Damaged Americans in Flight

There's a not so new idea that airlines are again considering. With the economy being what it is, and airlines being the one industry that it's seemingly impossible to make a buck in, they are again considering charging passengers by the amount they weigh. Just like carrying extra baggage or shipping heavy items will cost you more, now it will cost you more for the Ben & Jerry's you just couldn't step away from.

There's solid logic here. It costs more money to carry my butt across the country. I require more fuel to to haul across Arkansas than it does to transport my daintier counterparts, therefore I should pay more. If only fat people could stay away from Hometown Buffet, they would get to pay less just like everyone else. I get it.

I do also get that food can be an addiction, and that sometimes a person's weight can be outside their direct control. (It's cool, scoff away skinny people.) Some people need help managing the reasons behind why they eat. I believe that the same life events that send people to drugs, alcohol, sex addiction, religion, anorexia, or many other things that victimize them, can also send you to the Pizza Hutt with shaking hands.

Plus, there are people who are just outside the norm. They do things differently than "normal" people, and they shouldn't escape Corporate America's close eye. With that in mind, I'd like to propose some additional charges for fellow passengers who have proclivities that may not be socially acceptable.

Smokers

You stink a little. I know you think you don't. I know you don't smoke in the house. Still...I'm just sayin'.

Don't get me wrong, I used to smoke and I loved it. I loved everything about it. Now though, many years removed from my addiction, I have to admit that I stunk too. It comes with the habit.

Because your smell will be an annoyance to the people stuck sitting around you, you should have to pay each of them $10.00. This will not be an airline fee, but rather an agreement worked out amongst armrest sharers.

The "Flying is a Party" Person

We all like to drink, but you never want the party to stop. You're generally fun at the airport bar before it's time to board, but no one really wants to be stuck sitting beside you on the plane. You have the propensity to get loud on long flights, and you tend to get sick in the tiny closet toilets leaving them smelling worse than usual.

Because of your inability to cope without assistance from the major bottling companies of America, you should pay an additional 33% "Handling" fee.

Homosexuals

Us straight people don't get it. First, with Lesbians, what's the draw? Everyone knows sex isn't sex with just girls involved. It's simple physics. With Gay Men, it's just gross. Butts are not natural places to express love. It's just dirty and abnormal...not at all like good clean anal sex shared by straight married couples.

Add the fact that you are all damned to hell, and I do not want to share a flight with you. Who knows when God will strike His vengeance upon you? I don't want to be there when it happens.

You're allowed to purchase tickets (at twice the normal rate) but should not actually be allowed on the flight.

Parent of a Crying Child

I know you and your family have shit to do and places to go. I get this. I don't expect you to drive across the country when you want to see grandma. I'm not heartless. Still, I cannot pretend I wouldn't rather be chewing glass than listening to your kid bawl his/her heart out for three hours straight. I'm sure you're nice people, but seriously.

In order to fly you should have to pick up the bar tab for everyone within 1-10 rows of your location (in both directions), and buy the first round for everyone in rows 11-15. It's the right thing to do.

The Witness

Just because I'm stuck on a plane with you doesn't mean I should be subjected to your beliefs. I really don't care, and am pretty sure that no one else on a Monday morning flight to Minnesota cares either.

If you want to share, you must do so from a special section of the plane that is populated by other people who want to share their beliefs too. You will pay double, and you'll consider yourself fortunate.
---

I think it's only fair. Add these charges, and I won't complain at all about the humiliation of standing on a scale and watching the price of my ticket jump through the roof. I'm sorry to all the gay alcoholic smoking religious parents of crying children out there if I came across as harsh. I just don't want to get stuck picking up the tab for all of us.

Father's Day Idiocy

This morning I was going through the paper on the porch (as per our normal routine) and turned to the Metro section. Metro is where you can get some local issue writing, plus the Obituaries. I don't know why, but I always scan the Obits. I don't always read them, but I look at the pictures, and if a face grabs me, I'll see how their family managed to condense their life into a little paragraph.

This morning, I flipped to the back of the Metro section and found myself staring at two pages full of photos of men. I was astounded by the number of deaths, confused why they all seemed to be men, and shocked by how many of them were black. My immediate thought was, if you are a black man living in the city of Columbus, you need to get the hell out. Run man, run! What are you still doing here? For the love of everything holy, don't you see what's happening to your people in this town?

"Holy shit!" I said to Jen. "Are there any black men left in Columbus?"

Jen looks over from her puzzle to the pages I'm holding out for her to see. "Um, those are Father's Day tributes."

"Oh. Of course they are."

Rest easy, African American men of Columbus. You're safe. I'm an idiot.

What's In a Name?

I know I usually act like I'm twelve years old, and a lot of things are funny to me that maybe shouldn't be, but the other day I came across a man by the name of Major Johnson. (Major was not a rank, it was his first name.)

I swear on everything that is good in this world, the dude's legal name was Major Johnson.

That is all.

Merryman 3.0?

After seven years of off and on conversations, and then several months of more intensive conversations, Jen and I have decided to try our hand at starting a family. A lot of people would consider this very personal, and might not discuss it until the pregnancy is firmly rooted in the second trimester, but we're not those people. While I have been told certain parts of our life together are off limits (at least in terms of blog fodder), Jen agreed pretty readily to let me talk about this. I think she was OK with my discussing it because she's so excited by the possibility. For me, I'm just happy being able to communicate that I'm getting laid.

