The Big Nothing:

Being a geetarist, I occasionally stumble upon ideas that have been buried in the back of my mind for quite some time and am not sure how I suddenly remember them after they've been gone for so long. Sort of like every so often when I catch a whiff of certain brands of bubble bath. I'm suddenly brought back to when I was a kid and received a bottle of dinosaur bubble bath for Christmas with that same scent. All of a sudden there it is in my brain: the bottle with the hard brown plastic T-rex head on it and the smell of the thick wrapping paper whomever gave it to me used to coat it.

And so it happened today when I picked up my guitar: a haunting, depressing, beautiful, minimalist little song came out of my fingertips that I hadn't remembered or played in a good ten or so years called "The Big Nothing". I was 22 during its inception and it was my way of giving a nice big middle finger to the quandaries that tend to arise when you're a hopeless romantic. I couldn't figure out how to finish the tune off and left it at that.

Due to circumstances as of late (not to mention I'm about a block away from where I originally wrote it), out it popped again like an old high school friend a few days ago to finish itself off. All of the gaps and holes it once had have been resolved. POOF! It returned like it never left.

I love it and wonder where it's been hiding out the last ten years. Regardless, it's nice to have it back and I now wonder when the next old song will jump out at me from out of nowhere like this one did.

p.s. - It'll be ripe and ready for its debut at this show *cough cough*

How my job search just got even slower

2 words: 56K modem.

Here is the process:

1) Log onto internet
2) Look on job pages, bite nails and pull out hair while waiting at least 30 seconds for pages to load
3) Once page is half loaded, internet disconnects
4) Reconnect to internet
5) Contemplate taking a laptop to go use coffee shop wifi
6) Realize nearest coffee shop wifi is 20 miles from here
7) Say a lot of bad words
8) Rip more hair out

Rinse, lather, repeat.

Being here at my parents is supposed to be a productive time and I appreciate their selfless hospitality. But I've just taken one step up and two steps back with the very tool I'm using to help land a job and am one step from saying f*&k it and going to apply at McDonalds.

Whooptie friggin doo. Somebody please kill me, thanks, I'd appreciate it.

To be continued...

Corduroy Silencers

I was walking around in Barnes and Noble today while wearing corduroy pants.

I like corduroys as much as the next guy, but they were making that fwwwwip..fwwwwwip.. noise as I was walking from the inner leg areas rubbing together. It's fine most of the other time, but when I'm in a quiet place like Barnes and Noble and I hear my pants as I'm walking, it starts to piss me off a little and I start looking around to see if anyone's noticing the sound. Sort of that same paranoia you get when your shoes are squeaking really loud on the freshly buffed floors of Target.

So anyways. Does anyone know if they still make those iron-on elbow patches for long sleeve shirts? If I recall correctly, you used to be able to get corduroy ones.

If so, I'm gonna get a set of two and stick those bad boys on my cords on the upper inner leg area. And I'm gonna stick 'em on there sideways, because if you get two cord pant legs rubbing together and the grain of the corduroy runs horizontal rather than vertical, they would be way more quiet to walk in. More of a barely audible swishhh swishh... I definitely wouldn't be getting mad at my pants if that were the case opposed to the way it is now.

Sidenote: While at B&N, I stumbled upon a book called Superstud: Or How I Became a 24-Year-Old Virgin by Paul Feig, coincidentally the creator of one of my favorite shows ever, Freaks and Geeks. It was a hilarious read and I highly recommend it if you liked the show or are on the market for some good literary candy - expeshilly if you are or once were a teenage boy. I damn near plowed through almost half of it before some sluts came over and started bothering me causing me to make like a tree and get outa there.

The Herpes of Nature

I truly believe there is no God.

Why?

Because as of today, a bevy of chigger bites have appeared on my skin.

Chiggers are the herpes of nature. They give you bites that itch something fierce, and itch even more when scratched. Then you think it's all over and hours later your clothing will ever so gently touch your skin, the wind blows the wrong direction, whatever, and the shit flares up all over again. Being a seasoned chigger victim, I know for a fact that this insanity will now go on for weeks before letting up. If there were a God, he/she/it would not have created such an insipid, destructive creature. Their existence is even more useless than mosquitoes, because at least skeetos make for good bat food. Chiggers are not cute. Unlike fleas, you cannot train them to become circus performers. I seriously doubt that chiggers are ranked very high in the food chain or that other animals prey upon them. So why are they here?

Give me one good reason why chiggers need to exist, please. I bet you're at a loss for words. Why? Because much like Celine Dion CDs, there are no good reasons for chiggers to exist. They leach onto you without first asking, which is very rude mind you, and poke multiple teeny little itchy holes into your skin that drive you to the point of self defenestration.

As you may have read in the informative documentation I linked to at the beginning of this piss and moan session, you get 'em from traipsing through nature. The most nature I've been through is mown grass here on my parent's acreage the other day for a minute or two. As a result of walking on the mown grass which I thought would be safe, I noticed chigger bites on my ankles. Okay, understandable, I guess. Ankles are fair game, I'll give them that one. They're close to the ground and are connected to your feet - the very utensils you use to transport yourself through mown grass.

But after awakening from a nap today, I came to realize that areas of my person at much-higher-than-ankle altitude have been overthrown by these little fuckers. I can count at least 6 areas on my upper legs with some hella itchy chigger bite areas, and worse yet, 2 chigger patches have now appeared on my hips. And I'm sure more will appear in due time.

My hips. I did not roll naked in the well manicured, yet chigger-infested pastures that surround Rancho Relaxo, yet one would swear I did by the looks of my skin.

So here I sit itching myself until my skin burns. And then the itch subsides - only to be replaced by intense post-itching burn.

