I am beginning to believe in a whole new type of fairy. This fairy is called The "middle of the night fuck you up with a baseball bat" Fairy. This fairy must be real, because any other reason why I feel like I've been gone over with a plank of hard ash escapes me.
I was thinking about flubber today. Yes, flubber. Why is it that when you put flubber on your shoes you can only bounce high, but when you put it in a car you fly around and shit? I think that is inconsistent. A person should be able to put flubber on their shoes and fly as well. I then thought of how disastrous flubber toothpaste would be as well as flubber hammers and breast implants. Flubber Astroglide would be interesting. Hmmmmn....
Why do I have a picture of Jimmy Durante in the corner there? Well, because Crystal has a new profile picture that cracks my shit up because, not only does it look like testicles hanging off of the monkey's face, but it also reminds me of Mr. Durante. I would think that feeding that monkey a banana would be über hilarious.
I lost an Ebay auction today and I'm pretty bummed about it. It was an auction for a vintage '60s era guitar amp that needed work done on it. This is sort of my deal, "flipping" guitar amps. I can't afford a house right now, and I can't plug my guitar in and play a house, either. The only problem is that I haven't as yet flipped any of the amps that I've fixed up so far. I am like some kind of electric cat lady. My greatest triumph was fixing up an amp from 1957 (Gibson Skylark) that had its own "tenants" and more rust than a 1974 Pinto. I haven't seen that much mouse shit in one place since I quit working at McDonalds so many years ago. Now it sounds downright mean, nasty, and brown. It's my dream to one day hear Billy Gibbons play something sweet through it. The thing that is funny is when my room had a mouse living in it about a year ago, the mouse was always going into that amp and scratching at the wood inside. The smell of the other mice must still be in there. Don't worry, I then figured out after that where to put the trap and caught that little bastard.
Anyway,regarding the Ebay auction, I got outbid 14 dollars, and I bet the dill-hole who won it won't know what to do with it, or make it as cool as I would have. Anyhow, that's all I've got for today (tonight). I'm off to dream of large women.
Not a whole lot to talk about, really. It's just past midnight here. For some reason my posts show Pacific time and not Mountain West. Whatever.
I'm going up to the cancer hospital tomorrow to get some paperwork that my oncologists prepared for me. My work is having an audit and the payroll director thought that with the days I've had to take off that having a doctor's note would help out in case any problems should arise. Considering that I went through intensive chemotherapy and radiation, I probably missed on average three days a month of work. It should have been a lot more than that, looking back on it all. I don't know how in the hell I pushed myself to get through it, but when you don't have full benefits you kind of have to.
My sister was trying to help me reduce some stress and gave me a back rub. She shrieked when she felt how effed up my back was--it's like a damn log with all sorts of knots in it. So, I am certainly going to get myself to a masseuse like I said. My sister also showed me some yoga exercises to try to loosen up my shoulders and back. I've never had upper back problems this bad in my entire life. It's like having hot daggers jammed into me.
Sometimes I wish I could fall asleep and be carried off to Kubla Kahn's Xanadu, not that crappy movie with Olivia Newton John. She can hang out there, though, and sing stuff from Grease. Or, maybe some benevolent aliens will take me on some kick-ass interstellar cruise and pick up chicks from Alpha Centauri. It could happen. What I'm trying to say here is that I've had a reality overload here and want to check out in a non-permanent way. If all of this hardship was meant to humble me, well, I'm about as low in spirit as it gets. If there was a lesson to be learned, well, life is short and blah, blah, blah, live life to its fullest, more blah, blah, blah, blah.
The thing that gets me is there are some people in my community (zealot whack-jobs) that are telling me that this is the Lord's way of exhorting that I should get married and change my sinful ways (like I'm the Marquis de Sade because I am not a banker and married with seven kids). I live a clean life now, for those who aren't aware. It seems that my one glaring eternal flaw is that I haven't married--or maybe that means I've got the queer disease!Somebody praise the Jesus fast so's I don't start takin' the uncircumcised penis in the naughty places. You know, it's not like there isn't a shortage of married dudes who are visiting tea houses, if you get my drift. I don't have to prove my heterosexuality. I will get married when I want to.
So, yeah, according to these people's logic, the Lord wants to help me by having all my money tied up in medical bills so that the only dates I can go on are walks in the park and a romantic dinner consisting of Sunny Delight and Top Ramen. I can see it now, up in heaven, God is going "That boy needs to stop being such a menace to society and get himself married. I know. I will give him cancer! Wow, I am so all powerful and stuff." They make God sound as stupid as George W. Bush--of course they like old G.W., so that would be totally lost on them. I can't wait to be married with kids because then I will have license in this community to say stupid shit like that to struggling singles. You know, because then I will finally be in God's good graces. Idiots.
It's not everybody, but you get these super-vocal zealots that leech onto you and make your life, um, interesting. Most people (including church people) have been good to me. I just think that I'm going to need some kind of body guard to take care of these cooks from getting to me.
Whew! Did I just say all that stuff? Oh well, it felt good.
I have sensitive skin and can't indulge much in the ways of cologne. I do, however, smell fresh and clean, unless I am going through some sort of fugue state and completely forget shit altogether. I really enjoyed the lavender essential oil concoction that I used on my skin during radiation treatment. I am also a big champion of clean bung hole=smell good. Really, a clean body is the best smell. Most of us then take our clean bodies and enhance them with perfumes and colognes. There are then some that seem to find a magic combination of clean, enhancement, and natural body chemistry that nails it and makes the rest of us look bad.
Smelling better than good is TIGF in the most fabulous way. The secret to smelling this good is kept within a steel-reinforced concrete vault hidden in a secret conclave--or so I hear--with a select group of women, gay, and heterosexual men with an elevated "precipitous gay potential" (metros) permitted access. These select few choose who they pass this knowledge to, however, in bits and pieces, usually to make money, and never the full secret. That is TIGF in an un-fabulous way. I want to smell better than good, dammit!
Ambergris might have something to do with it, but I heard from the only gay in my village that squirrel piss, surprisingly, does wonders to enhance your natural odor. The problem is getting a squirrel to piss on you, or in a bottle. Any suggestions?
I couldn't be bothered to come up with a real title.
I watched my landlord almost get electrocuted today. That was fun. Is that bad?
There is a person at my work that admitted to celebrating what they called "Hitler Day". Apparently, that sort of thing is great fun because you get to dress up like Hitler and eat bratwurst, sauerkraut, and Spätzle with gravy. It was also interesting that she said that they had Hitler Day on passover. It gets even better: she and her family are blond haired and blue eyed. I really don't know what else to say about this. I really don't.
Today was the first day since the upsetting news that I have not had back and shoulder pain. The stress was making my tendons and muscles bind up. I'm still looking for a good masseuse. A masseur would not be up my alley, if you get my happy ending. Kidding aside, how in the hell do you even go about asking for one of those?
I can't even have a good lottery win fantasy. Before I can even start with what stuff I'd want to get for myself (penis enlargement by Aston Martin), I have to go through all the requisite "taking care of the family and friends" bullshit first. By that time I am too tired to fantasize and I fall asleep. I have got to chill out.
Speaking of penis enlargement, I think that a man could have a ten foot penis and still wonder what it would be like if it were just a little bit bigger. I don't see women having that problem with their breasts. What is wrong with us guys? I am not exempt from this line of thinking, either. I have imagined having a phallus so big that it generated enough body heat of its own to contribute to the polar ice caps melting...and then I wondered what it would be like if it were about two inches longer.
(Check out my YouTube sidebar video in honor of Earth Day, and is also my blog's new theme song: World Party's Put The Message In The Box, 1990.)
