If I were a poodle

If I were a poodle, I would try to be the best poodle ever. Why? Because poodles, like beagles, tend to have a bad rep amongst most people I know, at least, and I want to help them out. I'd write a blog about being the ultimate beagle, but I'm not a miracle worker. Not to mention the word "poodle" is just more fun to read and say. And it rhymes with 2 of my favorite things: noodle and strudel.

I'll be the first to admit, I am not the biggest fan of poodles. I even went so far at one point to design a tee-shirt with the following language on it: Who needs toilet paper when you've got a poodle? Poodles for the most part are hyper yipper yappers and they smell funny. Have you ever been near a poodle? If not, next time you see one step up and take a whiff. It's sort of like the smell of an old vacuum cleaner bag.

First things first. If I were a poodle, I'd do something with my hair. Perhaps I'd search the ethnic hair care aisle of my local department store for a relaxer of some sort. I'd also make sure to bathe on a regular basis and use lots of conditioner. And maybe let it soak in for a good 5 minutes prior to rinsing it out.

I'd also make sure my toenails were well manicured at all times. Why? Because if you've ever seen unkempt poodle nails (99% of the time for whatever reason, this is the case), they look like they have little boxelder bugs coming out of their toes.

Also, if I were a poodle, I'd try to drink relaxing herbal teas and other calming non-caffeinated beverages. I'd eat a lot of turkey, too, because we all know turkey contains triptophen which makes us drowsy after downing a bunch of it on the holidays.

I've known several poodles in my life, and I shit you not, every last dang one of them are so full of piss and vinegar that you almost lose weight just watching them. They're like lightning in a bottle with 4 legs. My oh my, they're so hyper! If you're sitting down and there's a poodle sleeping near you, I'd be willing to put money on it that if you slowly and quietly attempted to stand up, the second that little fucker hears you, it would jump up and start wagging its tail as if it just downed a pot of really strong coffee and a handful of NoDoz.

I'm not trying to knock poodles here, just making some suggestions for any poodles that might be reading this. Some pointers, if you will, to maybe stop giving poodles such a bad name. Can't a brother make a few simple suggestions to help out?

My grandma had 1.5 poodle(s). Its name(s) was/were Suzie #1 and Suzie #2 R.I.P.). To us kids, she only had 1 Suzie, but I'll let you in on a deep, dark family secret: Suzie #1 died in the early 80s and was replaced with an exact much younger replica of herself. Enter Suzie #2. My Uncle Rick used to rub peanut butter on the roof of her mouth and she'd make very contorted faces licking it off. We all found this rather amusing. Suzie 2 had so much energy that she felt the need to hump your shoe if your foot happened to be properly arched on the floor while you were sitting. She was also a fan of retrieving tennis balls until she was near death and gasping for air. I still remember that pudgy little poodle body sitting on my lap. I loved her, but have to admit I was always a little grossed out wondering if her not-furry-enough ass, the thing she pooped with, was touching my pants. I always wished her tail was a little longer so she could at least tuck it under there while sitting on my lap to keep things sanitary.

If I were a poodle, I'd also wear a baseball cap with my ears tucked up in it for a more sleek, casual look. I'd try to land a job in a comic book shop or record store, too. Because as we all know, cool people tend to hang out at those places, and if they saw a poodle working at one, they'd think "Hm... you know, poodles are actually kinda cool!"

That's about it for now, I guess. If I can think of anything else to add, I will in the future. But I think I've at least provided a good starting point here of how to become a better poodle.

Attn. Minnesota: It’s snowing

I can sum up about 95% of what last night’s news was about: the blizzard of March 17th-18th. Reporters were delivering up-to-the-minute information on a “winter storm” that was on its way to Minnesota, scraping it’s hooves on the ground like an angry bull about to charge a red flag. It was reported that 3-5” of snow would fall overnight, so "be sure to leave a little bit before you usually do, because the driving is gonna kill you!"

