they had applied two dead pigeons.

She didn't seem to attach a good of importance to them before she went.

The End

Religion: I've Finally Figured It Out

2007-11-11T02:38:00.000-06:00

Deism is a religious philosophy and movement that derives the existence and nature of God from reason and personal experience, in contrast to theism (with religions like Judaism, Christianity and Islam) which relies on revelation in sacred scriptures or the testimony of other people.

"So lean upon him gently

And don't call on him to save

You from your social graces

And the sins you wish to waive.

He is the God of nothing

If that's all that you can see

You are the God of everything

He's inside you and me."

Melloween

2007-11-03T00:46:00.000-05:00

Tonight ... I am relaxing with a good movie or two. Shaun of the Dead and Gosford Park. They're both British, but the similarities end there. Meanwhile, I am cleaning house for the supposed Halloween party tomorrow. I don't know if anyone will show up, but that's OK. When it's over, I can concentrate on other things.

I saw three groups of kids on Halloween. I put out a few decorations: a tombstone with a skeleton hand rising up from the "grave", a rubber black cat (with a flash light shining on its eyes), two jack-o-lanterns (both made of metal), a black light, and a sign that read "Goblins Welcome". It was nice to relax in the front study, with the shutters open, goofing about on the computer while little bands of ghouls ambled up the walkway to my front door. A very pleasant evening.

Mountain Rants and Ayn Rand in her Underpants

2007-09-21T00:19:00.000-05:00

Next week, I will travel to New Mexico to see the folks and, presumably, to climb to the top of Wheeler Peak one more time. This will be a challenge.

Current state: daunted.

Can the old man still do it?

I am always wary about wild animals when I hike those mountain trails. There are mountain lions and bears to consider. And I am (despite what some disparaging people might joke about - God love 'em) no Timothy Treadwell. I would never give a bear a nickname unless it was Mr. Big Scary Mother, and then I would run away screaming.

I am, however, foolishly intrepid about my hikes and I usually like to go it alone. I wonder if pepper spray would discourage a mountain lion?

Even worse: mountains attract hermits. Some of these are shy folks who just want to be left alone. (They'll get no trouble from yours truly.) Others, however, are convicts, and some are just scary people with no wholesome reason for being there. Several times, I've spotted ragged figures on the woody mountainside above the path, spying from the shadows. I think someone invented the term "the creeps" for what encounters like this inspire. Furthermore, the phrase "get the hell out of Dodge" applies unequivocally to this and any similar situation.

Meanwhile, I have been hiking and running in prepartion for the quest.

I have decided not to let the aches in my right leg stop me from doing all the physical activities I love. It seems the more I exercise, the less that stalwart old limb pains me.

One must run through the agony to get to the bliss.

Last night, for instance, I ran five miles. It was easy for me. I could have gone ten or fifteen, but I didn't want to risk damaging my leg. I am willing to wait until it is more conditioned before I subject the creaky appendage to a marathon.

At about 2.5 miles, I tripped over a tree root and plummeted, headlong, into the ground. I was scuffed up and covered in dirt. Blood trickled down my cheek from a scratch next to my ear, but I hopped right up and started running again, and never stopped.

This is me tooting my own horn. Ayn Rand says it's healthy to do that (even though it's very annoying). I still find myself caught somewhere in between her "virtues of selfishness" and the selfless virtues of altruism.

I have (though not for the first time) come to the conviction that I no longer give a good goddamn what anybody thinks about me. Hate me; laugh at me; tell crazy, apocryphal stories about me (if it serves your purpose); ignore me; forget me; slander me; characterize me any way you want. I don't need ya.

This is the attitude I must take if I am to survive. If I fail to achieve this condition, my future endeavors could all go very badly; every bit as badly as those in the past. If I succeed --- quite frankly, I don't what'll happen if I succeed.

The Temple of Confusion

2007-08-27T00:05:00.000-05:00

Before I shake off this mortal coil, I want to find out what life, the world, and this big ol' crazy universe are all about. Prolly a wild goose chase. A Pythonesque quest for the holy grail. But - hey! - I'm getting older, and one begins to wonder about a few things as one's future shrinks and the past looms ever larger.

So I've started reading voraciously again for the first time in ages. Ever since I quit the bookstore, in fact, I've winged through inkslung pages like a printing press on crack.
Well, that's not entirely true. Actually, I found that prolonged disuse had diminished my reading skills to a relative crawl. It's shaping up again, though, thanks to more exercise. (It took me forever to get through that damn Harry Potter book when I read each of the others in a day or less!)

I'm mostly reading about God. Religion. Spirituality. Beliefs. Basically, there's a long history of crazy people killing each other amid all kinds of questionable reforms. Meanwhile, all the major monotheistic religions were converging on the West. Every so often, though, some bright person would come along and change things a bit for the better, usually elaborating on something some other shiny star from the past said or did, and that people seemed to have forgotten.

I'm very interested in old Persian beliefs before the coming of Islam. Zora .. um, hold on. I've got to go look up how to spell it ... brb.

Zoroastrianism. There you go.

I know a Zoroastrian. A friend of my mother's. And, last Thursday night, Joel the Old Hippie spoke at some length about - here we go again - Zoroastrianism over dinner. Sounds fascinating.

I'm willing to look into it. And into Paganism, Druidry, and whatever's out there.

Anyways, considering all that I've heard and read (and had forced on me from all sides) about God and religion, and all the people I've known (and know) with their various & sundry beliefs (including many an atheist), I must say ... I'm thoroughly confused. I don't think I could ever shack up with any one group and say, "Yeah, I'm with you guys, entirely."

So my approach to the mysteries of the universe (as it were) is something of a confused solo effort. Don't get me wrong, it'd be fun to revel with other Confusionists (heh, heh), if only we had a temple of our own.

Hey ...

The Temple of Confusion! Yeah, that's the ticket! I'm gonna copyright that! So hands off! I'm serious about this. If some rock band comes out next year calling themselves Temple of Confusion, I'm gonna hunt them down and kick their asses!

Suggested Reading: A History of God by Karen Armstrong. Excellent reading and - damn! - this woman knows just about all there is to know about religion! It's impossible to digest everything in the book, but you come away with all manner of knowledge and new incites. Also: The Spiral Staircase by Karen Armstrong. This is an especially good book for women.

Twas the Night Before Potter ...

2007-08-02T09:04:00.001-05:00

For only one night, out of thousands, will cashiers at your local bookstore look like this.

Only for that solitary evening will you find Dolores Umbridge holding court in the cafe. Detention, anyone?

Only then will Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody stalk the endless rows of bookshelves dispensing his sage advice: "Constant vigilance!"

On that very night, Severus Snape will lurk among books about pregnancy & childbirth (hoping, perhaps, to learn something they don't teach at a potions seminar).

When else would you see Professors Dumbledore and McGonogall dragging about, with them, the famous Sorting Hat? (Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw? Animal House?)

Or discover Hogwarts' most elegantly coiffed professor signing everything his fans shove at him, while Bellatrix Lestrange remains most unimpressed?

Or witness Harry Potter and Ron Weasley pausing for a picture at Platform 9 & 3/4? (Young Weasley, it should be noted, is a git, and his sad excuse for a magic wand should be locked away forever!)

Or find Madame Rosmerta serving butterbeers and pumpkin pasties to the many guests of The Leaky Cauldron?

As local hoodlums display their true feelings about a certain potions master.

While strange women wear buzzards on their heads.

And harlequins prance about while children are forced into slavery & to wear hideous masks!

And Harry Potter's virility is questioned!

And ... of course, only tonight, will there be yet (and even) more gratutious wearing of buzzard hats by strange women.

I hope everyone had fun ...

Ever Yours,

Gilderoy Lockhart

What a Ham

2007-07-24T00:13:00.000-05:00

Life Imitates BART!

2007-07-18T13:21:00.000-05:00

So, last night, Leia and I had dinner at Nate's seafood restaurant in Addison. I ate a lavish mountain of fried kraken, sea serpent, and Moby Dick. Leia had a small ocean of gumbo. I drank a Shiner. She had iced tea.

After that, we decided we absolutely must go down to Northwest Highway and Hillcrest to visit the Quik-E Mart. The 7-11 there (for those who haven't heard) is one of twelve in the world (meaning the U.S.A.) that has been converted into the buy-n-bye convenience store seen on the Simpsons. This promotion will last through the end of July to promote the new Simpsons movie due to come out this summer.

All the 7-11 signs had been replaced with the Quik-E Mart logo. The store's facade was covered with a yellowish veneer, with bits of brick showing through the plaster, like the storefront on the show.
Inside, we found six-packs of Buzz Cola, boxes of Frosted Krusty O's, do-nuts (not don't-nuts) with pink topping and sprinkles, and (of course) the Slurpee dispenser was now a Squishee machine.

I kept trying to find Apu, but there was just a little woman behind the counter who kept mono-toning, "Thank you, come again" at random intervals. It didn't matter if you were coming or going, in the middle of a transaction, or in the midst of speech. It was as if she was programmed to repeat Apu's catchphrase every fifteen seconds with little or no regard for her surroundings. I felt kind of sorry for her. I wondered if she even knew about Apu or cared why her creatively retarded corporate overlords/bullies were (likely) monitoring her activities to make sure she quoted him to every customer.

Or was this merely an ironic case of life-imitating-art-imitating-life? Or something ...

There were neon, plastic representations of the show's characters posed about the store. Chief Wiggum was loitering by the do-nut (not don't-nut) case. Little Maggie was crawling along the counter. Homer was challenging Wiggum for a do-nut (not a don't-nut). I think Bart and Milhouse were going for Squishees.

People were taking pictures with them.

I bought a six-pack of Buzz Cola (to save until it's worth something) and a single to drink. The small print claims it is a product of the 7-11 company in Dallas, Texas.

I got two boxes of Krusty O's; one to eat, one to save. It's "the best you can expect from a TV clown," says a blurb on the front of the box. On the side of the container is Krusty's Nutrition guarantee. It reads: "I guarantee I was paid to say this stuff is nutritious".

If you must know, Krusty O's are really Fruit Loops.

Leia and I each had a do-nut (not a don't-nut) and a Squishee.

If you're curious:
I searched the place, thoroughly, and saw not a single Duff's Beer.

P.S. I don't know if it was the kraken, the sea serpent, Moby Dick, or Apu's famous salmonella, but I came home and barfed my guts out for about an hour!

D'oh!

NOTES OF A DIRTY OLD MAN

2007-07-16T13:19:00.000-05:00

Life is so strange.

I was looking at a picture of little Zeph Rainey and thinking about how much he has grown. Suddenly I felt very old. Even my friend Joanne (who was at Borders today) said I have stopped being cute and started to look "dignified".

I ain't buying that for a minute. I'll be dignified when I get the hell out of the bookstore and get a job more suited to a man of my advancing years & (apparently) ever more geriatric appearance. I'll be mature when I get a solid pension scheme, stop smoking (once and for always), spend more time doing things I enjoy, and get some money saved. I'll be mature ... right now.

Yeah, that's the ticket!

P.S. The following books were recently loaned to me by a friend (Brian the guitar guy):
Notes of a Dirty Old Man by Charles Bukowski
The Stranger by Albert Camus
Journey to the End of Night by Celine
Ask the Dust by John Fante
Crime and Punishment by Fydor Dostoevsky
The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll

I have also taken up the old Russian practice of sitting and being still for a moment before going on a journey. I haven't gone on any long trips in a while, so this is still just a practice in theory, not a practice in practice.

My old roomie, Lee (who has always been my surrogate brother), wants me to start doing yoga with him and his fiance, Judith. They are also going to start training for an iron man/woman competition and would like me to join them.

I may.

My schedule this week:
Close Monday, Open Tuesday.
Tuesday night - dinner w/Leia.
Wednesday - off. Desperate last minute preparations for Harry Potter. Possible movie with Cute When Sedated.
Thursday - off. More preparations. Panic sets in. Dinner with Aunt Sally?
Friday - the book release party. Gilderoy makes his final appearance. Total mayhem. Folks in town.
Saturday - hang up the golden coat and fancy trousers forever. Close at work. It'll suck.
Sunday - close again. More suckage.

I, For One, Am All For It!

2007-06-20T23:57:00.000-05:00

Given the state of the planet, I forsee an Earth-friendly future in which our domiciles and communities will most closely resemble those of ... Hobbiton. :)

So kick off your shoes, my friends, and let your foot hair hang down.

I Knew It

2007-06-15T23:46:00.000-05:00

Paganism

80%

Agnosticism

70%

Satanism

70%

Hinduism

65%

Buddhism

65%

Atheism

55%

Christianity

45%

Haruhism

40%

Confucianism

40%

Islam

35%

Judaism

30%

Which is the right religion for you? (new version)
created with QuizFarm.com

This was from Dani...

2007-06-13T00:00:00.000-05:00

Air Force researched biological weapon to make enemy GAY.

The Pentagon confirmed today that the Air Force was researching a hormone-based biological weapon that would turn the enemy soldiers homosexual, thus disarming them.

Our tax dollars at work.

If Only Truman Had Dropped One of These, Instead

Are You Going to Scarby Doo Diddily Zip Bottom Doo Dah Faire?

2007-05-19T23:37:00.000-05:00

Last night, I went on a double date to the Italian restaurant, Massimiliano's on the downtown plaza. My date was the same girl from a previous entry. We were accompanied by Jerry and Tabitha Scanlan.

The Scanlans arrived at my house first, then we convoyed over to Anonymous' house. Jerry jumped out of his car, as soon as we got there, and was the first person to the door. I think he forgot it was my date we were there to meet. The marrieds claimed the porch while I stood down on the grass. They greeted Anonymous, when she answered the door, and I hovered in the background.

The restaurant was a bit cold on the inside. Everybody was shivering. The wait staff did their best, but you could tell this was a new establishment. The people there are just now earning their sea legs. For one thing, they kept trying to refill Jerry's glass of Sprite with water. One time they succeeded. It might have been confusing, though, because Jerry drinks his Sprite strawless and Tabitha drinks her water through a straw.

My friend, Misti, who works there, was kind enough to give us coupons for two free meals (out of four). Paying less is always good. I smiled big at Misti!

My date was so quiet and introverted that, when she went away to the restroom, I told Tabitha, "There isn't much chemistry between Anonymous and me."

Tabitha replied, "There isn't much chemistry between Anonymous and anybody. What you're seeing tonight is how she is all the time."

When Anonymous returned from the restroom, I wondered if she would bring her personality back with her. But she didn't.

Oh well.

But today ...

Anonymous and I went to Scarborough Faire, and we had a pretty goshdarn good time. On the way there, she asked me if I minded if she put in a CD of soft folk music which (based on the new Colin Hay CD I had in the player from the night before) was something she thought I might like. No sooner did she insert the disc, though, than Joe Walsh's loud & noisy "Funk #49" came blasting out of the speakers! Apparently, she had mismatched the covers and the discs. That was fine with me. Mr. Walsh's best-of made a fun soundtrack for our journey to Waxahachie, especially "Life's Been Good" (which I hadn't heard in a thousand years). I was a little worried when Anonymous started to describe the song as having "a good attitude about life". Actually, it is both a celebration and a lampoon of the wild lifestyles of rock stars circa 1970-1980. Oh well, not everybody can be a critic. Besides, art is subjective ... and that's a proven fact!

There were still lulls in the conversation where a more talkative individual might have taken over a bit, but it was fun to get to be the visible, outgoing one in the equation.

One of my favorite things about Scarborough Faire is the way it smells! The food courts and all those candle and incense shoppes whip up a heavenly aroma that permeates the entire countryside. There are animal smells and people smells, smokey smells and fruity smells. Heck, I even like the shitty odors wafting out from the privvies! (I mean the way they blend with everything else to create a mishmash of nasal stimulation.)

I always love the anonymity of a festival. Especially when you can move through the crowd, watching and being watched. It's very fun when you feel confident and attractive. But it's hell when you don't. Luckily, today I did.

Anonymous and I had fun. She was more talkative in this active atmosphere. I bought a new walking staff, a commemorative mug (I collect these), a magic wand, and a couple of nifty prints to put in my study. She ate a turkey leg, drank mead, bought various candles & accessories, and got some prints of her own. I nibbled her leg (her turkey leg, that is) and had some water. We had humorous encounters with the performers and Faire employees. One of the lads handed her a whip and told her to go to work on me (which she did, in a very light way). I half-heartedly said, "I'm such a naughty boy". The Scarbie told us he had owned that whip for years and it had seen a lot of action.

Basically, it was a good time.

We returned to Dallas and had dinner at Steak and Ale. Things got quiet again. I took her home. It was alright. At least I am out there dating again. It certainly felt good to go somewhere with a woman who actually seems to like me.

Afterwards, I came home and worked out. It felt good. More endorphins.

Then it was time to start blogging...

I Don't Want to Be Mean

2007-05-13T02:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday at work, some of the guys were talking about women. I was complaining that I just seem to be too nice of a guy and that I seem to turn every woman I am interested in into to just another friend. And whenever I try for anything more, it turns into a disaster. It's as if I don't have the right to want anything more from women than friendship. It's as if other men have more rights than I do. It's like there's this private party where the guys and gals get together, and whenever I try to join in, the bouncers throw me out. I don't understand it. I am not a bad looking guy. I've got a great physique (most of the time) and boyish good looks. I am funny and smart and I treat women with respect (except for a few lapses into adolescent behavior). I've got a house, a car, a job. I don't write bad checks or spend any time in jail. I've got lots of interests and plenty of friends (many of whom are women).

So what's the deal? Why can't I ever get it together with the girls I like. Why do I always have to settle for someone who I am not particularly interested in? Why do I end up being totally isolated from the women who mean the most to me? Even shunned and despised!

The guys at work were saying that, in order to win women over, you have to be a jerk. You have to be aloof. You have to be indifferent and act like you don't care if the live or die, smile or cry, come, stay, lay, or pray. They said you can start being nice to them once you're married, but until then ... be an asshole. They told me that, secretly, women love it when you treat them like crap. "It works," they said. "I know it sounds crazy, but it works."

I felt like I was back in high school.

The fact is, I just want to be me. I don't want to play games. I don't want to have to act like an ass to get someone to like me. That doesn't seem very healthy to me. I want to like someone for who she is, I want her to like me for who I am, and I don't think I would respect a woman who likes to be treated badly. We're all human and imperfect, as it is, so why should we compound the problem and confound the relationship by purposely acting like an ass? Every relationship is, inevitably, headed for trouble anyway, so why add fuel to the fire with games and deception?

I told the guys as much and they said, "Enjoy your celibacy."

What is wrong with women? How can anyone be so stupid as to be attracted to indifference and abuse? Isn't it smarter to like someone who is pleased to know you and enjoys your company? Is there some secret agenda I don't know about? Are so-called nice guys really monsters in disguise? Are the alleged bad-boys really hiding a sensitive side that every woman wants to cultivate? And why is it that the only women who go for me are the ones I am not particularly excited about?

Maybe that's how a lot of women feel, too. They don't want to just settle for some guy just because he likes her. They like the challenge of winning over someone who is harder to get. In which case, the smart thing to do (for anybody) is to play it cool with the ones that catch your eye.

So maybe I should take my co-workers' advice and start treating the women I like the way I treat the ones I don't like. With indifference. Maybe it really is all just an act. A game. And I can't just be myself. I have to play-act and toy with people like a bastard tease. Maybe it's true that men and women can never really have a genuine connection, because everything that goes on between us is just games and bullshit.

I hate games and bullshit.

So, if that's how it is ... I QUIT!

If that's how it is, then to hell with love and romance and sex and relationships. If that's how it is, then I have to say: I not only hate games and bullshit ... I hate women, too.

End of story.

Familiar Stranger

2007-05-08T01:18:00.000-05:00

Tonight I ran on the Chisolm Trail for the first time in over a month. I was rusty and didn't go more than a few miles. Still, it felt so good to be out there doing it again. There were fireflies galore and masses of noisy frogs and insects down by the water. I also worked out (yesterday and today); very light to get started again. By the time HP7 rolls around, I should be back in good form.

My date this weekend was very nice. We went to Jorg's cafe in downtown Plano. It's an Austrian-style tavern with lots of weiners, sauer kraut, and beer. The place had strange looking coasters. They bore an extra hole in the middle of smaller circle which grew out of the main body of the coaster. We conjectured forever about what the purpose of the extra hole might be. Finally we asked our waiter, who didn't know either, and had to ask the owner; Jorg, himself. According to Jorg, Austrians like to have a shot of Schnapps with their beverage, ergo the extra hole in which to place the shot glass.

Afterwards, we walked around the square for a while (amidst brick roads and quaint store fronts). One of them was a dark, tinted door concealing some sort of dank looking video game arcade. It was very out of place; kind of eerie, actually. I peered in, out of curiousity, and thought I saw ... well ... an old acquaintace. Not important. We hurried away. I didn't mention it to my date.