I had a dream Friday night where there were all these little brown mice popping up everywhere. I was trying to catch them. When I caught one I'd throw it down the garbage disposal. The dream kept going on and on like this until there was one especially small mouse left that I caught in my hands, then it simply vanished.
I was a bit of a hero today. I was at work and I heard a car having mechanical issues. The car's starter was engaging continuously while the car was running, but the ignition was off. The girls in the car were freaking out. I went over to see what I could do. I told the girl who owned the car to pop the hood. I lifted the hood of the Ford Escort and immediately saw smoke, then the engine bay caught on fire. I slammed the hood down to starve the fire of oxygen, then got my gloves from my back pocket and put them on my hands. I didn't see a coil wire on this car--it had a bunch of clip harnesses and shit--so I figured that I would reach in the engine bay as fast as I could and start pulling spark plug wires. The idea worked, of course, and the car finally stopped. The funny thing was that while the girl who owned the car was crying from all the trauma, there was this Mexican girl shouting, "Fords suck ass. Chevy, representin'!" Oh, no she dee'int!
This will be a wack post because the special place in my brain that does good posts is currently being occupied by stress.
Friday, I watched a nightmare of a film Even Dwarfs Started Small, by Werner Herzog. In fact, I watched it a few times over the course of the weekend just to wrap my head around it. Check out this clip from the movie.The best I could figure out was that the little people take over this asylum and chaos ensues. I could not have come up with a better plot line than that.
My weekend consisted of eating food that was bad for me, hanging out at a good friends house watching the NBA playoffs (go Jazz), checking out my friend's many auto projects, trying to eat popcorn while my friend's cat sticks his ass in my face, and coming up with as many distractions as possible to keep my mind off of negative things. It wasn't half bad. That's all I got.
Have you had enough of weird German black and white art house film clips? 'Cause I've got one more for you.I hope your boss catches you watching this stuff. They'll make you take a drug test for sure--and if you are your own boss, make sure you are drunk. I hear it makes the day go by faster.
Today was hard. I am feeling better, though. I didn't want to get out of bed today--just pop a bunch of left over Lortabs and bliss out. That was a real plan and would have sent me on a bad journey. My night was sleepless. I soldiered on, however. What else can I do? Work was a bitch. Somebody on our crew up and quit today and my closest co-worker's mother just got diagnosed with cancer in her liver and rectum. Cancer blows big chunks of crap. Despite all of this, I turned it all around and made it through the day feeling like I am heading towards a good place.
I feel that I will get through this. Despite suffering the emotional trauma of certain possibilities, I am pulling it all together and readying myself for any outcome. However, I am placing my money on scar tissue and not cancer. Thanks for standing by me.
I don't know any better way to say this, but the doctors found a spot on one of my lungs that they are concerned about. The possibilities are that it is scar tissue from radiation therapy or that the cancer is back. Rather than schedule me for a biopsy, my oncologists are going to wait six weeks then give me another CT scan. From that next scan they'll be able to see if it has shrunk, stayed the same, or has grown. Needless to say, this has made my day difficult. The good news is that my oncologists have seen this type of thing before and it has turned out to be nothing. It is hard for me though, because the thought of having to go back into treatment is extremely distressing.
I was wondering if I could find this Chris Bell song You and Your Sister from my "Doin' it" songs liston YouTube and I did. I did a post about the band that Chris Bell was from, Big Star, and you can read that post here. I thought it would be cool to share with you this one song because it is pretty obscure and very good. Chris Bell quit the legendary cult pop band Big Star after their first album but continued to work with Alex Chilton here and there. You can read more about Chris Bell here. You can read more about the band Big Star here. My personal preference are the first two Big Star albums. Chris Bell's solo efforts were not fully realized and died in a car accident before he could do much with his material. I think if you were into Elliott Smith you'd dig Chris Bell. Elliott Smith covered this song, even. My only gripe is that Bell's voice can be a bit thin sometimes, but that is me nitpicking.
I will let you guys know how things went when I find out. Enjoy this for now.
I went for a real hike on Sunday. I was by myself and decided it was time to graduate from relatively flat mountain roads to trails. I went up a canyon where there had been a major mudslide back in '83. It is amazing to see how the area has evolved over the course of the past 20+ years. I was just a wee lad back in the days of the mud flood, but I remember enough about it to know what happened. It was just a cool hike. I stood on top of a rock next to a 40ft waterfall. I wanted to jump. It was weird. I didn't want to kill myself. I just wanted to jump. Some impulses are scary. What in the hell is the origin of such things?
I hung out with a fellow blogger, Outdoorsy Girl, on Saturday. It was cool. She was in Utah visiting friends that she has known for a long time. Since she is a magnet for weird guys, I think she felt that there was no harm in meeting me since she is used to it. This is the third time that I've had that opportunity of hanging out with her. I was boring, though, because I had taken some sleep aide the night before to help with my insomnia and it didn't seem to wear off the next day. Anyway, it is cool to actually turn a blogger friend into a 3-D friend. However, I can also see how it could be uncool and nightmarish, so I am not exactly an eager beaver to meet everyone that I am acquainted with on the internet. I am a shy person. It may not seem that way when you meet me or talk to me (especially if you talk to me), but I am always terrified meeting new people on my own. Yes, terrified in that deep down place because I am fragile. That being said, I like my blog buddies and I would get over myself in order to meet any of you.
It's a day later since starting this post. I'm a bit of a basket case lately. I'll be finding out the results of my CT scan tomorrow. I thought I'd be all cool about it but it just isn't happening. If I'm not clear I think I'm not going to leave the hospital until I calm down. It seems like there's nothing anybody can say, other than facts, that can help me at the moment. I just need to know, either way.
I got tagged by both Crystal and Diane Mandy. I will provide links to their blogs with the respective memes. Memes are TIGF, btw. But, I like having friends and these two gals are awesome.
First meme: Favorite doing it songs. Rules can be found at Crystal's blog here.
Upon getting tagged I was hit with the hard truth that I just don't care or put much thought into these sorts of things. But, I am a good sport and made a concerted effort to put together a list of songs that I imagined would work and not simply a warbley cassette of The Police's Outlandos d'Amour on auto reverse on a cheap Kenwood car stereo...game, and shitloads of it.
Songs for dry humping:
I like to kick things off with a couple from The Pixies, because no one is getting in my pants if they don't like Mr. Black. There will be some other groups in here as well. Enjoy!
Here Comes Your Man. Maybe this selection is premature, but so am I. The bouncy rhythm and melody start so innocently then you end up finding yourselves starting a denim fire before you know it.
Gigantic. See how things evolve here? I'm a big man and I eat a big cereal. I also have a big-big love. She needs to know this before we go any further.
KISS: Nothing To Loose. This is the ultimate dry humping song because, as stated, you've got nothing to loose. The dirty part about this song is that I believe it is really about doing the back flap puppet show to China.
Dexy's Midnight Runners: Come On Eileen. Man, the video was a practical denim smorgasbord and the tempo of the song follows exactly the cycle of sexual arousal of an adolescent male. Blue jeans will spark on this song.
Buzzcocks: Orgasm Addict & Why Can't I Touch It? The first one is just plain fun and won't creep out any girl that I find attractive. The second one caps off any dry hump session because it describes perfectly the torture of the act. Ultimately, the man asks this very question and is left hanging.
Now we move onto the next section of hump tunes: the "getting to know you" phase.
There is no other place where music selection can betray you more than right here. This is where one usually has to eat it, no pun intended, and sack it up (uh, pun maybe?)
Chris Bell w/Alex Chilton: You and Your Sister. It's a sweet ballad about doing it with twins. No, but it is about the most tender ballad I know of that won't betray you and will make even the most iron clad panties take flight. I highly recommend downloading this tune.