7am this morning, I woke up and went outside to scrape the anticipated 3-5” of frozen crystalline precipitation off of our vehicles - because I’m Mr. Awesome and like to do nice things like that. The first thing I saw when I walked outside the door was the greenish-brown lawn. And the cars. They were all visible, and the only accumulation as far as mine eyes could see was not unlike the paper-thin amount of glaze on a donut. Somehow, that 3-5” everyone’s panicked about became 3-5 millimeters. And they’re STILL talking about it on the news as if it was the end of the world. If this was a good old fashioned Minnesota blizzard delivering 3-4 feet of snow, then fine – make a big deal about it. But it’s only expected to be 4-5 inches by Saturday and they’re already talking about school closings this afternoon.

4-5 inches. Of snow. Snow is not poisonous. Snow does not cause cancer. Snow is not magma – it will not melt children if they happen to step in it (although I’ve got to admit that would be sort of cool).

Okay, step aside morning news peeps, I’m taking over:

Putting finger on ear and talking into microphone like the old radio announcer guy on “Laugh In”:

*clearing throat*

"Ladies and gentlemen of the State of Minnesota, I interrupt this regularly scheduled program to inform you that there is a light dusting of snow outside. This is an emergency. The South Metro area is expected to get 3-4” of snow today. This is not a test. Be sure you’re well stocked up on canned goods, batteries, propane, crossword puzzles, Chinese finger traps, ramen noodles, and bottled water. Call your friends and family that aren’t close by and tell them that you love them in case you never see them again should absolute devastation occur from The Evil Blizzard of '05.." (pauses to look outside) "OOOOooh, the snow… it’s falling from the sky. There must be 1/2 an inch out there right now! At this rate by noon we’ll have up to one inch! Men, gather the women and children. If you have a basement or fallout shelter, now is the time to take your radios and enter them until you are advised that it is safe to come out…"

Sorry to cut this short, but this fella’s got to stop typing and go hide under the bed until I hear the plows drive by to wipe out that see-thru dusting of snow on the roads.

Court (as in 'traffic', not 'tennis')

So, I went to my first ever court appearance today to get my driving privileges back. Woooo HA! One would think the process was as easy as:

1. Go to court
2. Talk to judge
3. Pay some fines, and
4. Get my license reinstated.

Oh you think so, do you? Nope. There's a few additional steps involved in the process, all of which I will go into for your enlightenment right now:

1. Go to court
2. Watch cheesy public access-quality video about being in court while filling out form to request assistance of a Public Defender (which is determined by judge when he reads said form)
3. Wait with other people who are in court while listening to the fluorescent lights buzz
4. Stand up when judge enters "courtroom" (aka old classroom in what once was an elementary school in my hometown converted into courtroom)
5. Listen to Judge talk to the people one by one that are "in line" before me. Judge informs every single person that they are deemed ineligible for a public defender and seems like a nice guy, but ready to hand out some serious ass whoopin'.
6. Listen to case where 20 year old male was cited for disturbing the peace at a house party @ 2am.
Judge: "So you ran into the house and locked the doors when the police arrived?"
Dude: "Yes sir."
Judge: "Do your parents know about this?"
Dude: "No sir."
Judge: "Well they'll probably find out now. You're sentenced to 10 days in
jail and a $300 fine. NEXT!"
7. Shit in pants thinking uh oh, if this guy got that for partying a little too hard, I am a dead man for what I done.
8. Get called up to Judge.
9. Verify that yes, I am me.
10. Watch judge read Public Defender request form and chuckle.
Judge: "You have a 74 Pinto?? Wow!"
Me: "Yes Sirree! Wood paneling and all."
Judge: "I used to have one of those. Did you see they've got
one in a car commercial now? It's parked on the side of the street and all
beat up!"
Me: "Yes Sir! I saw that ad and thought 'hey, don't make fun of my car
like that!'" (courtroom chuckles)
11. After Pinto conversation subsides, Judge looks at proof of insurance and says "Yup, he was insured at the time. No Insurance dismissed. You are eligible for a public defender and need to schedule an appointment to come back to court with her. Pay your tickets and your license will be reinstated so you can at least drive again. Thanks, have a nice day."
12. Write note to self to be sure to thank the Pinto for softening up judge
13. Get back to mom's, call DMV to find out how much I owe in traffic tickets
14. Spend about 20 minutes listening to robot on DMV hotline telling me "For [this option], press 1. For [this option press 2]." And so on.
15. Press zero in hopes of being connected with an actual human.
16. Robot says "You have selected an invalid option. For [this option], press 1. For [this option], press 2."
17. Tell robot where she can stick her options
18. Make about 5 more phone calls involving being on hold and then being told to call a different number.
19. Finally get the right number with a human on the other end. Human looks up my information and tells me I have 4 tickets, 1 going all the way back to 1998, that all add up to $504. Think to self I thought I paid some of those...
20. Shit in pants again
21. Have mom drive me 30 miles out to Hennepin County Courthouse.
22. Lady at desk looks up my DL number.
DMV Lady: "That will be $150 dollars."
Me: "Wha? I was told $504 on the phone."
DMV Lady: "Um..." (mouse clicking) "Nope, all that shows here is
a citation for failure to renew tabs. That's $150 dollars."
Me: "I was told on the phone something completely different.
Are you sure that's right?"

