yeah. yeah yeah. yeah yeah.

This morning I told myself, while standing at a crosswalk in the rain, that if you play the Mission: Impossible theme in your head while looking into a crowd you can always find someone having an epic, desperate adventure. Attention must be switched from one person to another in order for this to work properly. I was convinced of this for a few seconds before I proved myself wrong, my field of vision filled only with people walking in the rain and sitting in cars. Not even walking fast or sitting intently. I will try it again and report back.

There is a satellite radio at work. I believe it is to blame for Nickelbacks appearance in my dream last night/early this morning. It may also have something to do with my mildly rekindled interest in pop radio.

When I was five my mother used to tell me that if I started singing and dancing at my age I could grow up to be like Michael Jackson, who began his career at five. You must understand that her encouragement didn't come from my skill level in either field so much as it being a potentially lucrative family endeavor. Irony doesn't mean much to a five year old, and though I didn't exactly take her seriously, I took this as a green light to go ahead and sing along to the radio during car rides. Also at five I didn't have a great hold on the language, so I can only imagine the kind of mush that came out of my mouth during these enthusiastic backseat serenades- usually verse filler.. I knew a lot of choruses but all the details in between were subject to brutal improvisation. My sister took issue with this pretty much immediately and didn't have any problems telling me to knock it off. Ah.. sisterly love..

Presently I probably don't have a much better singing voice, but my brain does tend to hang on to song lyrics for whatever reason, so I've made progress there, at least. In fact I think it's fun sometimes to unravel tough-to-figure-out sentences or mumbledslurredtogetherwhateverisms. Though sometimes without the aid of a cd or tape insert, and now the internet, it is possible to err in this practice.

The most recent of misinterpretations happened yesterday during a satellite rampage which included a popular Usher song called "The DJ's Got Us Falling In Love Again." Had I known the name of the song I probably would have been less likely to superimpose "The Ninja God is falling in love again!" over the chorus. I enjoy the absurd quite a bit and this had me cracking up enough to be nearly unable to communicate my glee to my manager. Hoo.

There was a CD, before the addition of the satellite radio we used to listen to at work by Ingrid Something Or Other. Michaelson? She has a few good songs, one of which I do truly enjoy called The Chain. The CD was called "Be Okay" and had a song by the same title as the opening track. "I just want to relocate, relocate, relocate" is what I believed she was saying for a short time.

"'Cause, baby, you're a firewood!"

The song is called "Firework" by Katy Perry (so says the internet), and this was a slip of the ear made by my manager who was kind enough to share it with me a few days ago. I thought of it during one of those showering-after-midnight evenings and actually laughed out loud about it. Roommate was.. asleep I hope. It's really funny in the context of the song. ("Make them go 'oh!' as you shoot across the sky!")

Dave Dee Dozy Beaky Mick and Titch wrote a song popularized by Death Proof called "Hold Tight." It's second line is "shut your eyes.." not "ass." By the way. In case you were wondering. Hee hee.

My sister supplied me a with a pop song I really like called "Maneater" and it lives in the Pop Radio Guilt section of my iPod. The correct lyrics are "make you want all of her love," not "Maneater, make you work hard, make you spend hard, make you want more buffalo."

Naturally there are some willing misinterpretations to make life more interesting. I used to do this a lot at The Abacus to try to get Dennis to laugh, though it often wasn't necessary as many of the songs had some foolish lyrics to begin with. I used to substitute "what this guy looks like, what his car looks like.." for "what the sky looks like, what the stars look like.." for a particular tune. You know, when I wasn't running with my rain face on.

My other manager shared with me "hold me closer, Tony Danza" which was a misfire from a friend of hers. Count the headlights on the highway.

Speaking of Sir. Elton John..

I remember an evening years ago during an unexpected visit and welcome melding of two separate groups of friends. There was a point at which some six of us were packed in a car on our way to wherever, all of us singing Crocodile Rock at volume with reckless abandon. Crocodile Rock wasn't what was playing on the radio in the car, you see.