Ramones: I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend. It gets me in the mood and clearly makes a statement. Remember, going from a ballad to a punk song offers variety, and variety is the spice of life.
Smiths: Please, Let Me Get What I Want. Shit, do I really have to explain this one?
Franz Ferdinand: Take Me Out. By now you should have already found yourself past the begging and the confusion of "No means no, or does it?" The beat fits perfectly and does not overtly imply nastiness, simply gets you into the swing of things.
Gram Parsons w/Emmy Lou Harris: Love Hurts. Because by now things should have led to a night of sexual overexertion or being left alone in bed in disappointment. If you don't care for the original and want a bit of rock flavor, try Nazareth's cover of this song.
The final section: balls to the wall familiarity tunes.
These, as stated clearly by Crystal, are the songs that you really want to screw to.
The entire "Highway to Hell" album, by AC/DC. Bon Scott had more sex appeal in his voice than Brian Johnson ever did. Go with Bon era AC/DC first. Brian is for people who drink too much. If rock doesn't float her boat try Bob Marley's Stir It Up or John Lennon's Woman.
Thin Lizzy: Still In Love With You. If you haven't heard this song, and like rock ballads, shame on you. It is about the most sincere, honest, and non-cheesy ballad ever sung by a black Irish man god that plays bass guitar. Plus, your partner needs to know that you are still in love with them even after all those times you popped her back zits.
Led Zeppelin: Kashmir. Don't you guys know your Fast Times at Ridgemont High? Well, even the movie got it wrong. The recommendation from Mike Damone to Ratner was to make out to side two of Led Zeppelin "IV". Then they cut to "Rat" driving in the car with Stacy listening to Kashmir. Kashmir is best, but, then again, When the Levee Breaks is the perfect way to sum up a good "O".
Roxy Music: More Than This. That's what she usually wants. I dare you, however, to find a more sensual sounding song.
Kraftwerk: Trans Europe Express. I don't know about you but I find Krautrock incredibly sexy. Have you hear this track? It is for trance mating, serious!
Well, there you have it. I left out many good songs, but I feel that this is a good list. Let me know if it works.
Bonus list: Classical "doing it" songs.
Classical music is probably the best aphrodisiac for thinky people. I am a thinky person. I don't want to have to explain why Beethoven went deaf when my pants are down to my ankles, so this weeds out the dumb ones.
Beethoven's Ninth symphony, second movement. If you like a dramatic entrance, this one's for you.
Gioachino Rossini's opera La gazza ladra (The Thieving Magpie). This playful opera fits perfectly with horseplay in bed and a little grab ass in the laundry room.
Maurice Ravel's Boléro. This is the ultimate classical "foreplay" song. Thanks "10" for schooling me.
Sir Edward Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance, No. 1. The pyramids took too long to build. This song should approximate the correct length of time for erecting the Pharaoh's obelisk.
Gioachino Rossini's William Tell Overture. Haven't you seen A Clockwork Orange? Come on people. This is not rocket science.
Please, don't blame me if sexy time is that much better because of these songs.
Okay, the next meme is one that Diane Mandy tagged me with. You can view her post here. The meme is about what your bookshelf looks like. Well, here is my "bookshelf". What you can see here is an old entertainment center posing as a storage area for miscellaneous crap. You can see my home made theremin to the right with all of its knobs (the antennae are visible if you look hard enough), in front of that is a Seymour Duncan AlNiCo Pro II humbucking neck pickup for an electric guitar. On top of the theremin is a KT66 thermionic valve, or vacuum tube, for a guitar amp. There are various cords, a mic, a bag of Carling DPDT foot switches, papers/documents, a neck brace, and a roll of Rollos. Oh, did I mention that there were books somewhere in there? I own plenty of more books, but they are either scattered or in boxes stored away.
Cut me a break. I'm a bachelor for crying out loud.
Please, no more memes for awhile. It's 2:30 AM! Thanks Crystal! Thanks Diane! No, really. It was fun. Oh, and for those who may believe that I am a lost soul, Jesus forgives--even the multitude of grammatical errors that I've made out of sheer drowsiness.
I've been tagged by two lovely women. I'm working on those posts. To help you with your withdrawals I will paste a post from another defunct blog of mine "Sofa Cushion Childhood". It was an attempt to have a blog where my 3-D crowd could join in and I wouldn't swear like a psoriasis plagued fiberglass laborer. I went by my given name, which most of you know by now, and even had a, gasp, real profile picture of me. I had a few people at work read it, laugh, then go back to drinking their hot coco. I should have ended each post with, "Git'r'done" then it would have been more on their level.
How To Survive Between Pets
Get a slinky. There. Done. Simple!
Okay, I know you already think I've got taffy for brains, but hang with me a sec, alright? I gave my slinky a name: Ralph. Why Ralph, you ask? Well, just look at him. Doesn't he look like a Ralph? He does to me and as long as I'm happy that is all that matters.
Ralph still doesn't obey commands. Um, that's not true; he can sit, stay, play dead, and roll over...with some help. Really, though, what Ralph needs is a pair of googley eyes and a felt tongue. You know, that really would help people warm up to him and it just might help me pick up women down at the park.
I might have to change which park I've been going to. The last lady that found Ralph and I a hot item turned out to be an undercover cop dressed as a gypsy hobo. Is there such a thing as a gypsy hobo? Well, that's what she looked like to me. Come to think of it, I don't think that was a cop at all. No wonder why that pat down was a bit peculiar. Why must I be so trusting?
Some of you may have already known about "Garfield Minus Garfield", but for those that don't and love laughing their asses off, here is a link you will like: Clickity Click Me. Not all of the strips are funny, but are sad takes on mental illness and loneliness. What the anonymous creator of this strip did was take out Garfield from strips where John and Garfield had a bit together, leaving John all alone and talking to himself.
As for me, I started today off a bit shaky. I felt like a piece of gum that had been smashed into the carpet--it took me awhile to get unstuck. After 2:00 PM things started to pick up for me. I have been thinking lately of something that Bruce Lee said once, "If you make an ass out of yourself, there will always be someone to ride you." That is very profound. I am beginning to think that there are many people around me that are in that twisted rodeo.
It must've been about 15 years ago, but I was on a camping trip and I had this vivid dream that I was putting full fry baskets in the lake and cooking hamburgers off of rocks. I call those "McDonald's Dreams" and I still have those dreams every so often. I worked there during high school and a brief stint about two years after high school as a grill manager (whooooo). That place freakin' scarred me. I should post the recipe for "Satan Burgers" someday. It's my own recipe, you know.
Something weird happened to me today. I got out a photo album and was looking at pictures of me and my buddies on a mountain bike trip. About two hours after that I get a call from one of those buddies. I haven't talked to him in ages. His words, no lie, were, "You know, I was looking at some old pictures of us mountain biking in Moab today and thought I should give you a ring." Freaking weird.
The best part about having phone conversations with this friend is that his wife, a native of the Philippines, likes to listen in. I have no idea what she gets out of it but I can clearly hear her whispering stuff in Tagolog to her husband, to which he'll then ask me certain questions. I figure that it is a cultural thing and let it go. It is probably just them planning to fix me up with a Pilipino bride. I'm not joking about this one here. I used to get some weird pen pals out of nowhere thanks to these two.
And now for something completely different....
People have been posting about love a lot lately. Yeah, I get it. Love is great and all that fluffy bunny stuff. No, I'm not going to knock it one bit. I am glad that people are posting about the stuff that they love, but no one has said, "Oh, and you know what? I really love that Grunt guy. He's the bee's effin' knees. Really. Better than maple syrup and cuter than a baby cow." So, in lieu of such a statement, I will say what needs to be said right here right now.