I know all the reasons having kids is not discussed with outsiders during the planning stages: It might not be able to happen. Either Jen or I could be fundamentally flawed in some way that will send us running to the Foster Care system, robbing our own stunted genetics of their chance to scar some new life. Or, we could lose the child, something I can't even begin to understand how people cope with. Then, you're left with the conversations and awkward silences. Still, I've never been one to shut up when I should, so here we are talking about it.

I've told you all of that, so I can tell you this: I went out at lunch today and entered into a rite of passage millions of parents-to-be have undertaken. I picked up a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting". After five minutes of flipping through the book, I've decided having kids is definitely not the way to go. This is less a book of what you can expect, but rather a list of all the shit that can go wrong. And way too much shit can go wrong. It's amazing children are ever born in this world.

It's even more amazing to me who is able to have kids in spite of all the hidden dangers and conditions waiting in hiding for barebacking couples everywhere. Crackheads are squeezing out more kids than they know what to do with. Hillbilly cousins have trailerfulls of the little buggers. And I know there are twelve years olds that pull off successful pregnancies all the time, but that doesn't mean much. I've seen "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader" and am well aware there are things kids are capable that I, even in my mid thirties, am not.

I'll spend some more time with the book before making a final judgment, but I'm leery now. In addition to all the lurking disaster awaiting us, I realize now that my reproductive skills being compared against those of crack heads, incestuous country bumpkins, and preteens, and it might be more than my fragile ego can handle. If they can do it, and I can't...well, let's not think those thoughts.

I'll let you know how it's going once we hit the second trimester, I guess.

Don't Call It a Comeback!

Hi There,

How have you been? Everyone good at home? Did you have a good Christmas?

There have been giant forces at work keeping me from blogging as I had once done. First, my new job has prevented me from using any of my lunch hour for creative endeavors. Then, my PC at home got blowed up with a nasty virus of some sort. I'm getting to the point of considering buying a new hard drive and starting from scratch. This prospect does not thrill me at all, but what's a boy to do?

At any rate, things are good for me and mine. Christmas rolled by without a hitch, but this weekend is when my immediate family will get together. They're generally low stress affairs with all of us pitching in for dinner and watching my two nephews open their presents. There's the usual oddities that are always in play when it comes to dealing with your family, but they're no bigger than most anyone else's so I hesitate even mentioning it. It will be a good day, but I'll be ready for it to be over before it is. The madness of my grandparent's house always makes me miss my own quieter home.

Jen and I picked up tickets to see Ben Folds coming this April and I'm hoping to go see The Whigs sometime in March (they're great...saw them earlier this year and they are big and loud). Otherwise, there aren't that many interesting shows coming to the area which is terrible because I am so in need of some inspiration. On the plus side, the new Heiruspecs disc came out and I'm sending my cash off to Felix for that this weekend. He's going to help me out with an older vinyl disc too (my turntable is up and running and as beautiful as I had once dreamed) and hopefully some stickers to slap around the den. That I'm looking forward to. Yay Christmas money.
So, that's all there's time for right now. I really am going to make an effort to check in more often, if only in small bits. Please rest assured, if it's been awhile since I've talked to you, I miss you. If we've spoken recently, I probably still miss you...The holidays make me needy.

Hugs and Kisses,

Stephen

Thanksgiving and Everything After

Normally, me and the wife would pack up our meager potluck offering and head to my brother's place for Thanksgiving. This year though, Jen's mom flew into town, and as a result we wound up deciding to kick it at our house this year for the big feast. Now, I've never cooked Thanksgiving dinner in my life, but I figured I could muddle through. I did. Homeboy cooked it up and surprisingly everything came out pretty well. It might even stick as a new tradition. We'll see.

Friday, we just stayed close to home, drinking wine and watching movies. In the past, I've always referred to Black Friday as Godfather Day since we'd stay home and watch Godfather I & II (never...ever III). But, in mixed company we settled on me hitting Blockbuster for some flicks and then surfed the couch. I started getting antsy by the end of the day, feeling like I wasn't getting anything done, but it was good to just hang out with Jen's mom and kind of reconnect a bit with her.

Saturday was straight up drunkeration. We headed out to a couple of wineries and wound up bringing a case home with us to replenish a supply that had taken a surprising hit over the previous two days. With our supplies tucked away in the racks, we ended our night with yet more leftovers and opened a few bottles.

Our last day together was spent shopping. Jen's mother very generously gave us a bit of a Christmas present early. Jen wanted curtains, so we got to go shop for those. I've never shopped for curtains before, but it was exactly as much fun as I thought it might be. My mood lighted though once I was told that there would be enough cash left over for a record player. I've picked out a very basic model that I'm going to set up in the den with a new component system. Very old school. Can't wait.

And that's that. Mom-In-Law flew back Monday morning, and I'm back at work fighting a cold and just fighting to get through to another weekend. We're quickly using up 2008, and I gotta be honest, I'm not going to miss much of it. There were high points for sure, but I think mostly it was the kind of year you have to have to make you more grateful for all the goods ones.