DMV Lady turns computer monitor so I can take a gander. There it was, right as rain - $150.

23. Become increasingly confused, but hand over the $150 and walk out with an allegedly valid drivers license once again.
24. Try to ignore uneasy feeling in stomach from wondering how $504 became $150 in a matter of a 40 minute drive.
25. Have awesome mom drive me back to their home in Cottage Grove where the Pinto was being kept.
26. Scrape impound lot crayon markings off of window.
27. Thoroughly clean Pinto out to rid it of its demons and the mess that Officer Tackleberry made whilst searching vehicle for non-existent marijuana.
28. Apprehensively drive for the first time in nearly a month
29. Shit in pants yet again when I see a po-leese car
30. Wipe sweat off forehead once I leave Cottage Grove city limits.
31. Wonder why Pinto is making strange noise, realize I'm going 55mph in 3rd gear. Oh yeah, there's 4 gears and I need to shift into the last one when I'm at this speed. Yikes... it's been a while.

Damn, what a day. It mos' definitely is nice to drive again, although I'm still not sure what to think about that DMV hoo-ha. But hey, the lady said $150 and my license is once again valid. Or is it...? Stay tuned.

Special thanks to everyone and anyone that's had to tote my ass and/or music equipment around for the last month... I sincerely appreciate it. I am forever in debt. No, for real.. take a look at my bank account.

Micycle goes to Mommy and Daddy's

11:42pm

So, here I am back in my hometown of Cottage Grove, MN where all of this suspended license bullcaca began nearly a month ago (read the ol' blog entry here if you haven't yet). It's the night before I go to court to hopefully get my driver's license and greatly missed 74 Pinto wagon back. I'm spending the night at my parent's place because I have to go to court bright and early at 8am tomorrow morning. I live in Minneapolis, have court at 8 in the morning 30 miles away and am not able to drive. I had a few options to look at as far as how to resolve this conflict:

1. Stay in Minneapolis. Don't go to court. BZZZZZZZT! Wrong answer.
2. Stay in Minneapolis, wake up at 3am on court day and make approximately 450 transfers on the Metro Transit system to get from there to here by 8am. No thanks.
3. Have Kimb drive me out the night before to have my darling mother fill me tummy up with a chicken sammich, Newcastle, and homemade mochas. DING! We have a winner.

It's freakin' quiet out here in the Grove. When you look outside up into the sky at night, you can actually see stars (I forgot about those things!) I don't hear sirens. If I want to walk somewhere, it would take about 45 minutes because quite frankly, there's nowhere to walk and everything's closed.

I just saw in the CityPages today that GREAT WHITE is going to be playing here in Cottage Grove pretty soon. The show is in a venue that was once a roller rink that my sister and I frequented for rollerskating, nachos, and bright pink and green severed bunny feet "good luck" keychains (makes me wonder if bunnies have people feet keychains so they can have good luck too?). 15 years ago when I was a metal dude and they were packing arenas, I would have thought Great White playing in Cottage Grove was absolutely bitchin'. Now that it's 2005 and it's Great White.. in Cottage Grove.. it just kind of makes me laugh to myself like I do when I see a dude walking around with a mullet and a moustache. Now that I think about Great White playing there, it makes sense... being a former roller rink, which is all concrete for the most part, it guarantees a virtually inflammable performance from the band. (I know, not funny...)

