favorite Indie Rock Bands

# death cab for cutie

# the decemeberists

# cut copy

# sufjan stevens

# lemon jelly

# the postal service

The "U" rocks on XM channel 43

the dogs are eating tomato plants

fav dcfc song for the now "Photobooth"

Say Yes to Michigan

thanks for the directions. Though I negelected to check construction updates. For your reference last 5 miles of M-14 to Plymouth down to one lane. Also I-696 is one lane between Dequindre and Mound.

Still, no problemo as it was Saturday and traffic was light.

The wedding was cool a Quaker wedding held under a Maple tree. Never done the Quaker thing but was nice. My friend's Mom is from Iraq so after ceremony we signed wedding certifcate that was half written in Arabic. He had a bunch of relatives there who spoke Arabic. There was some ululating at the ceremony.


Back to the hotel for beers and to shoot some pool. Dropped some old school beats.

Sunday morning I-94 down to I-75, exit Jefferson. Brief foray into downtown area past Compuware HQ. Up Woodward and noticed a huge crowd of people. Tigers game is gearing up. Up Woodward a little further past B Karmanos breast cancer center. Drive-by through Brush Park which I recognized from the ruins of Detroit Website (ha! ha!) But alas, redevelopment is going on. People rehabbing homes in Brush Park, new townhomes next to Comerica Park.

Wind our way back to I-94 somehow, not well marked route. Back on I-94 over the River Rouge past two sets of blue bridges that had strange geometry.

Alas back home in Indiana.

a movieScript ending

A song by Death Cab for Cutie

Whenever i come back, the air on railroad is making the same sounds.
And the shop fronts on holly are dirty words (asterisks in for the vowels).
We peered through the windows... new bottoms on barstools but the people remain the same, with prices inflating.

As if saved from the gallows.
There's a bellow of buzzers and the people stop working and they're all so excited.

Passing through unconscious states.
When i awoke i was on the highway.

With your hand on my shoulders, a meaningless movement... a moviescript ending,
And the patrons are leaving, leaving.

Now we all know the words were true in the sappiest songs (yes, yes).
I'll put them to bed, but they won't sleep, they're just shuffling the sheets, they toss and turn,
(you can't begin to get it back).

Passing through unconscious states.
When i awoke i was on
The onset of a later stage... the headlights are beacons on the highway.

I heard this poem mentioned by Robert McNamara in a documentary about him that was done by Errol Morris.

The movie is called
"The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara "

I think it's a good poem.

The Palace

by Rudyard Kipling

When I was a King and a Mason, a Master Proven and skilled,

I cleared me ground for a Palace, such as a King should build.

I decreed and dug down to my levels; presently, under the silt,

I came on the wreck of a Palace, such as a King had built.



There was no worth in the fashion; there was no wit in the plan;

Hither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran.

Masonry, brute, mishandled, but carven on every stone,

"After me cometh a Builder; tell him I, too, have known."



Swift to my use in my trenches, where my well-planned groundworks grew,

I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars, and cut and rest them anew.

Lime I milled of his marbles; burned it, slaked it, and spread;

Taking and leaving at pleasure the gifts of the humble dead.


Yet I despised not nor gloried, yet, as we wrenched them apart,

I read in the razed foundation the heart of that Builder's heart.

As he has risen and pleaded, so did I understand

The form of the dream he had followed in the face of the thing he had planned



When I was a King and a Mason, in the open noon of my pride,

They sent me a Word from the Darkness; they whispered and called me aside.

They said, "The end is forbidden." They said, "Thy use is fulfilled.

Thy Palace shall stand as that other's, the spoil of a King who shall build."



I called my men from my trenches, my quarries, my wharves, and my sheers;

All I had wrought I abandoned to the faith of the faithless years.

Only I cut on the timber; only I carved on the stone:

"After me cometh a Builder; tell him I, too, have known."

XM radio rox, rox, roc

I am enjoying the XM radio

just a few things

Roger McGuinn of the Byrds had a really cool special on XM - 50 the Loft

Also XM - 43 , XMU is INCREDIBLE

Indie rock music, all the time

two songs I will jot down before I forget

U U by Cut Copy . also known as Track 8 according to Amazon
album is called "Bright Like Neon Love"

Also heard today on XMU is

The Clientele "Since Kay Got Over Me"

I can't find these songs on iTunes, what am I to do?

evil lurks nextdoor!

so Mary H next door wishes to pick a fight with me over fallen tree branches in her driveway.

But I will not take the bait.

Last Monday a storm blew through our area. Tree limbs were fell everywhere.

I went outside to clean up the mess and Mary H comes our of her house to read me the riot act.

I haven't heard her voice in over 5 years:

"Those are your branches, they fell from your trees, our trees don't have any dead branches, those are your branches".

She repeats:

"Those are your branches, they fell from your trees, our trees don't have any dead branches, those are your branches".

The woman is psychotic. She's also looking for a good fight. I said nothing to her, nothing.

What a disappointment I must be, I'm no fun to play with, I won't join the battle on her terms.

I just picked up the branches, stuffed them in the trash and walked away.

Four doors down

so soon another post.

The house four doors down sold a few months ago but no one has moved in.

I'm not sure what is going on, someone is mowing the lawn down there but I never see any lights on.

I thought I saw a moving van pull up there a few weeks ago but I could have been wrong.

