I was home sick earlier this week with "stomach issues." OK, colitis. Go look it up.
My first day back, some bastard had the nerve to put a box of luscious, fresh, chewy donuts right near my desk.
Donuts do not always agree with me under the best of circumstances, but in the midst of an "episode," they're not a wise choice.
How come nobody ever brings in pots of plain white rice?
I hate these people.
Lest you meatheads are thinking that old Joe got stood up, left at the proverbial alter, be it known that you are not correct, in fact you are wrong.
Evidently, the swelling went down, because my BFF and I met up this past Monday evening. One of the first things he said was that when he told his girlfriend we were meeting she said,
"Oh that's right; you're meeting your stalker."
Nice.
So anyway, we had a couple of belts, spoke about fatherhood and music; discussed our craft. He even showed me his tats. In short, we bonded and became fast friends.
Ok granted I haven't heard from him since, and somehow he slipped out without paying, but don't you worry, he'll call.
Tony-don't let me down bro.
At the risk of repeating myself (you'll listen again and like it) the boy is playing little league again.
He's been playing little league for five years, beginning with T-ball when he was five years old. He's always enjoyed it, but at the same time he was always ready for the season to end.
The boy is pretty active and baseball can sometimes be a game of standing around with your thumb up you're a*s, particularly at the younger levels when most kids aren't coordinated enough to even hit the ball, let alone give the outfielders any action. But ready as he always was for the seasons to end, he was always ready to sign up again come spring.
If you've ever been to a little league game there are always those kids who are obviously playing more for their parents than themselves. You'll see them chasing butterflies in left-field, talking to themselves, watching birds; paying attention to everything but the game going on in front of them. The thing we've noticed this year is that for the first time the boy actually has his head in the game. He's trying to figure things out; where the runners are, where the play will be if it's hit to him, etc. Believe it or not you baseball meatheads, the game is more than just hitting a ball with a stick and running in a diamond pattern. It's a thinking man's game and to be good you have to understand it.
My point is that the boy is actually into baseball this year. He's always looking for games on TV, preferably one of the local teams, but if not he'll watch whoever happens to be playing.
And he always wants to "have a catch."
Several times over the weekend while I was in the midst of some chore or another, the boy would ask if I'd come out back to play catch. Now I'll admit that I'm not always in the mood to play or there are other things that need to be done. Sometimes I'll have to tell him to give me a few minutes so that I can finish whatever I happen to be doing. But I do my best to spend time with my kids, particularly when they ask me to because one day they will stop asking. Also because every time he asks me to play, that god damn Cats in the Cradle song goes through my head. So even though there are chores to do, I'll take a break and have a catch with him.
No way do I want to be remembered like that jackass Cats in the Cradle father.
So what the hell do you want from me, some kind of weekend recap? As if you give a sh*t? Baseball, soccer, chores, etc. Now go piss off.
OK, I kid. Yes there was baseball and soccer, but there was also a viewing of Dan in Real Life (a cliché filled pile of badger dung) and the Art and Wine festival where we procured two new pint glasses and two whole beers all for the low, LOW price of $20. Did we get royally screwed or what? You get charged for the glass, which you need in order to get beer, and then you pay for the beer on top of it. Damn good thing I didn't buy an art or we'd be living in a van down by the river.
The Art & Wine festival is always a good time though, particularly if the weather is as nice as it was on Saturday. Several years ago I wrote an article about this event for the town paper. Unfortunately as this annual event is sponsored by the town's "business association," many of whom are also advertisers in the town paper, my article was deemed inappropriate, and thus it was censored.
I attempted to stage a sit in, but was unsuccessful in getting more than a few local drunks to join in the protest. Once the billy clubs came out, they were quick to break ranks and the whole event just sort of fizzled.
So for the first time anywhere, except an old website of mine that no one but my mother and a group of hostile appliance collectors ever visit, I give you One Beer with a Side of Art, Please
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The 9th Annual [small town where Joe lives] Art & Wine festival has come and gone. There were two very unique points about this year's festival;
If there's one thing I hate, it's Art and Rain. I don't like soggy art. Wine and Rain I can handle, though I really prefer Beer and Rain if you want to split hairs. And why is it that you never see "Beer and Art" festivals? As a beer drinker, I'm offended. What—can I not appreciate fine art? Well I might be able to…if I knew what it was.
Every festival involving "art" puts me into a state of confusion. I've discovered that, try as I might, I just don't understand art. I'm not even sure what "art" is.
