The Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Seven

Nothing too bad, a steady incline, I'd say, but the summit disappears above the clouds and I took the escalator too much. What am I going to remember 2007 as if I live to be forty? Starting this blog maybe. Punching Sean in the stomach maybe. Some girl I'll probably never see again leaving her pants with fifty dollars in the pocket maybe. Becoming tired of education. Dustin's wedding most likely and all the strange associations that still echo from San Diego months later. My feeling like an idiot trapped in a retard's body half the time and the smartest fuck on earth the other half. Shaking my head at other people's behavior and then turning around and doing shit just as bad the next second. My mom's cancer clearing up. Micah's transformation from a dull caterpillar to an electric moth. Listening to more music. Unexpected side effects. Laughing more, it seems like. Writing more for sure. Drinking more for sure. Smoking more for shits. Probably, I won't be able to distinguish this year from its sisters when I'm forty, but it was important, despite mistakes I made and whatever else. When the rain falls, you can see one drop apart from all the others coming down from the sky and for a second under a street light and then it falls into the puddle, but it was still there in the air when you saw it, wherever it is after it becomes a part of the puddle. A dream you don't remember is maybe more important than months of your life.

New Years Resolution: Figure it all out in the next year.

!!!!NINE GOLDEN RINGS!!!!

And so is the torrid throws of winter…or the holidays I suppose. I headed back to Wisco with a head full of steam or something. The holidays are great for seeing friends, seeing family, singing the wrong words to Christmas songs but most of all depressing the shit out of melancholy motherfuckers like myself.

My brother and his wife rolled into town about the time I did. Which is a good thing because they can cook. Well in fact.

I hit up Milwaukee to start with which was chalked full of hanging with sweet people and cheap beers. Honestly it would be cheaper to fly back to Milwaukee every week just to drink. Drunks love cheap drinks…and so do I…because I’m a drunk.

Really its not as bad as it seems. Not like I’m an old drunk, like this guy from the town where I grew up named Rooster. He was this red haired dude that would always buy us booze in high school, we had to throw a few dollars in his pocket but that’s “the game”. I bought some forty’s for some high school kids at the 7-11 the other day, they gave me 15 bucks, I suddenly saw the attraction.

Saturday we played the FTT seven-year reunion show. It was tight and the Milwaukee kids in Novel made it through the completely ridiculous fog to shake the floors at the armory. We drank our weight in whisky and stumbled to the after party at Dub’s parents house.

I miss a lot of people and realize it right away. My fam and me watch some football (Viking blow it at the end of the year and miss playoffs, go figure) some 30 rock (funny as fuck) and The Wire (one of the best shows I’ve ever seen). The WW crowd is right on and we rage at the bars.

Anyhow, I missed my flight then the rest got cancelled because of the snow and I went back to hang with Lady L, C-note and the Hempler. It was pretty sweet for missing the flight and all. Those kids are just neat, damn neat. I spend nearly all the next day at the airport. See, after flights get cancelled people get pissed and thousands of Illinois alumni trying to get to the Rose Bowl fit into that category. So I wait around and sleep when I can, my ass stinks and my feet hurt. I eventually lay some sob story on one of the fine people at United and they hook my up with a ticket in first class. I watch some shitty Josh Hartnett movie and give John Cusak an approving nod. Like he needs it.

I end up back in LA and feel pretty good about it. Now to get a job, or a clue.

Hornet's Stripes, Stings and Hives

Randy Jackson had 4 kids.
It took his all to keep them hid.
When he thought of his lonely child,
he kicked his dog, coughed blood, and smiled.
Eleven minutes after birth,
he said, “Hey son. Welcome to my turf.”
For dinner they had oatmeal
and for their birthday they got hay.
In March, he slipped on a banana peal.
His back has never been the same.

Never in my life have I seen that:
an eight year old in a yellow hard hat.
He put them to work to pay his bills
while Randy jerked off and swallowed pills.
One day, the state come to Randy’s home.
They come about that desperate moan.
The one that leaks from the basement at night
because Randy’s kids had to fight
over stale bread and rusty water.
His wife was as bad, but they never caught her.