However, as we journeyed further on, window shopping, we came to a newly opened Italian restaurant with a fancy Italian name: Massimiliano's. (Personally, I think they should give it a catchier moniker, but what do I know?) Looking in, I saw (definitely saw) an old friend of mine named Misty. It's a small world. I went in, her jaw dropped, we ran to each other, and we hugged. She showed us all around the place, the grand tour. It was very nice. Two stories. Outdoor seating on a balcony. Rooms for private parties. A bar (with it's liquor license pending). I'm thinking this place will be swinging by midsummer. I intend to return. Maybe with the same company as before.

My date is a very nice girl. She trains dogs, and can make them do all kinds of tricks. They jump through hoops, weave through obstacle courses, run races, and play on see-saws. Pretty amazing, really. Maybe she could train Rerun to do tricks. She also runs a music studio where she teaches guitar lessons. Sometimes she plays in local shows (down in the pit), and even played guitar for a production of The Who's Tommy. She has played for Rocky Horror, Grease, and various other musicals.

After we left Massimiliano's we heard a very loud (and likely drunk) band performing at Kelly's (the bar across the street). Their guitarist was playing a lot of sour notes and really destroying Eric Clapton's normally lyrical "Beautiful Tonight". We both winced. It was awful!

I am debating when I should call her back. There's no hurry, but I don't want to wait too long. Maybe I can set up a date at Massimiliano's. And we both look forward to Pirate's Day at Scarborough Faire ... with the Scanlans and the Raineys.

I am also debating whether I should sow my wild oats, or stick to one girl.
Hmmm. Lots to consider. Maybe I think too much.

P.S. Tomorrow I will deposit a big fat settlement cheque in my bank account!

Lean and Hungry

2007-05-04T01:08:00.000-05:00

Well ... one thing is for sure: my appetite has returned with a vengeance. It had gone away for a while, presumably to avoid the misery it would have had to share with poor, poor pitiful me. But now the long trail of conquered and devoured fish platters, burgers, fries, burritos, bagels, and various forms of chocolate are testament to a most reassuring development to this weird, nearly uncontrollable force to which I am harnessed for the rest of my life; a dark and fearsome power known as El Benchenzo. The sane, rational guy who is writing this blog entry is sometimes merely an equestrian daredevil of sorts, riding the emotional equvialent of a bucking bronco.

In other words, it's good to be eating like a horse again.

Tonight, at Aunt Sally's, I made like Jaws at a beach resort, gobbling down a massive helping of fries and two cheeseburgers. These weren't your average burgers, either. They were loaded down with all manner of hobbity goodness; like onions and mushrooms and pickles and lettuce and tomatoes and swiss cheese. I was too full, afterwards, for apple pie, but I brought some home for later.

I have recently learned that the best way to get an insurance company to pay attention is to use words like "lawyer" and "bad faith" in the same sentence. I got a sizeable settlement from the bloodsuckers. I deserve it.

Here's an interesting factoid: what was my first thought as the Le Saber was broadsided? I had been about to say something which I (at least) thought was really funny to Susanna (my passenger), and I was very pleased, because this was going to make her laugh. Then, of course, BOOM - out of nowhere! - and the first thought that crossed my mind, as the cars were spinning and smashing together again, was : "Fucker ruined my joke!" Now I can't, for the life of me, remember what I was going to say.

Dani (the trannie) called me tonight. She, quite randomly, wanted to know if I thought quadruple amputees could still do it doggie style. I mentioned something about miniature dachsens, and how one might draw a comparison. Dani assures me that she isn't planning to have any of her limbs removed. I am relieved. She lives in Denton, with her girlfriend, right next to the Old Opera House bookstore. This means whenever I go up to visit, we can walk over there (half-a-minute away on foot) and escape into the many corridors and antechambers full of old books. Yippeee!!!

I'll finish my Flying Pig review, soon.

Last Night ...

2007-04-15T08:57:00.000-05:00

... she finally set me free.

She couldn't have been any more gracious. I got a bit loopy myself, as can be expected, but I don't think I did any grevious damage.

I must learn to take things as they are, instead of reading so much into them. I also have a battle with the big green monster (jealousy) to fight.

She has her own problems, but they're no longer my concern.

Good bye, my love, good bye.

Major Car Accident

2007-04-08T14:08:00.000-05:00

I am just ever so happy to be alive, and equally glad that nobody was seriously injured. I was bludgeoned (driver's side) by a drunk driver who ran a red light at the intersection of Park and Custer. Right out in front of the Haggard Ranch. He hit the front part of my car and basically destroyed it. Had he hit just a few feet further back, I very likely wouldn't be alive right now. Bye-bye, Benny. The car spun around helter skelter and wound up at a peculiar angle to its original trajectory. The drunk driver never braked, but hit me at absolute full speed --- and he was driving very, very fast. (I can still feel the impact and it makes me kind of flinchy.) He then careened off and hit yet another car.

The saftey air bags in my car burst forth as designed and I was wearing a seat belt.

I don't know if the cows, sheep, and llamas at the Haggard Ranch were frightened by the crash, but it's likely that they just looked up and said, "Not again."

When the police officers arrived, I heard them asking the other driver how much he had to drink. They didn't ask me. I hadn't had anything. They referred to me as the "victim" and said that a witness had corroborated my story.

I apologized to the fire fighters and paramedics for wasting their time, but they said "Hey - it's our job!" They are so incredibly professional.

I was shaken up like you wouldn't believe. My clothes and my hair smelled like various engine fluids and rubbery smoke. The odor was all over me. But I was lucid and managed to control myself. I'm a little stiff in places, but I took Advil, so who knows what the future holds for me pain-wise.

I went back to the wreckage to retrieve a few items. My garage door opener, my digital camera, and my Harry Potter baseball cap ...

... which I then placed on my head ...

... backwards.

The first person I called was Chris, but he was away at a Greek Orthodox Easter vigil.

So I rang up my wonderful friends, John and DonaLeigh (who live in Plano), and they came and got me. I spent the night at their house on a concussion watch. We stayed up late and watched, of all things, auto racing. Later, after I recited a mass of sports statistics for them to prove I still had my wits about me (Roger Staubach's passer rating in 1971 was and excellent 104.8, his career numbers were a then record 84.5 -- and he had eleven consussions during his playing days) , they put me up in a guest bedroom, and John even laid fresh sheets on the bed. DonaLeigh made me an omelet in the morning and served me a cold glass of milk. Then she took me home. She even offered me a ride to work tomorrow.

It's so good to have friends.

I don't look forward to all the insurance biz and having to get a new car, but it's really GREAT to be alive right now.

And to think: I spent the earlier part of the day teaching a young friend of mine how to drive.

Keep it Together

2007-03-29T02:03:00.000-05:00

I find myself in one those states where it's all I can do to merely keep it together. I feel edgy and disoriented and frightened. If I can just make it through, I'll be okay. If I just don't do anything rash while in this fragile state, I'll be okay. Having lots of weird, uncomfortable thoughts. Paranoia. It'll pass. It has to. It's just a matter of riding the storm out. I'm old enough to have been through this before, many a time. By now I should be able to handle it, predict it, and maintain a healthy objectivity about it.

I'm missing people. I'm thinking scary thoughts about the future. Everyone is changing but me. Is my life going nowhere? Will I ever finish anything I start? What will be my legacy?

I don't know who to trust. Seems the older we get, the more fractured all our friendships become, and people tend to retreat to their separate sanctuaries, or fall back on old alliances for comfort and safety. A lot of relationships are spoiled by adult ambition, vanity, and the need for personal space and security. We begin to think strategically about every situation, every interaction with another. Business teaches us to trust no-one.

I am as guilty as anyone.

Right now I feel pretty vulnerable. (But not so meek that I can't broadcast it over the internet.)

Vulnerability ain't pretty. Least ways not in a manly sense. Women do it better. They can make it beautiful. And, face it, there are always plenty of would-be heroes to stand by a woman's side in her time of need. But, if you're a guy, you had best suck it up, and get over it. That's why we drink, swagger and hide our problems behind a show of bravado. Nobody likes a whiner with a penis.

Maybe that's unfair, but that's the way it is.

If I'm wrong about this ... please explain.

Must keep it together.

The Cover Art is Here

2007-03-28T09:49:00.000-05:00

Felines & Dandelions

2007-03-23T01:16:00.000-05:00

Today I mowed the lawn for the first time this year. It was thick with dandelions. These are pretty, in a way, if they are out in a field or something, but not in someone's yard. They will turn into ugly weeds and strangle everything else that tries to grow there, including grass. I made a mistake by mowing them down (or so my mom told me in a phone conversation this evening), because this will spread them everywhere. So I will have to wait for them to grow up again, and then I will have to dig them out by the roots.

I don't look forward to this laborious drudgery. But perhaps I can make a game of it. How many dandelion's can you pull out in an hour? Try to enjoy it. Put on some music.

The weather is perfect for it. I have run neither AC nor heat in a month and have never suffered a minute of discomfort. The house is thoroughly aired-out and smells of Spring. Bills will be low.

Anyway, I was bit by the industry bug, today, and I got busy with cleaning the bathroom, the kitchen, the utility room, paying all my bills, watering plants, and doing laundry. I even went out and bought a DVD player to replace the old one (which had gone goofy on me). They're so cheap now. Like 50 dollars. Luckily, my tax return came in last week, and I could afford the extra expense.

While cleaning the bathroom, I got some anti-mildew chemical in my eye.

Annoying.

Rerun seemed to enjoy having me home almost as much as I enjoyed being here (for once) .

Tonight, I was washing dishes and doing laundry and watching the Simpsons (on the new DVD player). During the episode where Bart sneaks a bull frog into Australia (which causes havoc to the Aussie eco-system, and a huge international affair between the U.S. of A. and the Land Down Under) I went out to the garage to get a broom from the broom closet ... not for flying, but for sweeping.

Anyway ... I went out to the garage and ...

I saw a pair of glowing, devil eyes reflecting the kitchen light.

Actually, it was a scrawny feline waif lounging on the hood of my old Buick! The surprise guest made a great clatter as it hopped up and scampered out through the garage door (which I had left open).

Poor thing. It was so skinny.

The polar opposite of Rerun.

I felt sorry for it and wondered if I should leave out some food.

I knew it would be a bad idea, since I already have one very domineering, very sensitive, very territorial beast to feed. It would be my second major blunder of the day (after helping the dandelions propagate).

But I just felt so sorry for the poor critter ...

Strange Magic

2007-02-27T12:43:00.000-06:00

A day or so ago, at work, a little boy came up to me, out of the blue, and asked, "Is magic real?"
"It's an illusion," I said.
His mother asked me, "How does it feel to be put on the spot?"
"It's okay," I said. "Very inquisitive young man you've got there. Very bright."

I wanted to tell them that I was secretly a powerful wizard and capable of all kinds of strange magick ...

... but I didn't want to lie.

*vanishes in a puff of smoke*

Play it Again, Sam

2007-02-16T14:15:00.000-06:00

My mom sent me a big package full of trail mix cookies (all of which I have already eaten!), empty tins of various kinds (which I like to collect), photographs, a sweat shirt that bears the words "Careful, or you'll end up in my novel", and yet another exotic mask to hang on my "wall of masks".
Thanks mom!!!!

I spent Valentine's Day with Lisa (hi, Lisa!), watching Casablanca. I had never seen the whole movie. It was a primordial soup of cinematic cliches -- often one after another in quick succession. This can be overwhelming and disconcerting and, as one watches, one realizes where all those iconic moments and statements originated. It was a great film, and Bogie's struggle is certainly complex -- more so than most of what we see in the movies nowadays. He is, undoubtedly, a good guy who, despite his outward materialism, is really just a sappy sentimentalist (a symbol for America and Americans, no doubt). I had to laugh whenever he would sit and drink alone, except for poor put-upon Sam (the unappreciated piano player, and my favorite character). Bogie mopes around, because "of all the gin joints in all the world" Ingrid Bergman had to walk into his. When he said this, I could hardly believe he was saying it, because I've heard it quoted so many times by so many people in so many different ways.

The movie is like a microcosm of world history at the time, and its personal and political scope is well nigh Shakespearean. Is the French policeman Bogie's ally or a tool for the Nazis? Will he and Bogart ever have a "beautiful friendship". Why did Bergman deceive Bogie about her relationship with Laslow the revolutionary? What will Bogart and Bergman choose: their love for each other or their dedication to the cause? Will poor Sam ever get the respect he deserves? I mean, *shit* people push him around and tell him what songs to play and not to play (instead of making requests), they call him "boy" (despite his age), and they treat him like a loved and loyal pet (when, like anybody, he has a mind of his own). I believe we're supposed to see his employment at the club as yet another example of Bogart's secretly soft heart, but it's pretty clear to me that Sam IS the club, especially whenever anyone else tries to sing or entertain.

*Gets off soapbox.*

Other than the temporal mistreatment of Sam, however, I thought it really was a fine film. I can only imagine the impact it had before it was cannibalized by time and repetition, and so many of its lines and speeches became cliches.

I've experienced this very same phenomenon from the other end, when introducing younger folks to the original Star Wars trilogy. "I've seen it all before", they tell me. "In various and sundry different sci-fi epics, including newer episodes of said former trilogy."

"These movies," they say, "make Lando Calrissean (a.k.a. African-American actor Billy Dee Williams) look like a cad. And besides Terminator 3 was better."

And I'm saying (emphatically .. nay ... frantically), "But ... but ... but ... it's Star Wars, man! Can't you see that Han Solo (the capitalist with a heart of gold) and Princess Leia (the bearer of the revolutionary flame, who has a mysterious relationship with Luke Skywalker) were struggling with their love for each other and their dedication to the cause? And, besides that ... Lando got to pilot the Milleneum Falcon in Return of the Jedi ..."

The fundamental things apply
As time goes by ...
-- Sam the Piano Player

Now watch this:

Take Your Protein Pills and Put Your Helmet On

2007-02-02T21:00:00.000-06:00

As you all know, we'll have a new Harry Potter book as of July 21st. I am hoping to see all of you at the big release party extravaganza at Borders.

My house will become Harry Potter Central for the next several months, so you can expect to see all manner of strange creature and outlandish character coming and going. The place will be full of cauldrons, wands, Hogwarts robes & ties & scarves, and all manner of witch hat, broomstick, and Quidditch snitch.

And, yes, this conceited buffoon will be making an appearance:

The HPDH digit counter on my profile column was lifted (by me) from a blog I've been known to haunt. You can get one of your own, if you are so inclined ... ahem ... Mara. Considering that the clock is set for the east coast, it should suit your new location.

Sweet Nerd of Paradox

2007-01-31T18:39:00.000-06:00

I know what you're expecting to see.

Nothing.

No new entry from the strangely absent Benjamin.

Well -- surprise! I finally got around to blogging again. It's been a long time and a lot has happened, and I have been too busy and (alternately)too lazy to sit down and scribble in my public diary.

I went back to Borders.

And I got a raise. I was the only manager who did, even if I did go the long way around to get it.

Lessons learned.

I want to say that I am happy there, but it's a daily challenge to remain that way, and no-one ever really gets there (i.e. to bliss). There are good days and bad, but mostly good. I have made new and excellent friends. I especially like the guys in the multi-media department. They are all gigantic Beatles fans.

The people under me at work, on my little team, work very hard. They show up on time, they listen, and they work like hell when I tell them to. And that's all I ask.

Proposition: A good way to motivate people is to get them to think about something that seems to have nothing whatsover to do with the task at hand. (Or, as Jack Sparrow would say: "It's even better than a key. It's a drawing of a key.")

Let's see. What else.

I was chewed upon by a brown recluse. I never felt it happen, but one day a great deathly patch of mottled flesh appeared on my inner thigh -- too close to my manly parts for comfort! Since then it has faded from black, to purple, to gray, to mostly back to normal. Nowadays I make sure to give my pants a thorough searching and shaking before ever putting them on!

Brian (the guitar guy) and I have reconciled. Remember Brian? We were partners in beer and guitars for a time, until we had differences at work. We split ways, and that was that. But, one night, I was feeling brave, so I ventured over to his lair. He's one of those people whose house is like a communal sanctuary where people come and go all the time without an invitation.

It's a southern thing.

My friends from other parts of the country have

more locks on their doors.

But you know how it is.

Different strokes.

Well, he was shocked to see me, but things were still civil between us and we managed to follow the Beatles' advice and "work it out".

We still hang out sometimes, but I can't keep up with his lifestyle.

He is a musician. What can I say?

On the Saturday before Christmas, my mum and dad were in town and we had an intimate holiday party at my house. Mum went all out with the preparations and the amassing of a great feast. Dad and I strung lights and hung all manner of wreath and trimming about the place. I got to erect my fake Christmas tree and bombard it with a barrage of ornaments. The party was fun. My old roomie, Lee, arrived with his fiance Judith. Joanne and Lisa were there, too, as were Enormous John Junkill & Suzi, and JCP & Aunt Sally. There was much feasting and chatting and drinking of wine.

I gorged myself over the holidays (on toffee & cakes & pies & cookies & brownies & fudge & sugar plums & ice cream) and gained close to 15 pounds!!!! Since then I have whittled away at the excess, but I'd still like to lose at least another five pounds, so as to become svelte and waifish again.

I am reading a book about running marathons. What to eat, what to wear, how to train. I look forward to giving it a go. Even if I don't run the storied 26 miles, at least I'll go far and lose lots of weight and be comfortable & healthy & aglow once more. Afterall, I have always maintained that I run & workout to be beautiful, not to be a badass.

There's plenty on the horizon. A new Harry Potter movie and book will arrive this summer (as if you didn't know and/or I hadn't said anything already). I am inviting everyone I know, all my cyber pals, and everyone who reads this blog to join us for the release party. Come one, come all - people near and far. We don't have a date yet, but when we do, I will saturate the world (or my part of it) with a marketing tidal wave that is sure to make this a grand event. I am reserving books for everyone I know and, even if they don't want to buy them, this will provide me with extras to give to the people whose orders get lost in the melee, which is bound to happen. It's Murphy's Law. But, thanks to my muggle friends, I'll be prepared! There's also a new Pirates of the Caribbean movie in May, and Scarborough Faire starts in April. I've been thinking that, if I can ever get to a place where I can take weekends off, I'd like to use them to occupy one Springtime out of my life as a weekend employee of Ye Olde Ren Faire. I'd like to be one of the guys who hauls people around in the little buggies. That would be a barrel of belly laughs, if you ask me.

This year, hopefully, I plan to purloin and/or earn a promotion at work. A long talk with Bookstore Terry convinced me that I am not only worthy, but actually better qualified than some of the people above me. Meanwhile, I'll be spending my Thursday nights with the Mystery Gang, exploring old bookstores with Lisa, worshipfully serving Rerun, and working hard to get back into drop dead sexy shape.

Pictured below are some images from the Christmas Party. Joanne took them with my camera. I hope you enjoy them.

Chris (JCP), Enormous John Junkill, Suzi, Aunt Sally, Lee, and Judith mingle.

Mum and the grand feast.

Lovely Lisa.

A bit of Lisa, Judith, Lee, Suzi, Junkill, and Sally.

Dad and me carving the roast beast.

Foreign translations (according to Mugglenet)

2006-12-25T07:58:00.000-06:00

Harrypotter.nl, the Dutch publisher of the Harry Potter books, has listed Harry Potter en het Fatale Heiligdom as the working title for Book 7. This is not the literal translation of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and translates as "Deadly Shrine," "Deadly Sanctuary" or "Deadly Saints." The literal Dutch translation of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows would be Harry Potter en de Dodelijke Heiligen.

In addition, it has been reported that the Finnish title will be Harry Potter ja kuoleman pyhimykset, which translates as "The Saints of Death."

Please be reminded that these are only tentative titles; the definitive titles will appear at a later stage.

THE CHRISTMAS TRINITY

2006-12-25T07:05:00.000-06:00

DECEMBER 25TH.

Today three birthdays are celebrated.

I have created entries, for each of these individuals, in an identical format to emphasize the similiarities shared by these three men born on a single day. As I shall prove, they are all left handed and known for their beards.

1.) There is, of course, Kenny Stabler (right) of the old Oakland Raiders; a Superbowl champion in 1976/7, and twice the NFL's player of the year.

ALIASES: Also known as "The Snake".

CLAIM TO FAME: Many people believe he was the best quarterback Oakland ever had.

A BEARDED LEFTY: The Alabama boy was famous for his facial hair (see the picture) and as anybody can tell you who saw him throw a football, this Snake was a sidewinder.

WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT HIM: His coach at Oakland, the great John Madden, used to say: "The hotter it gets, the cooler he gets."

2.): Another hallowed birthday on December 25th (at least that's when it's celebrated) is that of Jesus of Nazareth; the founder of Christianity.

ALIASES: Also known as Jesus Christ, Joshua the Annointed One, the King of Kings.

CLAIM TO FAME: Many people believe he is the savior of the universe.

A BEARDED LEFTY: The kid from Israel was famous for his facial hair, too (see the picture), and, as anybody who scrutinizes Da Vinci's Last Supper (shown below) can tell you, the Great Rabbi was a southpaw.

WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT HIM: It is written in the Gospels: "He sitteth at the right hand of the Father, with whom He bumpeth elbows".

Finally (on a more personal note) there is a guy who I will simply call John. For that is his name. John of Plano; salutatorian of his class at W.T. White (many moons ago) and an avid driver of race cars.

ALIASES: Also known as "Irvin" or simply "The Irv".

CLAIM TO FAME: Many people (you can find them in mental wards) believe he is both the finest of Raider quarterbacks and the savior of the universe.

A BEARDED LEFTY: This lad from Texas is known for his omnipresent facial hair (see the picture) and, as anybody can tell you who has arm wrestled or shot pool with him (as I have), he is famously left handed.

WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT HIM: Heck, even Sir Paul McCartney, himself, has been known to say, "I have always had immense respect for John."

HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS

2006-12-21T08:15:00.000-06:00

In case you haven't guessed ... (a) we have a title for book seven and (b) JK Rowling has taken the "do not disturb" sign off her door.

This can only mean one thing ...

To quote Jesus:

"It is finished."

For those of you who don't follow this stuff as rabidly as others:

This year, July 7th falls on a Saturday. The books are always released on a Saturday in July or late June. It could very well be that the 7th book will be released on 7/7/07.

WINSTON

2006-12-08T03:24:00.000-06:00

by Pete Townshend

I always seem to be in New York on the anniversary of Lennon's death. That happened in December 1980. On the first anniversary I was invited to the home of a big music entrepreneur in the city. There were several notable people there. We were all trying to pretend we could rise above our emotions and feelings of complicity. (Everyone in the music business felt responsible for what had happened.)
The apocryphal stories rolled out. Someone said that they had seen Lennon recording his last album.
"How was he?" I asked.
"He was happy, but strange as ever."
"How do you mean?"
"Not saying very much. Keeping himself to himself."
Oh, the tight friendships, the shared secrets, the unique and privileged intimacies between a star and his so-called friends. It is selfish in a peculiar way. Selfish of the star for deviously manipulating his acquaintances with glimpses of his "real" self; of the friends who, by vague innuendo, insinuate unprintable facts.
The party was suddenly disrupted by the arrival of an old friend of mine from England. Van Smith-Hartley. He was raging drunk. We were prepared to forgive him -- he had lost his band only a year or two before -- but his outburst startled everyone.
"We've brought our children up to sit with glued-on headphones while they scribble away at their homework, music throbbing in their mental genitals. They confuse sex with aspiration, violence with fortitude.
"They scramble the innate rhythmic response granted man by a generous God with getting high in smoke-filled discos, or throwing Coke cans and firecrackers at stadium concerts. They analyze the words of songs that might as well be written in a foreign language, the interpretations are so high-flown and pragmatic. It belies the fact that all rock and its so-called stars ever did was stand up and complain."
Van's bleary eyes swept the assembly, but his brain was sharpened by anger and bitterness.
"Chaps! Guys and gals! Pop-pickers! AOR! MOR! Punk, Rock, Cock Rock, Heavy Metal, Black Brotherhoods, Disco Funk, my God it's even regarded as poetry. Compared to Eliot -- Dylan Thomas; lines that have had every sense of English squeezed out of them.
"The Star appears and is recognized intuitively by all, like a messiah. He is spotted on a street corner and congratulated because he had the guts to say that the world isn't quite right. Hell's bells! When I say the world isn't quite right no one sends me a bloody fan letter. No blond wunderfrau from Texas wobbles her tits at me. No one analyzes my stance, testifies to my integrity. I AM THE TRUE MESSIAH! See? No one cares.
"And the poor Star who finds himself hounded from restaurant to doorstep, from telephone to mailbox, from nightclub to dressing room, what of him? While I stand waiting for the blind to see, for the seekers of truth to scream for me, these dilettante pretenders are worshipped, an audience of millions hanging on their every word.
"And yet their words are ignored even while they are being cherished. The disciples expect their surrogate Napoleon to lead an army to make good their own dreams, reveries that are unique to each one because each one receives the communicated frustration and desperations of his leader with a different pair of interpretive ears, with a different heart.
"Stars are attributed with intelligence they don't have, beauty they haven't worked for, loyalty and love they are incapable of reciprocating, and strength they do not possess. Their lives are a short span with the lifetime of their admirers. They are treated like a beautiful vase of cut flowers. When wilted, simply replace with new blooms. We never really try to get to know what it is that a Star is trying to say. Why stand on a stage and sing and dance? Why proclaim such vainglorious notions as Peace on Earth, the Glory of Screwing on the Beach, and the Existence of God? Perhaps all they really want is attention and affection. All they can do is dance and make invitations to the Dance.
"What awaits the stelliform soul who, behind all this rabble-rousing, is a real being, with real talent? Some sycophant turns lunatic and blows his brains out! Spot the loony. He writes his letters in spidery handwriting, or types densely in capitals on both sides of a paper. He writes up the margins and adds five or six postscripts. He can't spell. He blames his school, his parents and a beautiful girl who once spurned him. God in heaven! Think of the misery created in a single street by a single beautiful girl who fails to notice the leering adoration of some preadolescent wanker passing her. Him and twenty others remembering her for the rest of their lives, recriminatory and bitter. Spot the loony! He says he has lived before -- is living again once too often, I might add. Keep the sod away from me. I'll tell you what he looks like, he looks like a soul in torment, the type you might weep for. Quickly! Spot him! Before he blows your brains out!"
The anniversary dinner party was apparently over. Van got up and left without another word.

[From Pete Townshend's _Horse's Neck_, (c) 1985 and originally published in Boston by Houghton Mifflin. This was taken from the paperback First Perennial Library edition (ISBN 0-06-097062-6) published 1986. It's a good book, and it can still be found by sifting through the remaindered tables.]

Hells Bells!

2006-12-07T15:43:00.000-06:00

You are The Devil

Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession

The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.

Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Is This Data Accurate?

2006-12-03T09:39:00.000-06:00

DALLAS (according to Wikipedia):
In a larger context, the area is seen as right-wing politically, with a heavy cultural emphasis placed on Protestant Christianity and close historical and cultural ties to both the rugged American West and agricultural South. The popular television series Dallas bolstered this view epitomizing the city with wealthy oil barons, big hair and cowboy hats. However, in the 2004 presidential election, 75.05% of Dallas voters voted for the Democratic candidate.[5] In the 2006 elections for Dallas County judges, 41 out of 42 seats went to Democrats. Dallas as an individual entity lies roughly at the center of the political spectrum, and is locally much more diverse with significant Hispanic, Korean, German, African American, Muslim and Jewish populations.[

The Ballad Of Ben and Yoko

2006-11-29T10:38:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I got my many blond hairs cut ... well actually just the ones on my head. That meant I got to go to the barber shop and visit Yoko - the wonderful, sweet woman from Japan who cuts my hair. She is always so funny and nice, it's impossible to leave that place without a smile on your face. She talks machine-gun fast, with an ecstatic, squeaky voice and lots of hand motions and body emphasis. Often, her rants include numerous quotes, like a story. For example (while vigorously imitating someone shaking a parental index finger): "And then my mother, she says to me, "Now look here, my little Yoko, you come back to Japan and visit your mama before she dies in a typhoon!'".

She earns generous tips.

Afterwards, I went to the Witchy Woods for a time. I hiked the trails and spotted all the places with the names I gave them. That was very nice. I had not done this in ages. It was a luke warm day and all the ground was covered with leaves.

I came home and kept trying to sleep, but it just wasn't working out. So I made the most of my day; called the folks and Aunt Sally. There's a job available with the Plano Public Libraries, so I may go and apply for that.

I want to be successful. So I'll have to define what success means to me before I can achieve it.

After a few hours of alternately deep and disturbed napping*, I travelled (with baggy eyes and slurred words) to Barnes & Noble to visit Lisa. A number of familiar faces were still around, like Nick, James, and Scott. Lisa and I sat back in the kids department at one of the hobbit-sized tables where we talked for a lengthy period about a subject of some importance. I may offer details later, but not for now.

Speaking of Barnes & Noble, the mysterious object pictured at the end of my previous entry is actually the punch clock from the days at B&N. They were going to throw it away when the system was updated, but I snatched it from the jaws of the trash compactor (in the nick of time), and brought it home as a memento. Everybody's social security numbers are still in it and, if you plug it into a regular electrical socket, you can still punch in and out. Unfortunately, nobody pays you for your time.

Last night I ran five miles -- far from my best, but not bad considering I haven't hit the trails in months. I felt I could do quite a lot more, but I like to ease my aging joints into the longer distances, so they don't start creaking like an old boat.

And while I push for change and growth, I can still say this:

Days off are precious.

* I had disturbing dreams about Lisa, JCP, Jordan & Amanda, Junkill, both Suzi and Suzy, my parents, Rerun, Mara, Aunt Sally, Dani, and the girls of Flying Pig Produtions. And there was something about a half bull, half camel monster that loped out of a copse of trees and picked a territorial battle with me as I was taking a shortcut (on foot) across the back acres of the Haggard ranch near my house (which would be trespassing and I would never do it in waking life). I was, somehow, armed with a crowbar and ready to defend myself. The weird creature raised up on its hind legs as a way of asserting its dominance in this region (it was very tall that way), but I stood my ground, thinking that fear or flight on my part would give it courage. However, when it started bellowing and then charged me, I woke up in a fright! In several of my dreams, however, I managed to take control and actually utter the words, "This is just a dream" thus disempowering several would-be nightmares (or daymares, actually).

Relics

2006-11-24T23:50:00.000-06:00

I have used the same bookmark for 25 years. I got it from the old Taylors Books at Preston Center when I bought my first copies of Tolkien's holy trilogy and The Hobbit. I travelled there on a bicycle - to the sanctuary of my youth. They had a corner shop, facing north over Loop 12, positioned across a parking lot from a monstrous church with a Brobdignanian clock in its steeple. The church is still there and it still boasts a large bell that chimes so loudly it can be heard from miles away. The noise used to travel a league's distance to my bedroom window on Stefani Drive. I always found it to be a pleasant and comforting sound.

Taylors Books has long since disappeared, but I still have that old bookmark. The phrase Bookfest '82! is emblazoned across it - along with the dates November 15-20, phone numbers from before the area code addendum, and an address with the same zipcode as the neighborhood where I grew up; old Preston Hollow.

Cryptic scribbling adorns the back of it; directions of some kind, written in my sloppy teenage scrawl. I have no idea what event was taking place; if, in fact, the destination in question still exists; or at what precise point in the past quarter century I would have needed this information. I know only that, by that time, I was most certainly able to drive (judging by the distance to be travelled) and that something was afoot at the corners of Jupiter Road and LBJ Freeway.

All I had to do was take the exit, pass a gas station, drive 50 feet, turn right, and look for a sign that read "LBJ Hotel". Apparently, I had some sort of business in Room #105. Once again, there's a phone number without an area code, meaning that, whatever might have happened, it took place before the decree of the mid-1990's.

So now my life has spawned relics. Maybe I can open my own museum. I can hire Enormous John Junkill or Suzi as the curator. Aunt Sally and Joel the Groovy Old Hippie can be tour guides. All my artist friends can show their wares. We'll have such wonderful fun.

The image below presents yet another arcane artifact that might be exhibited at the Museum of Massive History. An explanation is soon to come.

I CHANGED A FEW THINGS AND DECIDED TO SHARE THIS

2006-11-17T01:22:00.000-06:00

1. So far, who did you talk to the most today? Suzy F.
2. What is the best name for a butler? Frederic
3. What is the thing you are picked on most about?
Just being so damn wonderful.
4. What was your last weird encounter?
People on myspace who think they're my soulmate (or some such thing) even though we have never met or spoken.
5. Do you remember the part from Bambi when Bambi learns to say bear?
Nope. I only ever watch the part where Godzilla steps on Bambi.
6. How many good friends do you have?
I have always been blessed with just the right number of remarkable friends
7. What’s the weirdest thing you have ever eaten?
Doodle bugs (when I was a little boy)
8. What color are your socks today? Grey
9. What is your favorite word that starts with the letter G?
gloaming
10. Who do you blame for your mood today?
I'm in a good mood (for the first time in a while) and I give all the credit to myself, a day off from work, Rerun, Joel, Chris, Sally, and Suzy.
12. What is something scientists need to invent?
A pill to cure all diseases, so that we can live long, worry-free lives with no fear of sickness. And transporters (i.e. Star Trek) in every home and building, so nobody will ever have an excuse for being late to wherever they are going. And cars with the power of independent thought ... which, come to think of it, would be made obsolete by the transporters, but auto enthusiasts would love them, anyway.
13. What is the closest object to your left foot?
Part of my desk
14. Who is your favortite President?
Dwight D. Eisenhower
15. Do you have an inside joke that has to do with numbers?
No, actually, I don't
16. What is the longest amount of hours you have slept in a row? Tweleve-ish
17. What story do you tell most often?
Either "Night of the Naked Norsemen" or "Snowstorm the Shapeshifting Panhandler" (both autobiographical adventures)
18. How do ugly people make you feel?
One sees so many faces, while working in retail, that either everybody or nobody starts to appear ugly (depending on your outlook)
21. What are the posters on your walls?
I have lots of things in frames (like maps, and artwork by Amanda and my mom), but I do have a huge Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire promo I got from Borders.
22. Say two words that rhyme: pterodactyl and ... er, um
23.Do you use online terms in real life?
No. That would be obnoxious and sad.
25. Do you think this year will be better than the last?
I hope it will, but I am making no prohecies; just plans.
26. Who is the 1st person on your incoming call list? Suzy F.
27. Do you know who Salad Fingers Is? Nope. Is that a rapper or something?
28. What is the stupidest thing you have ever done?
I bet $500 on a football game when I was young and foolish. It was the first and last time. Might I add: Place kickers should be shot!
29. What is your favorite commercial of the moment?
I don't watch a lot of commercials.
30. What are you looking forward to?
Lots of things. My next meal, Christmas lights, climbing Wheeler Peak with Jordan, visiting Yosemite with Lisa, the next Harry Potter book release (and the inevitable party), getting back into school, fencing with Kelly, the life and times of Zephyr Rainey, Dani completing her transition, the next time I get a chance to go walking on my favorite trails, seeing people I love again, a fair and balanced senate.
33. What do you like to do when you are alone?
Never you mind about that!
34. Who are your 2 favorite characters on Coupling (the British version)? Jeff Murdoch and Susan Walker.
35. What is missing from your life?
A job I actually like, a college degree, fun
36. Would you be ashamed if you wore hippie clothes? No.
37. Grab the closest book, what is the 7th sentence on the 23rd page? "It's a very fine line between fearless and foolhardy".
38. When was the last time you slept with a stuffed animal?
What are you suggesting; that I'm some kind of pathetic teddy bear hugging infant? And, incidentally, it was last night.
39. If it was your last day on earth, what shoes would you wear?
My knee high goth boots.
40. Do you own a Super Nintendo? HA! no
41. What do you think of Law and Order?
It's a worthy goal, within reason
42. Can you name all 7 dwarfs?
No, but Kelly, who sent this to me, can and, according to her, they are as follows: happy, sleepy, sneezey, dopey, doc, bashful, grumpy
43. Have you ever pretended to be Jewish?
No, but I pretended to be Methodist for quite a long time.
44. What was the last thing you thought you lost?
My glasses (found 'em!)
45. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Drudgery at work.
46. If you had a ball of clay what would you mold it into?
The first thing the vast majority of men would make out of a ball of clay is a penis. I have never seen this fail. So I am going to be unique and say that the first thing for me would be a pair of testicles.
47. Do you have any famous relatives?
I am related to R.L. Thornton, who has a freeway named after him in Dallas; and, I think, distantly to William Wallace, who mooned the English.
48. Have you ever been cool enough to:
Press all the buttons on an elevator?
No. But I will now.
Bake with an easy bake oven? No
Gone to school when you didn’t remember you had the day off?
HA! As if! I would never forget a day off!
Ever owned a Spirograph? Yes.
What was the last....TV show you watched? Wire in the ... Blood.
Thing you bought? Gas
Person that spent the night at your house? My parents
Song you sang out loud?
"Is She Really Going Out With Him?" by Joe Jackson
Time you ate ice cream? Tonight at Aunt Sally's ... with apple crisp

ROCK AND OR ROLL

2006-11-14T21:27:00.000-06:00

My All-time Fave Guitar Riff: Van Halen's "Unchained". It has been for years. Truth be told, I'm not the biggest Van Halen fan in the world. That title belongs to my old high school buddy, Big Daddy K-Bone, who used to play Edward Van Halen in a band of air-guitaring, lip synching imitators. But, never mind the song, itself; it's the hook that matters, and this is one propulsive, gut-wrenching instance of high energy, clean and technical (and yet heavy with grunge) bad boy bombardment (he says like a music critic). Whenever I hear it, I can't sit still. I want to get up and start prancing and preening like David Lee Roth, licking the microphone (usually a telephone or TV remote) and shaking my ass for the fans (usually just Rerun - who doesn't seem impressed).

"Come on, Dave, give me a break," says a canned voice. "Hey, hey, hey!" drawls Diamond Dave. "One break comin' up!" Cue Eddie, and that wicked riff!

That's rock 'n' roll baby!!!!

I'll never forget the first time I heard it. It was fair day at my old high school. The place was abuzz with talk of the Van Halen album that was to come out that day. We were all out in a big field, performing various circus acts for each other's amusement, when some ambient guy went strolling past with a boom box on his shoulder, turned up really LOUD. Suddenly this monstrous guitar noise from hell came blaring out of it - like someone firing up a cranky hot rod and letting it roar . We all stopped, stood still and listened. I think a guy who was in the egg toss competition got smacked in the face with an egg.

Everybody knew it had to be the new Van Halen. That sound deserved a patent. Heck, I wasn't really a fan of theirs at the time, but that changed in an instant. I was blown away. We all were. I'll still take that hook over any other in rock history, be it old school like "Satisfaction", "Whole Lotta Love" or "Purple Haze" -- or whatever it is the kids call rock 'n' roll these days. If you ask me, most of the guitarists in modern bands are too downtrodden by society or confused and/or intimidated by their newly independent girlfriends to risk a little showing off. Come on guys, says Benny, have some fun. Rock out a little. It's like Tom Sawyer when he tiptoed across a pickett fence to impress Becky Thatcher; a little self-mocking machismo -- just for the hell of it (and to impress the ladies); it can be a very good thing for the soul. Don't be such a downer, all you emo boys. I really don't think this is what Chuck Berry intended when he said, "Go, Johnny, go!"

So for ol' Chuck's sake (and Jimi's and Eric's and Eddie's and all the rest) --- ROCK OUT!!!!!!!

P.S. Girls can do it, too. And I, for one, have always been impressed with the girls who do. I think they're muy macho.

And, yes I know, Eddie can be a jerk and Dave can be obnoxious, and their huge egos eventually broke up the band. But I'll always remember them for that one amazing moment.

Note: There's a scene in a movie called "The Wedding Singer" (set back in the 1980's) where Adam "Erratically Amusing" Sandler's ex-girlfriend shows up at his house wearing a Van Halen tee-shirt. He tells her: "Take that off! You're gonna curse the band and they'll break up, just like us!"

Very funny.

GILDEROY LOCKHART IS DROP DEAD SEXY!!!

2006-11-06T19:18:00.000-06:00

Okay. So I've gotten into this roleplaying thing on the dreaded Myspace hullabaloo. It 's based on the Harry Potterverse, so naturally I am masquerading as Gilderoy Lockhart. Right? At first, it was all very nice. My buddy list included all the usual folks: Snape, Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Their profile pictures featured the actors from the movies, and they all seemed to be playing their parts convincingly. Then, suddenly, there appeared hordes of scantily clad girls claiming to be Harry's long lost cousin or the grown up version of Ginny or one of the Patil twins; all of whom - based on the pictures used - developed into supermodels and eschewed the modest Hogwarts attire in favor of teeny weeny bikinis and extremely exciting underwear. They have also forgotten how to act like proper English boarding school lasses and seem more interested in describing all the different ways in which they would like to jump Professor Lockhart's bones. All of them claim to be at least 18 years old, which is good, but I feel weird flirting with them. I mean, I had a lovely romance with Madame Rosmerta, and apparently, Narcissa Malfoy (who looks just like Michelle Pfeiffer) wants to make my lips fall off and my tongue turn into ash. All of which is very nice, of course. But, I mean, I have yet to go adventuring with Snape or Hagrid. Or battle with You Know Who. It's all sexy girls who want to have their way with poor old Professor Lockhart! I got into this thing for fun and adventure, and a few laughs at dumb old Gilderoy's expense. But now, the bumbling clothes horse has become a sex symbol, and I am not sure how seriously some of these young ladies are taking the game.
I mean, I'm not Gilderoy. I'm me.
Maybe I should just relax and enjoy the roleplaying. But I have to draw the line when they start offering to have sex with Lockhart. I'm fine with carriage rides in the moonlight and drinks at the Three Broomsticks, but it gets a little too extreme when they start talking about how they'd like to teach the professor a thing or two and/or what they'd like to do with my magic wand. Which means, in essence, they want to engage in kinky cyber chat with the character created by JK Rowling and Kenneth Branagh. For all I know, they could be dirty old men posing as lovely teenage girls as a means of getting their rocks off with the likes of Snape and Gilderoy (not to mention young Harry, Draco, and Ron). Or they could really be horny teenage girls who want to lose their cyber-innocence to a handsome Hogwarts authority figure. Which would make me a dirty old man. And could get me thrown into Azkaban!
What's a wizard to do?