So as you may have guessed I didn't go with the singing and dancing career at the age of five. I don't really sing much anymore. I will sing when alone and executing domestic tasks. I will also sing in the car if the music is loud. Sometimes if the music is not loud and I have a willing car singing companion I will sing with them. DanTarr makes a good car singing companion. I do so miss car singing with DanTarr.."say it ain't so" down that dirt road before the Curran wedding.. sigh..

As far as dancing goes I enjoy it quite a bit though there aren't as many occasions for it as I would like. Ms. Moonshine is coming here in a few weeks and there are plans to attack the phoenix in the evening of the 25th. Having a good dance parter is as important as having a good car singing partner, says I.

Chances are, Reader, you've been invited.

So dance.

mekkalekkahai mekka hiney-ho!

I've got a pretty excellent zit coming in on my chin, reminds me of high school.

I had a conversation with my sister this afternoon about "Jeeze! Can you believe it's been this long since (fill in the blank)??"

The topic of Britney Spears came up, and there was a slight disagreement about when she had begun her pop-centric rein of terror. She (my sister) seemed to think it was later, I thought it was earlier. In discussing this I pointed out that one of Spears' earliest singles was very popular during my first year at Hampden Academy, about twelve years ago. I realized during this conversation that Britney Spears, weather she intended to or not, had decided that at some point in my life, during a friendly conversation with my sister, I would have to say the words "Hit Me, Baby, One More Time."

Come on, say it out loud; "Hit Me, Baby, One More Time."

Try it. I'll even say it with you. Ready?

Be sure to add the "?!" at the end. Don't forget.

Let us visit, for a moment, the lyrics to that song.

As far as I can tell, if you leave out the bizarre tarted-up-school-girl-who-just-happens-to-be-dancing-in-step-with-a-symmetrical-group-of-other-similarly-inclined-school-girls-but-'I'm-dancing-for-you-tiger,-for-YOU'-bits, you get a song about an abusive relationship. It's pretty bleak, really. The person singing the song is asking for more of this dubious treatment because they have decided that when they aren't with the abuser they'll [quotey fingers] "lose their mind." Also, there are a number of points during the song where the singer is requesting strong direction from the person in question- they must be told how it is, not knowing themselves, of course, being too used to being told what to do to make these decisions. Finally, there is a sense of strange hope, where the singer [quotey fingers] "still believes." Believes what, exactly..? That things will get better..?

So. You say: "Hit Me, Baby, One More Time."

I'll say: "With what?"

..which brings me to Limp Bizkit.

So.

The first time I heard "Nookie" I was mighty confused.

My first response was something along the lines of "don't noogies.. hurt?" Apparently 'nookie' is something someone would [quotey fingers] "do it all for."

I figured it out eventually.

The song progresses.. you know.. the major character development, the rising and falling action. I laughed, I cried etc.. After a time, one finds out that, lo! Lest ye be so errant as to offer up yon tasty biscuit in place of said scalp chastisement, all manner of foul and personal violations would be at hand!

Implied, yes! But still.

At hand!!

Of course in highschool I had these amazingly original thoughts about how stupid Spears and Bizkit were (I keep getting worried that I've spelled that wrong.. ), and how I'd never really listen to anything so crap. But when you are fifteen, and you move to a location that has CABLE(!!!) and you are just fascinated by the constant stream of pop culture and technicolors, you really just can't help yourself.

This was also around the time that Marylin Manson, Jerry Springer and Eminem were taking off. Plenty of media trash to keep any one mind busy, chewing on empty calories. My grandparents had cable, so it wasn't like I'd never seen it before.. but this was more like an everyday thing.. not a holiday or a random weekend get together where my sister and I would have to wait impatiently until dinner and conversation was over to then disappear up into their bedroom and watch The MTV.. when it still played music videos and really violent commercials.

.. then we are here.. in the future.. 2011.. where my sister enjoys regular digital programming..

.. and I don't watch tv.

It's cold in here.

How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Blog..