Hope you all had a good long Thanksgiving weekend. I'll be around...

Randomness Abounds

When I was a little kid, I didn't have much in the way of a tough male role model. As a result, I was convinced that my uncle Curt was the baddest man alive. He had a habit of chewing on the corner of his lower lip, a habit I immediately equated with toughness. One morning, I was on the bus on my way to school and there was an older kid who was staring at me. I didn't like it, so I started chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, showing him I was a bad man and not to be messed with. The kid started laughing at me, and then sucked in half of his lower lip and gnawed on it with yellowed fence post teeth. I remember being shocked that someone would use my own "I'm tough" signals back at me in a mocking manner. I immediately decided that posturing wasn't my thing.

- - - - - - - -

The last couple of days I've started going for a walk on my lunch. Yesterday, I froze without a hat and gloves, so today I came better prepared. I go across the street to a park and walk around a gravel nature trail towards the back of the property. It's a great way to spend an hour. The deer, undersized from the crowded conditions, are used to people and run more out of habit than from actual fear. The squirrels are fat and sleek, looking freshly oiled and seem to be everywhere. They say there's a good fox population, but I've never seen proof of that, and I guess I don't expect to. There's still some snow around, though there seems to be less of it today than there was yesterday. It's limited now to the fallen limbs and trees and along the piles of leaves, but has melted in the places where it had fallen on the actual ground.

- - - - - - - - -

Jen got an automated call from her doctor telling her she had a message in her secure voice mail. She called up and listened to a voice mail that told her she was cancer free. The margins of the mass they removed were nice and clean, and she now has less than a week before the stitches come out.

- - - - - - - - -

We've been doing some things around the house getting ready for Jen's mother's Thanksgiving visit, and our decorating is finally starting to get weird enough to make me happy. First, I got Kim Jong iLL hung up along the stairway half wall on the second floor landing. They're lower than I had planned on, and not immediately visible when you go upstairs, but they looked so great there that they had to stay. We also got some other prints up including a great shot of Madonna (Jen is a huge fan of early Madonna) completely nude (Stephen is a huge fan of early or late nudity) while hitchhiking. I know what you're thinking because I've already heard it before: "I wouldn't hang that crap in my house". That, dear friend, is why you don't live here. It makes me smile every time I see it. We also got some family photos framed and hung, so our house, after 6 years, is finallly starting to look a little homey. Well, our version of homey anyway.

Other Voices, Other Rooms

I can't believe I actually got to sleep in on both days of this weekend. That's practically unheard of these days, so it was big news to be in bed past 8:00. In addition to all the sleeping, we managed to do a few things too.

A year or two ago, Jen and I were sitting around drinking beers with her mom and going through old pictures. In the pile was a shot of Jen when she was about three years old. She is standing behind a car that sits with its door open still. Her hair is a tangled and blowing in the wind and she has on this little jean jacket thing that just cracks me up when I look at it. Her face is what's perfect though. It's not the cheesy good natured smile of a kid who loves to have her picture taken, but rather this solemn insecurity that comes through. It's heartbreakingly beautiful and I had it blown up, and printed in black and white to put on the wall downstairs.

Jen felt a bit odd having a pic of her on the wall by itself, so yesterday I went through some Merryman family photos and found one of me. It's a close up of me around the same age as Jen, and I have my goofy smile on. On the plus side, it's a sincere smile not the forced "I'm having my picture taken" variety. Tonight, I got both shots framed and will get them hung tomorrow. I was going to do it tonight, but didn't have the right wall anchors. We'll fix that tomorrow.

Today, we went to see the Andy Warhol exhibit
that's here in town. Columbus is actually the only US stop for Andy Warhol: Other Voices, Other Rooms, and we felt fortunate to have the chance to see it. Click on the link if you'd like the full breakdown of what was displayed, but the short list is an amazing collection of his print work, photographs, and a massive amount of film displayed on dozens of screens. While I like some of his work, I never claimed to be a massive follower, but it really was amazing to see the sheer volume of the man's output.

Jen and I roamed the halls of the Wexner Center, checking out old 16mm film of a man inserting a paintbrush into his rectum and then paint a portrait of Andy while Andy looked on, snapping the occasional photograph. We played in the area they had set aside for a miniature "Clouds" display. (The clouds in question being large foil pillows filled with a light helium mixture floating around one corner of the gallery.) I stood with rapt attention at every mention or performance by The Velvet Underground. We read excerpts of Truman Capote's Marilyn Monroe interview for Andy's magazine. We sat mesmerized by some of the screen tests that he shot as the subject would go from campy, to bored, to finally being upset that the process wasn't over.

Whatever your feelings about Campbell's Soup Cans, Multiple Marilyns, or Pop Art in general, it was a great way to spend the afternoon and it was good to just get out and spend some time looking at art again. We haven't done that for awhile, and just being out and about wakes you up a bit and gets you thinking. Some of it we loved, some of it we were indifferent to, but we were happy just roaming around. Plus, did I mention that a guy had a paint brush in his ass? How awesome is that? The only way that could be better is if he were a caricature artist at Cedar Pointe. "Oh, OK. You like horses? How bout if I draw you sitting on a horse? Great! Here, let me just bend over..."