Okay, now that I've gotten my daily "I'm Going to Hell For That" comment out of the way, I best get to bed... big day tomorrow. Will the judge be in a good mood? Will I get a public defender? Will he/she agree with me that the officer was an asshole? Will it all really make any difference in the end?

Dude... Where's My Pinto?

Hee hee!

I played news reporter today on my homey VomitGod's blog... read it and weep as I huff a gentle breath upon my fingernails and buff them on my shirt.

(ps - While you're over there, be sure to check out the rest of his fine journal entries!)

Local broadcast news commercials

I don't know how things work where you live, but here in the Twin Shitties, our local television stations go above and beyond to craft 30 second advertisements featuring their newscasters hanging out dressed in polo shirts, loafers and Dockers, participating in feelgood recreational behavior with regular people and themselves. The ads tell us that their newscasters are the best, deliver the news first, and tell great stories.

One ad features a certain group of newscasters shootin' the shit at a local coffee shop. They are laughing, delivering lighthearted jabs towards one another... just being all around buddy-buddy. That's fine and dandy, but let's not forget that they probably took an hour beforehand to set up lights and cameras in that coffee shop. Not to mention they probably had to juggle schedules like crazy to get all of them to meet in the same place to film the thing.

I just saw another ad for a different station with a touching montage containing footage of doggies, a man playing a trumpet for a boy, and the newscast all looking into the camera at the end of the ad with pearly white smiles as the song playing says "We're telling a story!"

Another angle they like to take is the scare tactic. "Is the fish you're eating at your favorite restaurant really Walleye? Our undercover cameras expose the truth for what it is at 10!" a.k.a. "Slow day at the newswire... we're going to kill 5 minutes by talking about fish." And here's what the average fish-consuming viewer thinks: "Holy shit... am I paying $40 for a plate full of carp? I had better tune in just to be safe.. jeez, you can't trust anyone these days."

It's all rather silly if you think about it. Do these people really change into their Dockers after the show is done and yimmer yammer with one another about how good so-and-so's potato salad was at the picnic last year or planning an all staff trip to Paint Your Plate? I doubt it. They rinse all that itchy makeup off, get in their nice smelling cars and go home. Is it really "news" that a small handful of restaurants we've never heard of serve something that is nearly identical to the taste and cost of Walleye? I'm sure there's more important things than that to cover, but sometimes that's what it takes to suck viewers in, I guess.

I'm sure these ads do their job of getting viewers to be subconsciously hypnotized to tune in to their news programs, otherwise why would they spend the time and money to do it? Sometimes it just makes me want to stick my finger in my throat to initiate my phony baloney newscaster commercial gag reflexes. Watch ad, puke, forget about ad, feel better until next time.

In case any of you newsfolk are reading this, here's an idea for a news commercial that would make me want to tune in: get the whole newscast in KISS makeup, put them onstage with guitars, pyro, blood, the whole works, and have them play 30 seconds of "Deuce". Then at the end of the commercial the lead newscaster (I'll use Don Shelby for this example), who would of course be in Gene Simmons makeup, gets his face right in the camera, wags his tongue around, pumps that rock fist* towards the camera and yells "EE-YAY-YEAAAAAAAAAH!"

That would be hella awesome.

*="rock fist" reference dedicated to Lance

Screaming Monkey Boner-iffic

Preface: I am not being a kiss-ass here and am by no means a rock critic – I’m just presenting my honest opinion about a band I believe in and hope makes it (whatever “making it” means in this day and age)

I was pondering something the other day. Are there any bands doing something completely different in this town from most other bands? There’s at least a few hundred bands in the Twin Cities area, most of which I’ve never heard, and there’s got to be a handful of them that are capable of suspending my musical attention deficit disorder for more than 10 minutes. Right? Right…? Bueller? Anyone? Anyone? Don’t get me wrong, there are some really arse-kicking bands in this town – but sometimes I just want something out of the ordinary.