I love...
you guys.
I was going to name you all one by one, but there are lurkers that I don't know of that I love as well and don't know their names. Plus, it's late and I know that I'll forget someone and ruin their day.
I don't know if you can fathom what an impact having people read what I have to say and respond to it has done to my life. When I got out of college in 2001 I burned myself out--I imploded. The disappointment was so great for me that I distanced myself from it all the best that I could. I even took my diploma off of the bedroom wall. I kind of fucked up on life after college and never forgave myself for it. I was feeling like the academic successes that I had in college were all a fluke because of my downfall afterward. I felt stupid and believed it to the core.
In 2005, I started corresponding with a cousin (10 pts. if you can guess who he is in bloggerland) that I used to be fairly close to when I was younger. He was all into this blogging stuff and inspired me to start my own blog, because I liked to write. Well, I certainly wasn't getting a captive audience in real life. This medium opened up a whole new world to me and provided me a way to reach each one of you freaks. That was a compliment. The resulting relationships and outlet have proved to me that I am not stupid, different, yes, but not stupid. Oh, and likable. This adventure has turned me around in the self hate department.
I'm not sure what to do with all the leftover mess that I created for myself in this decade, but at least I don't want to fuck off and die anymore. Really, it was that bad. So, thanks for providing me some more incentive to keep at it. So, those of you who have had privy to my real life details and recoiled in fear, now you can at least have a better appreciation of where I've come from and where I am now. I hope to be heading in the right direction. Keep reading. It helps.
There were times in my childhood when I became so frustrated with things that almost nothing would make it all better. When I would get that way I would lock myself into my room with my sister's old 8-track player and listen to ABBA until the world made sense to me again. The Grease soundtrack was also heavily employed, as well as the theme song to Hawaii Five-O. Now I usually just hole up wherever I can get free refills on beverages and drink Diet Coke until I am ready to add another chapter to my Groundhog Day existence.
ABBA is one of my most treasured guilty pleasures in life. I thought it was so beautiful how Frida (the one I so dearly wanted to bone) and blondie blond Agnetha (the other one I so dearly wanted to bone) would sing together in harmony. As for Benny and Böjrn, those two dudes were Swedish pimps, getting all married up in that shit. Who would know that this Swedish supergroup had a hidden agenda to take over the world.
You may joke that they were the inventors of "Mentos" pop, but did you know that they are the creators of everything super catchy and addicting since the '70s? Yes, it is true. They did unleash Mentos upon us, but that was just the beginning. Let's see...video games, soft core, Jazzercise, Swatches, pogs, IM, texting, American Idol, Lost, and You Tube, to name just a handful of examples of the secret weapons that ABBA has used to control us. The sinister plot to rule the world does not stop there. Benny and Frida unleashed their demon spawn Ace of Bace upon us in the early nineties with devastating results. Agnetha and Björn decided that they should contribute as well and birthed Aqua. It was in these spawn that the seeds of their demise were sewn. Not having obtained the secret of immortality, ABBA have not been able to trust their progeny to carry out their diabolical plan into the future, due to Ace of Bace and Aqua's lack of staying power or coolness.
We have hope in the Scandinavian countries' ever vigilant metal movement to keep ABBA's influence and power in check. This is what I've noticed: It's a war between two extremes in this region. Either you have super happy/catchy groups like ABBA or super downer trip to hell black metal bands like Gorgogoth and Mayhem there. I've fought on both sides of the battle and end up going back to Liverpool with the Fab Four. Every once in awhile, though, I make my way back and see what each side has been up to since the last time we met up. I've recently done my rounds and ABBA is doing O.K. They need to watch out for a Finnish band, Insomniom, though. They're evil. Well, it's all evil, really.
It is important to note that The Cardigans were not related to ABBA, although some have speculated such. Oh, and glow sticks are the fecal product of all blond-haired and blue-eyed pop princesses.
If this post was not up to regular Grunt Ahoy standards, well, you can chalk it up to me doing my taxes this morning and being star struck by meeting Oprah's boyfriend Steadman Graham at a conference that my boss thought I should go to because I needed to be motivated. Yes, after this event I will be better able to do my monkey chores. I now have a vision and an action plan. Watch out world!
If you are having a hard time getting noticed, try this: eat a banana with a spoon. That's right. You peel a little at a time and scoop out the banana with your trusty spoon and viola! People will think, "My, what a dignified mental patient they are."
I have the nickname "Crazy Diamond" at a certain location where I work. The dude who gave it to me thinks that I am some kind of cracked genius. Why else would I be working there? It all started one day when I was talking about palindromes in music and he all of a sudden starts singing, "You reached for the secret too soon. You tried for the moon. Shine on you crazy diamond." We all laughed at his selection (Pink Floyd). But what was once a weird compliment is now dogging me because it is like a reminder that I have become an intellectual slummer. It's just too easy to wow these dudes. It's too bad that the shirt and tie crowd bore me too death. Really, though, those gentlemen aren't that much smarter.
Recently, I have been doing these really annoying mass text messages to people in my address book that inhabit the lower 48 states (my plan charges $0.40 per text outside this region). Their purpose was to get people to respond to odd or funny texts. The responses usually make me laugh, which cheers me up. I didn't realize that I had not clued some of these people in on all of this. I can only imagine that they must be thinking that I have become a bit unstable and obsessed. So, if you receive these texts and have wondered what the hell kind of trip I was on, sorry. If you felt special because you thought you were the only one, well, you are special because I don't include everybody in the mass texting. Plus, my replies back are tailor made just for you. If anybody in the lower 48 wants in on this means sending me your cell phone #. I won't feel bad if no one wants to because I wouldn't give out my number to a guy as weird as me. Trust me; the blog is more than enough "me" that you should consume in a day. If you don't like the texts you can always tell me to eff off. I will understand.
I had a strange experience today. I have been walking in this cemetery lately because it has some really great hills to get your legs worked out. I get to say "hi" to a lot of people that are taking their dirt naps. I even get to say hi to one of my old friends who died high on cocaine going head first into a tree at 90 mph. I always feel a presence at his grave. Well, today I went and said hello to "D" and felt that presence there with me, only this time it followed me around the cemetery when I walked on. I didn't mind. It was just a bit outer limits.
I also love to read out the names on headstones. I saw one that had me busting out loud. It said, "Birch". All I could think about was how many times someone has said, "Look, they planted a Birch here." Morbid? Yes. Funny? Absolutely! Cemeteries don't bother me at all. I figure that you are surrounded by some good souls taking a siesta. What's not to like about that?
Okay, enough about that sort of thing. I'm going to go eat a banana with a spoon.
I was feeling flupie again. For an explanation of what "flupie" means, and to read (or re-read) a disturbingly funny post, go here. Anyway, I tried calling friends and family members in order to deflupify myself. I tried watching stupid comedy flicks, such as, Nacho Libre and Blades of Glory. I even busted out my guitar and played all the Black Sabbath riffs that I knew. Alas, nothing seemed to work.
It was around 11:30 PM that I had a toast craving hit me. I popped in my bread into the toaster the same way a man pops his _______ into his wife's ________ after thirty years of marriage. (Your homework assignment is to fill in the blanks using any other words besides the obvious choices and to leave them at the end of your comments here.) I went to the bathroom, read a piece about Chris Rock in Rolling Stone magazine, and came out after with clean hands to butter my toast. That is when the most amazing idea came to me: I should butter both sides of my toast!
You know what? I totally did that shit. It was good too. I think I could hear my heart scraping against my rib cage afterwards, but it was totally worth it. I didn't feel so flupie after that. I'm thinking of continuing doing strange new things, like playing spin the bottle all by myself. Well, maybe not that strange. I guess I could try truth or dare all by my self. Since I am in denial about certain things in my life it could actually help.