Randy’s last child was a daughter.
A man came there one day and bought her.
He raised her like a charmer raises snakes;
he said nice things and never made mistakes.
Together, they traveled this old blue globe.
They were as happy as the rich man Job.
She had a talent for cooking,
and baked all through the day.
She made a cake when no one was looking
and then went on the hammock to lay.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Last night: I thought it was MLK day.
I lost in Pictionary.
I saw someone cry laughing.
I made macaroni and cheese with two kinds of pasta, two kinds of cheese, and some good spices.
I found out my friend does not like AC/DC.
The clam dip went over big.
I had one drink.

Today: I saw a white horse grazing snow with orange sunlight coming at it sideways.
I came down with a cold.
I helped clean up.
I met an old racist.
I deflected energy rays with my lab coat.
I got a gift certificate.
I took a Benadryl.
I saw the Stardust and it sparkled.
I thought about some things.
I drove home.
I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, Happy Christmas to All and to All a Good Night.

A Couple Diddies

"Margine"

Margine, please, won’t you marry me?
When you’re tired of the canaries?
Your hardness is a parody.
Outside, I think they cannot see,
They barely hear the goner’s plea.
It’s a rusty lock and you’re the key.
Margine, please, won’t you marry me?

Margine, please, won’t you lose your clothes?
I’ve been wanting all day to look at those.
The pain thins out when you are close.
Without your love, I’m levied toast.
You’re beautiful, a blind man knows.
I hope my golden love for you shows.
Margine, please, won’t you lose your clothes?

Margine, please, won’t you look at me?
I hate to think we’ll never be.
Can’t you hear this goner’s plea?
My neighbors are afraid to see
the beast I am that once had glee,
when you let up and laid with me.
Margine, please, won’t you look at me?


"Seventeen or Eighteen"

Seventeen, eighteen days a week,
a rats nest busts inside my cheek.
Never had a deal so square,
as when I saw you in your underwear.
Those canopies, they cannot be,
they’re better than a dream.
That summer when I met you,
I got to know your knees.

One hundred and thirteen, two hundred and eight
are numbers that do not equate.
They see you in that brand new dress
and they just turn into a mess.
Abundancies, insanities,
there’s nothing much to bitch on.
You paid me for two rainy weekends,
I never learned addition.

shoot

.:Update Your Theme Song:.

When you lose your job there are many reactions you can have. You can of course, wallow in a deep puddle of your own self pity or go on an angry bender and get locked up in a mexican jail cell. Both of these are totally acceptable. what i did was dive headfirst into a weekend of booze, burger king and pro football.

On friday night i ended up going out with a few friends from San Diego. We hit up some party in the valley that had a wide range of snacks and jello shots. I spent most of the night by the snack table downing rum and cokes until i was drunk enough to have any decent conversation. I stay until the party is over and end up sitting on the couch with two other Sean's. All three of us spelled it differently.

One of said Sean's. How can i be so self centered?...said Shawn was awesome and is friends with another awesome dude who plays for the Detroit Lions. That in mind we kicked it to San Diego on Saturday. It's a good day and we grab some steaks and drink a bunch of booze. We leave the hotel because our gridiron pal has to hit the hay. We end up going to some dance club where i don't dance, i hardly say anything but have a good time. We go get some BK for the second time that day. Things happen and my ride ends up leaving San Diego at 3 am. Leaving me hard up on the cold side of Pluto.

Anyway, Sunday fuck yeah. The Lion don't put up a very good effort but pro football is amazing to see live. LT does the damn thing and some guy throws up behind me. For some bullshit reason they wont give me extra cheese with my jumbo pretzel. They say,

"the pretzels don't come with cheese." i offer to pay for it of course but no dice. my question is this: how can you even serve jumbo pretzels without the option of cheese? Fuck'd if i know. I get over it and watch a girl get escorted out by the police, she kicks a random guy. he was suprised.

I catch a train back to LA which is actually kind of rad. I sleep and read and the conducter tells me i don't have to pay for the trip. Random acts of kindness.