---

After absorbing all things Andy we headed over to Panera for a late lunch. After rounding up half a sandwich and a bowl of soup each, we found a table near the fireplace and settled in. I was watching a guy who was sitting outside drinking from a Panera branded cup and smoking a cigarette like there was no tomorrow. He would take a hit, exhale in this lazy way where he would just open his mouth in an "O" and the smoke would just pour out of his lungs, and then immediately take another hit. There were no quick breaths of pure air in between, just this crazy sucking followed by letting his mouth hang open to let the flood of smoke rise up and sting his eyes. I was enthralled. When he lit another cigarette immediately, I thought it odd but remember thinking "Whatever it takes to get through it, buddy".

When he took three drags and then threw the butt on the ground ten feet to his right, lit a new cigarette, then walked over picked up the one he threw to the ground to take one more hit before putting it in the ashtray and then turn his attention to the new cigarette, I started giving Jen, who had her back to the entertainment, the play by play.

After a few minutes of me explaining that the guy was taking three or four quick drags and then throwing the still lit cigarettes on the ground, lighting a new one, and then going back for the grounded butts, she picked up her chair and came around to my side of the table. To the others in the restaurant we might have looked like thirtysomethings in love, but we were just both enthralled by this strange bit of madness in the middle of Upper Arlington.

He waved at kids, he smoked, he littered, he smoked his litter, he took sips of water from his cup with shaking hands, he smoked, he coughed, and then he did it all again. Sadly, just like my bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup, the craziness came to an end. Before I could get into my shortbread cookie, he had rounded the corner. We left shortly after and kept an eye out for him as we drove out of the neighborhood, but he was not to be seen.

And that's that. We came home and watched "True Blood" and I'm about to wrap up the night with a graphic novel by Joe Hill. Jen's been in bed for over an hour already and should be out cold. I probably won't be much further behind her.

Lazyman, New Heiruspecs & Voting

It's funny. After a couple weeks of not riding my bike due to bad weather, family in the hospital, and general laziness, I'm back in action. I feel like an old man though. My legs are tired. This morning I found myself wondering if I had brakes rubbing or something that would be slowing me down. No...it's just hard to pedal these days. That's what I get for not riding though. I'll ride to work the majority of this week and I should be back on point by the weekend. Really I just want to take advantage of the weather while I can.

The mornings are cold on the trail, and now that there are so many leaves on the ground even the smallest animals moving nearby sound like I'm being rushed by a heard of buffalo. Deer, just barely visible in the morning gray, become impossibly fast moving serial killers. The trash can at Cooper Park wants to torture me in its basement. Rabbits, hell-bent on revenge, dart in front of my tires, trying to steer me off the trail and into their lair where their families wait with knives and forks at the ready. That's right. Lairs. You didn't know that rabbits lived in lairs, did you? Now you do, so watch your ass.

In other news, Felix dropped a free Heiruspecs promo disk on his site the other day. Just click on FREE MUZAK , save it to your PC and drag it into iTunes for some free tunes. I was a big fan of "A Tiger Dancing" and some of their older stuff too, of course, but have to admit the new stuff reduces my interest in all things old. While it's not on my iPod yet, I listened through it last night and am digging them more and more. So, if you've ever wondered what Twin Cities Hip Hop sounds like, here's your big chance. You know me...I normally prefer my music soaked in reverb, layers of guitars, and a lead singer with a heroin habit but I'm branching out. You might want to try it too. In addition to his skills as an MC, Felix has mad skill organizing a Data Entry group. If you like what you hear, drop him a comment so he knows you're around.

I'm gonna ride home and then go participate in some Democracy. Then run home to see if Ohio is carried by my particular candidate of choice by one vote. If it happens, I'll run the streets taking credit for our collective win. Look for me, I'll be the big balding guy congratulating myself on the corner of Miller and Kelton. (I don't want to be seen in my own neighborhood.)

My Kick Ass Life

So, last night I was just hanging out, pulling up directions to get to a church my cousin is getting married in tonight, when the phone rang. Who was it? Edward Fucking Norton, that's who.

Ed "Fight Club" Norton was just calling to say hey, and let me know that I need to vote for Obama. He reminded me that I don't need to sit around and wait until Election Day to do it. I can vote early in the great state of Ohio. Mr. American History X then went on to tell me where to go to have my voice heard.

My life kicks so much ass.

Now, you might be like "So what? Who cares." And I'm guessing you would be one of the millions who didn't hear from Ed Norton last night. Your jealousy is embarassing.

A Few of My Favorite Things

There are a few things that I'm totally hooked on right now and I thought I'd share. In no real order of importance:

Toilet Ink - Jen and I kind of have his and hers bathrooms. Mine is in the hall close to the extra bedroom that we use as a den. One of these glorious creations will be spicing up my throne post haste. Not 100% sure which one I'm getting yet, but pretty sure that it will be "The Hot Seat.

TV on the Radio - I've loved this band since I stumbled blindly upon the "Young Liars" EP and they are consistently good. The new album is amazing and totally worth picking up. I don't know if it's as good as their previous album "Return to Cookie Mountain", but this is a bit more fun and funky, and not quite so dark. If you want to hear what they do, but don't want to pay cash money up front, check out their free live set on the The Interface - Live Feed podcast from iTunes.