LET'S PARTY!!!!!!!!

2006-11-01T16:55:00.000-06:00

WASHINGTON - Obese mice on a high-fat diet got the benefits of being thin - living healthier, longer lives - without the pain of dieting when they consumed huge doses of red wine extract, according to a landmark new study.
It's far too early to know if this would work in people, scientists said. But several were excited by the findings, calling it promising and even "spectacular."
The study by the Harvard Medical School and the National Institute on Aging shows that heavy doses of the red wine ingredient, resveratrol, lowers the rate of diabetes, liver problems and other fat-related ill effects in obese mice.
Fat-related deaths dropped 31 percent for obese mice on the supplement, compared to fat mice that got no treatment. The mice that got the wine extract also lived longer than expected, the study showed.
And astoundingly, the organs of the treated fat mice looked normal when they shouldn't have, said study lead author Dr. David Sinclair of Harvard Medical School.
"They're chubby but inside they look great," Sinclair said Wednesday afternoon. "You have to pinch yourself to make sure that this is all real, but the study involved 27 different researchers each of whom had a Eureka moment."
Sinclair said other preliminary work still under way shows the wine ingredient has promise in extending the lives of normal-sized mice, too.
Sinclair has a financial stake in the research. He is co-founder of a pharmaceutical firm, Sirtris Pharmaceuticals Inc. of Cambridge, Mass., which is testing to see if the extract can safely be used to treat people with diabetes.
For years, red wine has been linked to numerous health benefits. But the new study, published online in the journal Nature on Thursday, shows that mammals given ultrahigh doses of resveratrol can get the good effects of cutting calories without actually doing it.
"If we're right about this, it would mean you could have the benefit of restricting calories without having to feel hungry," Sinclair said. "It's the Holy Grail of aging research."
Even though he called the work "tantalizing," Dr. Howard Eisenson, director of the Duke University Diet and Fitness Center urged people not to get too excited.
"All of us who practice medicine have learned that we can't leap from studies in the lab - particularly in lab animals - to what will happen in humans," Eisenson said.
Resveratrol, produced when plants are under stress, is found in the skin of grapes and in other plants, including peanuts and some berries.
The 55 resveratrol-treated obese mice were on a high-calorie diet - what one scientist called a "McDonald's diet." Not only were they about as healthy as normal mice, they were also as agile and active on exercise equipment as their lean cousins, demonstrating a normal quality of life that was unexpected for such obese creatures, said study co-author Rafael de Cabo of the Institute on Aging.
"These fat old mice can perform as well on this skill test as young lean mice," Sinclair said.
The only major body measurement that didn't improve - aside from weight - was cholesterol, and that didn't seem to matter in the overall health of the mice, Sinclair said.
The study is so promising that the aging institute this week is strongly considering a repeat of the same experiment with rhesus monkeys, a closer match to humans, said institute director Dr. Richard Hodes.
Hodes cautions that it's too early for people to start taking non-regulated resveratrol supplements because safety issues haven't been adequately addressed.
Sirtris Pharmaceuticals is working on a high-dose resveratrol pill that unlike unregulated supplements on the market now, would be used as a drug and require Food and Drug Administration approval, said company chief executive officer Dr. Christoph Westphal. And that development and federal approval is about five years away, he said.
Sirtris is aiming the research at diseases of aging, which includes diabetes.
Sinclair's results are so promising that he rushed the study into the science journal while the obese mice are still alive, not waiting several more weeks or months until they die. That raises some issues, including specific figures about mortality, but is understandable, said outside experts. The obese mice still lived past the median age for mice of their weight.
Even would-be competitors are praising the study.
"It's a fairly spectacular result," said University of Wisconsin medical professor Dr. Richard Weindruch, who co-founded another biotech company that looks at the genetics of aging and drugs that could expand life spans. "People will go to McDonald's and afterwards they'll do super-sized resveratrol."
"This is fantastic," said Brown University molecular biology professor Stephen Helfand, who was the first reviewer for the journal Nature and not part of the team. "This is a historic landmark contribution."
Helfand said he won't be taking red wine extract supplements - but he has put his elderly parents on them. Such supplements are available at health food stores and on-line, but not at dose levels equivalent to what the mice in the experiment got - roughly equal to 100 bottles of wine a day in humans.
Mice, he said, are good initial test subjects for human drugs because their bodies function similarly to humans in many ways. However, the differences between mouse and man can prove crucial, he noted.
Sinclair said he takes resveratrol supplements, but doesn't recommend it for others.
Resveratrol works by spurring activity and regrowth in cells' mitochondria, which Sinclair called "the energy powerhouses of the cell."
Some scientists, such as Weindruch and Hodes, worry that the research may encourage people to forget about their diets and wait for a red wine cure-all that may never come.
"It's not an excuse to overeat," Sinclair said. But he added that for mice at least, this shows you can be "fat, happy, healthy and vigorous."

O.K. Go

2006-11-01T15:45:00.000-06:00

These guys are cool. Thanks, J.C.P.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5933733973682128992&q=%22ok+go%22&hl=en

INSULTS

2006-10-30T16:50:00.000-06:00

When Insults Had Class:

"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." - Winston Churchill

"A modest little person, with much to be modest about." - Winston Churchill

"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure." - Clarence Darrow

"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary." - William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)

"Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?" - Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it." - Moses Hadas

"He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know." - Abraham Lincoln

"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it." - Groucho Marx

"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." - Mark Twain

"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends." - Oscar Wilde

"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend...if you have one." - George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one." - Winston Churchill, in reply

WHAT EUROPEAN CITY DO YOU BELONG IN?

2006-10-24T23:56:00.000-05:00

You Belong in Dublin

Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions.
You're the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl... or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

What European City Do You Belong In?

ADDENDUM II

2006-10-16T02:23:00.000-05:00

Crystalized ginger is ambrosia ...

ADDENDUM

2006-10-15T11:01:00.000-05:00

With regards to last night's post:

I have been able to eat bread and keep it down.

So far.

There is light at the end of the tunnel of vomit. I haven't barfed today or anything else.

It's no fun to have to eat so cautiously. I want to rip into something tasty (I'm so hungry), but I have to be careful. The bread is, at least, filling, absorbant, and harmless.

I have a strange craving for tacos, but I don't think that would be a wise move at this point.

A rain like Noah's has been coming down all morning.

Rerun is perched in the window watching it fall.

SICK AGAIN

2006-10-15T02:00:00.000-05:00

I am sick, sick, sick again.

It's horrible! I'm spewing from both ends. All day I sat in bed convalescing or on the bathroom floor next to the porcelain portal. Tonight, however, I went to see my good buddy Chris play and sing folk music & pop standards at a local java joint (but that isn't what made me sick!). He was great, in fact, but I felt like death's bitch the whole time. I tried to be a trooper and smile and be pleasant, but I am absolutely the worst person on Earth about hiding my discomfort and misery. Afterwards, I came home and barfed like a drunken landlubber at sea. The old buttisimo made it's presence known, too, in a most dramatic fashion ... if I may be so graphic.

Later on I decided to take a warm bath and, as I lay there sleeplessly at 1:30 A.M., the doorbell rang. This freaked me out a little. A lot of horror movies start this way. I managed to get up, towell off, get dressed, and run to the door, just in time to see a van driving away. I have no idea who it was.

The only thing I ate all day was a baked potato, green tea, and some crackers. But all of these resurfaced amongst the violent spewing.

I don't know what I've got, but it is most unpleasant. It may have been the chicken sandwich I got Friday at KFC, or maybe it has something to do with the ant killer I sprayed all around the kitchen's exterior and much of the garage. If it continues until tomorrow, and I am unable to get any sustenance, I will have to call in sick at work and go to the doctor.

I hope it's nothing serious. I hope it's just the bad chicken or a stomach flu. When I was a little boy of ten or eleven, a little girl named Muffy who lived next door to me my whole life up to that point, developed a very similar barfy ailment which her parents thought was just a virus. So they waited for it to pass. They waited too long, though, because it turned out to be hepatitus, and she died.

I doubt I have anything so serious, but if it keeps up another day, and I am unable to eat, I will begin to wonder. I don't want to make the same mistake. It's a deep-seated fear brought on by a childhood trauma.

I wondered today, as I lay in bed feeling sick and mopey (and this is corny) what I
would think and say if I was actually on my death bed. Who would I call for? Well, as silly as it sounds, my first reaction was that I would summon Rerun. What would be my greatest regret? Easy: never having found true love. Is there anything I would ask of anyone? Hmmm. I would ask one of my male friends to go to my house and destroy any pornography I may have laying around. Actually, I don't own any porn ... but I think it would be a funny post-mortem prank to make somebody search for it.

That made me laugh. And laughing makes me feel much better.

THE GLORIOUS RESULTS OF A MISSPENT YOUTH

2006-10-06T15:16:00.000-05:00

First of all, I want to thank all the great and wonderful people who wished me well during my sickness and offered varous & sundry cures for the common cold. I tried them all. All at once: snore-strips, various nose-drops, medications, ointments, oils, and teas. And they must have worked, because now I feel much better. There's still a lingering cough to deal with, but otherwise I am fine and dandy.

Next, I want to make it public that I have recently taken great steps in my life and am feeling a certain level of self control and confidence that I have never known before. Financially, especially. I actually feel good about what I have done with money as of late. I know exactly what is what & where it is going, instead of just paying out every month. I have found the cheapest way of paying off my debts of the past, with the lowest possible interest and the least amount of hassle. I have canceled a number of unnecessary accounts (like an extra internet server/email) and adjusted my phone service to minimize my monthly expenses.

Also, I am getting back into college with the precise knowledege of which classes I have to take to get a degree. This means I will have to take a math course. I have tested and know where I have to start. It isn't exactly where I left off years ago, but I didn't retain a lot of that ancient information. So what? At least I know where I stand and what I have to do. I look at it this way: I am going to make believe that I am going to college for the first time and starting from scratch. Actually I'll have a three year headstart and a reasonable GPA in everything except for math, so that's a nice advantage. And I'll be out of there in no time! Fix the math; fix the GPA. Graduate as a solid B+ student.

I still have no idea "what I want to do with my life" (screams the teacher with spittle spewing from his former Delta-house maw, as the chunky kid in the Twisted Sister shirt mouths Dee Snyder's metallic bray: "I wanna ROCK!" ---- you see what they did to me?)*. But I don't care. I don't really want to know everything. I just want to make it to the next level. Foresight helps, to an extent. So I shall try to gain some. For now though, God (or Goddess, or no-God-at-all and all forms in-between, so as not to insult anyone or their mother, brother, or pet monkey), please, please, please let me live my life and make advancements. And without so much worry, emotional rollercoastering, anger, bitterness, and scorn. Please. I beg of thee, oh Ben of Earth, hearken to my calling and live your life as I have decreed.

In other news: UNT's storied "albino squirrel" has been MURDERED! (I am extremely late in reporting this, but I thought it merited a blurb on Magical Missives anyway.) The mythic mascot was apparently scooped up by a hawk and carried into a tree. Students gathered around and pelted the poor bird with rocks & pens & erasers & then text books, until it relented. UNT's favored son (or daughter) then plummeted to earth like Kong from the Empire State Building. Unfortunately, our bushy-tailed hero, beloved and now mourned, was already dead.

A moment of silence, please.

In yet more news: Ben of Earth was almost sprayed by a skunk! I was jogging along the Chisolm Trail, one evening, when I saw the cutest little kitty-cat scurrying amongst the shadows. It was a most unusual feline, with a long white stripe on its back, and it seemed intent upon periscoping its tail and aiming its butt at me. "That's no lil kitty!!!" blared the lightbulb that went on above my head. And, quick as a cat, I hotfooted up a nearby upgrade and fled into the neighboring streets and houses...

Epilouge: ... then last night, as I was driving past the same area, I saw a bunch of teenagers partying in their front yard. Unbeknownst to them, a few houses down, a skunk (the same one?) was headed in their direction. Whether Pepe LePew shied away from them or showered them with an unholy stink, I will never know.

P.S. Is your voter registration still valid? Mine is, and I plan to use it!

VOTE KINKY!!!!!

* This is a passage from a Twisted Sister video circa 1983 or 4 or 5. If you haven't seen it, what I have written will make little or no sense to you. If, however, you have seen it (and if you grew up in the same era as me, you probably have), then you'll know what I mean.

THAG YOU VERY BUCH

2006-09-29T12:12:00.000-05:00

As of yesterday, I am officially sick. Not mentally (any more than usual), but physically; stuffy, runny nose, sore throat, mild fever, general weakness and yuckiness. Feel like crap. Last night I bought several cans of chicken noodle soup, gatorade, and lots of Halls cough drops (with advanced vapor action). Rerun enjoys my feeble state, because it makes her feel like the stronger individual in the relationship.

P.S. Dad, I got the water heater fixed. The guy was really nice and did a great job. Hot water came just in time for sick-o to take a warm bath whilst drinking green tea, gobbling vitamin C, and praying for a miracle cure.

ASHES IN THE SKY

2006-09-26T20:29:00.000-05:00

I suppose I owe Magical Missives an update. Or something. Maybe not an update. Daily events are pretty boring until they add up to something.

Where to begin? What's happened since the last entry? You see what I mean? Hell, when was the last entry? What was it about? I don't quite remember.

Oh yes. It was Arizona the dog.

My folks had him cremated and will spread his ashes on their land, and in their garden. They saved a small jar of said ashes for me (per my request) to take to the top of Wheeler Peak the next time I visit Taos, New Mexico.

At 13,161 feet, Wheeler Peak is the highest point in the state. I made it to the top once, way back in 1996. I was thirty years old, then, and in tremendous physical shape; much better than I am now. Arizona accompanied me on my expedition. We were both so tired that, at the peak, we leaned against each other for support and stared, dazedly, down at the vast world below.
Poor Arizona. I really should not have made him go with me, but I was younger & more foolish and I didn't know any better. He was so tired and sore that all he did for days afterwards was sleep. (I was pretty worn out, too.) Everytime I came near him he would make pathetic noises and limp away, for fear that I was going to make him do it again. But I wouldn't have. Nope. Never again. Poor guy. However, I will make sure that some part of him ascends to the highest high once more.

As long as I can stay healthy, I'll do it. I'll get myself in the kind of shape required to make that climb again.

I tried a second time to hike to Wheeler Peak, back in 2002. I got into great shape for it (stair mastering as much as two hours a day) and was ready to go, but my hiking partners (who shall remain nameless, and should have stuck to bookselling) were neither as buff nor as gung ho as I. We only managed a short stroll up the giant's ankle before turning around.

But now I have a bold new volunteer in the person of my good buddy Jordan. He is willing (and I think) able to do it. Maybe next summer sometime. After Amanda has her baby, of course. Maybe we can take him with us.

Probably not.

But Jordan, my friend, you have sights such as the following to look forward to:
Above is Wheeler Peak as seen from La Cal Basin. It takes an hour or more to cross this particular vista. The path zigzags along the edge of the basin to make the steep climb possible. (On the return trip, I said, "Screw the zigzagging!" and cut a straight line down the center.) There's a little dome in the middle of the basin called Point 13,045. The peak, itself, is a dark and challenging shadow in the upper right corner.
Shown above: Summit Ridge. I remember making it to a tall mountain top, very weary, thinking I'd reached the peak, but then I saw this natural mountain causeway, balanced precariously atop a ridge. It lead off towards the real prize: Wheeler Peak. (This photo was taken from the peak looking back; the homeward path for tired travellers like Arizona and me.)

Among the many denizens of the Wheeler Peak trail, are bighorn sheep like the ones pictured above. There are also many mountain lions, grizzly bears, alligators, anacondas, King Kong, Godzilla, and Jack the Ripper.

Actually, the trip is fairly safe, and well trodden. I saw a number of people who made the journey before me. This lessened the unique quality of my climb, somewhat (meaning I'm no Sir Edmund "Because It's There" Hillary), but actually served to strenghten my resolve. If they can do it, so can I! And on the way down, I in turn, became the incentive for others to make it to the top.

At one point, when I thought I was totally alone, strolling happily along with my walking stick, I started belting out Led Zep's "Over the Hills and Far Away" in as strident a rock 'n' roll voice as I could muster. Then I realized that, though I didn't actually see anyone else at the time, my heavy metal hollering was probably travelling across the mountainside, yodel-like, to other hikers.

Sure enough, a little later, as I passed some ascending mountaineers, one wise guy says, "Hi there, Robert Plant." (Such a wit. A regular Oscar Wilde.)

I was a bit embarassed, but, a little further on, I started singing again.

And, yes, though it was a hot summer day down in the ski valley and Taos proper, there was still snow up on the mountain tops. And Rerun, who was there in Taos at the time, was very glad to see me when I got back. And Arizona was very pleased to see my folks.

And we all ate a huge dinner.

(Note: the pictures in this entry were not taken by me. I did not have a camera at the time. They are all downloads from the net.)

ARIZONA

2006-09-10T12:30:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Arizona (my parents' dog) died. He was a very friendly and affectionate animal who was loved by all. In New Mexico, out on my parents' land, as we all hiked off in different directions to explore the vast landscape of trees, mammoth boulders, sagebrush and arroyos, he would run across great distances - from person to person - to make certain all the members of his pack were safe. You could be searching for old arrowheads or exploring a cave, when suddenly he would appear, like one of those rescue dogs in the Alps, to check up on you. He was such a sweet and energetic creature that people at his grooming salon nicknamed him "Happy".

Arizona will be greatly missed.

MOONLIGHTING AS A MASKED CRIME FIGHTER

2006-09-07T23:56:00.000-05:00

I am convinced that I have two very distinct personalities.

Take right now for instance. I am unexplainably, undeniably (minus the Taurean horns and hooves) MELLOW.

And I think ...

That's going to be my new super hero alter ego.

MELLOW FELLOW.

I'll have a big MF printed on my chest, which come to think of it, will make a lot of people laugh at me.

Especially Samuel L. Jackson.

But I'll just be too mellow to let their boffola get to me, because mellowness will be my super power, my armor, my shield, my weapon. Delivered with a wink and a smile, my super hero catch phrase will be: "Hip and groovy!"

Stay tuned for the further adventures of MELLOW FELLOW.

COMING UP -- My arch enemy:

CAPTAIN EMO.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAGICAL MISSIVES!!!

2006-08-28T11:59:00.000-05:00

Today is the one year anniversary of Magical Missives. So much has happened since the first entry. I'm too tired to go into it right now, but it's been a lot of fun. There have been a few crazy moments (because I'm insane), but mostly lots of adventures and celebrating. What a long, strange trips it's been!

So what's it all about? Well, with a little help from my friends: John & Yoko, Animal from the Muppets (aka Keith Moon), and Angus Young of AC/DC; and also from our fearless President, himself; it can all be summed up by the follwing video link. You've got to see this to believe it. All I am saying is:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1847778207986315796&q=john+lennon&hl=en

A FEW WORDS AND LOTS OF PICTURES

2006-08-24T12:12:00.000-05:00

I have been remiss in my blogging duties of late. I've started a new job and I guess I just haven't been in the mood for blogging. I work with Jordan and Amanda at Whole Foods. It's hard work, but fundamentally rewarding in a way the book store wasn't. I see Amanda almost everyday (large with child), but I have worked with Jordan only once. We're scheduled together tonight, so that should be fun.

I am trying to get back into school, gathering up various and sundry transcripts from the days of old. Time is running out and I hope that I can get in this semester. No panic if I don't. I just need an outlet outisde
work so that I can feel like there's more to life than my job. And I'd really like to finish my long neglected degree. Just for me. Not for my family or to impress women or to make Rerun proud. Just for Benchenzo

Last weekend, Lisa and I took a little trip to White Rock Lake. I only took a few photos, because we were running around a lot; to the Bath House Cultural Center, the woods, the Arboretum, Picasso's Gourmet Pizzeria, and various locations where the Lady of the Lake has been known to appear. I think you can see her standing next to the water in the middle photo below.

I've taken to reading a lot of young adult fantasy and I think I would like to write some myself. First, I must work out the characters and the plot, the theme(s), and all the details. I've also got to go back to school and take a freakin' math course (probably more than one, in preparation for the one that counts) which means nothing to me (other than the fact that it will be the last nail in the coffin of my college education). I suppose I could change my attitude about math, but can a fish change its attitude about living on dry land or a bird change its attitude about flying? NO! They can't! Course ... I'm not a fish. I'm a man. And a very extraordinairy and adaptable man at that.

