***This Post Left Intentionally Blank***
Friday, April 28, 2006
Rittenhouse on a spring lunch hour (haiku)
laying in the grass
thinking about my garden
the sun warms my face
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
stirring the babies (haiku)
sing-song wake-up call
here's your clothes, please put them on
was i in your dreams?
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
I just remembered why I hate everyone
Crack
"Shit, missed!"
Crack
"fuck, missed!"
I wake up to the unmistakable sound of a rifles going off and being rechambered. I'm groggy but the smell of gunpowder is like caffeine to my 8 year old body. I look over to the window and two of my older cousins are silloutted in the bright morning sunshine. They each have a rifle pointed out of the window in the direction of the barn. There's a dirty sock on my face.
Shit for Brains sees me staring at the sock.
"You were snoring so loud that Sluggo had to put that sock in your mouth"
I wipe my tongue with my hand and make a face. Sock Tongue.
"Did you hit them?" I ask, assuming they are trying to kill the woodchucks under the old barn.
"Nah"
I'm secretly releaved. I love guns but I cant imagine the thought of killing an animal. I dont tell them that because they'll tease me more, and I dont need that with this crowd.
Shit for Brains has a beautiful Winchester .22 caliber rifle. The stock is black to match the barrel and he has a scope on top of it. Shit for Brains couldnt hit the Barn itself let alone the Woodchuck. I covet his rifle, but he wont ever let me fire it...he says it's because I'm only Eight, but the real reason is that he's an asshole.
Shit for Brain's rifle has a long feeding tube that holds 16 bullets. It's a lever action rifle which means you pop a new bullet into the chamber by cocking the lever on the bottom, just like in the old cowboy movies. I lay back in bed and think about how cool it would be hunting down Viet Cong with that baby. It's kind of ironic considering my feelings for the woodchuck family eating the foundation of the barn.
I think about my own rifle that my father had given to me. I refinished the stock myself with a light cherry woodstain. I'm alway careful to clean it everytime we go shooting. The rifle was probably made in the 1940's and was a bolt action. We couldnt find a clip to fit it, so each round had to be loaded by hand into the barrel. I couldnt fire as quickly as my other cousins, but I dont mind. I always hit what I aimed at, mostly old Genny Cream Ale cans, even without the fancy scope.
I stumble down the ancient crooked staircase in my pj's. The kitchen is the original room of this farmhouse and is over 200 years old. It's full of cousins (i have 17 on the Steakbellie side) none of which like me very much. Grandma is a wonderful person, but a horrible cook. She's an enourmous women who loves to read, travel the world and laugh. Grandma like to gamble. She's burning eggs in rancid butter for breakfast and I take a gamble of my own and eat them anyway.
Hours later there are Eight of us in the Dodge Dart headed to the Bath County Fair. The underside of the car takes a beating as Grandma rockets down the gravel road. I stick my finger down a rust hole in the floorboards.
Grandma gives Shit for Brains five dollars for all of us to split for ride tickets and leaves us to visit friends. He and Sluggo are the oldest on this trip and decide to keep the money for themselves. They go looking for a place to buy cigarettes and let the rest of us tag along and watch them go on rides. I'm interested by a trailer that supposedly holds the body of a two headed monster. They pay for their siblings to go in, and I get to hear the descriptions when they come out.
We trudge over to the Grandstands hours later to watch the Demolition Derby. Some far removed Cousin/Uncle person has a station wagon entered in the competition. I've never met this guy before and I'm impressed that I'm related to someone in the contest. Surley he's famous.
Before the derby starts there is a man with a megaphone calling all of the kids out of the stands.
"Come on down kids and join our ice-cream eating contest! The first one finished gets ten dollars in fair tickets!"
Most of my cousins are smoking cigarettes and are too cool to embarrass themselves in the competition. I havent eaten anything all day and I sprint down into the crowd of kids surounding the folding tables. A woman is handing out styrofoam bowls of melting choclate icecream. I squeeze into an open table corner and am crowded by all of the teenagers and bigger kids vying for those tickets.
They are nearly out of icecream when I get my bowl. The announcer explains how we are not allowed to use spoons or our hands...we must shove our faces down into the icecream to eat it. I am exhilarated. I've seen pie eating contests on tv shows...surely this is something I could be good at.
"GOOOO!!!" The man yells into the Megaphone
I slam my face down into the bowl and instantly get a nose full of chocolate goo. I'm biting huge chunks off and swallowing without ever lifting my head more than an inch or two from the bowl. By the second bite my tongue and throat are freezing from eating too fast. I jam my face hardered down into the icecream trying to get a good angle for a bite. Hundreds of people are screaming and I am sure of victory. I am David amongst these Goliath teens. God made me to eat, and he wants me to win.