This American Life - I'm a bit of a Public Radio / NPR geek. It's OK, I'm fine with it. It's the news I listen to when I'm in the car, and entertainment for me when I'm running around on the weekends. Specifically though, This American Life is hands down the best hour of radio you will ever hope to find. For those unfamiliar, each week there is a theme for the show, and each week they explore different perspectives of that theme from (generally) three or four different people. The topics range from topical (the Mortgage Crises episode was brilliant beyond words) to emotional (coping with death, lying, etc.). The different views or approaches to a subject can be in the form of a book reading, interviews, stand up, or journalistic style reporting. Often, the experience is moving. Again, iTunes has the show available for free Podcasting, so don't be shy. Go subscribe. Fall in love. Then, go to their website and give them a few bucks. It is Public Radio after all.

Urban Medium - I know I've sung the praises of UM here a few times in the past, but I love them so I'm going to do it again. I FINALLY got the cash together to get Kim Jong iLL framed. I placed the order and dropped them off last weekend and will hopefully have them back in the next 3-4 weeks. Now, they have a new Charles Manson / Hello Kitty print that's pretty amazing. I'm gonna have to see if we have room for that too. On it's own, it wouldn't be a hard sell, but she is giving up a substantial chunk of wall space for the three prints I'm already getting framed. Not sure that she wants to live in a UM gallery.

Rue Morgue - I've been picking up this magazine at the bookstore from time to time and it's always been entertaining to me. It's an amazing collection of all things horror in all its art forms. Specifically though, this year's Halloween issue is fantastic. Filled with lists of best ever gore films, reviews for novels and video games, and just fun reading over all. If you don't mind stills of nude people impaled on giant poles, this magazine is for you (or maybe just me).

True Blood - Alan Ball, the genius behind Six Feet Under (my favorite television show of all time), is now giving us vampires in rural Louisiana. Lots of blood, sex, death, and black comedy in a show that imagines life after vampires have come out of the closet. Jen said it best: "I can't wait for this show to be over so we can buy it and watch it all again."

Fear and Loathing on the Bike (Gang) Trail

So, Jen and I started out on a ride through the late morning. We had planned on getting an early start, but had a hard time getting out of bed, so we made it a lunch time ride. The day was perfect. Just perfect. The sun was bright and hot, and the breeze was cool, and we started out slowly talking and riding side by side.


We made it through the soccer fields and over the second of the handful of bridges that we cross, when we started to go under the overpass for Rt 161. Ahead there was a jogger, plodding along down the middle of the lane, struggling to hold his pace.


The man appeared to be marching into his mid forties, and possibly just realized it himself, prompting the early afternoon jog on a Sunday. His form was sloppy, with arms flopping at this sides and his feet just skimming the pavement. I was worried he would trip and fall. The distance between us and him was closing fast.


When people use the middle of the trail, it's hard to know which side you should try to pass on. What's worse was a situation like today where the incline leading out from the overpass curves hard to the left, making it impossible to see oncoming traffic. Maybe Jen was thinking this through, or maybe she was transfixed as I was at the man's impossibly gelatinous gate, but she didn't signal a warning that we were going to pass until we were about 15 feet behind him.


"Ding!"


Crisp and clean as a syringe out of it's sterilized packaging, the bell we picked her up a month or so ago rang out. A happy sound, the bell brought her joy when I mounted it to her bike, and brings here even more joy when she gets the chance to use it. It's the sound of money. It's the sound of an angel getting its wings. It's the sound that lets this rolling yay-hoo know that we're going to pass on the right since his stupid ass is occupying the middle of the trail on a blind curve.

Homeboy freaked. I don't know if it was because he had just made it to the other side of the overpass and had been uncomfortable in the dark. I don't know if it was because he had once been hospitalized and the cruel doctors had rung a bell prior to each session of electro-shock. Whatever the reason, he jumped a foot in the air and then bolted to the left side of the track where he yelled the words that would become the catch-phrase of the weekend.

"WAIT A MINUTE!"

Jen, completely bemused kept pedaling as she smiled and said, "Hi there."

I was grinning like a fool but was so taken aback by his reaction that I could find nothing to say. He was legitimately scared. His eyes tripled in size, and while he was already huffing and puffing from his jog, I thought it would be a very long time before his body ever caught up with the demands of his lungs. His chest heaved, and a white ball of spit flew my way as he exhaled. I watched it rise and fall landing on the pavement three feet from where I rode.

We tried to give the guy a break and not mock him openly in his presence, but it wasn't long before we were shouting "Wait a minute!" and laughing like the mindless sinners we are. Jen, who wasn't excited about the ride to begin with, declared that moment to be worth a whole afternoon of pedaling.

Immortality

We moved into a new office this week. It's strange doing all the same old shit you used to do in new surroundings. One positive that has come out of this move though, is I was taught that immortality is within my grasp. Check it:




Soap + Water = Immortality

Drinking While Shopping = Mistake

It was a bad idea to start drinking this evening.