Memory:

I have just returned from a visit to Maine, staying in the saddest house I've ever been in, visiting my brothers, saying goodbye. My friend will not live much longer, and after seeing her I can only be thankful that this is the case. A nightmarish bit of poor planning, directly following my visit left me in an unexpected hostess-with-the-mostess position for a bunch of people and their screaming children. The school owner and I are still having communication problems, and I am barely there, approaching an emotional wasteland. She passed a week later, I was unprepared for how much I was moved, am still moved by this. We clear the parking lot on our way to lunch and he puts his arm around my shoulders. "It will be alright," he says, with a smile in his voice.

I believe him.

fun laughs good time.

I often wonder how it is that I know so many beautiful people.

They seem uncommonly frequent in my image bank of friendly memoirs.

I also wonder quite frequently how it is that I know so many superbly impressive people. Impressive people that are also beautiful.

There's an exotic scientist, a dashing physician, a beautiful painter, a brazen physical trainer, a dapper illustrator, a gorgeous ballerina, a striking artisan, an attractive baker, a lovely metaphysical advisor, a supercute graphic designer, a handsome engineer/musician, a charming philosopher.. the list goes on.. and on as I meet more of these gemlike specimens. All the fixings for a hyper-diverse soap opera.

I've been thinking a lot about what love actually is and I think it might tie in with what beauty is. Love is everywhere when everything is beautiful, usually. Someone who sees beauty everywhere is perhaps much more likely to love many things, or one thing quite intensely. I'm thinking of the world here, snow on a branch, sun on a telephone pole, the clouds and stars at night. These are your typical inanimate stargazer wonders of the world-- the way the subway bricks blur by on the train, the folds of a carelessly placed blanket. It's possible to see god in there sometimes.

Then there are the people. These sentient moving shapes and colors that talk to each other and accomplish great deeds.

You know how there are sounds that you feel more than hear? I learned the other day that there are also things you feel more than see. I may have always known that, but have most recently come up with an accurate sentence to describe the idea.

I'm a bumpkin, really, lucky enough to be pleased by many simple things. I grew up in a place where the door of local mom & pops shop was rigged to a full 2 liter on a pulley in order to get it to close all the way. There was a small arcade in the back room, featuring hot titles like "Street Fighter 2" and "Final Fight" and probably "Pac-Man" or one other having the word "fight" in the title. I daydreamed once of asking my dad to go there and hang out with me. In my imagination it seemed like a good idea- we would play these games, you see. It would have been a wonderful bonding experience, rife with high fives and fist pumps. There would have been a music montage. What actually happened, I think, was he fell asleep reading a book and I probably walked the dog or made a castle out of cards.

I used to make a lot of castles out of cards. I recall making one of particular size and majesty which took me all morning- it had gates and a couple different levels. This particular morning, my mother had got up on my bed to change a lightbulb, and the action of her getting down from her perch caused just the right amount of floor disturbance to collapse the thing. She felt so bad. I felt bad that she felt so bad.

I still feel bad that she felt so bad.

Bad probably isn't the right word. One of those things.

Also on being a bumpkin: I went to New York to visit a friend a few years ago and couldn't help but look up at all the tall buildings. Peter Parker was awfully lucky to have lived in New York instead of say.. Portland. Swinging from the Key Bank to the Time and Temp building would have gotten old fast. So I do the thing where I look up while I'm walking, and turn around sometimes when I go to these kinds of places. Having a spidey sense of my own, I tend not to run into people, so I think it's a fine practice (being at the perfect height to be elbowed in the boob or handbagged in the face will develop these things). I find I do that even in places that don't have tall buildings- one of the advantages of being short I suppose, you always look up. Me and Kurosawa, we look at the sky.

"I realized I was deliberately avoiding the eyes of those who were with me in the room, deliberately refraining from being too much aware of them. One was my wife, the other a man I respected and greatly liked; but both belonged to the world from which, for the moment, mescalin had delivered me-- the world of selves, of time, of moral judgements and utilitarian considerations, the world (and it was this aspect of human life which I wished, above all else, to forget) of self-assertion, of cocksureness, of overvalued words and idolatrously worshipped notions. " - Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception

2010: Not at all like Arthur imagined.