"We have our Winner!!!!" The megaphone barks...I'm only half done and I look two table over at the big fat kid with his arms in the air. His shirt is covered in brown icecream and it seems like the only white left on his face is his teeth and eyeballs.
I hate him.
People are trying to picky his sticky fat ass up.
I have an icecream headache.
They dont have napkins so I dejectedly wipe what goo I can on my shirt. I can feel the drying brown sticky residue on my neck as I head back to the bleachers.. My cousins didnt realize I had even left and now look at me some amusement but mostly disgust.
"Gross...."
I sit down in the hot sun and watch my anonymous uncle/cousin person get his station wagon destroyed and catch fire. The engine compartment is shooting flames and I'm holding my ears with sticky brown hands in case it explodes like on tv. The driver got out and somebody extinguished the stationwagon. It was green with fake wood sides and had 'Crusher' written in black spraypaint on it.
Later that night i would take a cold water bath and sit at the table and read to my Grandma from a book she bought just for me. 5 Short Stories about Dolphins.
After the sun went down we'd catch peepers in the driveway, and Sluggo would show me my first Playboy by flashlight.
"Shit, missed!"
Crack
"fuck, missed!"
I wake up to the unmistakable sound of a rifles going off and being rechambered. I'm groggy but the smell of gunpowder is like caffeine to my 8 year old body. I look over to the window and two of my older cousins are silloutted in the bright morning sunshine. They each have a rifle pointed out of the window in the direction of the barn. There's a dirty sock on my face.
Shit for Brains sees me staring at the sock.
"You were snoring so loud that Sluggo had to put that sock in your mouth"
I wipe my tongue with my hand and make a face. Sock Tongue.
"Did you hit them?" I ask, assuming they are trying to kill the woodchucks under the old barn.
"Nah"
I'm secretly releaved. I love guns but I cant imagine the thought of killing an animal. I dont tell them that because they'll tease me more, and I dont need that with this crowd.
Shit for Brains has a beautiful Winchester .22 caliber rifle. The stock is black to match the barrel and he has a scope on top of it. Shit for Brains couldnt hit the Barn itself let alone the Woodchuck. I covet his rifle, but he wont ever let me fire it...he says it's because I'm only Eight, but the real reason is that he's an asshole.
Shit for Brain's rifle has a long feeding tube that holds 16 bullets. It's a lever action rifle which means you pop a new bullet into the chamber by cocking the lever on the bottom, just like in the old cowboy movies. I lay back in bed and think about how cool it would be hunting down Viet Cong with that baby. It's kind of ironic considering my feelings for the woodchuck family eating the foundation of the barn.
I think about my own rifle that my father had given to me. I refinished the stock myself with a light cherry woodstain. I'm alway careful to clean it everytime we go shooting. The rifle was probably made in the 1940's and was a bolt action. We couldnt find a clip to fit it, so each round had to be loaded by hand into the barrel. I couldnt fire as quickly as my other cousins, but I dont mind. I always hit what I aimed at, mostly old Genny Cream Ale cans, even without the fancy scope.
I stumble down the ancient crooked staircase in my pj's. The kitchen is the original room of this farmhouse and is over 200 years old. It's full of cousins (i have 17 on the Steakbellie side) none of which like me very much. Grandma is a wonderful person, but a horrible cook. She's an enourmous women who loves to read, travel the world and laugh. Grandma like to gamble. She's burning eggs in rancid butter for breakfast and I take a gamble of my own and eat them anyway.
Hours later there are Eight of us in the Dodge Dart headed to the Bath County Fair. The underside of the car takes a beating as Grandma rockets down the gravel road. I stick my finger down a rust hole in the floorboards.
Grandma gives Shit for Brains five dollars for all of us to split for ride tickets and leaves us to visit friends. He and Sluggo are the oldest on this trip and decide to keep the money for themselves. They go looking for a place to buy cigarettes and let the rest of us tag along and watch them go on rides. I'm interested by a trailer that supposedly holds the body of a two headed monster. They pay for their siblings to go in, and I get to hear the descriptions when they come out.
We trudge over to the Grandstands hours later to watch the Demolition Derby. Some far removed Cousin/Uncle person has a station wagon entered in the competition. I've never met this guy before and I'm impressed that I'm related to someone in the contest. Surley he's famous.
Before the derby starts there is a man with a megaphone calling all of the kids out of the stands.
"Come on down kids and join our ice-cream eating contest! The first one finished gets ten dollars in fair tickets!"