Just so you aren't confused or expecting to be aroused, "Blanket Dance" does not involve anything sexual. I guess it could, but for the sake of keeping this TIGF art form pure, let's leave sex out.
It's not just the moves or the Star Wars duvet cover that makes blanket dancing TIGF!!! It's the sound effects that go with it. The best are the ones that mix a little beat box in with the whoops and squeals. I'm sure that this would make one of the New Kids on the Block either very proud, or do the right thing and hang themselves. Not Donny, though. I like him. His portrayal of the character "Duddits" in the Steven King movie "Dreamcatcher" was spot on 'tardo.
Speaking of actors playing mentally handicapped people, I really would love to see Robin Williams take on a role like that. Wait, he already did and his name was Mork. A reprisal, then, of Mork trying ever so hard to make it on a football team and at the same time teaching us acceptance. Remember, we are all winners. But, as George Carlin taught me, some of us just win last. Oh, and he also taught me that if all children are special, then all adults are too--Hitler and Dahmer included. Wait, that can't be right. Then at some point in our lives some of us stop being special. Or maybe it is this, as Carlin points out, not all children are special. Notice how as we get closer to his truth it gets a little ugly? That's his shtick, though. I do, however, feel that all children are special because you do want to bless them with that possibility in life. Sometimes myth trumps reality, and should continue doing so. But, I do think that at some point people's specialness can be revoked. That is for another post, however.
Why did I drift off into this territory? Well, I wanted to say that these blanket dancers are special in that non-special way. You know, the same kind of special that makes a child want to feed the dog a whole box of Fig Newtons while in the car on a family vacation (ask me later). Without "speshul" people in the world, my abs would have no tone in them whatsoever--you know, from the laughing and the gaffawing and the "I can't breathe" I'm laughing so hard...glavin! The point is, I'm not down on stupid people as long as they can entertain me. I am not a misanthropic old codger like George Carlin, although he makes me laugh until one of my testicles comes dislodged and does that tether ball end-game wrap around my penis. How is that even possible?
So, in closing, everybody is special until proven not. I've had plenty of next door neighbors and fellow commuters become "not special". Do you get me on this?
I didn't get around to posting last night like I had planned. I watched Frontline's "Bush's War" instead. I'm not going to discuss that show other than it was well worth my time.
I'm never in a creative mood in the early part of the day. The closer I get to the witching hour the better for writing. I mean, I guess I could try to be silly. I guess I could tell you how I gave up picking my nose for lent. Nah, I don't have the inspiration at the moment to do that.
I could tell you that I've hurt my right foot. I've had to cut back on my walks now because of it. It's weird because my right foot is so swollen that all my shoes feel too tight on that foot now. Don't ask me how I did it, either. I have no clue. I woke up one morning in pain and my foot was all swollen. I think I've been kicking the wall in my sleep.
Good news: I'm finally back to eating spicy foods!
Bad news: I forgot that said foods can cause gastrointestinal distress.
I feel a rant coming on. Please, do not take any of this to heart. I promise that I turn it around at the end.
For those who think that I don't know it yet: Yes, I've kicked cancer's ass...with the help of God, doctors, nurses, chemicals, radiation, family, friends, community. When I take all the credit I deny the collective community that I am a part of. I am not lingering in the aftermath as much as some people think. I had problems that I was dealing with before all of this started, and as much as I would wish to my fairy godmother, I don't get a clean slate. So, from one thing to another--that is the reality. Plus, anyone thinking that some sort of cosmic karma machine is going to dispense life candy to me based purely on getting through all of this, grow up.
I feel blessed that I got through cancer, but I really don't feel that this makes me a Mother Teresa and I'm going to have everything go my way because of it. On the contrary, I will have to work harder to get what I want and what I need. If I don't, then something else bad could take me away before I get a chance to realize my full joy in life. This is mortality. We are going to die. That usually involves something less than desirable happening to you. These are givens. Life is not cozy; nature is not balanced. There is always something out there ready to kick your ass and if you let your guard down you're toast. I know that this reasoning seems obscene, but isn't everything outside of our "magical" touchy-feely thought process a bit obscene?
Now to redeem myself. I know that I brought many people along with me on this journey. I know that many people felt for me and took away positive things from my experience. I am trying to understand the effect that my experience had on other people. Sometimes I don't do a very good job of doing that. I am trying to balance the positive aspects of this victory with the harsh realities that I wrote about above. Nature wants me to become defensive and paranoid. I need to overcome that if I am going to expect people's continued goodwill. To the people that have called me on certain things: I need to bitch about it, but I need friends even more. I am impatient with myself and it's not the personality trait that helps right now. How I get from where I am to where I want to be is still something that I am struggling with. I wish I could just chill out.
I love you all for being here and listening to me go on and on about all of this. I don't know how much of it made sense. That's the thing about feelings: they don't always make sense.
I do this once in awhile--go out to the west desert and explore trails and skeet shoot. I usually take my brother with me, but this time he drove. He owns a Ford Explorer and can't get up into the same territory that Clyde can. So, we kind of hung around the foothills and couldn't break trail on some of the snowy paths.
We set up a shooting range on a hill next to a fork in the trail. Just as we were about to start shooting I didn't feel well. I was in agony and tried my best to do some shooting and enjoy the scenery. I ended up having to find a place to go. It helped, but I don't want to have to do that again. So, I came back up to our set up and shot like the devil himself. It was about then that a convoy of some serious dudes in serious rigs came up the trail.
When you get up in these desolate areas it is understood that "fun" can mean illegal activities. When you are out gunned or not interested in facing questionable types, you kind of pull a "What goes on in no man's land stays in no man's land." When I saw these guys bust through these big, virgin drifts, I was a bit interested in where they could be going in such earnest. After I got done shooting for awhile, I told my brother that I was going to hike up the trail to check them out.
I found a couple of great liquor bottles along the way that I would use for target practice. Coming around the bend I could see some massive tailings from abandoned mines and the canyon's opening, a narrow limestone crevice. I thought to myself that this was what they must have been coming up here for because it was hard to get to and secluded. A little further up I could hear their voices, but not what they were saying. They would shoot their guns here and there--nothing that would get your goat up if you are used to this area--it's all pretty common.
It was as I was just around the corner from them that I got hit by an amazing shock wave. My teeth rattled and I could feel my insides react to it. It was loud as hell, whatever it was, and then I couldn't hear much of anything but the ringing in my ears. I've not had a scare like that but a few times in my life. I did an about face and tried to walk out of there as fast as I could. I would have run but it was all snow and mud ruts from them breaking trail.
I know that there are some people who close mine shafts around that area for public safety, so I convinced myself that was what was going on. When I came back to my brother he had a relieved look on his face. He asked me if I heard an explosion and I said, in a shaky tone, "How could I not? I was almost right there." We both decided to head out of there. Man, I was happy to get out of that area.
I contemplated telling the police about it, but I didn't pay enough attention to the vehicles to give helpful details. Also, the nearest police station is about sixty miles away and how to explain where this all was going on, I hadn't a clue because it was the first time I'd been there. Plus, this area is no man's land. Lot's of weird stuff happens and you just let it go--until you find a dead body. Thank goodness that hasn't happened to me, yet. Am I sick in the head that I can't wait to go there again?
I was lonely tonight, so I came on to my blog to see what action it was getting. It was then that I remembered that I had a site meter, of which I've not checked in a long time. So, I decided to check out who has been visiting my blog. Not many today came 'round, but that's alright. I found someone that Google searched "Theodore Grunt" and came to my blog.