My new job has prevented me from attending Thursday night dinner at Sally's house the last two weeks. I find myself missing the mystery/dinner gang and wishing I could have that one night of relaxation with good food and friends.

I've recently become aware of my green thumb!!! I have collected a massive jungle of plants and, after several months, they are thriving and living happily in my newly appointed garden room. Of course, I don't know what any of them are called, because I'm not Pomona Sprout. However, Amanda says they are all fairly easy to maintain.

Yesterday, I picked up more transcripts (from awful old Quad C {Collin County Community College}), had lunch with Mara, and went to Borders to officially tender my resignation. That way I can get all my vacation pay. It was a weird feeling. I kept wanting to help people and straighten books. But talking with employees convinced me that the place is still subject to evil forces and is no longer a welcome port for the good ship Benchenzo. I left with mixed feelings, but I'm sure I made the right choice by moving on with my life.

I got a little angry when my car's engine light came on (and ranted to poor Mara), because I really need my car to work right now. But I got home and gave it all the fluids and rest it needed, and now everything seems to be alright.

Note: my backyard is, mysteriously, teeming with dragonflies!

THE TEMPEST

2006-08-06T23:12:00.000-05:00

Sunday August 6th, 2006 was one of those blazing hot Texas summer days. Nevertheless, I was determined to spend my free time hiking the Chisolm Trail. It's one of those things I love to do, but don't often get the chance. So I got my stuff together, hopped into Excalibur (my car, aka the Blue Pearl) put on a large white Dave Gilmour shirt (white to repell the sun), drove out to the usual starting point, covered my exposed parts with proper sun screen, and set out for what I imagined would be a journey through the solar scorched wastes.

A routine mission.

The early parts of the Chisolm Trail, nearer to my house, are the shadiest, and the prettiest. Here there are all manner of trees and a creek flows alongside the path. There are bridges, roofed with branches, where brooks babble underneath. One can see lots of ducks, cranes, geese, and various forms of local wildlife in and near the water. It's very pleasant. I always imagine it as the Shire portion of my There and Back Again.

But as one travels further afield, things begin to change. The path veers away from the water's edge, and the trees give way to sun burnt earth and a rather wide, supposedly green belt between faraway rows of utilitarian houses. This is marked with an endless power grid of those monster metal towers with buzzing powerlines strung between them: the Mordor portion of my hobbit's journey. (I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "What happened to the Trollshaws, Bree, Rivendell, the Misty Mountains, the Great River, etc?" And the answer is: I don't know.)

I trudged out into this vast waste, beneath a merciless sun. I passed magicless, treeless little parks along the way, imagining my surroundings as being more like something from Mad Max than Tolkien. Actually, there were a number of other travellers along the way, all of them sweaty and weatherbeaten. One guy on a bike gasped, "Too hot! Too hot!" It was as if he was about to die. It got so bad for me, personally, that I took off the Dave Gilmour shirt and wrapped it around my head like a hooded shawl, with the arms tied beneath my chin as a strap. I wished for clouds to move across the sky and cover the sun.

This they did. With surprising quickness and in great abundance. In fact, I noticed a great darkness gathering in the West and approaching like giant black riders in the sky. It was getting colder, so I removed the shirt from my head and put it back on.

I was now eight miles from my starting point, with a vast homeward journey ahead of me and a massive stormfront suddenly bludgeoning in from the West. I quickened my pace, counting my footsteps to mark time. Now I was seven miles from home. Now six. And then five. The wind blew like the trumpets of Jericho, fluttering my Dave Gilmour shirt and threatening to fill it with air and take me hang-gliding. The trail was now abandoned except for me. Odd scraps of newspapers and trash tumbled by. The temperature dropped dramatically. Maybe thirty degrees. Maybe more. Down into the seventies. Thunder rumbled in the distance. I saw lightning; the kind that bullets down from the sky and strikes heavenly vengeance on the earth; the scary kind for travellers, especially those scurrying along a green belt, thick with power lines and the requisite big metal towers.

I could the smell the rain. And with it pain. And it was headed my way.

My life was becoming a Jon Krakauer book!

Droplets began to pelt the concrete and I could feel them on my shoulders and hair. A little rain was no big deal, really, and quite a relief from the heat. It felt good. But the lightning worried me and the storm threatened to go way past the merely enjoyable phase, complete with howling winds and a furious downpour. I remembered there was a park nearby, with a shelter of some kind, but I would have to sprint to beat the squall. Running would be difficult after having walked close to twelve miles already, but it was the only way. So I plunged forward along the trail at top speed. I could see the park, and a lone brick structure, some two hundred yards ahead of me. Two football fields.

I dashed the entire way, but I did not beat the cloudburst. Rain plummeted from the sky after about 50 yards and soaked me to the soul for the last three quarters of my desperate plunge. I raced into the brick enclosure, crossed its width in a (now rapid) heartbeat, and crashed into the rear wall.

It was a public restroom, and not much of one. It had little metal toilets and a roof which only covered half of it. Chance, at least, had ended my dash in the proper half of this lavatory; the half with the urinals in it. (Not that there was much possibility of me hurtling into a restroom full of naked women out there, but one can dream.) There was also a water fountain. And I was parched. But first I used the manly stall.

Then I began to feel light headed.

My heart was palpitating (from the run) as if Keith Moon had come back to life inside my ribcage. My head swam and my vision blurred. I felt hungry. I steadied myself against a wall and limped over to the fountain to get a drink. The water was hot, but I didn't care. It was wet.

I returned to the meager shelter of the bathroom and sat on the floor to get my head together. I thought, dimly: "Great, now I'm hanging out in men's rooms." As things became normal again, I got up slowly. First to my knees, then crouching, then bent over, and finally standing.

The rain was letting up. At least, it appeared so. I feared a second wave, or worse, a tornado. It's always calmest before those pirates of the plains sweep down to pillage. And this is Texas, afterall; the southern stretch of Tornado Alley, as they call it.

However, I felt better now, and I was eager to get home. So I decided to face the lessening rain (and all those scary possibilities) and soldier on.

And this I did. I worried some about lightning (which kept flashing in the sky), but the weather began to clear, and the sun began to take its toll once more. As for me, I never stopped except once; to get a drink at a fountain. I even flirted with a cute girl I saw along the way.

All the way back I went, across Mordor and The Shire, to where the Blue Pearl was docked and awaiting its captain. And then, in blessed air condtioning, I drove home to Rerun; a bath; a meal followed by strawberries and oatmeal-raisin cookies; and a tall glass of milk. I called the folks. I AIMed with Kelly. And I wrote this entry. And, if my pleasant end-of-day could be symbolized by a painting, it might look something like this:

P.S. I enjoyed every minute of it.

THANK YOU FOR CALLING BORDERS IN PLANO, THIS IS BEN, YOU CAN BITE ME!

2006-08-05T16:02:00.000-05:00

Well ... it's officially over. My time at Borders has ended, and I have moved on. I brought a camera to work to get a few shots of some of the good people who are still employed there.
Pictured above, with me, are the twins - Leisa and Lindsay. Great girls. I'll miss them.
Here we have Jerry (my direct supervisor for the entirety of my stay at Borders), Annette, and Bookstore Terry. He's quite a character. Terry is not a Borders employee, but rather, a regular customer and something of a local legend. Everyday he wears a shirt advertising a different sports franchise, he has a house full of thousands of books (many signed first editions), and he set up a residence in Florida to make his vote count (for the Dems) in the last election.
This is Bookstore Terry (again), Christy, and Tara. They are standing at the notorious cafe counter where so many jobs were lost. Free drinks anyone?
Here I am setting the alarm for the last time. Jerry (who was taking the photo) told me I could just pose, but I said, "No! It must be authentic!" So I really am setting my final alarm in this picture. History is being made.
After work, there was a party at a place called The Fox and Hound, which is as much of a meat market as it sounds like. We all got together to celebrate Latte Thunder's move to New Orleans (and Tulane) and my exit from Borders. Afterwards, LT and I posed in the parking lot for the picture shown above. We were flexing like Hans and Franz.

So ... it's over. Time to move on.

AMERICAN DESTINY

2006-08-03T00:10:00.000-05:00

Well ... today I made the closing announcements at Borders, shut everything down, counted the safe, etc., and got everybody out of the store and safely to their cars ... maybe for the last time ...

As I got into my car and drove away, I turned on the radio. The very first thing I heard was the voice of an old friend saying:

Mine's a tale that can't be told
(My freedom I hold dear)
How years ago, in days of old, when magic filled the air
Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor I met a girl so fair
But Gollum and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her

Nothing I could do, no ...

I'm gonna RAMBLE ON!
Now's the time, the time is now
to SING MY SONG!
Go around the world, gonna find my girl -
ON MY WAY!
I 've been this way ten years to the day
RAMBLE ON!
Find the queen of all my dreams!

That's Led Zeppelin, if you don't know. From way, way back. And it was the perfect song for leaving Borders.
Synchronicity, I think they call it. Destiny turns on the radio. The previous night, as I drove away, the radio conjured up "I'm Already Gone" by the Eagles.

There seems to be a secret passage from my state of mind to the local classic rock radio station.

It was a rough last week. (I actually have to come in on Friday, too, but that will probably be a facile imitation of a real day at work.) I toiled six days in a row, but mostly I milked the clock. My emotions have been on a roller coaster all week long.

Anyway, Mara came into work tonight with most of her family. They are all very nice. It was good to see a familiar face after my weeklong odyssey of weary Borders weirdness and emotional uncertainty.

Well ... despite moments of panic and self doubt, fear and immaturity, anger and self recrimination -- I haven't done anything terribly radical yet during my mid-life 40-ish freak-out period. I haven't yet turned into Kevin Spacey in American Beauty and fallen for some goofy-underage-primadonna, or blackmailed my boss, or traded my sedan for a hot rod, or been kissed by a covertly gay Marine Corps Colonel. However, I do suspect Rerun of fooling around with the Real Estate King.

You have to have seen the movie to understand any of that.

Anyway, it's late and I feel groggy and disoriented. So good night.

SOMETHING WICKED THAT WAY WENT

2006-07-31T00:55:00.000-05:00

Front row: Minerva McGonogall, Nymphadora Tonks. Second row: Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter (himself). Third row: Severus Snape, Sybil Trelawney, Rita Skeeter, Gilderoy Lockhart, the Dementor. Thanks to everyone who played a part. It was a big success.

SECRETS REVEALED

2006-07-24T13:57:00.000-05:00

The inspirations for my characterization of Gilderoy Lockhart are as follows:

As much as I enjoy playing that egotistical buffoon for Potter functions, and entertaining kids, I almost did not go through with it at first. I am glad now that I did, obviously (and that people urged me to), but it's true that I came close to passing on it, because - get this! - I just was not as big a fan of Harry Potter at the time of the first extravagant release party at Barnes and Noble. I liked the books and enjoyed the films, but never enough to put on a costume and act a fool in front of a crowd.

In the week or so before Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came out (circa June 2003) - the first time I was asked to play Gilderoy - I became increasingly nervous. Having little or no acting experience, I worried that I wouldn't know what to say or how to act. It got so bad, I actually took my name off the list, but others (notably Lisa and Dani - then called David) talked me into doing the part anyway. So I watched Chamber of Secrets, the movie, and reread the book, until I got some of Lockhart's mannerisms and quotable lines memorized. Thus, the first (and obvious) influence was the great Irish actor Kenneth Brannagh who did such a fine and funny job with the part in the film.

I conjured up memories of flamboyant, outrageous, and ridiculous characters from my past. Believe it or not, the major inspiration for Gilderoy's physical stance and presentation (hands on hips, legs splayed, grand & over-the-top, blond hair flowing) was, of all people, Led Zeppelin's lead singer, the legendary Robert Plant. Anyone who has ever seen any of the films or photos of that old group in action, knows that Mr. Plant was quite the strutting peacock in his day.

For the sinister, but equally foolish and funny part of Gilderoy's personality, I found a more obscure influence. It comes from the Dustin Hoffman movie Little Big Man and the role of General Custer as played by the late character actor, Richard Mulligan. He was the first person to play Custer as something other than a hero. His portrayl is of a man whose barbaric egomania lies just beneath his facade of dashing self-confidence. Like Gilderoy, he too, is blond and a dandy. In the end, the crazy part takes over, completely, and (as you know) he leads his entire command into tragedy at Little Bighorn; karmic payback, one might say, for the havoc he wreaked on Native Americans during his career.

Finally, on a personal level, I used the grand, larger-than-life role model of my good friend, Fred. I have known him since I was three years old. He is locquacious, he is bald, he is gay. He likes to wear a kilt. He impersonates nuns and boyscouts and log cabin Republicans. He is such a grand character that even Enormous John Junkill, himself, was forced to admit, "If I didn't know him, I would have had to create him." He exhibits the audacity of a pirate, the romantic chutzpah of a Roosevelt, the dignity of a King, and the flamboyance of a ... well .. of a queen. And he inhabits my Gilderoy as if I were channeling him. It's a strange and uneasy experience - being posessed by Fred - believe me. And yet, it is ultimately enjoyable. Fred is pictured here in the 1980's ... with hair.

Note: Fred is neither as wicked nor as foolish as Lockhart. What they share, however, is grand and enviable style.

So the magician (or wizard, as it were) has revealed his secrets. Here's hoping that this weekend's Harry Potter performance will not suffer as a result.

Hope to see you there.

On Saturday.

Sometimes betwen 3 PM and sunset.

At the Borders in Plano.

972-713-9857.

THEY DIDN'T HAVE A GILDEROY ...

2006-07-13T00:41:00.000-05:00

As Viktor you are brave, daring and have a thirst for adventure, with a particular fondness for all things sporting.

http://www.theharrypotterquiz.com/

SYD BARRETT, FOUNDER OF PINK FLOYD, DIES

2006-07-11T10:39:00.000-05:00

By JILL LAWLESS (Associated Press Writer)
From Associated Press July 11, 2006 9:26 AM EDT

LONDON - Syd Barrett, the troubled genius who co-founded Pink Floyd but spent his last years in reclusive anonymity, has died, a spokeswoman for the band said Tuesday. He was 60.
The spokeswoman - who declined to give her name until the band made an official announcement - confirmed media reports that he had died. She said Barrett died several days ago, but she did not disclose the cause of death. Barrett had suffered from diabetes for many years.
Barrett co-founded Pink Floyd in 1965 with David Gilmour, Nick Mason and Rick Wright, and wrote many of the band's early songs. The group's jazz-infused rock made them darlings of the London psychedelic scene, and the 1967 album "The Piper at the Gates of Dawn" - largely written by Barrett, who also played guitar - was a commercial and critical hit.

However, Barrett suffered from mental instability, exacerbated by his use of LSD. His behavior grew increasingly erratic, and he left the group in 1968 - five years before the release of Pink Floyd's most popular album, "Dark Side of the Moon." He was replaced by David Gilmour.
Barrett released two solo albums - "The Madcap Laughs" and "Barrett" - but soon withdrew from the music business altogether.
He spent much of the rest of his life living quietly in his hometown of Cambridge, England, where he was a familiar figure, often seen cycling or walking to the corner store.
Despite his brief career, Barrett's fragile, wistful songs influenced many musicians, from David Bowie - who covered the Barrett track "See Emily Play" - to the other members of Pink Floyd, who recorded the album "Wish You Were Here" as a tribute to their troubled bandmate.
The band spokeswoman said a small, private funeral would be held.
____________________________________________________________________
Copyright 2005 Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

DAY TRIPPERS

2006-07-07T13:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Lisa and I took a day trip to Denton, Texas.

This meant loading up Excalibur (my car) and heading north across the wide plains, cedar-y woods and huge, man-made lakes of North Texas.

Denton, for anyone who doesn't know, is a college town, some thirty to forty miles north of Plano. It is home to the University of North Texas (or UNT), formerly
called North Texas State University. Legend has it that the old college radio station, KNTSU, went through a minor upheaval when the university changed its name to UNT, thus casting doubt upon what the new broadcast letters should become: KUNT didn't seem like a viable option.
It boasts such alumni as NFL hall of famer "Mean" Joe Greene (for whom their otherwise anonymous and hapless football squad, the Mean Green, is named), Sandy Duncan (of Peter Pan fame), Thomas Haden Church (Oscar nominee for Sideways), such musical luminaries as Norah Jones, hellbent heavy metal maniac Pat Boone, Don Henley, Sarah Hickman, Roy Orbison, David Letterman's bandleader and foil Paul Schaeffer (UNT is renowned for its music school), that famous crackpot Dr. Phil McGraw, and the very wonderful Bill Moyers.
Like a lot of towns its size, Denton has a charming town square. Found here are the Old Opera House Book Store where the stairwells, closets, basements, and floors upon floors (like a maze) are crammed with used books -- we spent hours there; Beth Ann's traditional 1950's ice cream parlor and soda jerk (where Lisa and I feasted on cobbler - being that she is lactose intolerant -- which drives her insane when surrounded by ice cream);
various and sundry antique shoppes; a classic hamburger joint where you get to build your own burger and shovel your own fries (in whatever quantity you like); and a gothic courthouse (built 1890's) that looks like Disney's haunted mansion.

But, maybe most importantly, Denton is neither Dallas nor Plano nor any of the other surrounding suburbs. Nor could it be described as a sundrenched slab of concrete pockmarked by mini-malls and MacMansions.

Denton is someplace else.

And, though the escape was short-lived, it was well worth it. And we both had a lovely time.

On the drive home, Lisa tried on my Harry Potter & the Order of the Phoenix hat. She modeled it in a variety of quirky poses and made a number of equally absurd faces while I clicked pics and tried not to wreck the car...

ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE

2006-06-29T22:55:00.000-05:00

Well, well, well. This update (a real one) is a long time in coming. I am, for the most part, in what my friend Zak would call "a state of gasted flabber" at everything that's happened since my last non-superficial entry. Good and bad things have gone on, and many in-between things, too. I almost balk at having to write about the bad things because (a) I'm weary with talking and thinking about them, much less writing; (b) except for a few insanely expensive car repairs, they're mostly work related ; (c) I'm tired of my job and, besides, they have all kinds of rules, rules, rules about divulging company secrets on one's blog; (d) the place is full of sycophantic little shills who would gladly sell me out to get in the good graces of the right people and (d) anybody - and I mean anybody - could be reading this and plotting. That last bit sounds paranoid, I know, but due to recent happenings on a neighboring blog, I'm inclined to think that it isn't so far fetched. Besides, my blog is linked on myspace and that's a whole different world of voyeurs, stalkers, and dastardly co-workers slobbering like dogs, hungry for something tasty here at Magical Missives.

But you know ...

The missives are protected by a fierce guardian and his host of winsome witches, nefarious confidantes, and blood-thirsty cyber pirates. So fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

I should mention that a number of very positive things have happened to me, as well, since the last time I actually expressed myself on my own blog (which is, afterall, a public forum, so why bitch?).

Yes, I've had some good times along with the bad, and it's often easy to forget the fun stuff in the face of such work-related defamation, degradation, and downright villainy as that which has befallen many of my co-workers and good friends, but amazingly, not me... until some jackass at work reads this. Anyway, there were massive firings for bullshit reasons and that's all I have to say right now. I was depressed for a week and now I hate my job. I'll be taking a position elsewhere and going back to school once this Harry Potter thing is over. There's more to life (and a helluva a lot more to me) than the diddly squat world of retail.

Anyway, I still look forward to the Harry event and I won't let a few Grinches spoil my roast beast. It'll be fun or I'll bloody MAKE it fun. Mark my words.

Speaking of fun: a few weeks ago Charlie the Purdue math major came down to visit us. He showed up at Aunt Sally's weekly Thursday-dinner-and-a-mystery party. He has gone a little gray, but he is still full of sass. It was good to see him again. I made everyone pose for photos with my digital camera (me birthday present - me precioussss!), including a circa 1968 rock band-style POV photo of Joel, Charlie, and Chris (at right). Very much like Cream or The Jimi Hendrix Experience. Aunt Sally had bought a new potting bench, being that she's such an avid gardener, and I got a shot of her posing proudly with her new acquistion.
(see below...)

A fun time was had by all, and Charlie really revved up his bawdy (for a mathematcian) sense of humor for us. Sally got a group photo of all of her boys posed in the back yard near her new potting bench. And Charlie couldn't resist doing something naughty as the camera clicked and flashed. (See below.)

A few nights later, we all met up again at Enormous John Junkill's & Suzi's place for a night of lunacy, pizza eating, wine swilling, and board games. Charlie floored his competitive gas pedal for a game of Operation (the Homer Simpson version) and something called Sorry, which really brought out the killer instinct in this normally mild mannered man of numbers. He used every rotten, stinking, dirty, smelly tactic there is just to reign supreme in the meaningless microcosm of board game competition.

And this man is almost a doctor.

It gives one hope in a way.

Not long after that, Borders was visited by a host of emperial stormtroopers (from Star Wars). They came to us courtesy of Denise (a Star Wars fanatic/co-worker who knows people) for a booksigning by Aaron Allston whose latest release in the Jedi vein is currently on the best seller list. It was really quite something: a group of stormtroopers stomping around the bookstore. The only time I'm inspired to feel a similiar emotion at work is when my boss comes out of her office. Seriously, though, the guys were fun, especially when they put on aprons and started serving customers in the cafe. Shortly afterwards, they were all fired.