I’ve had a wee notion to get out and see some good bizarre local talent as of late. When mining through the bar ads looking for such a thing, what I see tends to be about as appealing as a rice cake and room temperature glass of water. I made a post on Area 52’s site requesting names of bands/artists that anyone might be aware of that I should know about. There were a lot of great suggestions that I will definitely look into (read it here>>)

Anywho, after making that there A52 post and wondering if I should give up all hope on finding something cool to go see in the near future, along comes Screaming Monkey Boner. With a name like that, how can you go wrong? (Speaking of, they chaned their name after this particular show - if you’re curious about what brought that on, visit the website at the bottom of this entry)

They sort of catch me off guard every time I see them because it’s always when my band is playing with them and I tend to be a little preoccupied with getting in the mental mode for playing a show (note to self: go see them when you’re not playing so you get full Screaming Monkey Boner pre-show anticipation).

SO – we played our set, got off the stage, and on went SMB. They blew me away as always. They’re like watching an old Warner Bros. cartoon on fast-forward, and I mean that as a compliment. Next time you’re watching one of those old cartoons, pay close attention to the amazingly complicated apeshit orchestration playing in the background and keep in mind that human beings had to draw every frame of those cartoons by hand. This, my friends, is similar to the entity that is SMB. Their showmanship definitely lives up to their soon-to-be-changed name – they’re all hopping, spinning, twisting and jiving all over the damn place, extremely colorful (both visually and energy-wise) all while playing some really great, complex music that takes a can opener, opens up the top portion of my skull, lifts the lid up, and tickles my brain.

I’m a pretty picky bastard when it comes to complex music, or “Math Rock” as some people call it. I am a self proclaimed Math Rock Snob. My brain processes it in one of two ways: it either A) gels and is really entertaining, or B) sounds like the band took a dozen different parts, slapped them together for the sake of trying to be complex without the right energy to pull it off, therefore making it boring as Hell to have to sit and listen to. SMB is definitely in the “A” category for me. They’re all top notch players that mix very well together, write great songs, or “experiences”, rather, and don’t have inflammation of the ego like many bands/musicians of their caliber do. They also nailed a few covers into their set like Homestar Runner’s “Trogdor” and Ren & Stimpy’s “Happy Happy Joy Joy!” Nice!

To add fuel to the fire, John’s (singer/keytarist) rapid fire rambling in between songs is a show all in itself. As any of you know who have seen me with my band, I’m a fan of saying impromptu unorthodox things to audiences in between songs. In my opinion, John takes rock talk to a whole new amusing level. It seems there’s always the typical limp, overdone “HOW’S EVERYONE FEEL TONIGHT? YOU ALL READY TO ROCK??! THANKS FOR COMING OUT TONIGHT!” banter going on at shows, but there is never an ounce of that with this band. Let me give you a nice example:

random voice mumbles something to the band from the audience
John: “You’re fat!” …and off they went into another song.

That takes some balls to say and make it funny, and the audience members laughed their asses off (for the record the person was not fat and he was just giving her shit – so if that rubbed you the wrong way, simmer down!) Another moment I found entertaining was geetarist extraordinaire Owen bouncing a plastic cup upside-down on the microphone. It made a really keen sound.

So, long story short, if you want something pretty far out of the ordinary, do yourself a favor by checking them out. Point and click these here linkies, why don’t you?

http://www.screamingmonkeyboner.com
http://www.myspace.com/smb

Try to think about not thinking. I dare you!

Have you ever tried to not think before? It's pretty damn hard, because you tell yourself "Okay, I'm not going to think right now. I'm not thinking. I'm not thinking..." but technically you are thinking - you're thinking about not thinking, which gets kind of confusing if you think about it.

Thinking can be my worst enemy at times, such as last night. I played a set of Finnegan (my acoustic guitar alter-ego) tunes at Acadia Cafe and it went well, but I almost lost it a few times while I was playing due to you guessed it.. thinking. Once I'm a few minutes into playing guitar, I get lost on my own comfortable little planet and am usually in a safe anti-thought territory. For all you hippies out there, it's very similar to meditation - I space out and forget the rest of the world and just let my fingers do their thang on my guitar, and all of a sudden it's 45 minutes or an hour later and I'm back on dumb old Earth. I'm a genuine 24/7 space cadet by nature which probably is to my advantage in regards to playing music, but at Acadia, for some reason my brain started telling my fingers what they were going to do next when I was in the middle of a song called 77. Uh oh!