I used to ask people if they could shoot something out of their hands what it would be. Like one thing out of one hand and something else out of the other. I got a lot of fun and interesting answers. I found that most of the manager/boss figures of this stage in my life would say something like "lightening" which seemed fitting- likening many of them, not unfairly, to Emperor Palpatine. My last manager, I don't think I asked this question to, I don't think she would have said lightening, though. I'm sure my current manager would say something different. I have decided that he's alright in my book- and later on I may tell you why.

I haven't asked anyone this question in a while, instead eventually inquiring of only my closest acquaintances what superhero power they would have if they were allowed to choose one. Any superhero power. Many people say flight or invisibility. Some vie for the domestic tasks made so simple in many of the Harry Potter books; "Ahlah-kah-make-dinner!!"

I'd probably want to fly.

I'd want to fly or be able to summon, as the magnificent Wile E. Coyote (Genius) is able, signs of varying size and content.

I can tell something weird is up at work when my manager uses my real name. I have earned the nickname (I would say "at no fault of my own" but I can't..) "crazy hands". I am also called, no more frequently, "ninja," both of these by my manager, who, it turns out, doesn't actually suck. Weird. This first name, I'm certain, comes from my herding dog tendencies of getting myself into trouble if I'm not given enough to do. Anyone who has worked with me/spent enough time with me will tend to agree.

Examples:

An envelope full of haikus about unpacking the shipping, poetry made by pocket charms with one or two words on them, drawings of dinosaurs done with my left hand secreted away at my previous job.

Man, made out of small pieces of meat and toothpicks at different previous job.

Pillow, dressed up as my friend Dantarr and left to sit on his couch to greet him when I woke up early to go home after staying the night during a snow storm.

To scale model of the Sphinx made out of sugar cubes at another previous job.

Finally, sometimes, when walking down the street with friends I like to play this game where I kick the persons feet in mid step so they walk funny. Dantarr thwarts these atempts by just slowing his gait and stopping when he suspects this is about to happen. This can be just as fun. Not Shawn gets around it by trying to aggressively step on my feet when I do it, I don't enjoy this. I lost myself once and almost tried it when walking down the street with Mr. F.. seeing my life flash before me, I opted not to.

..I realize that I am not a shining example of maturity.

The second name, "ninja" I'm guessing is because I fancy myself a martial artist sometimes. I'm also pretty good at hide and seek, which he has no real way of knowing. Also, once I made a dashing escape from my fathers basement using their laundry chute (I accidentally locked myself down there in a snow storm with no one home.. ).

So. "Crazy Hands" or "Ninja" is what I answer to at work. Sometimes its the "Crafty Ninja," but not always (it's a craft store, get it? hyuck hyuck.. ).

I heard my name from around the corner one day. My real name.

Squinty eyes.

"Mmmmyess..?"

"If we are still friends? Next Halloween?" he is speaking like a very excited child, "Can we go as Ren? and Stimpy?"

I give him a nod I reserve for "special" occasions.

This job is the "normal person" part of my day.

But what's normal?

Goodness me, could this be Industrial Disease..?

This story is called "How To Turn Forty Five Minutes Into An Eternity" or "How I Got My Ass Handed To Me By A Bunch Of Four Year Olds"

I don't really like using obvious names/activities in this here blog. I find that those about whom I write generally know who they are- sometimes other people know who the third parties are etc.. I feel comfortable using my ex-dogs name I suppose (Lucy).. she's dead.. and she never learned to read so I'm safe there.. either way..

Dramatis Personae:

1: Able: Is able to behave when he wants to.

2: Noise: Appears to enjoy negative attention.

3: Quiet: Usually fairly quiet, well behaved.

4: Games: Plays games- not the good, fun kind.

5: Normal: Well behaved, follows directions, good.

6: Dinosaur: Dinosaur.