Most of my cousins are smoking cigarettes and are too cool to embarrass themselves in the competition. I havent eaten anything all day and I sprint down into the crowd of kids surounding the folding tables. A woman is handing out styrofoam bowls of melting choclate icecream. I squeeze into an open table corner and am crowded by all of the teenagers and bigger kids vying for those tickets.
They are nearly out of icecream when I get my bowl. The announcer explains how we are not allowed to use spoons or our hands...we must shove our faces down into the icecream to eat it. I am exhilarated. I've seen pie eating contests on tv shows...surely this is something I could be good at.
"GOOOO!!!" The man yells into the Megaphone
I slam my face down into the bowl and instantly get a nose full of chocolate goo. I'm biting huge chunks off and swallowing without ever lifting my head more than an inch or two from the bowl. By the second bite my tongue and throat are freezing from eating too fast. I jam my face hardered down into the icecream trying to get a good angle for a bite. Hundreds of people are screaming and I am sure of victory. I am David amongst these Goliath teens. God made me to eat, and he wants me to win.
"We have our Winner!!!!" The megaphone barks...I'm only half done and I look two table over at the big fat kid with his arms in the air. His shirt is covered in brown icecream and it seems like the only white left on his face is his teeth and eyeballs.
I hate him.
People are trying to picky his sticky fat ass up.
I have an icecream headache.
They dont have napkins so I dejectedly wipe what goo I can on my shirt. I can feel the drying brown sticky residue on my neck as I head back to the bleachers.. My cousins didnt realize I had even left and now look at me some amusement but mostly disgust.
"Gross...."
I sit down in the hot sun and watch my anonymous uncle/cousin person get his station wagon destroyed and catch fire. The engine compartment is shooting flames and I'm holding my ears with sticky brown hands in case it explodes like on tv. The driver got out and somebody extinguished the stationwagon. It was green with fake wood sides and had 'Crusher' written in black spraypaint on it.
Later that night i would take a cold water bath and sit at the table and read to my Grandma from a book she bought just for me. 5 Short Stories about Dolphins.
After the sun went down we'd catch peepers in the driveway, and Sluggo would show me my first Playboy by flashlight.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Do not deny me my martyrdom
i am nursing a hotdog-hangover
i wonder what the hell is in those things
i mean other than two days worth of calories
and a weeks worth of sodium
i still felt full this morning
and i'm as groggy as if I took a tylenol PM
i've been eating nothing but fruit today
make up for my sins....
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Friday, April 21, 2006
My Dream
I went to Home Depot to get a new TV. Over by the lumber, they have a couch/washer/dryer combo. It's made by GE and I'm looking at it thinking how porrly it was designed.
This particular model looks like a washer tied to a dryer with shiny black pleather coushions taped to it. It's pretty high up to sit on.
It would probably be better if they kept the washer/dryer part short, and underneath the sitting portion.
Henry Rollins (former lead singer of Black Flag) is standing next to it and points out that it has a coffee maker in the armrest.
"This thing is going to change leisure time for women, everywhere"
"huh" i reply.
"Now they can have tea-time"
"huh" i repeat.
We walk over to the tv section which is where he now lives with his new wife and 13 year-old step-son.
"This is Aaron" Henry says in a gravely voice"
I give Aaron a smile. He has black curly hair and bad skin.
I walk over to the tv and turn on the cd player above it. One of his albums starts to play.
Henry's wife is sitting on an old blue couch smoking a cigarette. She's a big woman with a mound of grey hair that is unkempt.
She yells at me.
"Turn that shit off!!!!"
Henry gives me a nod like I should do what she says.
"huh" I reply...
This particular model looks like a washer tied to a dryer with shiny black pleather coushions taped to it. It's pretty high up to sit on.
It would probably be better if they kept the washer/dryer part short, and underneath the sitting portion.
Henry Rollins (former lead singer of Black Flag) is standing next to it and points out that it has a coffee maker in the armrest.
"This thing is going to change leisure time for women, everywhere"
"huh" i reply.
"Now they can have tea-time"
"huh" i repeat.
We walk over to the tv section which is where he now lives with his new wife and 13 year-old step-son.
"This is Aaron" Henry says in a gravely voice"
I give Aaron a smile. He has black curly hair and bad skin.
I walk over to the tv and turn on the cd player above it. One of his albums starts to play.
Henry's wife is sitting on an old blue couch smoking a cigarette. She's a big woman with a mound of grey hair that is unkempt.
She yells at me.
"Turn that shit off!!!!"
Henry gives me a nod like I should do what she says.
"huh" I reply...