"Okay fingers... now index goes here, middle goes here, and pinky goes here.. no, wait, I should really be worried about what I'm playing at this second, not something that is 10 seconds down the road. Um... shite.. where were my fingers going to go again?" It happened one more time during Ampersand. This is how most train wrecks happen onstage (aside from the ones where you're lip syncing and the person at the soundboard starts the wrong song). I mentally crapped my pants and was sweating bullets for about 10 seconds, but thankfully kept playing, the right notes no less, and hopped back into my safe and cozy space-out mode without fucking up. Whew! Close one.

I made it to the end of my set without any other thinking interrupting me, and had a great time. Was great to see Matt, Shannon, and Folkerts take the stage and play their stuff. If anyone who was there is reading this, thanks for coming out! And if you weren't there, you suck (just kidding)

On a likely more entertaining side note: at the show, my homeboy Pete mentioned that he posted a game on his blog and that I would instantly win if I went to check it out and play it. "I like to win!" says I to myself, so I hopped online today to take a gander and almost spit chocolate milk through my nose when I saw it. Play the game here (hopefully that link will work). Hm, does that chump in the middle look remotely familiar? I hope not.

Man, I'd hate to be locked up in a car trunk.

I was walking down Harriet Avenue in Uptown the other day and heard a pigeon in the distance. I didn’t know it was a pigeon at first – it was sort of muffled and hard to tell exactly what direction or where it was coming from. My brain was spinning like a slot machine display trying to identify the noise. Was it a crying kid? Nope. An owl? Nope. Person locked in the trunk of that there car I’m walking past? Nope.

The mental slot machine stopped and all 3 bars contained an image of a pigeon. Oh, it’s just a dang pigeon, says I to myself.

Slight difference from someone locked in a car trunk. I got a good chuckle out of however my imagination drummed up such a strange thought. Maybe I've been watching too much Law and Order.

I began to wonder what I would do if I was walking past a car and someone was actually pounding on the bottom side of the trunk lid and hollering like crazy trying to get out. Think about it. It would be a rather interesting scenario to walk into, don’t you think?

First I would be inclined to stand at the trunk of the car with my hands cupped over my mouth yelling “HELLO? WHY ARE YOU IN THERE?” You never know… maybe the person was a member of some sort of gang or mob and was being really annoying, so the Boss ordered the boys to lock him up in the trunk. In that case, it might be best to keep on walking and whistle a tune to cover up the muffled yelling coming out of the car until you're far enough away to forget about it and get back to wondering what's on television later.

On the other hand, perhaps the person could have been playing hide and seek and found a really good hiding spot..? Or maybe he was getting something out of the trunk and the car ate him, sort of like the cars in the Stephen King story Maximum Overdrive.

It’s hard to say, really. I reckon what you would need to do if you walked past a car with a yelling trunk goes on a case by case basis. It really depends on what the individual did to get locked in the trunk. Perhaps automobile manufacturers should leave a notepad with a tiny flashlight in trunks for when people got locked in them so they could write down 1) that they're in the trunk, and 2) how they got there.

Another factor that might determine whether or not I'd help out sort of depends on the construction of the automobile. If it was the type where the back seats fold down, then the problem could be easily solved. If the person locked in was bright enough to kick out the back seats of the vehicle from inside the trunk, they could crawl through, unlock the back doors of the car and escape with great ease. So.. yeah, if it was one of those kinds of cars, I'd likely keep on a-walkin'. Because quite frankly, if you’re not bright enough to escape like that, maybe you deserve to be locked in the trunk of a car for a while.

Here, you should read this.

Lady on sidewalk: "Here, you should read this!"
Me: "Huh?" Lady on sidewalk hands me small booklet and continues walking.

If you've walked around in the city, chances are you know what I'm talking about: Human Jesus literature dispensers. 99... no, 100% of the time when I am confronted with a booklet like this or find one on a bus stop bench, always printed out on tissue thin paper, I know without even looking that it's something telling me I have a choice:

1) Read it and follow the beliefs and instructions preached within. Realize that I need to pray more and be a better person.
2) Ignore it and throw it in the trash, which in the pamphlet-giver's eyes is basically my telling Jesus that he can shove it and write me out a one-way ticket to the fiery oceans of Hell when it's my time to leave the planet.