Also: "dots" are things which designate the space any single child is supposed to take up. They stand on them. The world without "dots" is a much darker place. I don't like to think about it.

I'm pretty sure this class started with us reaching up and reaching down and counting to some arbitrary number as we did so. I often use this to see what kind of day it's going to be- if they will all count together, if the counting will involve screaming, weird numbers, or strange noises. Noise does this thing where he will continuously count to the wrong number on purpose requiring us to start over - today is no exception. I make him sit out when he does this, because I know he's trying to be an issue- problem is, today Games picked up on it and did the same thing, to cause problems-- so I made him sit out too, then Quiet chimed in, which was strange cause he's usually pretty well behaved.. Dinosaur got all frigged up because now he's confused about the number.. we started over with everyone together, eventually we got there.

Noise has also begun this game where he yells random stuff during the time reserved for yelling "keeyup." This time I told him to stop in a fun way, reminding him what to yell instead of whatever it is he's been saying.. he kept doing it, I told him to sit down, after a while when he was allowed to stand up he was at it again, I told him to sit out in the waiting room he gave me this hurt-puppy look and didn't move, I gestured with enthusiasm towards the exit of the classroom, he eventually went out there to sit for a while before I brought him back in and asked him if he felt as though he was capable of being a part of the class without disrupting it. This cycle was repeated twice, during which time Games had decided he could do the same thing and blame it on Noise, Dinosaur was doing it because he thought that's what he was supposed to do, Quiet had also begun this practice because apparently today he had decided to reflect bad behavior, Normal hadn't said anything at all, and Able wouldn't touch that stuff with a nine foot pole. Able and Noise are buddies, Able knows what Noise is up to, and knows that I know what he's up to. Able knows better.

Able was not without fault, though as it was Ables job to be the leader in the classroom. Except today he had decided to wave his arms around, make weird faces in the mirror, create random noises, and make my life difficult. I reminded him he was supposed to be setting a good example, and he pulled it together for about three seconds.

Noise declared he must use the bathroom. Dinosaur said he did too. Games said he did too. Quiet said he did too. I had them all sit down on their dots, to quietly consider their breathing and sent Noise to the bathroom. He was over there long enough to turn on the light and open the door before coming back to his place, disrupting the barely-there silence of the room using his mouth and lungs. I looked at him, amazed at his ability to entirely destroy my classroom with his false bathroom claim. I took a few risks. Past experience has told me never to ignore a five year old who says they must use the bathroom, but I ignored Games and Quiet, letting Dinosaur go because, though he is a little odd, he has never asked to go during the class, and I don't think he picks up on enough socials cues to actually intend to be a pain in the ass. Games asks to go to the bathroom almost every class though I remind him to go before each time. Quiet has, at this point, proved to me that he was not thinking for himself so I chose not to believe him.

My hold on the class at this point was tenuous at best. Noise was more or less a constant project and I ended up sending him into the waiting room again while I tried to salvage Games, who was running around doing weird things, not paying attention, or being blatantly defiant. Able was still winding his arms around and bending his back to see his face upside down in the mirrors. So much for that good example. Dinosaur was enthusiastic and random, but mostly on the ball, Normal was doing just fine and I could kiss him for it, Quiet was pointing at Games doing weird stuff, Games was pointing back at Quiet saying that he was the one doing weird things. I glanced out to the waiting room to see that Noises parents have his jacket on and are planning on taking him home. I went out to ask him a final time if he is able to join us, if its alright with his parents that he join us, if he can please please just pull it together for 10 more minutes so we can try to end this thing on an upswing and send everyone home happy and nobody drops.

Noise was in the classroom for approximately one minute before he ran full on into Quiet who began to cry. Short of launching over half of these children into the sun, I could see no real solution to the day. I had them sit back down on their dots and the game was now to stay seated and quiet for one minute, every time I had to give any verbal reminders or corrections we had to start over. Games decided to use this as the perfect time to start laughing as though he just couldn't contain himself- I could tell he was play acting. Noise used this as an excuse to make noise and did the same thing. I sent Games out to stop Noise, Noise eventually got it and was quiet, I invited Games back in to finish the class.