Screw you, chiggers. Let this be a warning to all of you: If I spot even the slightest sign of your handiwork near my junk (a.k.a. the Privates, the jewels, the lower abdominal area, etc.), I'm going to have to take that giant gas can out in Dad's garage, water the lawn with it, and throw a lit match on it from a safe distance. I will watch your sorry asses burn in sweet Hell, and will love every minute of it.

Good day.

Cats are awesome.

If you’re not a cat person, you may as well just skip this one and go about your daily business, you filthy cat-hating ninny.

My new kitty Frank has finally come out of his shell 3 weeks after my adopting him at the used pet outlet center, a.k.a. Tha Animal Humane Society. It’s always a little scary with a new pet as I was telling Berkman the other night, as you’re always a little worried they’re gonna be duds – cats in particular. Either you get a hider, which are the cats that give cats a bad rap, or you get one that wants to be friendly and hang out with you all the time. Thankfully Frank finally came to last week and is indeed a hanger-outer.

Yesterday I went to live at my parents for a little while and decided I warn’t gonna do it without my new little buddy, so with the okay from Moms and Pops (bless their souls), I plopped Frank in the Death Star and we were off to Rancho Relaxo. The air was thick with danky heat and he was a-panting like a dog for the most part, but he hung in there like a trooper and made it to the Ranch A-OK. During the ride, he proved himself to be quite the entertaining and reliable passenger, which I was very relieved to discover. Not too many cats are travel-savy and I always like mine to be so’s I can take them up to the cabin, so that was very cool. Perhaps it was the soothing comfort of the Death Star that helped him remain composed.

Upon arrival at Rancho Relaxo, he hid for a while, but eventually ended up coming out and saying hi to everyone... still need to work on peaceful co-inhabitance with the dog, but I'm sure that will resolve itself in a few days.

When Frank takes a dump or goes pee, I’ve noticed it’s never covered up (when cats go, they usually cover up their dootie with surrounding cat litter). I discovered why this is: He does indeed go to cover it up, but scratches the top of the litterbox rather than the litter itself. He continually goes back realizing he didn’t fulfill his mission of dootie coverage and takes another stab at scratching the top of the litterbox to try to cover it up. It’s sort of the human equivalent to taking a dump next to the toilet and then flushing it. Very bright! I'm thinking maybe I need to dip the litterbox lid first in a mixture of eggs and milk and then cat litter to "bread" it so he's at least getting some coverage by scratching the breading off of the lid.

Another strange behavior I’ve noticed is he scratches the ground as he drinks water.

You know, I think I might have a fix for this litterbox thing. I’m putting his water bowl in the litterbox.. that way when he does the drink scratch, he’ll potentially cover up his poo and maybe make a connection.

“Why doan chu go see how far chu can steek chor head up chor ass?”

Those words, my friends, are the recipe for getting your drug-deal partner bound, gagged, and carved up with a chainsaw like a Thanksgiving turkey while a nice man points a gun to your head to make sure you’re watching.

Ah, the wonderful splendor and glory of cinema.

I watched Scarface the other night for the first time since I was a youngen. Very charming, happy la la family fun piece of work, I must say! The soundtrack was so cheesy that it really dated the film… if the soundtrack in a movie stands out, it means it’s either really good or really bad… sadly, Scarface falls in the latter of the two categories. But other than that it was great, man. Or as Tony would say, "foh-king grate, mang!"

They sure say 'fuck' in this movie a lot, says I to myself as I was watchin' it. I just want to walk around saying "Fug chu, mang, you fugging peese of chit!" to everyone I see now as a result. As a matter of fact, I bet if somebody developed a drinking game where every time the F-word was used and you had to do a shot, you wouldn't be able to feel your legs after about 20 minutes. They even pointed the gratuitous F-word abuse out in the movie itself: A Grease 2-era Michelle Pfeiffer plays Tony's (Al Pacino's) wife and yells him saying he says "fugg" too much. When you're thinking it as a viewer and then one of the characters points it out like that, it makes you feel like you told her in private that maybe she might want to talk to him about it.

You could also make a drinking game by taking a shot every time someone in the movie gets shot. It prolly wouldn't be as consistently intoxicating as the F-word drinking game. That is until the very end - where after copping a light buzz for most of the movie, your liver would receive a tidal wave of liquor and you could very well suffer from blood alcohol poisoning. A shitstorm of approximately 18,872 bullets fly through the air and take up residence in who and whatever happens to be in their paths. Nearly everything in the set was turned into swiss cheese and it was hella awesome, let me tell you. Most believe that those were just actors acting, but I heard that they were actually really getting shot to make the film a little more convincible.

I was very amused watching Al Pacino's mouth move whenever he talked, especially when he was really pissed off. It looked very silly, sort of like it was on spin cycle. And his sister’s cotton-candy hair... priceless.

If there was a “Most Cocaine Snorted in a Motion Picture” academy award in 1983, this movie would surely take home the cake. Seeing Pacino just bury his face in mountains of coke made me want to jump on a unicorn and fly through rainbows throwing lollipops from a magic bag.

Overall, this was a great film and I’m probably going to go watch it again now with aspirations of someday owning a bathtub the size of a small house in which I can take small house-sized bubble baths, smoke Cuban cee-gars, wear gold chains, and say the F-word too much. All while watching the giant TV located at the foot of the small house-sized tub.

“Say allo to ma leetle frend…”

NO GUNS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS EXIT

We had lunch the other day in a local watering hole and I noticed a sign that caught my attention. It read:

NO GUNS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS ENTRANCE.

"But Micycle, I see those all over the place!" you say. Well DUH, but this one caught my attention because it was put up on the door so you could only see and read it as you were on your way out of the place. Usually places of business have these signs posted so they're visible from the outside of the establishment, but I guess this place is taking a new approach: Sure, bring your guns in, but you have to leave 'em here. Instead of protecting their employees and clientele, they're more concerned for the safety of everyone else.