A Concrete Eagle for Me
There was a fire at a SEPTA station this morning, so my train dropped me off 15 blocks from my usual. Walking over the bridge at Market and 30th I noticed two 15 foot Eagles made out of stone or concrete.
They look very old and have no markings, no dedications or placks.
I will make a plack and dedicate one of them to me.
My guess is that noone will notice and the plack will stay as long as the glue holds. I will leave the other one free for any of you that deserve your own Concrete Eagle
Thursday, April 20, 2006
steel cut
if you think you can pretend not to care more than i can pretend not to care then you're wrong....unless you're not really pretending, in which case i'm not pretending either. In fact I'm not pretending waaaay more than you.
Infinity.
My Dad can beat up your Dad.
(even with his hip brace)
Madame X
I hope I go out like this....
Here's a 76-year old man who was going door giving free breast exams. That shouldnt be a crime.....ok so he wasnt really a doctor, but he did carry a big black bag with him!
Inching towards my own Event Horizon
i had the best conversation with my twelve year old last night. I had put the two youngers to bed and he was up studing for a test. Somehow we got to talking about Chemistry (he loves) and I got to unload some advanced chem onto him, explaining molecular bonds.
that got into subatomic physics:
Gravity
Black Holes
Event Horizons
Elastic Time
Super-Strings
Objects with greater than 4 dimensions
We were up till midnight. I cant believe I have someone to talk about this shit with, and he lives in my own house!
Sunny Side Up
Seven years ago today the baby was born. His name is M@x but I have convinced him that it is short for M@ximum. The wife even laughed good-naturedly when his insurance cards arrived saying so.
If you could be anybody, this is the one you want to be. He's a total showman and can charm anyone. Chix are crazy about him, and god does he love his mama. His athletic prowess is scary.
Happy birthday baby....
If you could be anybody, this is the one you want to be. He's a total showman and can charm anyone. Chix are crazy about him, and god does he love his mama. His athletic prowess is scary.
Happy birthday baby....
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
I feel like punching Tom Cruise in a 'Silent Fight' (haiku)
dont you get it yet?
we are all laughing at you
and your brainwashed bride
it's complicated
She confronts me with her arms crossed.
"Why are you trying to blacken my pots"
"What? That doesnt make sense, what do you mean?"
"You're weird. I know you're trying to blacken them."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm not trying to blacken your pots"
It's the first night of my wife being away on vacation, and I am running around the kitchen, preparing dinner, monitoring homework production, and getting tomorrows lunches ready.
"Whats that smell?" It's the oldest. His arms are crossed just like hers.
"I'm trying to blacken your Mother's pots.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
this is the kind of crap he comes up with when he's been left alone....
A few months ago, someone commented here that the definition of 'Integrity' is what you do when noone is looking. Isnt that also the defintion of masturbation?
Artie Lang is right
I need to get the fuck out of this place. Just the sound of my bosses voice makes me ill, and I'm afraid I wont be able to hide my revulsion much longer...he comes into the office, and I feel like all the air is taken out of me.
I need to work somewhere where I can believe in the boss to at least be an ok person. This guy is a total asshole and I've put up with it why?
* I have my own office
* I dont have to work longer hours than 45
* I can bike to work
* I can run at lunch
Thats pretty much it. I'm certain I could find a place that has those things, and doesnt treat everyone like shit. I could do my job if he just got out of the fucking way.....
I'm looking after Memorial Day
Dont worry about Dad
I put my wife on a plane this morning for a week of Vegas with her friends. She works very hard at a highly emotional-stressful job, and then has to come home to me and my halflings, so you can damn well bet that she deserves to enjoy herself.
She is funny though....
She spent the last few weeks organizing all of the local Moms to look out for me and my rabid brood whilst she was away. She made sure there was coverage for every possible non-school moment. Every practice, every game, every concert.
Years ago I probably would have been alittle offended by this, but now I can accept her help organizing the week without her. I realize that Moms the world round have a hard time relinquishing control of the household to a man. It's not that we do things wrong, we just do them different.
"I made all of your dinners til Friday and packed them up and labeled them by day"
"Wow, Thanks, you didnt have to do that" I say
"Thank God, Dad would probably have just cooked us eggs" says Son Number 1
And that may be true. It might not. I can cook and usually handle the cooking for Thanksgiving....I'm just not known for my smaller domestic everyday meals.
In my twenties I would regularly get stopped in the baby aisle by older women in their thirties. They saw me with a blonde baby in one arm and pushing the cart with the other and immediatley assumed I was lost. Like the babies Mom MUST be hospitalized, because this poor man is doing the baby food shopping.