Crystal, that was your nickname for me way back when. It is weird that someone else found me that way, or remembered me that way. I don't know if Crystal reads all my posts anymore, but she was one of the first long time Grunt readers, along with Scott, Logo, and Vera. Scott gets extra credit because he's been around this blog since 2005, when I started it.
The post that this person was sent to by Google took me to the past. I decided to review my posts pre-cancer, and I noticed that I have changed a great deal in my style. I'm nowhere near as gonzo anymore, but, I think that I have matured like a fine wine. I also noticed a spooky sense of something "great" that would happen to me right before the shit went down. I also noticed a pattern of me feeling not so good, leading up to the more significant health problems before I was diagnosed.
I don't know if I will return to my gonzo blogging days. Who I am now is constantly changing. I'm going through a patch of unfeeling lately. I think it is a reaction to the extreme vulnerability that I endured this past year.
Three girls that I had dated B.C. (before cancer) found guys and got married while I was "wrote off" as a victim of poor health. It's ok. I'm thinking of ways that I could make "You can get anything off of the Wendy's dollar menu" sound good to a date. I am one broke man. I don't know just how long the fall out of medical bills will be around for me. So, I have figured out the solution to my problems: work out like a son of a bitch and woo an older rich widow--sugar mama!
Seriously though, I complain to all of my girlfriends what a lousy and cheap man I am when I take myself out for a "me" date. Shit, I mean there is no way that I am going to put out if that is the treatment that I get from myself. This is all horribly disturbing. I better go to bed now.
You thinking of quitting That's Incredibly Gay Friday? What you talkin' about, Grunty?
That's right. I've been thinking of quitting TIGF and devoting Friday to nothing but the Garys in the world. I know that is what you all have been secretly wanting but just didn't know it yet. We could feature Gary Sinise (actor), um, Gary Busey (escaped lunatic/coke fiend), Gary Hart (the Senator that screwed Donna Rice), Gary Hart (the wrestler), Gary Grant (Carey Grant's secret retarded brother), Gary (the snail from Spongebob), Gary Moore (great guitarist), Gary Numan (of the song "Cars" fame), Gary Numan (The other Gary Numan that falsely admitted to killing Jon Benet Ramsey), Gary Glitter (glam rock legend and evil pedophile just like the Gary Numan before him), Gary Payton (notorious trash talking point guard for the Sonics), Gary Indiana (the state), Gary Larson (cartoonist), Gary Oldham (kickass actor), Gary Gilmore (famous killer executed by firing squad in my home state in 1977 as well as having a classic punk song by The Adverts, named after his eyes--his last words were, "Let's do it!"), Gary Allen (country music redneck), Gary Fisher (developer of the mountain bike), Gary Cooper (legendary actor), Gary Paulsen (author), and all those dickhead bosses that I had named Gary.
Sheewooooh! That's a whole lotta Garys!!! Did I leave any out? Maybe I should just stick to my routine "Gay Friday" shtick. Dance monkey, dance!
I am feeling fat and sassy tonight. Just thought I'd share that with you.
On to other things, do you ever come up with profound sayings before you even examine whether they actually make any sense? I have. Just today, in fact, I came up with such a profound saying. I haven't quite figured out if it makes sense yet, so maybe you can help me out with this.
Here is the profoundity: "There is no truth in comfort."
Pretty profound sounding, no? I didn't even have to light up a blunt for that one. I don't even smoke pot, so where does that sort of thing come from? Casper the Pope? Melvin Thomas, my make believe advice guru? I really don't know. However, I think that I could at least have come up with a better name for a make believe advice guru, say, Bucknife Jackson III. As for the other, well, I think that having just overcome cancer I need to start tempting fate again with blasphemous nicknames for the Holy Ghost. I really died a little right there. I hope someone laughed at the expense of my eternal soul.
So, let's examine the saying, "There is no truth in comfort." I think that one can be comforted by the truth, but it is also true that one can be devastated by it as well. The truth will set us free. Comfort usually is something that secures us, fine, but to a certain point can be imprisoning. I think if there was anything to the saying it would be this, that one cannot find the truth in easy shelter. One has to go outside of oneself, or into those inner depths where we hide that which we don't like about ourselves or are afraid of.
This is much like the age old question "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" The answer is, of course, 43.
I've got to take a class the next couple of days that will cut into my "happy" time on the computer. Since I don't have a job that allows me to waste time on the job on a computer, I have to bang out these posts when I get home. It sucks because I like my happy time. Happy time sounds dirty, doesn't it. I assure you that it is all pretty boring stuff that goes on during happy time.
On Sunday, I visited the foothills where I spent a lot of my time growing up. I walked around on some trails and did some trespassing, of which I supposedly was video taped and will be prosecuted for wandering on someone's cash cow--prime real estate that will soon be developed. It sucks because this area that is now being developed used to be my childhood playground in the hills. I took some short video clips with my phone but I forgot to get that all set up for the post. I will post it sometime soon, though.
The best part about the "No Trespassing" signs was the misspelling of "hidden camera". They spelled it "hiden camara". So, I stood there at the barricade and gave them a small discourse on the value of spelling things correctly, then ended my rant with "You dumb fucks". I hope that was all really caught on camera for them to enjoy. I'm still extremely sad that there will be a bunch of McMansions built in that area. People are going to have to be aware that mountain lions are frequently spotted in that area. Pets, small children, and pretty much anything that resembles a baked ham standing on two legs will be in possible danger there.
No one pinched me today. I am disappointed about that. I purposely did not wear green just so that I could be pinched. What does a person have to do to get pinched nowadays?
Yesterday was the Ides of March. Anybody have an "Et tu, Brutus?" moment? Julius Caesar got what was coming to him, a great big stab in the back--well, a stab all over the place from multiple people. You destroy one of the finest republics ever in one big ego trip and have the gall to ask, "Even you, Brutus? Even you, my child?" No one could beat you in battle. Not even your good friend Pompey could crush you. Your defeat came upon the senate floor by the hands of those who you thought were under your thumb. Blood spilled on civilized marble floors is much more ironic than any blood spilled on the earth of battle. Because of this great and tragic man, we have the perfect lesson of how republics of the people become the empires of the elite. Consider this on election day, America. At least we can do something about it, but sometimes I wonder if we have the balls. BTW, aren't term limits great?
My neighbors next to me had a deer die in their back yard. This winter has been really hard on the deer population, along with the elk and moose. There are dead deer everywhere around here. It is sad...and stinky. Animal control has their work cut out for them on this one. I can't wait for them to haul the carcass off. The smell is just awful. Oh, and there's nothing like staring at a giant, rotting carcass when you look out your back window. Yum! I want fries with that.
Friday, I was super tired all day long. It still did not deter me from celebrating Pi day. Pi day recognizes the number Pi (3.14.......) on March 14th, or 3/14. I celebrated with some pie, too. I had key lime and German chocolate pie. It was divine. If you missed out on Pi day, well, tough. You can still celebrate and eat pie whenevers, though. I like that word, whenevers.
Did I mention that I was tired on Friday? Well, I was. This is how tired I was: I was listening to a voice mail that my sister had left for me (it was a long one) and around the middle I started answering back to her. I had totally forgot that I was listening to a message and thought I was just having a phone conversation with her. When she didn't respond to my question and kept on talking, it finally dawned on me that I had drifted off into space academy.
In space you smoke astro turf. Those astronauts sure know how to party.
Remember to eat your corned beef and cabbage on Monday, kiddies!