Person 1: "Mmm, that lunch was delicious! Want to go see a movie or something?"
Person 2: "Okay!"
[both getting up and walking towards door]
Person 1: "Aw, shit."
Person 2: "What...?"
Person 1: "Looks like I have to leave my gun here."

These signs are just plain silly to begin with... I think before their inception we all pretty much knew to keep the guns at home when going to rent a movie or getting a latte. So I guess it's kind of cool that this place gave it a new twist by allowing guns into the place but not letting them out. Perhaps they're part of an underground gun sales ring and were running low on inventory.

I've always thought it would be better to have a NO GNUS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS ENTRANCE sign in the window, 'cause when I bring my pet gnu around, I get pretty pissed when I walk in with him and they tell me he has to stay tied up outside.

Introducing the Meat Smoothie Online Store

I've always daydreamed about making my own ridiculous T-shirts and stickers... seems as if I've finally stumbled onto a place which will allow me to do so. And better yet, you can spend your hard-earned money on it! And even better yet, I get a (small) cut of the profits!

Get out those credit cards and click here: http://www.cafepress.com/micycle

Keep checking back, as waaaaaay more stuff is on its way... ideas are pouring out of my head like there's no tomorrow. I'll be wiping my nose with $100 bills before I know it.

Can you hear me now?

I'm sitting at the coffee shop looking for work and listening to yet another pompous asshole talk way too loud on his cellular device. This happens about 8 out of 10 times I sit in coffee shops and although I'm all about getting to know the people around me, there's a time and a place. Last Friday I was at Starbucks trying to update my resume and was too distracted listening to some lass with her headset on a few tables away talking about how she was in Minnesota now and how hot it was.

Back to present time: I'm about 20 feet away from Mr. Cellphone, and thanks to the acoustics of the room, his voice is reverberating throughout it like we're in the Grand Canyon. I sure am getting to know him well. Need proof?

By most people's health standards he's very healthy. He ran yesterday training for a marathon and his goal was 4 hours. Guess what he finished at? 3:59:23! Hahaha!! Oh, wow he's so healthy. He's wearing shorts.. is that okay? He's planning on wearing them to lunch unless the person on the other end of the phone thinks otherwise. He did shave just for him/her, though. Hahaha!!

Yeah, real funny! I hear there's some open mic nights at Acme Comedy Co. that you might want to look into, dude. Here's something else that would be real funny: Use your inside voice for once. Don't be the annoying cell phone person. Please. For the love of Gawd. For the love of respect. For the love of me not taking the straw out of my iced mocha, getting up out of my chair, shoving that straw into your eye socket, pulling it out, and blowing through the straw to shoot the tube of eye I just removed from your head into your face.

Cell phones are great things. So you get a brain tumor or two with prolonged use.. they do come in handy more often than not. Other than the obvious car breakdown/emergency practicalities, I've found them to be quite useful when I forget my slide at band practice. They're also great for pretending I'm having a conversation when the need arises, such as when I'm walking around in the city and see a transient attempting to make eye contact with me to axsk me for spare monies that I ain't got. Cell phones are great to play with when you're bored. I also like carrying a cell phone around because it creates a cumbersome buldge in my back pocket that I often forget about and sit on.

Back to cell phone etiquette 101. 3 things that would make this world a better place in regards to cell phone use:

1. Use your inside voice
2. Weaving around the roads is fun and all, but pull over if you can't drive and talk on your cell simultaneously.
3. You don't need to wear that cell phone earpiece when you're pumping gas or in line getting coffee. We all appreciate the fact that you are in such demand and so important, but quite frankly, you look like an idiot. I saw a guy yesterday at the PUMP-N-MUNCH gas station (yes, that's the real name - this particular gentleman was Pumping, and perhaps wondering what to go in to get so he could then Munch). He was wearing a cell phone apparatus in his ear which looked like a cross between a McDonalds drive thru headset and a botched design for a Buck Rogers communication device. Beedeebeedeebeedee.
   

Such simple things to do, yet so few cell phone users seem to be capable of following through with them. When I answer my calls in public, I am very careful with making sure I carry my conversations to a secluded area so other people don't have to listen to my yammering. I also make sure to keep my phone on vibrate under such circumstances so when I am called, not everybody needs to be up to date with what ringtone I have chosen as of late. Not to mention it's good to have your phone on vibrate when having a fake conversation - 'cause it would look quite peculiar to a transient/would-be-axe-murderer if you were yacking away to your imaginary friend and the phone rang.

One more thing: if you're talking to someone in the room and get a call, unless it's a life or death emergency type of situation, show some respect to the person you're already talking to and take the call later.

Pardon me, I have an incoming call.

I'll take 1 Big Mac and a copy of "Red Dawn"

It's time for you to meet RedBox.

If you haven’t seen the ads yet, Mac-Donald’s now rents movies via a giant red robotic cube placed in the lobby called a Redbox. Pay it a dollar and it will spit out a movie for you to watch and return within 24 hours. As long as you have a major credit card with which to swipe through the Red Robot.

At first I was quick to question this. It seems to be an odd pairing – a McNugget Value Combo Meal and one night rental of “Hitch”. Why would Mac-Donald’s feel the need to provide such a service? Is business really that bad where they need to lure in a billion more customers?

But then on the other hand, just like every damn thang else in today’s complex world of retail branding and consumer brainwashing, why not? You can never really say “I’ve seen it all,” because just when you say it, something ridiculous like the marriage of movie rentals and fast food comes along. And I’m sure it will be a success.

After the novelty of this wears off, it will be on to the next gimmick. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to be able to get an oil change and simultaneously purchase an Oreo Blizzard at a Dairy Queen/Rapid Oil Change. Go to Starbucks and be able to pick out a new pet hamster or gerbil (plus accessories) while waiting for my iced mocha.