A Mom: "Do you need help?"
Steakbellie: "No, I'm fine thankyou"
A Mom: "He's adorable, is he your first" (damn certain he was)
Steakbellie: "No, actually he's my third"
A Mom: "Oh...."
Steakbellie: "Can I get through?"
None of them ever offered to help the young Moms though. I'd see them struggle down the aisle and that pissed me off.
So today begins our mini-adventure. We'll make it, but just MY way....
Monday, April 17, 2006
MWM ISO M for Fistfighting - 35
I'm a 35 yr old married father of three with a stable job and own my own home. I'm thoughful, caring and passionate and like to garden. I am 6'1" 210lbs and in decent shape and have brown hair and blue eyes.
I'm in search of a male age 24 - 40 (race unimportant) for several brutal fistfights in scenic Philadelphia locations. Please be diease and drug-free (alcohol is ok, as one of our fights will be a drunken brawl in Philadelphia's Irish Pub) I dont have any recent fighting experience so please dont reply if you are trained in Martial Arts. Also I dont mind getting hurt, but try to avoid punching me in the teeth, I'm not really into that. Other than that just be willing for me to try to kick the living shit out of you.
My ideal fistfight would start with clever insults escalding to chest-out intimidation and physical threats. Moms will be insulted. Once the first punch is thrown, it should have a mix of ground combat and traditional boxing, FOLDING CHAIRS OK. I'm not looking for a 30 second brawl but more of a serious smash-up where everything breakable is broken.
Some of my ideas include fighting on the elevated train platform on Market Street
(whilst wearing suits with briefcases and crashing newspapers vending machines down onto the live tracks) and at the Philadelphia Museum of Art (they have a Wyeth show going on right now that I would love to see/fight at) The melee could spill out the front door and the winner can stand at the top steps for the Rocky Dance.
Serious Inquiries Only.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Friday, April 14, 2006
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
air, fire & something to burn (haiku)
gritting teeth, sparks fly
rebore the cylanders, bitch
need more horsepower
dying easter eggs with the family (haiku)
pills and vinegar
copper wire egg dunkers
listen to them laugh
copper wire egg dunkers
listen to them laugh
spring fever
it's so f'ing nice out and I'm stuck here in my retarted office. My kids have the whole week off for spring break and that makes it twice as hard to be here. They are staying up late and sleeping in.
My muscles are itchy. Like dep under my skin, and it just feels like I need to pick up something really heavy to make them stop. Some kind of exertion or expenditure of glycogen. Maybe at lunch I'll go find some fatass on the street and grab him from behind and pick up.
Fatass: "What the fuck?!"
Steakbellie: "Sorry, I had itchy muscles"
Fatass: "Thats ok, I thought you were some weirdo"
Seriously, I think I need to run around the block.....
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
steadfast
six weeks and acouple of days to go
this is a confirmation to myself of what i intend to do. this is the begining of the ramp up, the escalation
if i have enough dicipline to force my obessions into actions, to keep myself uncomfortable, hungry and focused. endure past the naseua and pain
then all i have to do is just showup on gameday, and everything i want will happen.....
what have you done today?
this is a confirmation to myself of what i intend to do. this is the begining of the ramp up, the escalation
if i have enough dicipline to force my obessions into actions, to keep myself uncomfortable, hungry and focused. endure past the naseua and pain
then all i have to do is just showup on gameday, and everything i want will happen.....
what have you done today?
Monday, April 10, 2006
dont encourage them
I was walking in Rittenhouse Square at lunch today. It's a very nice park in downtown Philly where business types can go to get some air and eat their cart lunch on a park bench without much hoopla.
In the middle of the park one of the network had gone to quite an expense to errect a large tent promoting a new reality show. The tent was furnished like a very cool apartment inside and was staffed by 15-20 college-age gung-ho kids.
They had a karaoke machine and were taking turns singing, and inviting the onlookers to come up and sing too. They had several video recording booths set up as well, and were promoting some dumb ass-contest for the person who made the funniest video. The winner will get their video played on tv and get featured on their website. Personally, I'm pretty sick of reality tv, and dont want these people to succeed.
This sort of tent would probably be successul on a college campus, but this crowd of monkey suited schlubs is just plain tired.
I sit with a growing crowd of people who are enjoying their futile quest for someone to be lured into their lair. The college kids have been selected for their white smiles and been given colorful logoed tshirts. They are young and thin and trying to infect the onlookers with their positive attitude. They all have messenger bags that must be filled with colorful Marketing crap. The audience are all seated in a wide arc, a safe distance from being singled out by the loud girl on the microphone.