What is it about—and pick the object of your choice—a painting, a nude woman made of wrought iron, a life-size likeness of [B-list celebrity] fashioned from rabbit droppings—that constitutes that something as "art?" Why is it that some things are considered works of art while others are works of crap? Can we get a judge's ruling here?
If I were to take a handful of rocks, paint them and glue them together, basically I'd have something that resembled painted rocks being held together with glue. However if there were a person out there (and somewhere there is) who was loony enough to pay me for my "Rocks Reclining with Pigment and Adhesive" sculpture, suddenly it is deemed "art". It's still the same pile of rocks I found in my backyard, a paint-by-numbers kit and epoxy, but once money has changed hands and that item resides on a shelf in someone's home or office, it has been transformed into…a work of art!
I really do think it's THAT simple. If someone is willing to pay for it, it's art. If no one is willing to pay for it, it's crap.
Say it with me. Money—Art. No money—Crap.
Here's another little observation, and I'm sure I'm not alone in having observed it. Why is it that wine or beer or some other spirit always accompanies an art festival? I'll tell you why; because the more booze you consume the more of an art connoisseur you become. These festival promoters are not stupid. They know that after John and Jane Public down a couple of pints, or a carafe of some local hooch, "Pebbles at Play" is suddenly going to look a whole lot more appealing.
"Look Jane! This unique and exquisite piece of art will look perfect in our breakfast nook!"
"Why you're right John! Can you believe that just an hour ago we were laughing about who would actually buy such a piece of crap? Boy, are we lucky it hasn't been snapped up already! Another shot of this intoxicating beverage dear?"
Well hopefully you were able to take advantage of the opportunity to transform someone's backyard hobby into a commodity worth untold riches. Be sure to attend next year's festival where I'll be selling still life's made from the pure crust of Mother Earth. That and any other crap I don't unload at our next garage sale.
I had to make an after dinner trip to Safeway this evening. While I was checking out, a youngish gentleman came up and asked the cashier to unlock the liquor case as he wanted a bottle of Hennessy.
The youngish gentleman in question was wearing both upper and lower grillz.
I shit you not.
And he wasn't like trying to look like a jackass. Don't get me wrong, he most certainly did, it just wasn't his intent.
Now I've seen this crap on the MTV Rapper Yo Yo show or whatever, but I never really figured people would wear this crap in real life, like to go to the grocery store for example. And then wanting Hennessy on top of it? Priceless.
No doubt he rolled out of the parking lot in his spinner adorned Escalade, thumping to the steady grooves of 50 cent or Loose Change or Milk Money or whatever the crap kidz groove to while sippin' the Hennessy and smokin' the crack pipe and impregnating each other.
I weep for future generations.
Now then, I'm off for the Early Bird Special at IHOP if anyone would care to join me.
Hooray, hooray, the first of May, outdoor bonking starts today!
I was rather disappointed that I didn't see any bonking on my way in to work this morning. Granted there's a slight chill in the air, but personally I find it invigorating.
I don't know the history behind the ritual of bonking out of doors on May 1; it's probably some pagan thing. But I do recall that Herb Caen used to make mention of it each year.
I do know that today begins the last full month of school, and for that bit of good news we're all very excited. It's been a long school year, and a few months break in the routine will be a welcome change.
We've also got a couple of little trips coming up this summer.
On Saturday, June 14th, we'll be spending the evening, sans kids, at the Hotel Bohème in the heart of North Beach, while attending the North Beach Festival. I made reservations for this hotel nearly a year ago. It's right on Columbus just a block or two from Washington Square Park in one direction and Vesuvio and City Lights in the other. Should be a gas Daddio.
Also in June we'll be taking a Mexican cruise courtesy of Disney. Many people for whatever reason do not like the whole idea of a cruise. I don't know if it's cabin fever from being on a boat at sea or what. Personally I'll take any chance I get where I actually HAVE to stay put, even if it's on 11 decks of "family fun." Mickey can piss up a rope though, I'll be sitting somewhere with a book in hand and a drink within reach.
July will be our annual trip to Tahoe where there will be more sun, sitting, reading, drinking and possibly photo taking.
Crap, May is going to be a long month.
As a result of the pathetic persuasive nature of my post, or perhaps the barrage of e-mails, my new "friend", Tony and I are "hooking up" tonight for drinks and tomfoolery.
Never underestimate the POWER of this blog.
You have been warned.
Update – 4:00 PM
Tony broke our date. Apparently something suddenly came up.