It would be nice someday to be able to buy minnows, worms, and other live bait at Quiznos. Going to Chipotle? Why not have the luxury of picking out some new carpet while you’re dining? I’d also like to someday go to Target and be able to buy groceries… no wait, they’ve already made that one possible.

You know, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Super Size Me. I’m gonna go get me a Big Mac and see if Red Box is capable of renting out a movie which nutritionally belittles the very institution it resides in.

Diary of an ant

Friday

Not much new today. We are building a new hill, as some bastard kid rode his bike over our old one and took it out. Ha ha, very funny. We'll show him. We're gonna build the new one closer to the edge of the sidewalk and make it twice as tall.

I heard Cousin Danny was fried by a magnifying glass today. Dad is still recovering from running away from the white dot of fire chasing him down the driveway. He lost part of his back leg, but thankfully made it back to the hole in time. Damned kids.

Sunday

New hill is built. This one kicks ass; it's right on the edge of the sidewalk and leads into a huge crevice which hooks up to the main tunnel. It's got to be a good 3/4" tall at least. Not much new, same old same old. Mark found a piece of a Hershey Bar across the street and it took 67 of us to pick it up and make the long journey back to the Hiding Place.

Monday

Things aren't looking so good. Although our new hill was bigger and better, we forgot to take lawnmowers into consideration. One pass over it and it was gone. Still doing a body count, but we do know we lost 34 friends and family members at this point and I can't find my sister. It's a disaster. What once stood 3/4" tall over the sidewalk by the grass has now been completely leveled. I need to go help clean up now.

to be continued

Chicken Twinkies for dinner

Last night I whooped up a nice nuclear Heat-N-Eat dinner which featured Chicken Twinkies as the main course. I usually like to take more of a from-scratch approach, but sometimes when you're short on time or other ingredients, it's fun to try something that should probably have a skull and crossbones somewhere on the box.

What are Chicken Twinkies, you say? They are little chicken footballs available in your grocer's freezer section that come in a coffin that looks like the image to the right. Mmm... makes you salivate, doesn't it?

They come filled with various mysterious goos of your choice: Butter, Broccoli and Cheese, or Cordon Bleu. We enjoyed the Cordon Bleu blend last night, and although it was a very bizarre dining experience, they were quite delicious.

I say 'bizarre' because I'm not exactly sure how they're built (and probably don't want to know) and the Cordon Blue not only had cheese in it, but ham as well. Every time I've had chicken in the past, I've never found other meat in it. At least not that I know of - fast food places manage to hide that stuff pretty well. But inside these Chicken Twinkes is ham. This leads me to think that perhaps this chicken meat goes through a few alterations prior to becoming the final product that it is. (Gee wiz, Mike, you think so?) I cannot imagine it being too easy to inject a solid ball of chicken meat with ham and cheese and am curious as to how such a thing is assembled. I assume it goes something like this:

1. Roll cheese into small ball
2. Wrap with sheets of delicious thin-sliced Ham Food. 'Ham Food' is what I envision they use - it's a product of my imagination, but I really can't think of how else you'd get ham to stay in that shape. I reckon it's a maleable, pliable silly-putty type of meat which hardens and develops a lifelike ham texture when laid out to dry.
3. Roll Ham Food/cheese balls in chicken paste until 1/2" thick accumulation of chicken paste adheres to Ham Food/cheese ball.
4. Roll Ham Food/cheese/chicken ball in layer of fattening breading and deep fry to solidify.
5. Package up and ship to grocery stores where ignorant consumers will buy them with little regards to how fucked up what they're going to eat really is.

Yeah, it's really pretty unappetizing, isn't it?? But we eat it anyways, and damn is it ever good. As in "I know I just ate one but I want another Chicken Twinkie" good. We had sides of corn and Rice-A-Roni to balance it out, so it wasn't all that toxic. I think.

Next time you're in your grocer's freezer section and are feeling a little risky, pick some of these up. It's been about 24 hours and I'm still alive and kickin', so they can't be all that harmful.

On a side note, why is 'ham' called 'ham' and not 'pig'? When you eat chicken, you call it 'chicken'. Same goes for turkey. No other fancy terms are used; you call it what it is. But there ain't no meat I know of that people serve and refer to as 'pig'. It's either bacon, pork, or ham. That's 3 different names of meats from one animal and a little misleading if you ask me. You don't see a pig on a farm and say "Oh look, kids - there's a ham!"

Pimpin' the Ink

My band Iced Ink is playing a FREE show on June 24th with the all encompassingly awesome Silly Little Nothings, one of my favorite bands in the area. Ne'er heard the other two bands, but if SLN hand picked them, I bet they're equally as awesome.

If you live in the cities or like to drive really far to see bands you've never heard of, here is a ticket that will get you in fo FREE (click to enlarge):



There are two catches: you must 1) remember to bring the ticket, and 2) remember to show up on June 24th. You can show up on any day other than the 24th, but it's highly unlikely that you'll find us there playing.

More info on icedink.net>>

Introducing the antibacterial Nicotine Patch from the makers of Band-Aid

Just saw an ad on the TV for a nicotine patch and thought out loud, "Why not partner with the Band-Aid company and make a dual purpose bandage/nicotine patch?"

They could put the nicotine solution on the white cottony part of the bandage and who knows, perhaps it would make for a great anti-bacterial ointment as well. Plus if you had a patch adhered to your person, it might provide an extra comforting numbness you might not get otherwise and help ease the pain.. 'cause whatever is on the patch would be that much closer to entering your bloodstream.