I think it's because I do it so rarely these days that when I break down and open a beer or have a Scotch, it feels like an event. So far tonight, I finished the Stella Artois I had in the fridge, singled out the lone bottle of Blue Moon, and have since moved on to the Guinness tucked away at the back of my fridge. Granted, my consumption isn't much compared to those who imbibe on a more regular basis, but I'm still at the point of feeling like I could be comfortable with some bad decisions.

First buzzed decision of the night is that I should really do this more often. Life is to short to be completely sober for all of it. Most of it, sure...but not all of it. I'll work on that. We all have room for improvement, and right now I'm convinced that the hole in my life could be filled with more beer. What of it?

Second, I need a record player. That's right, a good old fashioned record player so I can have a vinyl collection.

First and foremost, I'm a collector, so the idea of putting together a vinyl collection is way appealing. Second, there is just something beautiful and nostalgic about it. When I was a kid, my father had a massive collection of LP's. Granted, he was into Southern Gospel, arguably the worst music ever put on wax, but still...I remember going through those albums as a kid. There was something about the over sized artwork and the large booklets that sometimes came inside that was so appealing.

I still remember going into my local mall as a young boy, and seeing vinyl on the racks. The pictures were amazing to me. Kiss decked out in suits for the "Dressed to Kill" cover. Jimi Hendrix's over the top psychedelia of "Axis". Strangely, the album cover that stuck with me the most was the cover of Queen's "News of the World". That giant robot with the dead bodies in the palm of its hand grabbed me, and I remember being thrilled and intimated by it all at once. With my conservative Christian upbringing, that lone image was enough to incite all sorts of feelings I knew I shouldn't be having.



Hell, kids. I remember being young in a small Nazarene church in Hebron, Ohio when they brought in a special Evangelist to discuss the dangers of "back-masking" in popular music. This was, of course, the supposedly popular practice of musicians where they would inbed messages into their albums that could only be discerned when played backwards. Said messages would then prompt you to smoke marijuana (Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust", I believe) or to "Just do it" (Judas Priest's "Stained Class" or Nike...I can't remember any longer). This man actually played records backwards to us causing a sound of warped noise to fill the church, an essentially creepy sound to begin with, and then would have to translate the garbled mess to us all so we could be sufficiently scared.

So tonight, when searching through some stuff on Best Buy, I realized just how many amazing albums are available on vinyl now and it brought all of this back. Hell yeah. I want a collection. I want Queen to convince me to get high, or Radiohead to recommend a good anti-depressant. I need Judas Priest to tell me to do anything. Fucking anything for Rob Halford, just name it, sir. I want the big album art and the big rich sound of vinyl in my house.

Don't hate. Your house if full of useless shit too. Look around.

Napping Through the War

Last night, the explosion that I always fear will ring out in the night ripped through my bedroom. It was just before midnight that I found myself sitting straight up in bed, trying to figure out why a bomb had just gone off in my bedroom when I heard the tornado sirens begin to wind out. Our bedroom strobed with lightening. I rolled over and looked at Jen in the brief flashes that revealed her to still be sleeping soundly. No way can she sleep through this. Just then, thunder crashed overhead sounding like the house next door was ripped in two. Jen's brow furrowed in the brief punches of bright light, then relaxed as she slipped back into sleep.

Seriously? How is this possible?

I got up, convinced there would be four funnel clouds over our house. I spent the next hour and a half listening to the explosions, marveling at the nonstop barrage of lightening, and watching Cool Hand Luke while flipping back to the news from time to time to check the position of the storm. At 12:30 the tornado warnings expired, but the sirens still wailed intermittently. The news explained the county was having technical difficulties and were trying to get them shut down for the night. I still got a feeling of dread every time they whined there way through the house.

The news said that over the course of one hour, the city experienced over 7000 flashes of lightening. Who the hell verifies that? What kind of life is that when you have to roll out of bed for every thunderstorm saying "Time to count the lightening" to your spouse as you head out the door? Is there a team of people sitting around weather instruments and an abacus? I realize that it's most likely a computer program that analyzes the storm or something like that, but that's not nearly as funny to picture. In my mind, it will always be some douchebag in a slicker on a hilltop with a pen and piece of paper, counting each explosion while praying he's not killed.

Merryman Makes Everything Better

So, I was doing my morning blog reading to see what folks were up to, and good old Tappity posted a Slogan Generator that stole a few moments of my time this morning. Maybe it's the fact that I'm ten years old inside. Maybe it's Narcissistic need to see my name inserted into well known slogans. Maybe I just don't feel like working. Regardless, here's some of my favorites:

Enter a word for your own slogan:

Generated by the

Advertising Slogan Generator. Get more Merryman slogans.



I'm Cuckoo for Merryman!

Every Kiss Begins With Merryman

It's Slightly Rippled With a Flat Merryman (I don't even know what this was for, but it makes me laugh.)

You Like Merryman. Merryman Likes You.

Merryman Makes Everything Better.

Sometimes You Feel Like a Merryman, Sometimes You Don't (Many people would attest this is true.)

And, perhaps the most fitting (in light of my recent shedding of poundage): Half the Merryman, All the Taste

Strange Days Have Found Us

Busy busy. For the most part, it's all boring day to day stuff. We go to work to make money to buy books and movies that we don't have time to watch lately because we're too busy exercising or running around. Seriously, I have a copy of "There Will Be Blood" that I bought the day it came out that I still haven't seen.