Um... yeah. Needless to say, I opt for #2 every time unless there's funny pictures to look at and share with my siblings. Where do these people come from? Why do they give me this crap? Why do they think I care? Don't worry; I'm not preaching my beliefs on this blog thingie, mainly because I'm ignorant and too busy to have any - and if I did, I'd certainly fill my time up with more productive habits than having them printed out and giving them to complete strangers.

The weather is getting warmer and these people will once again be coming out by the dozens giving out these leaflets like they're going out of style, so watch out!

They should at least start printing that stuff out on Charmin - it's better quality paper, and I could at least put it to good use before throwing it out.

When the Hand turns into the Person

That there is the title of a yet-to-be-finished Iced Ink song and it goes quite nicely with today's journal entry topic: stoplights.

While executing a donut run to SA, I was waiting for the light to change so I could walk across Lyndale Ave. without being worried about being hit by a car. When trying to cross the street, on the traffic light an orange hand is illuminated to tell you nope, don't cross the street yet. Once the light changes, the hand turns into a walking stick figure which gives you the go ahead. Orange hand = no, walking stick figure = yes. Got it? Back in the old days, I remember when these signs simply said WALK and DON'T WALK, but with the popularity of people who evidently don't or can't read on the rise, they switched it to pictures because.. well.. pictures are easier to read.

So for us walkers out there, on the stoplights is a button I'm sure you're all familiar with: the "PRESS HERE FOR WALK" button. I've made feverish attempts to use this button over the years on many stoplights in hopes of engaging the WALK sign and have come to a conclusion: those buttons are only there to keep you busy while you're waiting. They don't shorten the wait whatsoever - if anything, they make you stand there like a dummy looking at the person light on the other traffic post waiting hopelessly for it to turn into a hand. I pressed the button and waited a good 35-40 seconds and there was no change in the traffic lights. I pressed it again. Nothing. Quick question: Have you ever seen a red light change within moments of pressing those buttons? I doubt it. I can't remember a time in my life when after pressing the WALK button that the lights changed and I was able to go on my merry way, making me a good 10-20 seconds earlier to my destination. I either wait it out or give up altogether and jaywalk. Or when I was a kid, I'd stand there in disappointment because the light never turned red in time to make the huge semi trucks have to stop and lose their momentum.

My grandpa told me a story once in regards to the WALK button which I always found particularly amusing (attn. troublemakers: you may want to jot this one down!) When they were kids, they'd glue thumbtacks to the button with the pointy side out so when an innocent unknowing pedestrian went to activate the button they'd instead end up with a nice fresh thumb piercing. YEEOWCH! 10 points to Gramps for 1) setting a good example for his grandson, and 2) being a lighthearted menace to society like that. No, it wouldn't be funny if it happened to you, but still, you've got to admit that's pretty ingenious cheap entertainment.

Back to the WALK button serving no purpose: people, these are your hard earned tax dollars being spent here. I think it's time we stand up and demand that The Button lives up to our expectations of it actually getting some work done when it's pressed. Or have it make a funny noise. Dispense vitamins. Gumballs. Or maybe put lights near the button that at least blink and give you something to look at while you're waiting.

I've had too much time to think lately... can you tell?

One of the best songs you'll never hear

As I sit here enjoying my potentially hazardous Freon-encrusted/scented/contaminated can of Diet Coke, I'm listening to one of the CDs I haven't sold out of my collection yet that I can never get enough of. The band is named Estradasphere, the CD is called "It's Understood". Just like every other time I give it a listen, it's blowing my mind. Trying to describe Estradasphere's music sort of like trying to explain my own band. People ask "What kind of music do you play?" and I usually quickly answer with a "yes!" or "all of it!" It's like trying to explain to someone over the phone how to paint a picture.

The song is called "Hunger Strike" and it's the first tune on the album. I say it's one of the best songs you'll never hear because unless you're one of the lucky few that has heard it already, chances are you'll either have a hard time tracking it down, or you'll finish reading this, pop in your latest, greatest top 10 CD you just bought at Target and forget about it. Or - you'll listen to it and think it sucks, which I think in this case counts as "not hearing it".