This could be bad for people having a hard time quitting smoking as they might purposely cut or scrape themselves so they could use a patch... and on the flipside, it might be bad for non-smokers who think they're just putting a regular old Band-Aid on and get an unexpected rush of nausea and light-headedness. They may even start smoking as a result. And if people wanted Winnie The Pooh or Barney Band-Aids, it would send children the wrong message without them even knowing it. But if the company put a Surgeon General's warning on the box, something like "Frequent use of this product may cause addiction to Band-Aids" or "You must be 18 to buy these Band-Aids," that might be enough of a deterrent.

I can see it now... people hanging out in bars and at parties not smoking, but wearing Band-Aids instead. The air would be so much more breathable and clean; that is if you don't mind that weird clinical Band-Aid smell. "What happened to your finger, Jimmy?" "Oh nothing, just trying to quit smoking."

I guess if you have to put a warning label on something like Band-Aids which are designed to help you and not kill you, or at the very least spark an expensive addiction which wouldn't have happened otherwise, that might be sort of counterintuitive.

Yeah, now that I think about it, it's a pretty shitty idea. Never mind.

From the Department of the Obvious

I experienced a breaking local news story yesterday on channel 5 in regards to how to deal with the heat and humidity. Viewers were advised the following if feeling exhausted and lethargic due to our current weather conditions (that being somewhat hot and humid):

1. Turn on the air conditioner
2. Take cold showers
3. If symptoms persist, see a doctor.

I was waiting for more great tips like this, maybe something like don't participate in strenuous activity, don't wear a winter jacket, and don't sit in the sun for too long, but that's all they had. Perhaps they were pressed for time and had to move on to even less informative news, like what the weather was like outside at that minute.

Okay, I think I get it now. After all these years of sitting around in the summer wondering why I felt so hot and not knowing what to do about it, I will take this tips to heart and see if they help. So it's the weather that's been making me feel that way all this time. Ah-HA! I feared I had seasonal malaria or something. Okay. If I feel like I'm a little too warm, I'm supposed to expose myself to air conditioning. Wow! I always wondered why people used those things.. now it all makes sense. And take a cold shower? I would have opted for the hottest water possible, but I guess cold water would cool a person off a bit better.

I will sit by the TV with baited breath when it gets cold out just in case they do a segment on how not to be cold. I usually leave the windows wide open in the winter to let the cold air out of the house, but I just might be wrong on that one.

Maybe the first tip will be "Watch obvious news tips on warming up in cold weather. That way you'll get frustrated at what f*&king idiotic tips will be provided and your body heat will rise as a result."

A short one for good measure

After reading through my past journal entries, I've realized that Holy Hell, I sure am a wordy long-winded sonofabitch. Paragraph after paragraph... blah blah blah! It is a side effect of having no job and nothing better to do other than look for jobs, which I do for hours on end in between taking breaks to catch up on emails and write long winded blogs.

So just to even things out a bit, I'm gonna make this one really short, concise, and get right to the point:

I ate a lot of cheese last night before bed. It was sharp cheddar and very delilcious.

The End.

Thanks for The Death Star, Grandma!

No, this ain't about no Star Wars, but it is about my new used 1987 Ford Escort station wagon which my sister aptly named The Death Star.

When I was a kid, I told myself over and over again "I am NEVER going to drive or own a station wagon. Ever!" I thought they were sooooo uncool. I was gonna grow up and get me a Dukes of Hazzard car or something awesome like that.

I'd like to go back in time and tell young me: "Hey, guess what, Me! You're going to have not one, but TWO station wagons when you grow up! And one of them is even going to have wood paneling!" I can only imagine the look of terror on Young Me's face upon hearing the news that one day I would only be driving cars with windows on the trunks. That would be a priceless expression indeed, not to mention the extra shock on Young Me's face when Older Me busted out a digital camera to take a picture of said priceless expression.

Contrary to my thoughts of them as a kid, I can't see myself driving anything non-station wagon for quite some time now... reason being I freakin' love driving station wagons. Being a musician, there's nothing better to lug your gear around in. Not to mention, old station wagons are so lame that they're actually kind of cool.

So YEP - I now own two station wagons. Why? I am sad to report that the Pinto is out of commission until I can get a job and affode to have clutch surgery performed on it. So technically, I was without a ride. Knowing this, my ever-so-generous Grandma who recently bought a sexy new Electric Lime-colored Saturn decided she didn't need two cars. She suggested I adopt her black 87 Escort to which I gladly obliged, because the only thing better than a new used car is a new used car that you know was properly taken care of.

If you do a little A/B comparison, you will see the two vehicles which I now have ownership over bear uncanny similarities towards one another:

74 Pinto:

• 45,000 miles
• Ford station wagon
• Near mint condition
• Bought/driven by grandparent

87 Escort:

• 60,000 miles
• Ford station wagon
• Near mint condition
• Bought/driven by grandparent

Sheesh, if a person didn't know any better, one would think these two former wagon drivers were married at one time. Grandma's mileage was a bit higher as you may have noticed, but my Grandpa had approximately 20 vehicles at any given time and drove as much as a fish swims in water... otherwise the Pinto's odometer would be at about 4,987,299,923.8 miles at this point.

My poor Grandma had to endure 2 hours of "bonding" with me at the St. Paul Midway DMV. It's not the hanging out with me part that I feel sympathy towards her for - it was the atmosphere and company we were stuck in to transfer the title. If you've never been, the only thing missing from that DMV is a check cashing/buy-your-phonecards-here booth and a Laundromat with small children running around in their underwear. Maybe a liquor store, too. And a back room with cockfights (yeah, ha ha, I said "cockfights").

It's surprising that they haven't installed inch thick bulletproof glass at the DMV counter yet - if I didn't know any better, I could have sworn we were in the State penitentiary hanging out with axe murderers, drug dealers, and people who ripped tags off of mattresses. A great deal of our time was spent listening to Gangsta Bitch Barbie in line with her 3 kids yelling at her boyfriend via cell phone and using the word FUCK as if she was reading what she was saying from a piece of paper but replacing the spaces in between each word with the word FUCK. Um.. yeah, sorry about that, Grams.