Most of you that are familiar with the band Darkness probably have heard or seen their video "I believe in a thing called love" a zillion times, so I used this video of their song "Girlfriend" instead. They came and went in the States as a sort of novelty act. Darkness did a second album that wasn't that well received, but their lead singer/guitarist Justin Hawkins was allowed to fly his freak flag even higher than before, as evident in this music video. While he may not be gay in real life, Justin Hawkins is queerer than a clockwork orange in his stage persona and I dig how TIGF he is.
Justin Hawkins has been known to fly around on a stuffed white tiger (fake) in concerts while performing solos on his guitar. He also flew in on a golden "boob" chariot on one tour. Why the band got rid of him, I don't know. I mean, outside of sounding like the biggest, and gayest rip off of Queen and Thin Lizzy, Darkness was all about this beautiful, blond princess of a man, Justin Hawkins. Enjoy!
I'm not sure what to post about tonight, but I want to post. Let's see where this goes.
I was pulled over last night. The officer told me that it was because my license plate light was out. The weird part about it was that he had me pulled over for about fifteen minutes. It was funny because I was twenty yards away from where I live. I didn't get a ticket. I later found out the reason why the local police in this small town were being so aggressive and thorough. Some weird guy had broke into a home and was standing at the foot of this little girl's bed. This was the second time that it had happened to this little girl, apparently. The first time the man came and went. The girl went and told her parents and they thought she was just dreaming. This second time the man invaded the home he left his shoes in her room, and now the parents finally believe their daughter. I am glad that the police were pulling people over and doing other sneaky stuff. It just leaves me wondering if they'll ever catch this freak now that the cat is out of the bag.
A man died recently of a cardiac arrest. He was only 63. I grew up with his son and one of his daughters. My oldest sister works for the same insurance company that he worked for. He was playing a game of pickup basketball at a local church gym and croaked after hitting the winning shot. This man really was part of this community, so the loss was felt all over. He was the type of person that would wake up at four in the morning, study the bible for an hour, go and exercise, have breakfast with his family, then go to work. When he would come home from work he'd do all kinds of volunteer work in the community, including tutoring kids in history, of which he used to teach before he got into selling insurance.
The medics did resuscitate him at the gym, but he did not regain any brain activity. They took him off life support and he passed away on Sunday. On Monday his son was really grieving. He never felt like he measured up to his father. Being bi-polar, he was really having a hard time of it. So, on that day he got on his horse and just took off into the mountains. His family went looking for him and from what I heard he was badly injured from getting thrown off his horse. So, not only did the family lose their dad, but the son is now in the hospital from his riding accident. As much as all of this is tragic, the family is taking it all in stride and carrying on.
Ever since I've had cancer it seems like I'm much more sensitive to other people's suffering and trials. What has happened to this family has really effected me and has been on my mind a lot these past few days. It also makes me think about how I'd handle losing a parent, especially my father.
My life growing up was very frustrating because of my father's physical and mental health problems. I spent a great deal of my secondary school years being reclusive from most social activity, other than hanging with a few close friends. Most people liked me, but I was the one who withdrew. I just hated having to explain why my father didn't have a job, why we didn't have much money, or why my "weird" dad wasn't like their fathers. The fact was that I really didn't understand what was going on with him, so I took it personally.
Since, I've had to overcome a lot of guilt and shame that I had carried with me for no good reason. I don't know that I'm totally over it all, but I love my father. It must've been so hard for him to have gone through all of that. He was such a success, then reduced to almost nothing. He has come along way since and it makes me very happy. However, I still want him to see me become a success, whatever that means. I also want him to be around to see my children. I want to show him that his suffering wasn't in vain. So, to lose him now would be extremely emotional for me. He turns 78 this April. I'd better get cracking.
I thought I'd take you on a walk with me and show you where I live, sort of. I mean, I really did live right there in that spot on this day. Also, I live about three miles away near the mountain bench (you'll get a quick pass). What you can't see is the Great Salt Lake, which is directly behind me at the start. The reason? Low resolution video and haze caused from the winter inversion. You just might be able to see Antelope Island. Where I was taking a walk is in the protected wetlands area. The dikes are great for seeing all sorts of water fowl, and the area is also a hot spot for spying bald eagles. I am much happier now not using my shotgun to be one with nature and now admiring it in peace.
My hair is coming back and it is blond. I had reddish brown hair before. Also, my hair is soft and fine, like a baby's. So, if I ever need comforting, I just pretend that my head is a cuddly bunny and pet away.
My medical problems have been getting less and less. I've been on steroids to take care of an extremely bad rash (it has scarred me on parts of my body) that I got right after my last radiation treatment. The doctors claimed that the radiation was not directly responsible for the rash. Rather, it could've been the massive amounts of stress that all the treatments caused that led to the breakout. It's all about semantics, folks.
The other medical problem, post cancer treatments, was that I had blood seeping from my toenails. That freaked my doctor out. We're not really sure why it is happening, but when in doubt you get a prescription cream for it. One of the chemicals that I had administered to me during chemo made my skin real sensitive. I'm hypothesizing that since I have been walking my toe nails are seating into this "baby" like skin. I think that as long as I don't get an infection, soon I will toughen up and there won't be anymore problems. HAHAHAHAHA! At least my name isn't Job. As long as we are talking biblical shit, do bleeding toenails qualify as stigmata?
I think I am going through a massive detox from all the chemicals that have been pumped into me. My sweat would probably kill a laboratory mouse, or at least be crystallized and smoked for a good high. Whatever the case, I can feel actual distance now between me and the whole cancer saga. It isn't a great amount of distance, but I can breathe a bit better. My dreams haven't come around yet, but I'm hoping that what goes on in my subconscious will follow suit with the whole getting on with my life bit. I've had some scary freakin' dreams, my friends. It sucks. It is a good thing that I don't have to share my bed with anybody, because they would start thinking I was some kind of basket case. I woke up in a pile of clothes one night muttering something about the car not starting. That was a bit weird. HA-HA, there he goes again, that crazy Grunt!
The weekends are starting to feel non-existent to me. It is like this when someone asks me what I did over the weekend, "Uh, I remember having lunch and then I ended up back at work somehow." There has got to be more to life than this. However, for a great deal of humankind, life does not get any better, or even as good as this. I imagine that for many people who have walked this earth, they never had expectations past survival. In essence, they had no capacity to dream like we do--in our fortunate circumstance. The fact that I can dream and have those dreams go unfulfilled is not a sign of my misfortune, but my blessed place in life. The fact that some of those dreams will come to fruition is absolutely marvelous. Why was I so blessed to be where I am in this world at this time in life?
I still have to go to work on a Monday, though. Bleh! So much for being deep.
We all know that Yogi was interested in one thing: pic-a-nic baskets, hey Boo Boo! It was even better if said picnic basket came with a side order of pissing the ranger off. That leaves Boo Boo. What was in it for him? The companionship of one dynamic character in Yogi. They slept in the same cave together. Yogi did have a girlfriend, but that did not seem to stop Boo Boo from hanging around with the hopes and dreams of one day winning Yogi's heart.
Boo Boo is a sweetheart with a genuine concern for the welfare of others and especially the ones that he loved most. This makes him cool and TIGF in a good way. The fact that he only chose to wear a bow tie made him even more gay. He's practically a Chippendale dancer for crying out loud.
Let's talk about Yogi for a moment. Have you ever noticed how much Bob Dylan's singing sounds like Yogi Bear? I'm wondering if there is some kind of connection there. Does anyone know if Bob Dylan steals picnic baskets and likes pissing off park rangers? Has anyone ever seen him wearing only a tie and a pork pie hat? I'm just thinking out loud here.