On another bright note: I have made some excellent new friends! I can't begin to tell you, dear readers, how much I love and admire two young women (regular Borders customers) known as Lori and Kelly (sisters) who have won my heart for the following reasons:

-They have closets full of costumes - up to and including suits of armor. And they have all the swords and shields to go with them. Not to mention a huge guillotine in their backyard (oh, their chagrinned neighbors!).

-I understand a gallows is in the works.

-They are in love with all the Monty Python, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Lord of the Rings, A Clockwork Orange, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Harry Potter schtick.

-They make movies. They have their own production company called Flying Pig Productions and they recently made something called Monty Python's Macbeth (which I intend to review in a later blog entry). It features a horde of nubile young women wearing itchy beards and moustaches (some of which aren't crooked), killing each other with swords and guillotines, and generally giving Macbeth the Monty Python treatment ala femme.

-They are going to make a movie based on Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, and yours truly has managed to land the role of The Player (a part made famous by Richard Dreyfuss, himself). I think my infamy as Gilderoy helped me here.

-They are always game for dressing up as pirates, as witches, in scrubs, or as any odd assortment of unusual characters ... God bless them.

-And they have been HERE:

That's enough reason to love and admire anyone! Lori is going to play Hermione at our Harry Potter party. Kelly might be Gilderoy's assistant (possibly Ginny Weasley). I'm sure there will be many pictures.

Also fun:

I had dinner with Lisa (the quirky cutie from Barnes and Noble who used to drive me to distraction while I drove off the road, or into trees and buildings). Those days are over, but after a long hiatus, we're re-establishing our bond. We ate gobs and gobs of fish and hush puppies at the Rockfish Seafood Grill, then we went for a long walk at Bob Woodruff Park. We took a trail into the woods and it started getting dark. Spiders galore blocked our path, ominous and grotesque in the beam of a flashlight. We had a time, fighting our way through Mirkwood, emerging once again into the park, and then strolling around the lake. Fireworks exploded at some distant locale and we imagined it to be a faraway battle.

That was a fun night. Below is a picture of Lisa and me at the Rio Grande Gorge circa 2002.

And, just a few days ago, a group of us got together to help Zak (confidante Insanius) and Chris (confidante Firechild, not Sally's son) pack up their mountain (nay, their mountain range of belongings), so they could move away to the lovely - and too far off - state of Washington. I really enjoyed myself, because it meant I got to spend much of the day hanging out with Jordan. Amanda was sweet and kept bringing water to Jordan and me, and cautioning us to lift with our legs. She'll make a great mother. If she weren't pregnant she probably would have out-moved and out-worked us all. Zak was highly entertaining, as always, and managed to act like a jolly old nut even as he was sweating and working. We always used to ask Chris, "Is he like that all the time?" And she would smile and answer: "Yes, yes he is. All the time." And would you believe that one of the people who helped us (one of Chris' best friends) has lived right next door to me ever since I have been at my current residence? Her dad is a cool guy who brews beer, and apparently, she has been pals with Firechild for ages. Insert your own small world cliche here.

Before they left, I took a picture of our merry band of movers posed on Chris and Zak's back porch. They always had an amazing back porch. It overlooks a babbling creek and a small forest. I have long imagined it as some Elvish balcony at Rivendell.

So long, amigos.

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

2006-06-14T18:01:00.000-05:00

HARRY POTTER'S BIRTHDAY IS AT BORDERS

Come join the staff of Hogwarts as we celebrate Harry's Birthday (and the release of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince in paperback). Dress up as your favorite character from the Harry Potter Series and join us for this magical party.

There will be:
Fortune telling with Professor Trelawney
Photo ops with Harry and Hermione
Dance Lessons (or how not to) with Nymphadora Tonks
A Sorting Hat Event with Professor McGonogall
Visits from Mad-eye Moody, Hagrid, and others (maybe even Snape)
A special appearance by renowned author H.J. Ralles (and any other talented writers who would like to show up)
Music by the Weird Sisters
Face Painting
Magical Bingo
Mystical Charades
Trivia
Prizes
Magical Creatures
Dementors
And (back by popular demand, or in spite of it) a class in magical self-defense given by the dashing and redoubtable Gilderoy Lockhart, himself

So be there, or be squ -- a muggle.

Saturday, July 29th
3:00 PM until 10:00 PM
at BORDERS (Books, Music and Cafe)
1601 Preston Road, Suite J
Plano, TX 75093

Please RSVP to Borders at 972-713-9857

WEIRD LYRICS: VOLUME TWO

2006-06-14T10:49:00.000-05:00

Okay, it seems my first edition of Weird Lyrics stumped people, or failed to gain their interest. Either way, I'm soldiering on. Remember, it isn't wise to read too much into it, and a good lyricist (like a good storyteller) can play jokes. Ask them to analyze their own work, and they would most likely snicker and refer you to some
kill-joy who writes for Rolling Stone or The Village Voice. As I have said, there are no right answers; just a bit of merry speculation. I'm not so much into analysis; just free form discussion. And I intend to keep doing this, whether or not anyone but Enormous John Junkill (thanks, Lum) takes the bait. Because I enjoy it, and I hope you do, too. And, really, because I want to share interesting artists with all of you; people you may not have heard about.

The latest entry comes to us from Laurie Anderson. A manga cum laude/Phi Beta Kappa graduate of Barnard college with a degree in art history and an MFA in sculpture from Columbia University, she gained fame as a peformance artist with a flair for various forms of electronic media. Her recorded output gained attention with the unlikely hit "O Superman" and has continued to evolve, within and beyond popular tastes, ever since. Her multi-media extravaganzas and one-woman shows have always drawn rave reviews.

Also an inventor, Anderson patented the Tape Bow Violin and the Talking Stick.

As of 2003, she earned the unique honor of becoming NASA's first Artist in Residence. This is a role she seems, humorously, ill-equipped to define.

Her major theme of exploration is the effect of technology on human beings and how they relate.

THE DREAM BEFORE
by Laurie Anderson

Hansel and Gretel
are alive and well
and they're living in Berlin
She is a cocktail waitress
He had a part in a Fassbinder film
And they sit around at night now
drinking schnapps and gin

And she says: Hansel, you're really bringing me down

And he says: Gretel, you can really be ...... a bitch
He says: I've wasted my life on our stupid legend
when my one and only love was

the wicked witch

She said: What is history?

And he said: History is an angel
being blown backwards into the future
He said: History is a pile of debris
and the angel wants to go back and fix things,
to repair the things that have been broken,
but there is a storm blowing from paradise
and the storm keeps blowing the angel backwards into the future.
And this storm, this storm
is called
Progress.

So there it is. Weird Lyrics Volume two. Have at it.

Paradise is exactly like where you are right now ... only much, much better.
- Laurie Anderson

BENNY PYTHON & THE HOLY GRAIL

2006-06-01T18:51:00.000-05:00

I found it! I found it! I found it!

On myspace!

I found the mystery song that haunted me for twenty years!

The Message is You

It is currently set as my myspace theme music (see the "Ben of Earth" link to the right).

I was right about it not being (you know) "Stairway to Heaven", but it's not without its charm - in an eighties sort of way. And I have to admit, I got tingles when the chorus kicked in.

I've got to dig out my izod britches, my skinny tie, and my shirt with the flourescent vertical stripes!

WEIRD LYRICS - VOLUME ONE

2006-06-01T11:09:00.000-05:00

Now begins a new tradition I've been thinking of instituting for quite a while.

It's called Weird Lyrics.

Here's how it works.

At the risk of being forcibly (or in a dopey way) interactive:

Weekly, or thereabouts, I'll tap the archive for the weirdest and most interesting lyrics ever written (not typically gross or puerile or scatalogical - just weird or obscure) and you interpret them. Many of these may actually be topical or quite specific in their subject matter, but just odd in their execution. And some (like this first one) probably do have a meaning (politcal or otherwise). Nevertheless, meaning, as it were, is notoriously subjective. Remember it's all about interpretation - so there are no right answers.

The first installment comes to us from that late, great son of Russian immigrants, Warren Zevon. Legends say he studied under Igor Stravinsky before becoming a popular songsmith, singer, keyboardist, and guitarist. An extensive world traveler, he drew on his many experiences for inspiration. He was most famous for what is often mistaken for a novelty hit, "Werewolves of London", which boasts unusual lyrics about werewolves drinking pina coladas at Trader Vics and eating beef chow mein in Soho. But, in fact, Zevon had a long and interesting musical career, enjoyed a large and loyal fan base, and was deeply respected (and eventually canonized) by fellow musicians and critics alike. The style and content of his lyrics was consistently unique.
Witness the following:

ROLAND THE HEADLESS THOMPSON GUNNER
by Warren Zevon

Roland was a warrior from the Land of the Midnight Sun
With a Thompson gun for hire, fighting to be done
The deal was made in Denmark on a dark and stormy day
So he set out for Biafra to join the bloody fray

Through sixty-six and seven they fought the Congo war
With their fingers on their triggers, knee-deep in gore
For days and nights they battled the Bantu to their knees
They killed to earn their living and to help out the Congolese

Roland the Thompson gunner... talkin' about the man.
Roland the Thompson Gunner.

His comrades fought beside him - Van Owen and the rest
But of all the Thompson gunners, Roland was the best
So the CIA decided they wanted Roland dead
That son-of-a-bitch Van Owen blew off Roland's head

Roland the headless Thompson gunner
Norway's bravest son
Roland the headless Thompson gunner

Time, time, time
For another peaceful war
But time stands still for Roland
'Til he evens up the score

Roland searched the continent for the man who'd done him in
He found him in Mombassa in a barroom drinking gin
Roland aimed his Thompson gun - he didn't say a word
But he blew Van Owen's body from there to Johannesburg

Roland the headless Thompson gunner
You can still see his headless body stalking through the night
In the muzzle flash of Roland's Thompson gun

The eternal Thompson gunner
still wandering through the night
Now it's ten years later but he still keeps up the fight
In Ireland, in Lebanon, in Palestine and ... Berkeley
Patty Hearst
heard the burst
of Roland's Thompson gun
... and bought it

Okay --- now it's your turn. Who is Roland and/or what does he represent? (Personal note: it helps to know your 20th century history, i.e. Patty Hearst.)

Warren Zevon died of cancer in 2003.

Quotes from Warren Zevon:

(Commenting on his terminal illness): "You've gotta remember, it's not morbid to me. I know the hearse is parked at the curb and the motor is running. The thing is, I'm still trying to be cheery about it."

I guess I made sort of a tactical error by not going to the doctor's in twenty years.. Just one of those phobias that didn't pay off.

Enjoy Every Sandwich.

ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE ...

2006-05-27T17:37:00.000-05:00

My midlife crisis has officially begun.

Be prepared for strange behavior and weird changes.

I could get a little crazy.

Who knows what will happen?

I think I'm going insane.

"Good-bye all you punks
Stay young and stay high
Just hand me my checkbook
and I'll crawl off to die"
- The Who

SNAKES! WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE SNAKES?!

2006-05-24T03:18:00.000-05:00

Just so you know ... I was euphoric about this result. Who wouldn't be? I was afraid I might wind up as Ben Hur, thus proving right all the people who called me that throughout my school days.

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

P.S. I changed my template for you, Mara. Easier on the eyes?

AH, CAPTAIN KIRK ...

2006-05-24T02:54:00.000-05:00

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

BILLET-DOUX

2006-05-20T21:46:00.000-05:00

I'm getting ready to take an evening stroll in the park. I love the park.

I wish there was someone sweet and clever to accompany me.

Instead, I am alone on a Saturday night. Which is okay, I suppose, but maybe not when it happens so often. I could turn into Syd Barrett (Who is this Man?).

This afternoon, I took a long nap after work. Later, I woke up cold from a sad and lonely dream. I laid in bed, afterwards, and thought about the future, and everything I'd like to do before it's too late.

(Aside: Did you know that Richland College offers one of the best events planning and coordinating schools in the country? Nearly everyone who has come out of it has landed a tasty job.)

I laid there and thought about how much I have inured myself to being alone. I have come to accept it. And I realized that even all my blog entries (unless I'm researching rock stars or hobbits or something) are about me and me alone, and never about a gritty, pretty female who shares this space with me.

Either because she doesn't exist....

... or, if she does, we haven't discovered each other yet. Or, if we have, we haven't competely realized it. Or admitted it.

It's not Magic (or is it?). She could be anyone. She could be you, dear reader. (Unless you have a penis. Sorry.)

I enjoy seeing things, like at Jordan and Amanda's place, where they have their walking staffs standing side-by-side in a little basket. His and hers. So adorable. I want somebody's witch get-up to share hanger space with my Gilderoy gear in the costume closet. (And, yes, I have one of those!)

As I curled up in bed today, I tried to imagine, like a dreamy schoolboy, what life would bring with various eligible women. I know each of them well and, in each, I detect the glimmer of possiblity. None of them are married or Hollywood movie stars or lesbians (or under 18) or otherwise unattainable. And, however likely or unlikely my chances with each of them (or them with me), I decided not to defenestrate* any of them just yet. Or to single one out for an exclusive campaign of love (or courting, in a quainter vernacular). Nor do I want to put any extra added pressure on myself (or anyone else) or panic about not being in a relationship at the age of forty. Nor do I want to jump into anything just to satisfy some societal norm or to appease my ancestors with hosts of cherubs. Although, even that is still a possibility to be considered. Absolutely. But on my own terms (and hers - whoever she may be), and nobody else's

It's just that I don't want to have a massive regret, as I get older, of never having found love. Or even of having been a dad.

I'd make a great dad. With me as a father, the kid, be it boy or girl (I'd actually luv a house full of women), would be assured of something priceless: a sense of wonder.

And they would inherit a dashing smile. Worthy of Witch Weekly.

And so, I have decided that the best way for me to proceed is to have FUN! And not to think so much. And not to worry.

The real worries begin, as some of my dearest friends can attest, when you start having kids.

* Earthlink's Word of the Day

POTTER RUMINATION

2006-05-12T23:57:00.000-05:00

A day or two ago, when I was unloading boxes in the receiving bay, I came across a most quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. Well ... okay ... "forgotten lore" may be a stretch ... actually, it's topic-of-the-moment type stuff. But it is, in fact, rather quaint and curious, if I may say so.

And it's likely to be of great interest to many of my readers.

Case in point:

I pulled the book out of the box and gazed upon the faux aged cover (made to look faded and well worn). My eyes flew open wide as I read the following words:

Ben Bella Books...

Purveyors of Aids to Literary Mischief -Makers
is proud to present the highly unauthorized work

MAPPING THE WORLD OF HARRY POTTER.

My first thought was, "It's an atlas of Harry's world. They've finally gone completely JRR Tolkien with it, and now they're putting out atlases, too."

We've already seen various encyclopedias and lexicons and umpteen guides to the world of Harry (also Bernie Bott's Every Flavor Jelly Beans, Droobles Chewing Gum, Cockroach Clusters, Hogwarts house banners, magic wands, costumes, pins, badges, t-shirts, underwear, condoms*, etc. etc.) . There are even books about Harry Potter and philisophy and, of course, the tired old issue that haunts us all, explored in a book called What is a Christian to do About Harry Potter?

(I don't know, religious-writer-person, what can you do about Harry? Let's see. You're a Christian, right? So ... forgive him!)

"And now ... MAPS", I thought. "Entire books of them." Just like Middle Earth.

But it's just a symbolic "mapping" -- as the subtext suggests:

Science fiction and Fantasy Authors Explore the Bestselling Fantasy Series of All Time

The back cover posed some intriguing teasers --- Why It's a Very Bad Idea to Make Hermione Mad, Harry's Greatest Danger (It's Not You Know Who), The Importance of Being Dursley, In Praise of Hufflepuff, Is Harry Potter Sexist?, Is J.K. Rowling Going to Hell?

Dig these chapter titles:

Harry Potter and the Young Man's Mistake - The Illusions of Innocence and the Temptation of Power

The Dursley's as Social Commentary

(and my personal favorite:)

To Sir, With Love - How Fan Fiction Transformed Professor Snape from a Greasy Git to a Byronic Hero ... Who's Really, Really into S&M

Harry Potter and the End of Religion

It's All About God

Hermione Granger and the Charge of Sexism

Neville Longbottom: The Hero with a Thousand Faces

Why Dumbledore Had to Die

From Azkaban to Abu Ghraid - Fear and Fascism in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Ich Bin Ein Hufflepuff - Strategies for Variable Skill Management in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter Novels

Harry Potter as Schooldays Novel

Harry Potter and the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Counselor

The Proper Wizard's Guide to Good Manners - A Muggle Tells All

(and finally)

Why Killing Harry Is the Worst Outcome for Voldemort

Intrigued, are you, my little witches and wizards?

Very good. So was I. So, of course, I bought it at that very instant (using my employee of the month gift card). I intend to explore this thing from cover to cover, ASAP, in order to get my Harry Potter fix (since the next book isn't coming out until who-knows-when).

I've got a deal for you, mein froinds. I'll be happy to loan this book out on a first-come-first-serve basis. So comment first, and you'll get it first. Second, and you'll get it second. And so on.

Or you can just come to Borders and buy a copy of your own. Then we can compare notes; sort of like when the actual books come out and we all devour them, voraciously, and talk about them non-stop for days on end.

P.S. Some of you really rabid HP fans have probably heard everything there is to hear about JK Rowling's world. But you'll probably want to read the book, anyway. Besides, it's got a really cool cover that looks just like the Marauders' Map (on the front and the back). And, I swear, I keep seeing little footsteps, with the name Peter Pettigrew, skittering about all over the place.

* Yes, condoms! Ergo the ad: Protect Your Magic Wand From Hogwarts When You Enter Her Chamber of Secrets. (For more information, visit "Snape's Dungeon" on my list of Confidantes.)

WELCOME TO THE CARIBBEAN, LOVE

2006-05-10T02:44:00.000-05:00

My pirate name is:

Bloody James Flint

Every pirate lives for something different. For some, it's the open sea. For others (the masochists), it's the food. For you, it's definitely the fighting. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

AHOY! YE SEADOGS!

2006-05-08T01:21:00.000-05:00

Take the quiz:
What Kind of Pirate are Ye? (*Pix*)

The Clever Pirate
Enod Ylecin! You catch on to situations quickly! If you smell trouble you immediatley put your brain to use and figure a way out...whether your in the middle of a thunderstorm or left the scraps at dinner time. You will go far in life because you see it for its possibilities. People admire your advice and trust in your instinct...believe in yourself enough and you can take over the world!

Quizzes by myYearbook.com -- the World's Biggest Yearbook!

YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT

2006-05-06T13:09:00.000-05:00

Forty licks ... Jagger refuses to give up room for Bush

By THOMAS WHITAKER
Showbiz Reporter

PRESIDENT George Bush can’t get no satisfaction — after Mick Jagger grabbed his hotel room.

The Rolling Stone splashed out £3,600 a night for the suite days before the US leader tried to book it.

Now Mick, 62, who has been a fierce critic of the Bush-led war in Iraq, is refusing to give it up.

The veteran rocker hired the luxury Royal Suite at the five-star Imperial Hotel in Vienna, Austria, for June when the Stones are due to play a gig in the city.

No room ...

President Bush’s aides then tried to book it to tie in with a summit meeting. But Mick put his foot down and insisted he was keeping the booking. A source close to the millionaire singer said last night: “White House officials had wanted to reserve the suite and all the other rooms on the first floor." But Mick and the Stones had already booked every one of them.

Stony reception ... Jagger has grabbed Imperial booking.

“Bush’s people seemed to be under the impression that they (the Rolling Stones) would just hand over the suites but there was no way Mick was going to do that.”

The classically-designed suite is said to be among the top 100 hotel rooms in the world. It boasts a 7ft 4in bed, chandeliers and oil paintings. Former presidents Ronald Reagan, John Kennedy and George Bush Snr all stayed there while they were in office.

Suite luxury ... Mick won't give up room for George.

The hotel last night admitted US secret service agents vetted the accommodation — and confirmed that Bush would no longer be staying there. An American Embassy official refused to say where he was now staying for “security reasons”.

Mick takes a swipe at Bush, 59, on the latest Stones album A Bigger Bang, savaging his Iraq War policy.

OOPS!

2006-05-04T13:43:00.000-05:00

To whomever it may concern.

The Shanna Swendson signing is not on May 29th. It was on APRIL 29th.

OOPS!!!

It was a great success and we sold a lot of books. Thanks to all my marvelous friends for coming to see this talented author. It seems that so many of you (especially people of the female variety) are reading her books. And liking them. I've read a little bit, too, and I can tell you this: the woman can write!

I look forward to hosting more events in the future. Maybe I'll even go into business for myself as a professional events coordinator. I can do it so much better than the coorporate goons at Borders. My so-called superiors had Dave Barry, Amy Tan, and Greg Illes at the the same store at the same time (in Dallas) and do you know how many books they sold?