In between Kararoke renditions, their is a silence that reminds me of crickets. It's awesome. I watch these poor kids try and try to whoop up some interest. I wonder how much this whole campaign is costing the network.
I consider going into one of the video booths and just eating my lunch on camera. I worry that it might actually be funny if I did that, and I might have to talk to someone and tell them my name and address and give various shouts out to my peeps. This would be a betrayal to my generation. I'm just not that spunky.
I fantasize some more and think it might be funny to walk a block to wawa, pick up 10 hot dogs and speed eat them in the booth in my shirt and tie. At the end of the tenth one I would stick my finger down my throat and projectile vomit all over the booth. This makes me laugh, and I'm alittle sad that I dont have the balls for something like that.
Can you imagine the look on the kids face when he opens the booth and is hit with a wall of hotdog-puke-stentch? Nobody needs a minimum wage job THAT badly......could I break them? Make them quit? Have a bad day? It's tempting....
hot moms
There are few things I covet more than an awesome t-shirt. This guy doesnt deserve this shirt, I'd look 50x better in it, but it's all for naught, he wore it to the neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt and ruined the whole experience for me. If I had 100 of these I couldnt wear them unless I was out of state.....
I grit my teeth with envy
I grit my teeth with envy
I wonder if he had the same dream
I'm aware that it's a dream, but I refuse to be late anyway. A meeting is a meeting if it occurs in a boardroom or in an impossibly big roofless treehouse located in the old Red Maple Tree planted in the front lawn of your boyhood home.
I'm lead down to the lower deck of the split level platform. There are tikki torches and the smells of someone barbqueing hamburgers and hotdogs. It's a comfortable spring day, and the leaves move slowly in the cool breeze.
He's already seated at an old redwood picnic table. I notice the table has alittle rot in the legs and the table-top has some give when I sit down on the bench. Must be old. Somebody has set up some DJ equiptment next to us.
We have some meaningless smalltalk. I say meaningless because it's actually incomprehensible muttering between the two of us. I dont even know what my own words are, but they are confidfent and defiant. The subtext is clear. My nemisis knows who I am, and what I intend to do to his legacy.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Night of the Watermellon
This story takes place long before Steakbellie learned about things like Bicycles, Chicken Wings, Heart Break, Sorrow, Pride, Responsibility, Work & Joy. Steakbellie loved people and tried to find something nice to say about each of them. It happened years before Steakbellie spoke about himself in the third person so lets just stop that foolishness right now.
It's summertime and the apartment complex has cleared out until the fall semester. All four of us are here tonight and we're drinking all of the cans of Keystone Light that we can afford. Keystone Light has the distinction of being watered down Coors Lite so you can imagine how bad that is. The packaging brags of a specially lined cans, but it's also the cheapest beer that Caesers sells.
Four guys...really really drunk who are girlfriend free for the night. We'll probably chase each other around being goofballs and then watch the garbled static on porn stations we dont subscribe to, and try to figure out what's going on.
"I saw a Boob!"
Every twenty minutes somebody is staggering to the fridge to look at the cold grime and ignore the watermellon.
Thats right, there's this huge fucking watermellon that has sat in the goddamned fridge for months, avoiding consumption by just being so freaking big. Who wants to do the hard work on whittling off a slice of watermellon, when you dont have the stomachs around to consume the whole thing let alone a full hunk. It would require alot of energy to lift it out of it's frosty home, and would be a wasteful shame if it went bad because we couldnt eat it all in one sitting.
We are drunk and hungry
but never wasteful.
So instead the watermellon has developed a tan topside from the refridgerator light. Sometimes when someone has food, they place it ontop of the watermellon, or hide it behind the watermellon, but the watermellon has become more of a landmark than a foodstuff. Sort of a landscape that has become invisible to those who live on it.
Sometimes Lump Lump has a package of Polish Sausage. Sometimes Birdy has Clamato. Sometimes JuneBug has a take-out box of PizzaHut leftovers. All of those things come and go..the watermellon is timeless at the bottom of the fridge.
I open the fridge again and lean in for a good look.
We are out of condiments as we ate the condements as a meal last week. At the bottom of the fridge beneath the disappearing cans of Keystone, I see the green plastic hardness of the famous mellon
Steakbellie: (far too happy and loud) "Hey Guys, Did you know we have a watermellon?"
Birdy: "Bring me a beer"
Steakbellie: "I'm going to smash it. I'm going to smash this watermellon"
Lump Lump: "When did we get a watermellon?"
So out I stumble into the courtyard. Now the only thing I havent pointed out here is that I dont have any shoes on. or clothes.