But yeah, the Death Star is a sweet-ass ride. Grandma took immaculate care of it - although it is nearly two decades old, it's practically showroom floor-new. Its shoulder seat belts are robotic and drag themselves across your shoulder when you get in. This is a very handy feature for people like me who are rather forgetful in regards to putting on a seat belt (sorry you had to read that, Mom). Thinking of the hundreds of dollars that will potentially save me in DWSB tickets (Driving Without Seat Belt), this car is worth its weight in gold.

It also has cruise control and tilt steering. There's nothing quite like opening that hog up on I94 at 65mph and not having to have my foot on the gas pedal.

One thing it doesn't have yet is a radio. But that's okay, 'cause when I have that cruise control locked in, I'm able to reach in the back seat, grab my guitar, and practice for a little while. It was hard learning to steer with my knees while playing guitar at first, but I pretty much have it down pat now.

So thanks a lot, Grandma! I still don't have a stinkin' job but thanks to you when I get one, I'll be able to get there in a dependable vehicle. And I'll take very good care of it for you.

In the mean time, I'll just keep hittin' that Interstate and keeping my guitar chops up to snuff.

The day after...

Iced Ink's first show with Barry at the Triple Rock went very well last night! Was a blast to finally play that stage, although I was a bit shot by the time we hit the stage - roughly 1AM. Ouch. One thing that didn't help much were the free drinks the club offered to the bands. One gets thirsty while waiting so long to get onstage, and unlimited free beer drinks over the course of 6 hours can be a recipe for disaster for even the most anti-alcoholic individuals. Thankfully I was able to moderate thruout the evening. Kind of.

We played a lot of Ink classics as well as a few newer ones, and the few people whose opinions I value (i.e.- people that will tell me the truth and not just kiss my ass) told me it sounded different, but just as good as Iced Ink 1.0 and that we definitely chose the right guy. I knew this would be the case, of course, but it was nice to get such positive reception and get that first gig out of the way. Another good sign is when someone walks up to me after our sets shaking their head and just saying "Dude..." That happened at least a good half dozen or so times last night.

That is the only word I need to hear. "Dude" sums up a good set rather nicely. If you ever want to approach the stage after we play and are at a lack of words, "Dude" will definitely suffice. "Dude" is a way better one word review than something like "sucky"... or "limp".. or "hashbrowns".

Back to going on at 1am. Me = not a big fan of the 2am bar closing time in the cities. Those of you who don't live here: 2am closing just started last year - before that it was 1am. Perhaps if they voted for 2am closing on the weekends only I'd understand, but honestly - 2am on a weeknight? Maybe it works well for the lameass dance clubs, but for live music, you're gonna be hard pressed to get anyone to stay out that late on a weeknight to support your band no matter how much they love you or how much you pay them. When you're a musician, 2am closing means 1 extra hour of standing around like a dope waiting to play. Personally, it's sort of like I'm re-living the "Fall Back" day of daylight savings time every show I play, and you know how much that can screw a person up.

We had to load in at 7:30 last night which means standing around for roughly 6 hours. I can't think of anything I want to do for 6 hours. Well.. maybe a few things. But yeah... 6 hours. That's like running a f$%kin' marathon, but remaining stationary and yelling over loud music to talk to people instead of running.

Regardless, it's part of being in a band. I really need to bring a paddleball game, some fingercuffs, Barbie Dolls... something to keep myself busy. Like Paul Stanley once said, "If you're lucky enough to get what you wanted, then shut the fuck up!" It was great to get out and let loose the monster that is Iced Ink 2.0 with all of the other great bands. And I was surprised to see a lot of people (more than I expected, at least) stick around till the bitter end. You still had the energy to hoop, holler, and applaud! Kudos to you outstanding individuals - if you're reading this you know who you are. You deserve a free frozen turkey for your dedication. Or a nice 10% coupon off your next dry cleaning bill. I'll see what I can do should we ever have to play so late again on a weeknight - you should not go without proper reward.

And for those of you who chose to stay home in lieu of standing at a bar for 4 hours and getting up for work the next morning, I don't blame you one bit. Hell if you'd catch this fella at a bar that late on a weeknight if my band wasn't playing!

Very good things to come for all future paths Iced Ink shall travel. Or perhaps I should just say this:

"Dude..."

There's a Cat In Here

a.k.a. Hey Kids! It's time to play "Where's Frank?"

Study the pic below and see if you can spot him.

As you can plainly see, our dear little Francis is coming out of his shell and fearless as ever. Above he is shown hiding behind the microwave in fear.. er.. I mean.. helping me make dinner last night.

Alas, Chicken Little is actually doing a great job of adjusting in his new scary world. Each day he comes out a little bit further than the previous. After his hiding behind the microwave phase subsides, perhaps he'll graduate to standing in the doorway and watching us.

Coming soon to Meat Smoothie Dot Blogspot Dot Com: Adoption of a Grandparent Grocery-Getter, Volume II

Meet Frank

Frank Version 3.0 (i.e. - not Frank 1 or 2 whom I was unable to take home as mentioned in a previous journal entry) came home with me on Friday from the Golden Valley Humane Society:

Awww... whoosha widdo baby kiddy kiddy wow wow meow meow kiddy. He feels rather threatened by his new roommate Beans, a big scary dog that has been known to play with her squeaky toys and eat food - something any cat or human would see and be paralyzed in fear. I reckon it will be another couple of days before Frank realizes she's harmless and will feel safe leaving his comfort bubble (the closet), but he's doing better every day. I think.