Three.

That's one apiece.

(shakes head)

Dave Barry...

Amy Tan...

Proof, once again, that the coorporate machine doesn't work.

People do.

Shanna sold 32 books! And who knows what she might have done if Einstein (meaning me) hadn't advertised the wrong date!

Details!

Bleah!

IT DOES A HOBBIT GOOD

2006-04-27T23:15:00.000-05:00

I spent the day knocking down an enormous brick wall for Aunt Sally. Armed with hammers, chisels, and crowbars (but nothing automatic), I fought a destructive and costly war with a mighty foe of rock and mortar. I had to battle vicious scorpions and spiders, too, and a billion swarming ants. Sally paid me back with food and money. Saturday is her birthday, so I gave her a book called Fairyopolis. It's cut from the same cloth as Dragonology, Wizardology, and Egyptology. It's strictly for children and the young at heart, and not for any of those sophisticated in-betweeners (meaning "adults") who are too cool to use their imaginations.

Sally is keen to get me the Gary Myrick CD, mentioned in a previous entry, for my upcoming birthday. But it's very hard to find.

For lunch, Sally made an aparagus patty-melt. I'd never eaten one before. She'd never cooked one before. It was delish!! I'll get the recipe and post it here, so you can all try it.

And then tonight Chris, Joel, Sally and I all had some kind of super spicy enchiliadas (loaded with Rotell). We watched a BBC mystery, and I passed out on the couch and had delicious dreams about asparagus patty-melts. We had eclairs for dessert. And I drank a tall glass of milk.

P.S. I recently got a myspace account, but the whole set-up seems sort of silly and vain: how many friends have you got in your network? Well I've got more than that! Etc, etc. Repeat ad nauseum. There are lots of young jetstters blathering about whatever it is they talk about. However, it's amazing how you can network. I've already met up with most of my dear blog buddies (although Mara, Marie, and Bevy have yet to reply). One person, however, has refused my offer of online frienship outright, but that's OK. This is someone so boring, ordinary, and average that they don't really belong among my exceptional friends.

On the brighter side, so far I've located Gina (my friend/sometimes sweetheart from long ago - circa 1985), Dana (a marvelous young lady) who used to work at B&N, and a little girl named Tandy who used to shop there. Actually she found me. Don't ask me how, because I signed in with an alias and, as far as I can tell, we don't have any mutual people in our friends network. She used to keep my lonely soul company, back in the music department, while her dad shopped or read. Sometimes she would pony express notes back and forth between Lisa, who was stuck in the kids department, and myself in music. That was fun, and writing about it makes me realize that I miss Lisa.

Anyway, myspace is no match for blogger as a place to blog. But, at least, it is kind of funny to see mugshots of all of one's friends displayed like a case file for a bank robbery. Pretty Boy Jordan, Guapo-face Gus, Insanius the mastermind, Fingers Firechild the safe picker, Amanda the Dragon Lady, Trigger-happy Tracy. What a rogue's gallery! Print 'em and book 'em!

ONCE UPON STILETTOS

2006-04-21T11:21:00.000-05:00

As of Saturday, May 29th, 2006 @ 2PM --- renowned author, Shanna Swendson, will be signing copies of her new book, Once Upon Stilettos, at the Borders Books in Plano (halfway between Park and the Plano Parkway on Preston Road - on the west side - directly across Preston from Chucky Cheese -- is that precise enough for ya?).

Her previous novel, Enchanted, Inc., has been described as Bridgett Jones meets Harry Potter.

Visit Shanna's blog:

http://shannaswendson.blogspot.com/

Or her website:

http://www.shannaswendson.com/

Some of my co-workers have already read Enchanted, Inc. and loved it. They're itching to meet the author and devour her new book.

And guys, if you want to see a really hot babe in a pair of sexy red stilettos, here's your chance.

P.S. Gilderoy Lockhart will be there in mild mannered bookseller guise. Who would want to miss that?!

THE MESSAGE IS YOU

2006-04-21T00:23:00.000-05:00

The most remarkable thing about today was that I solved a mystery that has plagued me for over twenty years!

On a misty day in 1983, I was driving around in my old Camaro on a street called Tulane. It was near the house where I grew up. There was a song playing on the radio (on Q102 "Texas' Best Rock", or KZEW "The Zoo", or KEGL "The Eagle" - I don't remember which, but that's all I ever listened to in those days, so it had to be one of the three).

It was sort of new-wave, sort of straight rock, but melodic and slow -- almost ethereal (if not for the drums) and spooky. Guitar and synthesizers. Very eighties. Good gloomy day music. The lyrics were a bit obscure, but I think the singer is looking for hookers out on the waterfront. I thought he sounded like the classic punk kid having issues with women, because he sees them as a foreign and enticing mystery, but not as anyone he can get to know as a person.

As a teenager, I ate this stuff up.

The melody and a few of the lyrics have stuck in my head ever since, but I could never figure out who recorded it. I seriously believed that this would be a mystery I would carry to my grave. -- which was alright with me, actually. Life needs mysteries.

But, of course, that didn't stop me from trying to solve it.

I asked every expert I knew; from my knowledgable friends (like Chris, Suzi, and Enormous J.J.) and Matt the music department manager at B&N, to the folks in various and sundry music stores. I often annoyed people by humming or singing a few of the lines or the chorus. People roll their eyes when you do this (especially in music stores). I don't blame them, but - dammit - I was desperate.

They had all kinds of suggestions. I suspected somebody like Tommy Tutone, the Tubes, or even Golden Earring. Blasts from the past. One hit wonder types -- and maybe this was the lesser known follow-up single. Every OHW has one.

Over the years, it became a Holy Grail of sorts. I checked the track listings of every possible suspect in every music store in town. I'd get an inspiration - Glass Tiger, Steel Breeze - and run down to the mall to see if maybe it was them. But it never was. The search, it seemed, would never end.

Then, with the advent of the internet, it became easier to access song lyrics with just a few words on Google. I tried for years, with different combinations of the words as I remembered them, but could never locate the lost song.

I was beginning to wonder if I just imagined it.

And then today, the misty weather brought to mind that long sought tune. I remembered the fateful day in my Camaro and the DJ saying the name of the song and artist ... and me not writing it down or remembering it.

So, for old time's sake, I got online, went to Google and typed the following:

"JUST LIKE A SECRET CODE THAT NOBODY KNOWS" LYRICS

And there it was.

"The Message is You".

From 1983.

By Gary Myrick.

Who?

I bolted over to the guy's website to find out more. It turns out he's from Dallas. A local boy. Apparently, he had some national success with a song called "She Talks in Stereo" from the same basic period. I sorta seem to remember such a song. But then again ...

Anyway, according to the site, Myrick experienced a muscial rebirth in the late 1990's and is still making music.

So there it is.

Being that I haven't heard the song in like 23 years, it's hard to say if I'd still enjoy it. It could be horribly dated, and I'm sure that my (and probably Gary Myrick's) sexual politics have changed quite a bit since then. There was, however, a great download on the site, of Myrick doing a cover of the Rolling Stones' "As Tears Go By". I was suitably impressed by his talent. But I think I'll probably remember the long and laborious search for the mystery song long after I've forgotten (again) the tune or the words.

I don't know if I want to blow any dough on a 20 year old album-become-CD just for one song.

Still .. I mean, come on. To hear it again would, at least, be an interesting experience. And I've searched for so long. Even if the song itself is anti-climactic, it might just be worth a listen, to reward a lifetime's search.

Maybe I'll laugh.

The eighties.

Anyway ... I found the Grail.

I'M A PHILISTINE!

2006-04-18T17:30:00.000-05:00

MADAM HOOCH WOULD BE APPALLED!

2006-04-13T15:43:00.000-05:00

Directions:

Follow the link below.
Choose the "download goodies" link in the upper left corner.
Choose "TV commercial".
Enjoy.

http://www.bajajauto.com/discover/index1.htm

A WEDDING, A SWORD FIGHT, AND "UNCOOL" KARMA

2006-04-11T22:29:00.001-05:00

Since my last post ...

My brakes hit the noisy warning portion of their pads, and will have to be fixed pronto.
I put all my bulk trash out by the curb, and it was picked up. This included a hard top from my old roommate's jeep, a couch, some large chunks of incidental wood, and several six to seven foot metal spikes used to prop up a newly planted tree until it could stand on its own. Now I have all kinds of space. The woman at the city uitlities department told me that they would pick up everything but old refrigerators.
My refrigerator died the very next day. It just gave up. And this was also the day after I had filled it with a large supply of groceries. Many of these had to be thrown out. I was most displeased! I sense some kind of karmic payback. For what I'm not sure.
Jerry and Tabitha got married at Scarborough Faire. It was a very nice ceremony. I'm thinking of asking out their friend, Bevy. There are others girls I'd love to go out with, too, but she's the only one who is readily available and (I sense) willing. Besides, she wore a sexy cat costume to my Halloween party that got my motor running. And she looked really hot in her Renaissance corset and dress. She teaches guitar lessons and breeds & trains dogs. Pretty cool.
Latte Thunder and I enganged in a sword fighting competition at the Faire.
I won.
He's been obsessing about it ever since, and is demanding a rematch.
I've been bragging about it to everyone!
A co-worker named Glen says he'll give me his mini-fridge. He moved back home and doesn't need it anymore. He says it's about half the size of a real fridge, but it works just fine. Truth be told, there's more space in the full-sized refrigerator than I ever use. The mini version (free!) might just do the trick - at least temporarily.
Aunt Sally wants to hire me to knock down some brick walls and do some digging in her yard. I'll gladly do it as soon as I get my car (etc.) fixed.
I'm gettting a healthy tax refund!
I bought a new bowl and a dish for Rerun. She could care less as long as there's food and drink in them.
Tentative date for the next Harry Potter book is Summer 2007... according to Mugglenet.
I've fallen in love with The Pacific Rim chinese restaurant near my work. $5 and change for chicken & broccoli and a glass of water.
Running and working out.
Not reading and writing enough --- witness my hackneyed blog entries of late; they're all quizzes and lists.
This, too, is a list, but I like it.

AS YOU WISH

2006-04-10T23:42:00.000-05:00

Go to wikipedia
type in the month and day of your birthday
post:
3 events
2 births
1 death
that happened on that day

MAY 6th

3 Events
1527- Spanish and German troops sack Rome; some consider this the end of the Renaissance.

1889 - The Eiffel Tower is officially opened to the public at the Universal Exposition in Paris.

1937- Hindenburg disaster: The German zeppelin Hindenburg catches fire and is destroyed within a minute while attempting to dock at Lakehurst, New Jersey. Thirty-six people are killed.

2 Births
1895 - Rudolph Valentino, Italian actor (d. 1926)
1915 - Orson Welles, American director (d. 1985)

1 Death
1862 - Henry David Thoreau, American author and philosopher (b. 1817)

WHEN THE RAIN COMES, THEY RUN AND HIDE THEIR HEADS

2006-04-02T23:25:00.000-05:00

You Are Rain

You can be warm and sexy. Or cold and unwelcoming.Either way, you slowly bring out the beauty around you.
You are best known for: your touch
Your dominant state: changing

What Type of Weather Are You?

EARTHLINK'S WORD OF THE DAY

2006-04-02T13:37:00.000-05:00

Today, I discovered the most amazing and useful word.

defenestrate /dee-FEN-uh-strayt/transitive verb - to throw out of a window.

I intend to put it to good use in future blogs.

Thanks Earthlink.

CAN'T I JUST BE AUSTIN OR SAN ANTONIO? AND I HATE TRUCKS AND OIL RIGS. HOWEVER, I DO LOVE COWS. MOO.

2006-03-29T11:33:00.000-06:00

You're Texas!

You aren't really much of your own person, but everyone around
you wishes you'd go away, so you might as well be independent. You're
sort of loud-mouthed and abrasive, but you do have a fair amount of power. You
like big trucks, big cattle, and big oil rigs. And sometimes you really
smell. But it's not all bad, you're big enough to have some soft spots
somewhere in all that redneck madness.

Take the Country Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid

BOOKS, MALCONTENTS, AND AN OVERDOSE OF PURE CHEESE

2006-03-27T13:49:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was the Plano Book Festival. I had to go to downtown Plano with two carloads of books, set up in a drafty tent, entertain the authors who were signing, deal with the festival organizers, and field complaints from the ever bitchy public.

I got my co-worker Aaron to go with me, because he's a nice guy and easy to get along with. I didn't want to spend the whole day out there with somebody I dislike. Anyway, we arrived on time at a building that boasted a huge banner with the words "Plano Book Festival" emblazoned across the front. So, naturally, we went inside and the people there showed us which table to use. We unloaded all the books and got set up and ready to go --- then somebody told us that we were actually supposed to be in a big tent all the way across the park. So we had to load all the books back into their boxes and wheel them two football fields distance across the park on a dolly. Five or six trips. When we got there, we found ourselves in a tent full of angry Plano people who were impatiently awaiting our books and accusing us of all sorts of poor planning and inadequacy. We took nothing personally, because many of these people looked as if their parents might merit the very same accusations.

We got set up and were exhausted, but instantly had to deal with an onrush of hungry book buyers who bitched and moaned because we didn't have a cash register, but had to do handwritten receipts. Someone accused us of being in the stone age. Of course, this person's family (judging by their appearance) might very well deserve the same cromagnon inference. (Besides there were so many books, we didn't have room in our cars for a register.)

Anyway, things smoothed out as we got into a rhythm, and eventually everything was alright, and we made a lot of money. The wind blew and gusted all day long, and the tent flaps waved about wildly. We had precious few chances to get up and take a break. We met a lot of authors and I got lots of business cards from people who want to come and do signings at our store. One of these was a little girl in the seventh grade. Her book, The Runaway Hotel, sold extremely well, and she had quite a few fans and admirers. There was another woman who wrote a book called Enchanted Inc., which has been lauded as "Harry Potter meets Bridget Jones". She was kind of interesting; sort of like the brainy girl from high school who has suddenly blossomed into someone quite fetching ... and she's still a little uncomfortable in her new skin. She was a very charming, intelligent person. (Aaron and I were drooling.)

And then there was a guy who wrote a book called Cracking the Network Code. Like we need another one of those. He strutted in wearing an immaculate suit, his hair perfect, his faux manly voice loud and demanding attention. He even had his own camera crew and a huge easle supporting a picture of himself. He stood in front of this and conducted a phony interview while the cameras rolled. I had to sneak a peak at the festival program to see who this cheeser was. I found a soft focus image of the author (practicing his smile) and a grandiose list of his academic and professional accomplishments.

He asked who Aaron and I were.

I told him "We're from Borders".

"I know you're from Borders," he guffawed. "But you have names, don't you?"

"He's Aaron," I said. "And I'm Ben."

"Well I'll just call you Borders Guy Number One and Borders Guy Number Two."

Whatever.

His book was thinner than his facade. And you know what I was thinking the entire time? Come on ... you KNOW what I was thinking.

GILDEROY LOCKHART!

Nothing this guy said to me could possibly get under my skin, because having played him (or someone like him) at so many Harry Potter functions, I felt as if I knew him inside and out. Even when he made his grand exit with a final huzzah to Borders guys numbers one and two, I just had to laugh.

And I laughed and laughed as his book failed to sell any copies. People wandered through our tent all day giggling about "that arrogant guy with the camera crew". I was tempted to promote his book as Magical Me.

I don't know why that guy was being made into such a big deal. Maybe he's an author of some notoriety. Still, we didn't sell any of his books. Maybe one.

That little seventh grader kicked his ass.

Anyway, I wandered out to get snacks for Aaron and myself, and ran into my old B&N friend Pat, her daughters Chrissie and Autumn, and Chrissie's boyfriend Eric. It was great to see them!

The food vendor wouldn't accept a debit card, so I was going to go use an ATM down the street. But Pat whipped out ten dollars and said, "You owe me!"

Thanks, Pat.

Anyway, the day finally ended. Aaron and I returned to Borders and had to unload the remaining books. We were exhausted and went out to share a beer together. We had earned it!

I'm glad it's over ... but I still have to load all those receipts into the register today. So I'm off to work!

HERE COMES THE SUN

2006-03-24T23:39:00.000-06:00

I am looking forward to Spring! Hiking! Grilling! Birthdays galore (including mine --- and all I want is a George Foreman Grill)! Butterflies in the sunshine and fireflies at night! The Witchy Woods turn green again! Friends graduate from college! I get promoted (or move on)!

And as the weather gets warmer, girls wear less and less.

YES!

If I can afford one, I might try to get a digital camera (hint, hint) and create a thousand heliochromes and delineations of my Springtime adventures. And there are always many of these.

The only thing I don't like about it is losing an hour of sleep when dumb old Daylight Savings Time begins.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ENORMOUS JOHN JUNKILL

2006-03-23T23:46:00.000-06:00

Gandalf! If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him, and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear, you would be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale. Tales and adventures sprang up all over the place wherever he went, in the most extraordinary fashion.

-- JRR Tolkien

The Hobbit

I AM THE PAULRUS

2006-03-21T22:48:00.000-06:00

Which Beatle are you?

Paul McCartney
You have a soft heart. You love animals, nature & quiet evenings with good friends.

http://www.youthink.com/quiz.asp?action=take&quiz_id=154

A QUICK UPDATE

2006-03-21T00:10:00.000-06:00

Since my last update:

1 - CSRing all the time. Running around town, making deliveries, drumming up sales, etc. Sucking up for a promotion; maybe later this year.

2 - Had dinner with Lisa (from B&N). We had a lovely time. And I didn't even drive my car into any trees or anything. I'm cured! We ate good food (Chinese, at a restaurant called The Great Wall) and caught up on everything that has happened since we, basically, parted ways. And we began planning - like the nerds we are - for the next Harry Potter release party, many months and years away. Even though we work for rival companies.

3 - Brian finally quit. I have mixed emotions.

4- My folks sent me a marvelous curry mix. Unfortunately, I was already marinading chicken when I found the package (soaked by the rain) on my front door step, so the curry will have to wait until later this week.

5 - Rerun seems to be losing weight!

6 - The Chronicles of Narnia passed Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in all-time United States box office receipts. But HPGOF still holds a massive, insurmountable edge, internationally and worldwide.

7 - None of my blog buddies are updating their blogs. We all have lives. Ah, well, blogging is a lonely business.

8 - I watched A History of Violence, which was just too predictable (and bloody) IMO, despite some great acting by Ed Harris and William Hurt. Also saw Rent, which I sorta liked. And Wedding Crashers, which was really dumb and really funny --- in a juvenille sort of way. I'm planning to watch Gokusen Live, a Japanese drama sent to me by Marie. From the little I've seen, it's about an idealistic neophyte school teacher who is faced with the harsh realities of her job. I really love Japanese dramas. And I'm not just saying that because Marie likes them. Or to be nice. I really dig 'em. They're bloody addictive!

9 - Jordan - I am ever so proud to say - has taken yet another astonishing step in his amazing, evolutionary muscial journey. He has now cycled through Nirvana, Zeppelin, Hendrix, and even Dylan. And now he has taken the inevitable next step. Just last week he bought his first album in this latest case-study's storied catalogue. Well, friends and neighbors, I am please-please-pleased (and proud as Punch) to announce that Jordan, Borders office supervisor and my friend, has discovered, as all intelligent people eventually do ...

Drum roll please ...

roll up, roll up

yeah, yeah, yeah

let me take you down

goo goo g' joob

i've got blisters on my fingers!

na n' na na

'cause I'm the taxman

number nine, number nine

woke up, fell out of bed ...

i'd like to thank you on behalf of the group, and i hope we passed the audition

THE BEATLES!!!! Wooo hooo!!!!!!

So what's next? Beethoven?! The Sex Pistols?!

Never mind the bollocks, mate.

10. I ate too much chicken and now my stomach is killing me.

Goodnight. I hope you have enjoyed the show.

MY HOROSCOPE FOR MARCH 17th (ST. PATRICK'S DAY)

2006-03-17T22:30:00.000-06:00

You might find that you need to step back and surrender, Benjamin. Perhaps you are discovering that you can't control a certain situation. Maybe there are some changes happening in your workplace. You might just have to wait and see how things evolve. Don't make a fuss or throw your weight around just now. It is wiser to be patient. Do your best to remain detached with your emotions.

Today's factoid:

Verdant means green...

BREAK A LEG

2006-03-14T22:28:00.000-06:00

Since my last entry, things have taken a turn for the weird. Danny, our problematic, often medicated corporate sales representative (CSR), has been up to his usual tricks. He faked a torn anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) and is now receiving workman's comp from Borders. The alleged maiming took place when he chased a shoplifter out of the building, which is something the Borders rule book expressly forbids. Nevertheless, he claimed the injury was further aggravated while working inside the store, and threatened to hire lawyers if his demands weren't met.

Danny limped around the book floor, for a week or so, with an exxaggerated stagger which righted itself, miraculously, whenever he thought nobody was watching. It's just the latest in a long line of strange behaviors on his part. That he pulled this ruse while going into the corporate sales department's busiest month of the year (with Education Awareness Week and the Plano Book Fair mounting) is only a coincidence, I am certain.