(Cue Harry Nilsson's "One"--I hate Three Dog Night's version)
So, I found myself at the movies alone. This shit happened for real. I was surprised myself. I went to see "Semi-Pro". It had its moments. There were only two other people in the audience and you know what went through my mind for just one second: threesome. Never mind that the other two people in the audience were a couple in their fifties. I just saw the makings of a great adventure and put some mental effort into how I'd go about initiating such a menage a trios.
I figure that such a mature couple would need the services of a youngish stud like me. I mean, who could resist a radioactive sex shogun such as myself? This was all in my head, of course. You have to do such things to entertain yourself when you're all alone. In imagination land you can have Milk Duds for nipples and hot buttered popcorn for a mattress.
After I finished my silly exercise of imagination, I decided to call my sister and tell her that I was all alone at the movies. She wasn't too impressed and told me to try it for forty years, whatever that means. It was about then that the movie started. This is the part where I free based some Rollos. I'm telling you, that is the only way to consume your favorite candy. Having said that, Rollos aren't my favorite candy. I just had a craving is all. I would probably say that real chocolate isn't candy, rather, a sacrament. Rollos aren't real chocolate, though. As far as candy goes, I'm going to have to choose Red Vines for the theater.
I decided that since the only other people in the theater were old and far away from me, that I was going to laugh harder than I wanted to as well as talk to the movie screen. I really did this. I highly recommend it, too. Just wait for the movie to start or even the projectionist will feel more sane than you.
I had a good time with myself, and it did not even include any Paul Ruebens style hi-jinks. If you have to ask about what that means, then you weren't the one whose perceptions of Pee Wee Herman were utterly shattered, requiring much therapy and role playing with sock puppets. Plus, I found out that I am a cheap date. I only ate a eighty-nine cent cheeseburger for dinner! Ladies, this man is low maintenance. I did think that asparagus, new potatoes, and fillet mignon, with a fine port, would have been nicer--and I'm so worth it, even if I don't drink. But I had to say hello to my high school employer, Ronald McDonald.
All in all, it was a good night. So, if you find yourself alone in a movie theater, ask yourself: What would Grunty do?
If you're feeling down And you're new to town No one knows your name Take a tip from me A simple philosophy And your loneliness will fade
Inhale the good Exhale the bad Personal Wigwam
It ain't complicated Or hard to demonstrate it You just stay where you are So just close your eyes And self hypnotize Until the "eye" opens wide
Inhale the good Exhale the bad Personal Wigwam
Still there's mystery to my identity listen closely and you'll find I'm the Electric Papoose In the flying caboose And breathing gets me high
Inhale the good Exhale the bad Personal Wigwam
(1992 MDK)
The story behind this? Well, I always reference a time of my life spent selling Hoovers for Jebus door to door in Northeast England, and this was written during that time.
I was working in Doncatster and one of my "clients" gave me a guitar, which I had only started playing about two years prior. I had a creative explosion during this time of strict cloistering. Doing what I was, playing the guitar and writing "apostate" music (apostate for the conditions of the "job"--mind you, I signed up for it), it was even better that the song was based on the ideas of meditation and astral travel. My district "sales" leader found out about all of this and informed the president of our "division". They shut me down and I sold the guitar for ten quid. However, this was not before I did some crude recordings on a cheap dictaphone. My Portuguese sales partner thought is was the shit.
Speaking about dictaphones and Portuguese sales partners, I caught him having a wet dream on audio tape. This dictaphone had a voice activated recording feature. My partner was notorious for talking in his native tongue in his sleep. He didn't believe me and so I secretly set up my dictaphone to record whatever noises occurred during the night. When I woke up that morning he was already up and his bedding was gone. I thought nothing of it until I played the tape back. What I got where the usual trains and buses passing our flat, then the big nocturnal "O". It went like this: "Aaaaaaah, ahhh, oohhhh! Oh, no! Oh, the dangit! Oh, I for make all over now." On second thought, that might not have been a nocturnal emission. I played the tape back for him and he first said that it wasn't him. I said, "Well, it sure wasn't me moaning in broken English." He then said that he was having a "Dream bad about dogs for chase." Yeah, it was kind of like living with Borat for three months. It was great. Anyway, back to the story.
I later borrowed another guitar when I moved from Doncaster to Keighley. It was there that I met a faith healer named Dave who had a brief pub touring stint with the Dave Clark Five in the eighties. I wrote a bunch more songs there. One of those songs was "Child of Buddah". It did not fair well with my compadres. It did not help that I was not a good singer at the time, either. I got shut down again. But at least I made some more recordings.
I laugh at the quality and my lack of playing ability at the time. But I've never had so much fun as I did then, writing songs and playing guitar. I guess it was because it really meant that I was being bad, or at the very least, annoying as hell.
How are you doing today? Has anyone told you that you're looking good? Well, I'm here to tell you just that. Boys: I noticed that your mustaches are coming in nicely. Girls: Why, tell me how you get your hair to be so flirty?
Had enough?
OK, I spent some time in my room with Suzi plugged into my biggest amp (the neighbors were gone). I was pretending that I was both David Bowie and Mick Ronson rolled into one super rock god. I think I played "Moonage Daydream", "Soul Love", "Hang on to Yourself", and "Ziggy Stardust" each about three times. My alien rock god name was Buffy Scottsdale, because all alien rock gods must be androgynous, but capable of great feats of masculinity. I just took the name of my first pet and the model of vehicle that I drive (a Chevy Scottsdale K20 pickup truck). You can do the same trick to get your stripper name, only using your second pet's name followed by the street that you grew up on. My stripper name is Thor Belmont.
Try it out for fun and find out what your names would be.
I've stopped itching long enough to do some typing. My rash has made a home here on my body. I have to accept that I will be a bumpy, splotchy mess from now on. It is times like these that one might fall into the depths of despair. Not me. I am hoping to join in the side show circuit as "Gila Man and his dwarf slave, Oswald." I'm having open auditions for Oswald. Email me if you are below four feet tall and don't mind being told to do awful things in the name of showbiz. There's a little school boy's outfit in the deal if you make the cut.
How many of you are familiar with the phenomenon of "stage fright" when urinating in public? Wait, that didn't sound right. Let me try that one again: when urinating in a public restroom? Here's the thing: I have had my moments of pee paralysis. The most extreme case of this occurred when I was trying to pee next to the regional manager of Hoover Vacuums in Northern England. Yes, this was way back when I was going door to door selling vacuum cleaners for Jebus there. The conversation went thusly, me: "Um, nice talk." Him: (clears throat) "Boy, it's sure cold outside." Me: "Yeah, unbelievable." Then about thirty seconds of silence. Not even one mercy drip came from my lazy boy, nor his. It was too much, so I wrapped it up and left that awkward silence in a flash. Maybe I should have farted and broke the tension.
This is also how I know that ghosts are real, stage fright. I was in the comfort of my dwelling, going #1 in the bathroom, well, trying to go #1. I desperately wanted to go #1, with scatters of #2, but no. I had to go real bad, but I couldn't. I had stage fright. How could I have had stage fright if there was no audience? Exactly! I deduced that there was someone in that bathroom with me, someone invisible to the naked eye. It was a ghost, a perverted one, but a ghost nonetheless. After more encounters I figured out who this ghost was. It was none other than the Ghost of Abraham Lincoln! Read more about his ghost in this post here.
I am beginning to believe in a whole new type of fairy. This fairy is called The "middle of the night fuck you up with a baseball bat" Fairy. This fairy must be real, because any other reason why I feel like I've been gone over with a plank of hard ash escapes me.)
It's my dream to one day hear Billy Gibbons play something sweet through it. The thing that is funny is when my room had a mouse living in it about a year ago, the mouse was always going into that amp and scratching at the wood inside. The smell of the other mice must still be in there. Don't worry, I then figured out after that where to put the trap and caught that little bastard. 