Actually I have a pair of boxers on which is a blessing because at the time I used to walk around the apartment in these dreadfully aweful bikini underwear. (could one of you "friends" sat me down to straighten that shit out?!?!)
So I'm holding the watermellon with both hands and spinning around on the grass like it's an enourmous discus that I am about to launch. My roomates are standing behind me laughing. Faster and faster I go around....when I get an idea,that inadvertantly keeps me out of jail.
What I dont realize is that two policemen and a police dog are standing about ten yards away watching me twist around like a particle accelerator. They are not hiding themselves, I am just so drunk that I dont notice them. They are waiting for me to commit my crime.
My roommates, however do notice them and respond by running back inside, slamming the door shut and hiding from the police. (Thanks Guys)
So my idea is to climb the second floor staircase and toss it down onto the concrete instead. I stop piroetting and run to the steps in my big bare feet.
"STOP!!!!!"
I turn slowly at the bottom of the staircase
and they actually say this:
"PUT DOWN THE WATERMELLON"
At this point I realize that I'm in my underwear and I'm using the watermellon to cover some of my more private areas.
they repeat with flaslights in my face
"PUT DOWN THE WATERMELLON"
The next fifteen minutes involve this collegetown cops trying to get me to admit that I was about to smash the watermellon. I repeat my slurred response: "Why would I do that to MY watermellon"
At some point they realize that I am too simpleminded to break, and order me to bring my watermellon back inside.
So here's the funny part (if you dont think that guy in his underwear is funny)
When I am done being questioned, of my three roomates:
One is hiding behind a door
One is hiding under his bed
One is hiding in the bathtub
I dont recall what happened to the watermellon.
It's summertime and the apartment complex has cleared out until the fall semester. All four of us are here tonight and we're drinking all of the cans of Keystone Light that we can afford. Keystone Light has the distinction of being watered down Coors Lite so you can imagine how bad that is. The packaging brags of a specially lined cans, but it's also the cheapest beer that Caesers sells.
Four guys...really really drunk who are girlfriend free for the night. We'll probably chase each other around being goofballs and then watch the garbled static on porn stations we dont subscribe to, and try to figure out what's going on.
"I saw a Boob!"
Every twenty minutes somebody is staggering to the fridge to look at the cold grime and ignore the watermellon.
Thats right, there's this huge fucking watermellon that has sat in the goddamned fridge for months, avoiding consumption by just being so freaking big. Who wants to do the hard work on whittling off a slice of watermellon, when you dont have the stomachs around to consume the whole thing let alone a full hunk. It would require alot of energy to lift it out of it's frosty home, and would be a wasteful shame if it went bad because we couldnt eat it all in one sitting.
We are drunk and hungry
but never wasteful.
So instead the watermellon has developed a tan topside from the refridgerator light. Sometimes when someone has food, they place it ontop of the watermellon, or hide it behind the watermellon, but the watermellon has become more of a landmark than a foodstuff. Sort of a landscape that has become invisible to those who live on it.
Sometimes Lump Lump has a package of Polish Sausage. Sometimes Birdy has Clamato. Sometimes JuneBug has a take-out box of PizzaHut leftovers. All of those things come and go..the watermellon is timeless at the bottom of the fridge.
I open the fridge again and lean in for a good look.
We are out of condiments as we ate the condements as a meal last week. At the bottom of the fridge beneath the disappearing cans of Keystone, I see the green plastic hardness of the famous mellon
Steakbellie: (far too happy and loud) "Hey Guys, Did you know we have a watermellon?"
Birdy: "Bring me a beer"
Steakbellie: "I'm going to smash it. I'm going to smash this watermellon"
Lump Lump: "When did we get a watermellon?"
So out I stumble into the courtyard. Now the only thing I havent pointed out here is that I dont have any shoes on. or clothes.
Actually I have a pair of boxers on which is a blessing because at the time I used to walk around the apartment in these dreadfully aweful bikini underwear. (could one of you "friends" sat me down to straighten that shit out?!?!)
So I'm holding the watermellon with both hands and spinning around on the grass like it's an enourmous discus that I am about to launch. My roomates are standing behind me laughing. Faster and faster I go around....when I get an idea,that inadvertantly keeps me out of jail.
What I dont realize is that two policemen and a police dog are standing about ten yards away watching me twist around like a particle accelerator. They are not hiding themselves, I am just so drunk that I dont notice them. They are waiting for me to commit my crime.
My roommates, however do notice them and respond by running back inside, slamming the door shut and hiding from the police. (Thanks Guys)
So my idea is to climb the second floor staircase and toss it down onto the concrete instead. I stop piroetting and run to the steps in my big bare feet.