Meanwhile, all of his duties have been handed over to yours truly.

I have been given two days to learn how to do his job. After that, it's sink or swim. I'm like a babe in the woods. And, while Danny relaxes at home or (more likely) pursues his other business interests (on - let's face it - perfectly healthy shanks), the wolves are gathering all around me at Borders.

Needless to say, I'd like to strangle the freak.

Latte Thunder, who works in the cafe these days, used to do corporate sales for us, until the demands of college forced him to resign. He has since graduated and has more free time, but for some reason, they won't let him take over as the interim CSR. He has offered to do it, gladly and without a pay increase, but they simply won't let him leave the cafe. So, instead, they have shuffled all the supervisor's jobs around, temporarily, in a game of musical managerial chairs.

The position of CSR, I should note (though temporary), is technically a demotion for me.

Sometimes I miss the days of being a simple bookseller. It was so much easier then. And fun. Other times I think I would like to take a cashier job elsewhere and, simply, go back to school. I could make more money with fewer responsibilites as a register jockey at Home Depot, Lowe's, Costco, or Bed Bath & Beyond.

Borders asks a lot for what they pay us. People with the same duties at Barnes & Noble, make considerably more money. And, from my experience, they usually have a much better crew with which to work. It's my opinion that most of the kids who work for us at Borders would never make it at B&N.

Meanwhile, the new manager (Nancy) is inspiring angst and dissent with the many changes she is making. Personally, I'm willing to give her a chance. I think a large majority of the staff are acting like spoiled brats. They haven't seen drastic changes and dire times like I have. They never witnessed those dark days, so long ago at B&N, when the evil one took control. None of us who survived it will ever forget the monster who lived in the cave behind the break room.

Nothing could ever be that bad again. Just thinking about it gives me the shivers.

P.S. Megan is a long term employee who takes care of special orders and helps out in the cafe. She and I were joking about Danny today. It would be funny and ironic, we decided, if during his paid absence, he really did break his leg.

SILLY QUESTIONAIRE

2006-03-07T22:34:00.000-06:00

Oh joy.
Welcome to the 2006 edition of getting to know your friends.
1. What time did you get up ! this morning? ... 10am>>
2. Diamonds or Pearls? ... diamonds, i guess. >>
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? ... Harry Potter & the Goblet of Fire>>
4. What is your favorite TV show? ... Recent: The Simpsons/ Old: WKRP in Cincinnatti>>
5. What did you have for breakfast? ... Metrex bar and green tea>>
6. What is your middle name? ... Berney>>
7. What is your favorite cuisine? ... seafood>>
8. What food do you dislike? ... sugar beets>>
9. What is your favorite potato chip? ... bbq>>
10. What is your favorite CD at the moment? ... Colin Hay's Transcendental Highway>>
11. What kind of car do you drive? ... Buick >>
12. Favorite sandwich? ... PBJ (with a glass of milk)>>
13. What characteristics do you despise? ... selfishness, rudeness>>
14. What are your favorite clothes? ... jeans and a t-shirt>>
15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation,>where would you go? ... british isles>>
16. What color is your bathroom? ... a strange mixture of mild colors>>
17. Favorite brand of clothing? .... russell athletic>>
18. Where would you want to retire to? ... Rivendell>>
19. Favorite time of day? ... I like every minute of the day>>
20. Where were you born? ... Dallas - in Baylor Hospital>>
21. Favorite sport to watch? ... strong man competition>>
22. Who do you least expect to send this back? ... n/a
23. Who will be the first to respond? ... n/a>>
24. Coke or Pepsi? ... neither ... tea>>
25. Are you a morning person or night owl? ... night owl>>
26. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with>everyone? ... I'm in love ... with myself>>
27. What did you want to be when you were little? ... free
28. What is your best childhood memory? ... I've forgotten. >>
29 . What are the different jobs you have had in your life? ... burger king, country club gopher, french bakery waiter, dockworker for ups and roadway, construction, swimming pool supplies, bookstore gopher and then a manager, hogwarts' defense against the dark arts professor>>
30. Nicknames: ... benny, the great benchenzo, benito, Mr. Massive & Invincible, benson, the invasion >>
31. Number and location of piercing? ... 0>>
32. Eye Color? ... a weird combination of blue & green and some speckles of colors i don't even recognize
>33. Ever been to Africa? ... no>>
34. Ever been toilet papering? ... i don't remember. probably.
35. Been in a car accident? ... yes. several. usually my fault.>>
36. Favorite day of the week? ... today>>
37. Favorite restaurant? ... souper salads or rockfish seafood grill (a toss-up)>>
38. Favorite flower? ... i don't like flowers except when girls wear them in their hair. can't tell one flower from another. of course, I'll probably wake up in some crazy twilight zone episode in which the world has become flowerless. at the end i'll go crazy and shake my fist at the heavens screaming, "damn you! bring back the flowers!!">>
39. Favorite ice cream? ... anything creamy and mellow or nutty. nothing too fruity or chocolatey -- and nothing too basic or boring like vanilla or strawberry.>>
40. Favorite fast food restaurant? ... i don't really like fast food --- sometimes i'll get tacos from taco bell>>
41. At which store would you choose to max out your>credit card? ... sams >>
42. Bedtime: ... varies (it's work dependent)>>
43. About whose responses are you most curious? ... n/a>>
44. Last person(s) you went to dinner with: ... Mara, today (at Zorba's greek restaurant)>>
45. What are you listening to right now? ... Syd Barrett>>
46. What is your favorite color ? ... Black>>
47. How many tattoos do you have?... 0>>
48. What was the last e-mail you got before this one? ... something from earthlink>>
49. How many people are you sending this Email to? ... I'm not going to email it. I'm going to post it on my blog.>>
50. What time did you finish this e-mail? ... 10:22pm

I ME MINE

2006-03-04T19:43:00.000-06:00

It has been quite a week since my last entry. I hardly know where to begin. One of the intervening events, at least, has already grown so stale that it hardly bears repeating. But here goes ... I had something of an issue at work with Brian (the guitar guy) and I had to pull rank and act like a supervisor. It's a long story and I'm really tired of telling it. I'll just say that he is now on his last warning. I never really wanted to see him get fired (much), but I think he needed a major attitude adjustment. He, basically, calls in sick (meaning drunk) at least once a week. But he knows how many infractions - or occurences, in Borders parlance - he has and exactly how many more he can get away with. It has become ridiculous. So when he wandered in fifteen minutes late, reeking of beer, and said he couldn't stay, because he was "tired" (even though he had paid a cab to bring him all the way to work), I had to ask, "Do you want to work here or don't you?" I also told him he could go home if he felt like it, because I had the authority to send him home if I saw fit. Maybe I was a little edgy with him, but I was taking my voice of authority on its maiden voyage. I didn't particularly enjoy doing this, but it had to be done. And I think I handled it pretty well (despite what Jordan says).

So Brian got mad and threw away his name tag, etc. He said, "You can't send me home, I'm leaving!"

What a cliche'!

Then he wandered across the street to Bennigans to drink more beer with his friends ... which was probably why he took a cab to our neck of the woods to begin with. He began calling the store and asking people if he still had a job, and told everyone that he didn't really quit. Even though, when he was leaving Borders, he had made a purchase and told the cashier not to give him an employee discount as he no longer worked for the company.

He told other employees (most notably Jordan) that, if he lost his job, he was going to have his friends call the Customer Care hotline and make up numerous false complaints about me, up to (and including) charges of sexual misconduct.

Pretty serious stuff.

So I scrawled off a few emails to the right people, detailing the entire situation and documenting all the witnesses, etc. Note: other people smelled beer on him, too. And he verbally threatened a co-worker who made a harmless quip about his haircut.

All in the same night.

Anyway, he still works for Borders, but as I have said, he is hanging on by a very thin thread. It must be impossible to fire people. And I really am tired of this story. I don't want to discuss it anymore.

Incidentally, I put in quite a lot of overtime this week, so my paycheck should be huge.

On a brighter note, I had a marvelous time at Aunt Sally's house on Thursday night. Friday, my day off, was just as enjoyable. I walked along the Chisolm Trail all the way to Barnes & Noble and back. Much of this time was spent reminiscing about the old days at B&N. Then I took a little trip to the Witchy Woods. But, this time, I wandered off the Jordan Trail and went deep into the dense foliage. Somewhere, out there in the depths of the woods, lay the remains of a little house. All that was left was an asphalt shingle roof, an old well, and a rusty bathing tub. Wreckage of a simpler time.

I also went to work on my garage, cleaning and rearranging. And then I went through mountains of old papers and put them all in their proper place --- be it in the trash, or in a file, or whatever.

And, tonight, after a hard day at work, I came home and grilled two delicious steaks, baked a potato, and cooked some veggies. I marinated the steaks all night long in Stubb's Beef Marinade. Good stuff. The best! Then I sizzled them to perfection on the big grill that was gifted to me by Jordan & Amanda. Believe it or not, this was my first time to use a grill, and I didn't burn down the house or fry the cat or anything. And the steaks ended up being excellent.

I've started rereading Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials series. It's one of my all-time favorite fantasy epics. I would recommend it to anyone.

Well --- that's about it.

I feel like I've left something out.

Oh yes! I found a Jason's Deli gift card on the floor at work. It's got almost twenty dollars left on it! I'll be eating well (and for free!) all week.

And I'm thinking of finally biting the bullet and getting a cell phone.

BACK ON THE CHAIN GANG

2006-02-26T22:33:00.000-06:00

Well, today I went back to work. Things seemed more chaotic than I remember them. My absence had little to do with it, though. It seems there have been major issues with the computer network. I thank heaven I wasn't there on the day when it broke down, completely, and they had to do everything by hand. It was the same day that we introduced our new Borders Reward Card. They tell me it was sheer bedlam.

I was sad, because I missed Marie. (Hi, Marie.) I had tons of fun with her in San Antonio. I like her parents. They're so hospitable. Her mom is quite the raconteur. And it was cute the way her little sister, Bessie, developed a crush on me at dinner (he says humbly). And her other little sister, Juliet, tells a whopping good tale about how she caused a glass tray full of brownies to explode by leaving it on top of a hot stove burner. There was brownie shrapnel and pieces of glass everywhere.

Mara was in the store today, which cheered me up. I was surprised to see her. She was worried because I hadn't been blogging, but of course, I have been away. So, Mara, here's your blog entry. Just for you.

Hi, Mara.

Jordan was at work today. I always like to work with him.

Hi, Jordan.

He has developed a fascination with Bob Dylan and, through him, is learning an appreciation for Woody Guthrie. It's funny how, a few years ago, he was in love with Nirvana and Weezer. Then he started to like Led Zeppelin. Then Jimi Hendrix became his hero. Now it's Dylan. I wonder what's next?

And Chris (Hi, Chris) left a message on my answering machine. It was good to hear his voice. Such a reliable friend. I think the world could end and he would still be there for me.

Okay, I'm done kissing everybody's butt, and I'm ready to go back to being a curmudgeon.

Grrrr.

THINGS I DID ON MY VACATION

2006-02-25T20:55:00.000-06:00

Ran seven miles.
Had coffee with Mara (at Starbucks). Then we shopped at Barnes and Noble (my old stomping grounds) and had lunch at the Black Eyed Pea. It was very nice.
Got my car inspected.
Went to see Pat and Tom C. Had a nice visit.
Wrote a minor treatise about the strange life of Syd Barrett... for no apparent reason other than that I saw a picture of him in a book at work, and that made me curious about his current whereabouts.
Got a haircut. Rodney wasn't there (my usual guy), so I trusted my hair to a blond woman with a strange accent. She's a butcher...
Went to an Asian market called May Hua. Bought something called daifuku. It's a rice cake with a jellyish filling. Most delicious! May Hua will become a regular stop for me.
Traveled to San Antonio to hang out with Marie.
Went to Nine Lives Books where cats roam freely among the book shelves. Then to the River Walk and the Alamo. Ate lots of good food. Did a lot of walking about and getting lost. Drank a virgin margirita. Ate cheese cake. Drove around and got lost again.
Watched Japanese "dramas" until very late at night. Completed the entire series of Nobuta wo Produce. Ten episodes. 45 minutes each. Thoroughly addicitive. And very good. Japanese TV rivals English TV!
Went to the Guenther House with Marie's family. It's an old flour mill surrounded by a beautiful neighborhood of Victorian homes. Had a delicious meal.
Drove back from San Antonio in an almost constant rain. Half the people drive like maniacs!
Was glad to see Rerun again. She was glad to see me, too.
Jeff Mc. (an old high school buddy) called to tell me that his mother died of cancer. She was always nice to me. I am very sad.
So now I'm writing my blog and listening to The White Album.
"Happiness is a Warm Gun", "Blackbird", "While My Guitar Gently Weeps". Good stuff.

WHO IS THIS MAN?

2006-02-20T14:43:00.000-06:00

He bounces on the balls of his feet. It is an image of nervous buoyancy. His
voice is deeper and his accent less cultured than people remember. He usually only talks to shopkeepers. He is called a recluse by many, but his family prefers to say, "He just enjoys his own company". He still likes painting and gardening. He paints on huge canvases, taller than himself, but destroys any of his work that he considers imperfect. The rest he stacks against a wall in his flat. He had a job as a gardener, once, but ran away when a thunderstorm frightened him. He lived, off and on, in the care of professionals or with his mother until she died some years ago. He still draws six figures a year from something associated with his past, but he is not always sure exactly what that might be. He is one of pop culture's most enduring mysteries and the cynosure of an international cult following.

If you mention the name Syd Barrett, he'll say, "That has nothing to do with me."

"The received wisdom is that you don't disturb him," wrote a British reporter who ventured too close and came away with nothing but a strange encounter and a few mumbled words of nonsense.

He prefers to be called Roger now; his birth name. The idea of Syd, a handsome muscian with a full head of wavy hair and a host of lovely girlfriends and admirers, disturbs him. It is as foreign to him as the image of a lusty sex symbol is, these days, to Bridgett Bardot.

Syd Barret (Roger's famous alter ego) was the founder of Pink Floyd, one of the most successful musical groups in history. During the Swinging London of the 1960's, he pioneered the genres of acid rock and psychedelia, recorded the album Piper at the Gates of Dawn (a classic of the style), hobnobbed with the Beatles and The Rolling Stones, toured America, and then suffered a massive breakdown and dropped almost entirely off the map. The band carried on, very much in the spirit of their fallen leader, and went on to even greater fame and success with legendary albums like The Dark Side of the Moon, The Wall, and Wish You Were Here (largely a tribute to Syd). His influence is strongly apparent in most of the band's subsequent work, all of which echoes his struggle with sanity and oblivion.

"He was a truly magnetic personality when he was very young," says David Gilmour (who knew Barrett in school and eventually replaced him as the band's guitarist). "He was a figure in his hometown. People would look at him and say, 'There's Syd Barrett,' and he was only fourteen years old."

Barrett wrote all of the songs on Piper at the Gates of Dawn, his only album with the group. The album faded into semi-obscurity even as the post-Barrett Pink Floyd rose to greater heights of fame. The recording has since had a revival among young fans and musicians searching the vaults of classic rock for something esoteric. During his time with the Floyds, Barrett virtually invented the genre which we now call psych-folk. It's a more tuneful and whimsical version of acid rock, and has experienced a healthy rebirth among those same young musicians, making Barrett relevant beyond his era (or awareness).

In the early days, he was the undisputed leader of Pink Floyd. By the end of his tenure with the band, though, they had begun to neglect even telling him about group activity. Finally, one night, they simply decided not to pick him up before a show. It's most likely Barrett was unaware of having been snubbed. In the year or so before his unofficial dismissal, he had disintegrated from a vital free spirit into a tragic figure who often forgot to bring his guitar to shows or recording sessions; who would forget how to play his instrument and simply fake it while his bandmates tried to take up the slack; who put so much brill cream in his hair that, when he sweated and it began to seep down over his face and dribble off his chin in globs and streams, audience members screamed, thinking that he was somehow melting onstage.

Barrett's London flat, during the Summer of Love, had been the scene of many a "happening" which drew such stellar guests as John Lennon, Yoko Ono, Mick Jagger, Marianne Faithful, and the Who's Pete Townshend. But, by the time of his ousting from Pink Floyd, and his first solo album, the flat (which is pictured on the cover) was nothing but bare wood floors, spartan furnishings and Barrett knelt creepily in the shadows.

His solo output consisted of two bizarre and yet interesting albums (The Map Cap Laughs and Barrett). Most of the lyrics are nonsensical, and amid the coherent production of his ex-bandmates, Syd seems playful and lost like a child. Sometimes sweet, sometimes disturbing, these recordings have been described as the musical sounds of a man losing his mind.

After that, Barrett dropped off the band's radar, for the most part. They supported his counselling and professional care, where needed, but he was often violently opposed to seeing doctors. He would turn up, unexpectecly, for group functions, sometimes referring to Pink Floyd as "my band". It was as if, even though the group had long since moved on, nothing had changed for him and he would suddenly resurface, thinking that he was late for the next recording session or gig. They remember him sitting in the front row at some of their concerts, staring at Dave Gilmour (his replacement) and looking very lost, confused, and hurt.

He would wander off and disappear for long periods of time, and people wondered if he had died. Family members and old girlfriends tried to help him, but Barrett was prone to violent outbursts that frightened people away. Legend has it that a group of squatters took over his flat and locked him in the basement and that, on another occasion, he gave the same treatment to a former lover who had paid him a visit out of genuine concern. Most of these stories are, however, notedly apocryphal.

Years later, Pink Floyd was recording the album Wish You Were Here when a strange figure wandered into the studio accompanied by a friend of the band. "None of us recognized him," said the group's bassist and defacto leader, Roger Waters. "He'd put on about four stone, shaved off all his body hair, and he was eating a big bag of sweets. He'd changed from this beautiful curly haired youth into something resembling the bloke who keeps the scores on The Vic Reeves Show." When they realized who he was, the boys gave him a warm reception. Someone asked (maybe foolishly) what kind of projects he had going. Barrett mumbled something like, "I've got a room with a telly and a fridge. I have pork chops in the fridge, but they keep going gamey, so I have to replace them." One can just imagine the uncomfortable silence.

It is widely believed that Barrett's return came during the exact moment when Pink Floyd was recording "Shine On Crazy Diamond", a song that was clearly written about the band's former chief. However, this divine coincidence may exist only in the wistful retellings of fans.

After that, Barrett and Pink Floyd became mutually exclusive for many years. The band enjoyed huge success while Syd lived out a confused odyssey.

As of right now, ulcers and ill health have caused Barrett to lose much of his excess weight. Family members say that he now lives a relatively normal, if solitary, life. Some say he suffers from Asperger's Syndrome. Others think he succumbed to the pressures of stardom and success. Still others believe that he simply took a bad acid trip and never returned.

A cult has grown up around this fleeting figure, and there is even a Syd Barrett Appreciation Society. Some of these people are so obsessed they have done things like sneaking in and stealing his paint brushes while he was still in the middle of a painting. For a mentally unstable person, this is a particularly cruel intrusion upon his much needed routine. Others try to talk to him, badgering him with questions about his past and his old alter ego. There's a feeling among these people that every brusque utterance from the poor man is a cipher of some kind, containing a clue to the meaning of life.

He is their Van Gogh.

"It's sad that these people think he's such a wonderful subject," says Dave Gilmour. "That he's a living legend when, in fact, there is this poor sad man who can't deal with life or himself. He's got uncontrollable things in him that he can't deal with, and people think it's a marvelous, wonderful, romantic thing. It's just a sad, sad thing; a very nice and talented person who's just disintegrated."

Someone, reportedly, played Roger Barrett a video of Syd with his old band. Roger liked a song called "See Emily Play". The rest of it, he said, was "a bit noisy".

EDITORIAL COMMENTS: It's interesting when people change in some dramatic way (mentally or physically), or when a public person becomes a recluse. This is especially true when they've previously done something remarkable like giving wings to a powerhouse of musical invention like Pink Floyd.

I came across that picture of the fat, bald Syd Barrett recently and was shocked by it, having only ever seen images of him as a good looking kid. I wanted to find out more about him and how he got that way. It ended up becoming this article. That sounds phony, I know, but I actually wrote it as I researched it.
I wanted to say what an enigmatic and intriguing figure he is (the rock star turned recluse). Apparently, though, it's more like what Dave Gilmour said. He's just an unfortunate guy who did some crazy things as a kid and now he's irretrievably lost. But a listen to their lyrics (see below) makes me think that Pink Floyd, however impossible it may be, would really like to have him back.

As for the freaks who steal his paint brushes - leave the poor guy alone!

Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun.
Now there’s a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
You were caught in the crossfire of childhood and stardom,
blown on the steel breeze.
Come on you target for faraway laughter, come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine!

You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon.
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision, rode on the steel breeze.
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!
- Pink Floyd

I want to be left alone.
- Greta Garbo