Ask people who P Diddy is and they'll probably know, even if they think he's a talentless shmuck. Ask people who Estradasphere is and they'll probably say "isn't that the guy from Chips?" As a musician, this makes me sad. There is a dreaded curse that most unconventional music like this carries: most people don't really give a rat's ass about it because it doesn't have a familiar sounding structure to keep their brains happy and content in their listening comfort zones. We have the fine people at Clear Channel and other dull suit and tie media programming bastardos to thank for that. They have brainwashed listeners by only exposing them to sugar coated crap that makes a quick buck and is shoveled onto the heap of used sugar coated crap when the new stuff rolls in. Look at me - I'm digressing and getting angry.. back to Estradasphere before things get ugly!

So.. this song "Hunger Strike" clocks in at an impressive nineteen minutes and thirty seconds, which is a ballsy way to start off a record if you ask me. When is the last time you bought a CD (non-classical, at least) and the first track kept you entertained and listening closely to the very end - some 20 minutes later? It's crammed full of some amazing violin playing, saxomophones, horns, jazz guitar, death metal, swing, and just about any other sound and style you can imagine. Anyone can slap a bunch of styles/genres together and call it a "song", but in many cases, it's unnatural sounding and there's no flow. Not the deal here. And better yet, there's no singing. Yay! 1 less annoying thing to filter out when I'm listening!

So... if you're ever looking for something off the beaten path and interesting to listen to, please check this band out. For you cheapskates out there, they're also on iTunes, so if you're feeling like buying the whole damned CD is a little too risky, you can buy a few songs for 99 cents a pop or at least check out the samples and hopefully see what I'm talking about.

All of a sudden, I'm really thirsty for some root beer.

I don't really understand it... we were driving home last night and before I knew it (or even thought it), my mouth was open and spewing these words: "Man... root beer really sounds good right now." It has been about 14 hours since that, and I haven't been able to let it go. Every time I close my eyes I see this:

A giant bottle of A&W. The sides of the bottle have a thin film of condensation on it which are beginning to accumulate into water drops that become so heavy they eventually have no choice but to glide down the brown white and orange label and onto the bottom of the bottle. A water ring eventually forms beneath the bottle, but in my mind I say "don't worry Mom, I know it's on a wood table, but I put a napkin under the bottle as to not leave a mark." I go to reach for the bottle, and then open my eyes only to realize there isn't one there. I then start to shiver, cry, regroup, and try to get on with the day.

I should have given in earlier today when I was at Super America, but I didn't. I wanted to get a fountain beverage because those are only 69 cents (a bottle is nearly twice that price and money isn't necessarily growing on trees for me right now), and all they had on tap was MUG brand root beer, which is so... generic and icky. I wanted A&W and nothing else. Had I gotten a MUG, that would have been like eating cold cuts on Thanksgiving instead of actual turkey. I instead opted for a rather unsatisfying Diet Coke, hoping this intense sugary craving would soon dissipate. Well.. 6 hours later and it hasn't. I'm dying here. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is that sweaty bottle of A&W.

At one point I looked at the cat and he suddenly took on the appearance of a bottle of root beer. Next thing I knew he was screeching at me because I had mistook his head for a bottle cap and was trying to unscrew it.

Apparently my body is lacking some obscure nutrient and/or vitamin that nutritionists and chemists have not yet discovered in A&W but can only be found in A&W.. and my body is trying to tell me via this inexplicable craving. I'm not necessarily a root beer maniac - I mean, I like a good cold one every so often, and even a float on rare occasions... but it's mostly a warm weather drink for me. It's 20 degrees out right now and to get my A&W fix, I'd have to put my jacket on, freeze my ass off walking to SA, fork over the $1.09, and freeze my ass off walking back home. And I wouldn't be able to wait until I got home... Hell no, I'd crack that bottle right open as soon as I got out of SA and guzzle it like you see athletes doing on Gatorade commercials. I'd be standing there in 20 degree weather, just me and my bottle of A&W on our own little imaginary tropical island, and then I'd get honked at because I'd be too preoccupied with my bottle of A&W to be paying attention to the traffic I was walking into.

Screw this.. I'm getting my jacket on and going on a root beer run. Don't worry, I'll look both ways for cars before I crack the bottle open.