"STOP!!!!!"
I turn slowly at the bottom of the staircase
and they actually say this:
"PUT DOWN THE WATERMELLON"
At this point I realize that I'm in my underwear and I'm using the watermellon to cover some of my more private areas.
they repeat with flaslights in my face
"PUT DOWN THE WATERMELLON"
The next fifteen minutes involve this collegetown cops trying to get me to admit that I was about to smash the watermellon. I repeat my slurred response: "Why would I do that to MY watermellon"
At some point they realize that I am too simpleminded to break, and order me to bring my watermellon back inside.
So here's the funny part (if you dont think that guy in his underwear is funny)
When I am done being questioned, of my three roomates:
One is hiding behind a door
One is hiding under his bed
One is hiding in the bathtub
I dont recall what happened to the watermellon.
Share the good news
Turns out we dont need an afterlife afterall.
We can meter out our own punishment here.
controlled burn
flick flick flick
I'm trying to get
things done here
but there's always
that chance
that this whole thing
will go up
all at once
hold the spark
closer
lets see what
happens
flick flick flick
I'm trying to get
things done here
but there's always
that chance
that this whole thing
will go up
all at once
hold the spark
closer
lets see what
happens
flick flick flick
Monday, April 03, 2006
I Love Rey Mysterio
I dont care that it's lowbrow
Professional Wrestling stimulates some deep portion of my brain. Some deep fantasy of instilling fear and having an arch-enemy that wasnt yourself for once. The idea of a simple life that just consists of fistfighting and trashtalking...of wearing flashy pants and tattoos. We suspend belief for two hours and let ourselves be entertained.
I love the posing, the underhanded telegraphed melodrama.
Rey Mysterio won the World Heavyweight Championship belt last night at Wrestlemania, and my kids called me from the neighbors house to tell me they were so excited they screamed. I couldnt be happier....
wedding dog
Went to a very nice wedding this weekend for a neighbors daughter. The grooms parents brought their dog with them to the ceremony and reception.
I love dogs, and this one was a highly trained 'working dog' that can do funtional things like get a beer (if you tie a rope to the fridge handle) or give you his paw.
I loved that they brought the dog, and wished I had though to bring mine. The dog was better behaved than most of the people.
At the bar for my umpteenth diet pepsi, the Maid of Honor stumbled right up to me and placed her hand flat on my stomach.
This is kinda weird because I had never met this girl before. Her eyes are completely glazed with alcohol.
MOH:(slurring) "You're the wing guy"
SB: "Yeah"
MOH: "Wow"
silence
SB: "Excuse Me..."
I love dogs, and this one was a highly trained 'working dog' that can do funtional things like get a beer (if you tie a rope to the fridge handle) or give you his paw.
I loved that they brought the dog, and wished I had though to bring mine. The dog was better behaved than most of the people.
At the bar for my umpteenth diet pepsi, the Maid of Honor stumbled right up to me and placed her hand flat on my stomach.
This is kinda weird because I had never met this girl before. Her eyes are completely glazed with alcohol.
MOH:(slurring) "You're the wing guy"
SB: "Yeah"
MOH: "Wow"
silence
SB: "Excuse Me..."
temporary permanence
Go sit in your favorite room of the house. The one with that comfy chair. Close your eyes and feel the moment, feel the solid walls around you, the smells of your home.
If you can sit there long enough, there will come a day that your neighborhood will be abandoned, and your house will fall back into the earth. Trees will once again sprout out of the rubble, perhaps a pond of fish will live in your basement.
It may not happen in your lifetime, but it will happen.
Now envision yourself at the crossroads of the world. Times Square, New York City. See the Coke sign light up, watch the taxis and buses race up and down. Listen to that crazy guy in the underwear and cowboy hat play guitar.
It's all going
As permanent as this place feels, the seas will return. The grass will return. The buildings will fall over and disappear. Oxygen will eat those powerful girders. You can count on it.
Isnt that a huge?
If you can sit there long enough, there will come a day that your neighborhood will be abandoned, and your house will fall back into the earth. Trees will once again sprout out of the rubble, perhaps a pond of fish will live in your basement.
It may not happen in your lifetime, but it will happen.
Now envision yourself at the crossroads of the world. Times Square, New York City. See the Coke sign light up, watch the taxis and buses race up and down. Listen to that crazy guy in the underwear and cowboy hat play guitar.
It's all going
As permanent as this place feels, the seas will return. The grass will return. The buildings will fall over and disappear. Oxygen will eat those powerful girders. You can count on it.
Isnt that a huge?
Saturday, April 01, 2006
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