He's approx. 1.5 years old and in his old home, his name was "Spreewell". So far I can tell you that he has a funny voice, eats and shits like it's going out of style, and is an incredibly friendly, affectionate little feller. He was given up because the daughter in his old home developed allergies by being around him. Their loss, our gain. When Kimb informed me that "Spreewell" is the name of a troublemaking athlete, I felt that if worse comes to worse and he never leaves the closet, at least I saved him from going through life being named after a basketball player. Now he's named after Mr. Zappa, not to mention when both pets are able to mingle, we'll have Frank and Beans. If you've seen Something About Mary, you know that's what the mentally retarded brother kept repeating over and over when Ben Stiller zipped his junk in his prom pants. I'm all about the high-brow movie references like that.

In this day and age of technology, almost all animal shelters perform a procedure to all of their orphans referred to as "chipping". No, it's not accidentally breaking a small piece of the animal off or throwing potato chips at them. It's implanting a teeny microchip in the animal so they can be tracked down should they get lost. I fear that this might carry some side effects such as Frank blacking out whenever I use the microwave, my cell phone signal weakening when he's by me, and him making a rainbow pattern on the TV screen when he walks past it.

I also worry, what if there was a mixup with the microchips and he's carrying top secret government information around in his little 11 pound body? That would suck, but I guess at least they couldn't track him down.

But the important thing is he's found a good home and I found a great cat. I have a feeling he's going to rule once he gets over this stage fright with the dawg and inspire many future blog entries... as I like to say: "There's no bad cats, only really stupid neurotic ones that little kids pick out just because they're cute and furry." (It's just a joke, people... just a joke.)

Hopefully I won't have to do anything to that chip like update its firmware or BIOS. 'Cause there's only 1 place I can find wheres the USB cord would plug into him, and I don't think he'd really want anything plugged into that area, if you know what I'm sayin.

My Mother's car is possessed by the Demons of Safety

My Mommy has been kind enough to loan me her red Toyota until I adopt my 2nd station wagon - this one from Grandma, ex-wife of the dude whose Pinto I was driving until the clutch went kaput.

I have discovered a strange occurrence in this car every so often and am not sure why it happens, so I'll do what any other paranoid schizophrenic would do and blame it on the paranormal.

When I go to get out of the car sometimes, my door is locked. The thing is, I don't lock it. "Oh, it's just an electronic safety feature of the car," you say. Sorry to doubt your suggestion, but this car is about 10 years old and I seriously doubt it was sold with that extra. I remember my Dad saying once that when you buy cars, don't go with too many fancy bells and whistles because it's just more stuff that will potentially fuck up and need to be fixed. 10 years ago, auto-locking cars were a pretty pimpy thing to have and I doubt that he dropped the extra Benjamins to have doors that lock themselves.

So why does this happen?! When I hit a bump does the lock somehow develop its own laws of physics and decide it needs to engage? Is Mom in the back seat hiding and locking it while I'm driving so I don't get carjacked? Strange.

Thanks though, Mom and Dad for letting me use the car until I get Gram's station wagon of death. The lock thing is starting to give me the creeps - you might want to have a man of holiness who knows how to fix cars take a look at it and maybe perform an exorcism.

Don't Be Sad... 2 Out of 133 Ain't Bad

Did I just refer to a Meat Loaf song? The end of civilization as we know it is near..

Off to the animal shelters I went this week to find me a new kitty, because Devo isn't around anymore to make me stand while I eat my dinner in lieu of sitting and having him dodge at it and piss me off (although I still miss the little guy like crazy, I must say!)

"New" kitty is not really the right way to say it now that I think about it, because all of the ones I've been looking at are used. That is all you find at animal shelters - used pets. Gently used, as many consignment shops like to say. "Cat-Go-Round - we sell recycled cats!"

I took that big first step and walked into an Animal Humane Society the other day for the first time since before the turn of the century. After mining through a vast sea of bad candidates I fell for a feisty little monkey named "George". George was really cool and I felt a little bad for him because it looked as if whomever the vet was that performed his de-balling surgery might have forgotten his corrective lenses at home that day. George trotted around with that tail of his pointed straight up exposing his deformity for all to see... now I don't know about you, but I ain't got no blind spot for cat butts, much less a Frankenstein-looking alteration beneath them. George was a darling little feller though, and I was minutes away from filling out an adoption form when the fire alarm went off. Everyone had to evacuate the premises and I figured heck, I should really take a day to think about this, so home I went.

The next day I visited a few more before ending up at the Animal Ark (where Devo was from) where I met The Cat. I'll call him Frank because his lame shelter-assigned name escapes me at this moment. Although Frank was de-balled, he didn't have much of a show going on back there like George did. I filled out the papers and alls they needed was the landlord's verbal consent. The landlord granted verbal consent so long as the cat was fixed and declawed. Turns out Frank still has his meathooks on his front end driver and passenger side as well as the back end, so no dice on him either. Why? Declawing is a rather inhumane thing to do to a cat and it's an Animal Ark Commandment that any cats leaving the Ark with claws need to keep 'em. Cheers to them for that because I agree. Negatory cheers for landlord because of the declawing request.

So I went back to where I found George thinking I'd grab him like I should have in the first place. George had found a home in the 24 hours since I'd been there last. CRIPES!

This evening we stopped at Feline Rescue and a different Humane Society, but nothing really jumped out at me (other than about 75 more cats which just didn't make the cut and a former co-worker of mine). I calmed my nerves with some chocolate and an A&W root beer on the way home not too incredibly bummed out, knowing that I'll bump into the right one eventually.

But I just want a cat, ladies and gentlemen. Out of the literally hundred-plus felines I've peeked at the past few days, I've connected with two of them and neither one is obtainable to me for aforementioned circumstances.