I wonder if it's too late to call Charley?
Larry Brown
1951 - 2004
Because I wasn't writing this blog back in 2004 when author, Larry Brown passed away, I never had the opportunity to write about him for my celebrity deaths category. This sucks because I love his work and his passing was a great loss to literature.
I was introduced to Brown's work by an anonymous poster in the Craigslist writer's forum. I had written a post asking for some good book recommendations and someone suggested Larry Brown, a "Southern writer with some clever stories." I did a little research and ended up purchasing Father and Son, a book Brown wrote in 1996.
As I've mentioned in numerous book posts, I love flawed characters, and Brown's books are full of them; drunks, hoodlums, thieves and sluggards coexisting with decent, hard-working, common people. Most of his stories take place in the south (Brown was born, raised, lived and died in Mississippi) and often exhibit the harsh side of life. His characters are not always sympathetic, but they are true.
Always an avid reader, Brown began writing and submitting short stories in 1980, (an inspiration to us "older" writers) while working as a firefighter for the Oxford Fire Dept., and eventually received his first publishing credit with a story in the bikes and boobs magazine, Easyrider. In 1988 he published Facing the Music, a collection of short stories, followed by a second collection, Big Bad Love in 1990.
I also credit Brown for turning me on to writer Harry Crews. I believe it was in Billy Ray's Farm where Brown credits Crews' Feast of Snakes as an influence
Brown's full collection is below. The ones in bold are those I've read, all of which I can recommend.
A heavy smoker, Brown died of a heart attack at his home near Oxford on November 24, 2004 at the age of 53. His early death robbed the world of what surely would have been a much larger body of outstanding work.
I'm pretty tired this morning. That's what I get for going to bed thinking about bills and money and financial crap. After tossing and turning for about 20 minutes I gave up and got up and watched most of Alien Nation.
So we went to a used book sale at the local library on Saturday; tons of books and too many people, lured by the bargain of $1 books. But I elbowed my way past the old biddy's scrounging through Oprah's Book Club selections to scrounge up a few selections of my own.
I've never been a huge Jack London fan, but he wrote some classics and I've had drinks at Heinold's First and Last Chance Saloon several times, so I figured I owed it to old Jack not to leave his work floundering amongst the supermarket paperbacks. He's lucky it was only a dollar though.
Yea, I bought this because I'm queer. Shut the f*ck, up. Actually I've probably read more about Burroughs than anything he actually wrote. I think the most Burroughs I've read were bits and pieces from The Portable Beat Reader; one of those books for folks who really don't want to read any of the beat writers, but want to pretend as though they have. I tried to read Naked Lunch once and just got all befuddled. We'll see if Queer has a similar effect.
The naked chick caught my eye. What can I say? Saw the relatively sh*tty movie with Meg Ryan and Mark Ruffalo several years ago. The books are always better than the movies so what the hell.
Comedian, Steve Martin wrote this novella several years ago and I recall hearing some good things about it. I believe a movie was made as well but I'm not sure. I know that if it was, I've never seen it. I've always liked Martin, and figure this will make a good addition to my Steve Martin library, right next to Cruel Shoes on my bookshelf.
My buddy Tom was telling me about this book. I believe it's Clavell's first novel. I've never read any Clavell but he's supposed to be good. I figure since King Rat is his first novel and not nearly as thick as Shōgun, it's a good one to start with.
This is another book that I've heard good things about. Actually it may have been the John Cusack movie that I heard good things about; a movie we actually just saw for the first time several weeks ago. I'm sorry to say that I was disappointed in it. Maybe it's a "younger man's" movie. Maybe the book is too.
I didn't actually buy this book as I already own it, a first addition with a personal message written to me by my pal Chuck Kinder, however whilst rummaging through the many boxes full of books that were under the display tables, I came across a pristine hard cover copy of this, his most recent book. So I shoved aside a few copies of Koontz and King and gave old Chuck a more prominent place on the display table.
You're welcome old buddy.
Let's talk about parenting –that never-ending roller coaster ride of fun and frivolity.
There are many joys to parenting; all of those "firsts," watching them grow, having them curl up in your lap to read a book, watching them sleep, enjoying their successes as if they were our own and perhaps someday seeing them marry and start families of their own.
Yes, yes, all wonderful stuff, I'll agree. But today I'd like to discuss one of the true joys of parenting, a little something I like to refer to as "Intentional Annoyance."
To read the rest, click ---à HERE, and scroll to page number 8.
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