I haven't finished a book in weeks, and the pile of stuff I have to be read is starting to overflow. Recently I picked up a handful of Jack Ketchum's paperbacks (haven't read anything yet, but appears to be pretty intense horror), some healthy grilling cookbooks, and "The Raw Shark Texts" by Steven Hall. Imaginary monsters feeding on your memories? Yes, please.

I think by far the most interesting thing in our little lives came in the form of a threat posted by a sophomore high school student against the school my wife works at. Tuesday was her birthday, and I had flowers and balloons delivered to her, but found it odd by mid-afternoon when she hadn't called to say that she had received them. I called under the guise of wanting to talk about something else and I get:

"Hey. Got the flowers. They're nice. Gotta run. Love you, bye." She didn't take a breath nor did she give me a chance to say anything. Click. She hung up.

Thirty minutes later I call home to check messages and hear the Superintendent's automated message saying that students had been sent home, all evening activities had been cancelled and the following day's classes were cancelled as well due to a threat made against the school. Immediately you think it's some fucking knucklehead calling in a bomb threat or otherwise being douche, but part of you wonders. I immediately thought of the grainy black and white surveillance video from Columbine I saw, and wished she'd call to tell me what's going on.

So, it turns out (per another automated call received from the school tonight) that the kid had made the "threat" in an online forum, saying he needed grenades, but had guns already. He posted that he thought he could kill 60 people before he was taken out and that this was set to go down Thursday. The FBI tracked his IP address back to Columbus, and had a heart to heart with the boy to see exactly what the deal was.

He was just a kid being stupid. There were no guns. There was no real threat.

When things like this happen though, my imagination always gets carried away. I spend some time at the school to proctor ACT and SAT tests for extra cash, and to be honest, the place can be a bit creepy. I think maybe it's high schools in general that can be creepy when you aren't used to them. I pictured kids running down the institutional-green hallways, and the front office where my wife works under siege. I know Jen did too.

We tried not to get too carried away with the whole ordeal, but when she called me from the office to catch me up on what was going on, I could hear that she was upset. To have a place you consider yours, a safe place, be threatened and suddenly not be a place of comfort is unsettling. Even knowing the kid was just a bored punk online won't set things back to the way they were right away. This will probably be with her for a while, and I hate that for her. Hopefully it won't be too long before it's at least at the back of her mind though.

Enough of that.

This weekend I get to partake in the first adult beverage I've had in almost four months. I will be with some professional drinkers, so I will have to take my time and really pace myself, but I can't wait. More than anything it'll just be good to get away from here for a few days and hang with some good folks. Somewhere along the way I'm going to finish the fifth (sixth?) draft of a short story that I did about a man and his dog. Aw. Sounds wholesome, huh? It's not.

Buying Groceries With Faster Pussycat

I'm a guy that generally take a good hour and a half to feel really awake after getting up in the morning. I muddle through mornings on autopilot, managing to survive a morning, but never really feeling engaged. This morning though, something cut through that haze.

On the television was your standard car commercial, but in the background the good folks from Chevy had selected a stripped down remix version of "Lazy Eye" by the Silversun Pickups. I died a little inside.

OK, I realize that SSPU are not exactly on par with "Instant Karma" being used by Nike, but I really like this band. They're a bit of a throwback to the wall of sound Smashing Pumpkins and noisy growl of My Bloody Valentine (comparisons that everyone makes, I know. That doesn't make them incorrect though). I saw them last summer and they were amazing live. So it hurt to see a Chevy Malibu being built in a factory to the lyrics "I've been waiting / I've been waiting for this moment all my life..." Sob.

It's like that though. They're a small band, and the drugs can't always be free. There's a new album to record, and they're on a small label (http://www.dangerbirdrecords.com) It's just that I like to keep my art and advertising separate. ESPECIALLY when it comes to car commercials.
Everyday I get surprised by how the music that is/was important has become used in ways I never would have guessed.

I'm a big Lou Reed / Velvet Underground fan. There's just something about the guy. Funny thing is, that awhile back I was driving around listening to the radio when I heard the string section from a song called "Street Hassle" (Lou Reed solo stuff) playing prominently in an advertisement for one of our local "Heart" hospitals. It was so funny to hear the voice-over guy talking about how said hospital beats the national average for heart attack response time by over twenty minutes backed by music Lou wrote. It was a wise choice not to include any of the parts of the song that contained lyrics:

"You know, I’m glad that we met man
It really was nice talking
And I really wish that there was a little more time to speak
But you know it could be a hassle
Trying to explain myself to a police officer
About how it was that your old lady got herself stiffed
And it’s not like we could help
But there was nothing no one could do
And if there was, man, you know I would have been the first
But when someone turns that blue
Well, it’s a universal truth
And then you just know that bitch will never fuck again
By the way, that’s really some bad shit
That you came to our place with
But you ought to be more careful around the little girls
It’s either the best or it’s the worst
And since I don’t have to choose
I guess I won’t and I know this ain’t no way to treat a guest
But why don’t you grab your old lady by the feet
And just lay her out on the darkened street
And by morning, she’s just another hit and run
You know, some people got no choice
And they can’t never find a voice
To talk with that they can even call their own
So the first thing that they see
That allows them the right to be
Why they follow it, you know, it’s called bad luck"

Nothing says responsive heart care like a song about ODing. Not to mention the fact that the first part details a sex scene in a kitchen. Oh well, I guess the music sounds nice enough and I'm sure that was far as they thought about it. Somewhere though, there is an ad exec patting himself on the back and saying "Fuck yeah, Lou Reed".