With that in mind, I have learned an important lesson when filling out cat adoption forms as far as telling them whether you rent or own your home: LIE.

Back to the shelters I go over the next few days. I'm sure if I have any luck you'll hear about it whether you like it or not. If you don't want to read blog entries about cats, go get your own damn blog and don't write about cats in it. Write about tennis or magazines or something... it's a free country!

If I open with a Meat Loaf reference, I certainly have to close with one: I'm outta here like a Bat Out Of Hell Part II.

Nose Harmonica

As I was on my way to band practice cranking Billy Joel's "Piano Man" to drown out the neighboring vehicle's earth shattering hippety hop, I was listening to Mr. Joel inhaling and exhaling through his harmonica. I then started thinking about playing harmonica myself.

I've got to get me a harp and learn how to play it sometime, but I'm not gonna play the thing the way it's supposed to be played. Nope. Instead of playing it with my mouth, I'm gonna git me one of those hands-free harmonica neck braces and adjust it about an inch higher so I can blow it with my nose. That way my mouth will be available for other activities such as playing a kazoo or singing. Or better yet, grabbing a lit cigarette from an audience member, taking a puff, and blowing the smoke out of my nose and into the harmonica so people would think it was on fire. That would be hella cool, I must say! I could even install a small lightbulb inside of the harmonica so when the smoke started coming out it would look like there was a flame inside of it. Sort of like Ace Frehley's smoking pickup in his Les Paul, only way more lame.

It will be a little tricky at first, but I'm guessing the muscles in my nostrils will build up over time and be able to "hug" the harp to get the right notes out of it. I've got some pretty big nostrils (I can fit 1 peanut M&M in each one... 2 on a good day) and can move them on command. I believe these are all of the prerequisites one needs to meet in order to play nose harmonica.

Lung capacity is probably an important thing to factor in, too. If you've ever played a harmonica through your nose, you know it takes a lot more air to move those reeds than with your mouth. But I've got that covered, too. I used to play tuba in the school band and could hold a B flat until the cows came home.

I've actually played a harmonica with my nose before back when I was a youngen but never really considered it as a serious vehicle for my music until last night. I assume it's going to be a bit of a struggle to find the right harp... I'm going to want to try them all out to see which one I like best, but can't imagine music store workers being all too happy with me rubbing my nose all over their merchandise.

I guess a Kleenex is thin enough to where's I could just wrap one over the mouth area to keep it sanitary, sort of like a harmonica condom. I'm gonna spend a lot of time out in a dusty, windy area before I do that. Why? Because then when I played through the Kleenex, it would make a cool little line of dusty squares from the dirt in my nostrils being filtered out while blowing.

This could get a little messy during allergy season or when I have a stuffy nose.. maybe I should stop while I'm ahead of myself and let your imaginations run with that one.

Look out Bob Dylan fans, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

GREETING IN THE NAME OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST.

I received the following email today. Gee, I really hope things work out for her - maybe if she lands this cash, she could take some spelling lessons and maybe even buy a keyboard that can do lowercase letters as well as caps.

Feel free to drop her an email at her private address she mentions to let her know that everything happens for a reason... Such as me receiving this email to post on my blog and poke fun at.

GREETING IN THE NAME OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST.

I AM MRS MABEL NORA , A WIDOW TO LATE SHEIK MADU. I AM 61 YEARS OLD, I AM NOW A NEW CHRISTAIN CONVERT, SUFFERING FROM LONG TIME CANCER OF THE BREAST, FROM ALL INDICATION MY CONDITIONS IS REALLY DETERIORATING AND IT IS QUITE OBVIOUS THAT I WON’T LIVE MORE THAN SIX MONTHS, ACCORDING TO MY DOCTORS, THIS IS BECAUSE THE CANER STAGE HAS GOTTEN TO A VERY BAD STAGE. MY LATE HUSBAND KILLED DURING THE U.S. RAID AGAINST TERRORISM IN AFGHANISTAN, AND DURING THE PERIOD OF OUR MARRIAGE WE CULD’NT PRODUCE ANY CHILD.

MY LATE HUSBAND WAS VERY WEALTHY AND AFTER HIS DEATH, I INHERITED ALL HIS BUSINESS AND WEALTH. THE DOCTORS HAS ADVISED ME THAT I MAY NOT LIVE FOR MORE THAN SIX MONTHS, SO I NOW DECIDED TO DEVIDE THE PART OF THIS WEALTH, TO CONTRIBUTE TO THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE CHURCH IN AFRICA, AMERICA ASIA, AND EUROPE. I PRAYED OVER IT,. I AM WILLING TO DONATE THE SUM OF $5,000.000.00 MD U.S DOLLARS, TO THE LESS PRIVILEGED. PLEASE I WANT YOU TO NOTE THAT FUND IS LYING IN A SECURITY COMPANY AND UPON MY INSTRUCTION, MY ATTORNEY, WHO PRESENTLY IS IN AFRICA DISTRIBUTING RELIEF MATERIALS TO OF BOMBLAST IN SLERRA-LEONE, WILL FILE IN AN APPLICATION FOR THE TRANSFER OF THE MONEY IN YOUR NAME.

LASTLY, I HONESTLY PRAY THAT THIS MONEY WHEN TRANSFERRED WILL BE SURE FOR THE SAID PURPOSE, BECAUSE I HAVE COME TO FIND OUT THAT WEALTH ACQUISITION WITHOUT CHRIST IS VANITY. MAY THE GRACE OF OUR LORD JESUS THE LOVE OF GOD AND THE FELLOWSHIP OF GOD BE WITH YOU AND YOUR FAMILY I AWAIT URGENT REPLY.
YOURS IN CHRIST.
MRS MABEL NORA
REPLY ME WITH MY PRIVATE EMAIL:mothermabelnora003@yahoo.it