Just for funsies I asked down the line what anyone learned today. I got to Noise and I led him through about how he learned not to run around and not pay attention because he could hurt people, I asked Games what he learned and he didn't say anything, I asked Quiet and he shrugged. I began a small speech that I really felt was getting somewhere, hitting home, salvaging something so I could a at least feel like the day wasn't a complete wash. I would have called it "If you guys don't behave I can't teach you anything and it isn't fun for anyone" had I been able to finish it-- but right then a black uniform came out of the office clapping its hands and giving directions.

Around here is when I totally gave up.

It's getting pretty dry around here these days.

goody goody gunships!!

Ima stick with the memories. They are fun, they keep me out of trouble. Sort of.

Next set, in no particular order:

He is giving a lecture in the beginning of the year to the entire freshman class. It is about what he calls "homobovinus." Cow people. I fall in love with his smile, his wisdom, and his wit. I am sitting next to someone I know but I don't talk to anymore. I write these words on the top of my notes: "I could look at his smile all day."

I am sitting among friends in the cafe at the dorms. One of the more serious of our number is probably talking about something to do with russians, vodka, or Quentin Tarantino- he always was at that point. He is probably wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Expressionless, unannounced, I put my knife in his cup of milk.

It is the middle of the night and I am sitting on the hood of his car while he goes to relieve himself on a nearby building. We have had a few drinks and are in problem solving mode: who is spending the night where, for how long and with who. I have written a text message to my good friend Ms. Moonshine much earlier in the evening during the actual 'evening' part of the evening. I consider the reality, which is that we have not spoken in nearly five years, he lives very far away, and last I knew he was a mortician who shaved his eyebrows. As he approaches from afar my phone tweedles.

The message I sent: "Dude."

The message I get back: "Dude, seriously."

The power has been out for two days- my father, my mother and my sister have all been sleeping in the living-room because we have limited candles and flashlights, and limited ways to heat the rest of the house. My father is reading by the light of a large candle, this song and others like it are playing from a small, battery operated, yellow, plastic tape player/radio.

I spend every day after school in my room, drawing the faces of musicians I like.

I am running over the top of a snowbank in the early evening. It is still snowing, and many places closed early in anticipation of the storm. It is only a mile from where I live, but it is dark with low visibility, and there are those monstrous ploughs out- I try to make the trip quick to diminish possibility of tragedy. I compound the risk by, of course, having all black winter wear- the flashiest thing about me at this point is that I haven't been falling through the top crust of the banks. There is only one student in, as he lives closer to the school than I do, I expect this. I don't recall the lesson, only the eerie quiet beauty of the commute.

There is a kid at the day care center I go to who always gives me a hug when I get there. I always try to avoid him, thinking this naked emotional display of his joy over my arrival is a little too intense. There is also a girl there who finds pleasure in slapping me in the face on a pretty routine basis- she is an older sister of a friend of mine so I see her regularly. I don't recall why, but I do remember asking the lady who ran the place (I'm sure it was her house, actually) to tie a bandanna, kamikaze style, around my head sometimes.

I am in front of a small group wearing white uniforms- I am also wearing a white uniform. There are a number of men sitting at a table wearing black uniforms facing us. I am speaking with a peer, but we are pretending to have just met each other. She is displaying to the table full of black uniforms what she knows about "information". I am her dummy "information". I have been told by one of the black uniforms to pretend to be looking for something to relieve stress, but something more interesting than a gym. She asks me what I do for work. In the real world I have just lost my job.

"I'm a.. radio.. personality."

"Oh-ho really? And what are you looking for here?"

"Just something different you know? I don't get to move around a lot at work.. and it can be pretty stressful with the.. sound effects.. "

End set.

So. Been visiting Mr. Blog a lot lately I guess.. .. it's a good way to escape without completely mentally checking out I suppose, but then so is qi gong.