It's like this everywhere I go. I heard Modest Mouse at the grocery store a while back. There I am, pissed that I forgot to pick up English Muffins when I was in the bread isle, and they're playing "Dashboard". All of the 80's hairband music that I used to think was so hardcore (yes, I thought Motley Crue was hardcore when I was 12, what of it?) is the new muzak. You can hear The Scorpions or Great White being played in offices across Mid America right now. Seriously, just pop in to a local temp agency or insurance office. They're listening to Van Halen and yawning.

How long will it be before I see a Nine Inch Nails Volkswagen commercial or hear Sonic Youth in an elevator? How long before Ozzy Osbourne plays the telethon for Jerry's Kids and licks Ed McMahon's wilting cheek? ("Ha! That tickles, sir!") When are the fine young men of Wolfmother going to introduce a new line of flatware to be sold exclusively at Target?

Actually, if I'm honest, we could use new silverware...

Demon Dogs of the Night

I picked up Otis and Lucy (my two very manly ten pound dogs) just before 7:00 from the groomers and brought them home. As always, they were all strung out from a day spent in a strange place. Otis was shaking the whole way home, and the moment they got in they guzzled water side by side, unable to quench the thirst within.

Then, they chased and fought one another and seemed to stare at me when they thought I wouldn't notice. In short, their behavior made me nervous.


I don't mean to sound like an alarmist, but I am quite certain that my lap dogs are possessed by Satan. I'm convinced that sometime after the clippers were put away and the toenails were clipped, my dogs participated in a Satanic ritual and are now full of the powers of darkness.

You have doubts? Peep these...




In this first shot you have Lucy (rockin' the pink bandanna) lying in wait before offering up a sacrifice to her master (note the fires of Hell burning in her eyes). Otis (in blue) just got done trying to quench said fires of hell with a long steady drink at the water bowel, but to no avail.




In this shot, Lucy hasn't moved a muscle. She is lying in wait for her chance to strike. Beside her, Otis flicks his tongue like the serpent dwelling in his soul dictates. (Note the fires of Hell are still burning in their eyes).




And finally, here we have Otis, dropping the pretense of being a normal Silky Terrier and giving in to the lust for blood that now fuels his every move. Yes, hellfire still spills from his eyes.






I've put them to bed for now, but if my fears prove accurate I'm guessing the thin wired cage they bunk out in won't contain the horror that is about to be unleashed. I knew we should have paid more for the deluxe crate.

A Veritable Potpourri of Whatnots

Every morning when I drive to work, and then each evening when I drive home, I look for deer along the edges of yards and in the fields along the highway. While I often see them, I don't know why I spend so much time looking for them in the first place.

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Most days I will chew an entire pack of Orbit gum at work. It first started because the diet I'm on gives you funny smelling breath. They say it has something to do with being in ketosis. Well, it started with that, but now it's an obsession. Unless I am having the one cup of coffee I allow myself in the morning, I am chewing gum while at work. Rarely do I chew gum at home though.

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The other day I got home from work and was talking to Jen. I turned to go to upstairs and she called me back. She had noticed that the back of the jeans I was wearing had ripped from the top of the pocket down to the top of my thigh. I had worn the jeans all day at work, but have no idea when or how they ripped. It's possible I spent the entire day at work with my butt hanging out, although everyone denies having noticed. Fortunately, I was rockin' some super swanky boxers.

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I like being outside on Wednesday's at noon when the city does the Tornado Siren testing each week. I didn't realize that until today, but every time I'm out and about at that time and I hear the whine in the air I like it. Although,I liked the sirens considerably less last year when they went off for real and Jen and I had to hang out in our downstairs bathroom waiting for the funnel clouds to pass.

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I preordered Wii Fit today. I'm going to get the new Mario Kart soon too. Bask in my geekiness! I SAID BASK!

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I love tattoos. Well, some tattoos. I've always wanted some ink done, but never had anything in mind that I loved enough to get on my own skin. I see other people's tatts and think that they look cool, but they're never anything I would want on my own skin. A long time ago I read East of Eden and fell in love with the book. It's still my favorite book of all time. In the book, they discuss the word "timshel" which in Hebrew translates to "Thou Mayest". Biblically it refers to free will. The reference is to the passage that says "Thou mayest rule over sin". I love affirmation of free will. You may rule over sin. You may choose not to. You may choose to romp and roll in it. For me, not being a born again (the first time was enough, thanks) gentleman, I just like the idea it conveys about personal choice, and the responsibility that comes with it.

I decided years ago that if I got work done, it would be the original Hebrew characters on one inner arm, and then "timshel" inside the other arm. I always said that I would wait until I dropped some pounds first though. 100 of them to be exact. Well, here I am, realistically within three weeks of hitting that goal and still not sure if I want to do it. I really love tattoos, but again, I really love other people's tattoos. We'll see.