I'm quite familiar with the property because Rex always takes his poops on the driveway or in the yard right next to the drive. I'm not sure what the attraction is but if he's going to go, he will do his business there.

last update was May 16, 2006

I'm getting behind here. or maybe I don;t have much to say

what has happened in the past month?

# the puppy Sabriah continues to grow and grow, she now gets as much food as Mr Rex.

# Don Tarr and his wife found a puppy out on the street and took him in, his name is Carl.

# Omar and Theresa are getting married a week from Saturday and Mary and I are driving up to Michigan for the wedding.

# I talked to Mark D last night and he and his wife will also be going to the wedding in the Detroit area.

# To stick with the Michigan theme I've been listening to Sufjan Stevens's album "Michigan, the Great Lake State"

# We are going to see my Mom this weekend, I might put the XM radio in the Matrix so we can listen to it on the drive over.

# I am currently reading "Reading Lolita in Teheran", the next book on-deck is "The Genius Factory". I haven't acquired a copy yet but I think it takes precedence over the Truman biography. And the James Adams bio and "Wheels of the World" by Douglas Brinkley.

here are the lyrics from "Part II: Carl Sandburg Visits Me In A Dream "
from Sufjan Stevens "Illinois" LP.

I cried myself to sleep last night

And the ghost of Carl, he approached my window
I was hypnotized, I was asked
To improvise
On the attitude, the regret
Of a thousand centuries of death


Even with the heart of terror and the superstitious wearer
I am riding all alone
I am writing all alone

Even in my best condition, counting all the superstition
I am riding all alone
I am running all alone

And we laughed at the beatitudes of a thousand lines
We were asked at the attitudes
They reminded us of death

Even with the rest belated, everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart?
Are you writing from the heart?

Even in his heart the Devil has to know the water level
Are you writing from the heart?
Are you writing from the heart?

And I cried myself to sleep last night
For the Earth, and materials, they may sound just right to me

Even with the rest belated, everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart?
Are you writing from the heart?

Even in his heart the Devil has to know the water level
Are you writing from the heart?
Are you writing from the heart?

Desert Island Challenge

You get to take with you one of each of the following:

album: "Illinois" by Sufjan Stevens
book: "Blackboard Jungle" by Evan Brown
film: "Taxi Driver"
complete television series: Six feet Under

this "Illinois" album by Mr Stevens has blown my mind.

Track 3: "Come On! Feel The Illinoise!: Part I: The World's Columbian Exposition/Part II: Carl Sandburg Visits Me In A Dream "

The Sandburg part is incredible, I've never heard anything like it. The work of a musical genius and I do not throw out the term "genius" gratitously.

Track 4: "John Wayne Gacy, Jr. "

This song will send a chill down your spine. On Saturday morning I got my XM radio working and the first song I hear on my XM was "John Wayne Gacy, Jr. ". Oh my. I immediately ran downstairs to my Itunes and downloaded the whole "Illinois" album.

Needless to say, I'm hooked.

We were in Columbus this weekend for Easter.

We went to Hoge Church, I hadn't been there in about six years. It was OK though the service seemed to drag a bit.

We saw "Little Shop of Horrors" at the Ohio Theatre.

Also driving back I was able to check out the Spiceland Kame complex just west of the New Castle exit on I-70. The roadside Geology of Indiana is a pretty neat book. I just have to remember to take it along on other trips around the state.

The house the Boaks used to live in sold last week. I believe the inspection is today. It took about eight months for the house to sell.

I drove up to Westfield, IN this morning to go on a bike ride with CIBA.

http://www.cibaride.org/

The weather conditions were less than ideal and I had to deal with a steady headwind of 20-30 mph as I headed up SpringMill road.

Somehow I made it through the 15 mile loop with a bad bike but I got it done.

After about every 10 cranks the chain would lose its tension and my pedalling would snap until I cranked to the next round.

Still it was enjoyable outing and I plan on buying a new bike having ridden the current one into the ground.

This past Friday I got to see a taping of "Indiana Week in Review" on WFYI. My wife arranged for me to meet with Jim Shella and the panelists. It was cool, I had not been in a TV studio for a long time and all the personalities were very cordial. They did the whole show in one take.

Here is the link to the show.

http://www.wfyi.org/indianaWeekInReview.asp

Jeopardy

I signed up for the Jeopardy audition in Indianapolis this morning.

I don't know if I qualify as I last took the test around April 20th and you have to wait a full year to be tested again.

I figured it doesn't hurt to register and if the auditions are too soon and fall before April 20th I'm just out of luck.

Also installed SQL*2005 at work today so I am trying to get that up and running.

We saw Donald Davis at St Luke's Sunday afternoon. It was a good performance. He told a story about "people who tune and people who play."

new puppy is here

Sabriah is here. She's doing well except for some bouts of diarrhea.

We bought a Scion Xa about two weeks ago after the Saturn broke down.

It's a nice car and I can plug my ITunes Shuffle right into the car and play it over the stereo.

I'm almost done with reading "Annals of the Former World". It's in four parts:

Basin and Range -- done

In Suspect Terrain -- done

Rising from the Plains -- done

Assembling California -- in progress

Strange Daze

Tonight on the TeeVee they had a report of a swinger's club in Broad Ripple.
It's right in my 'hood not far from the defunct Saturn
What was funny is the interviews of two local businessmen who wanted the club shut down.

The first guy was from the Import Station where I'd been taking my Saturn to get fixed for the past 3 years. Before that he was fixing my Toyota Tercel. The owner objected to the beer bottles being strewn about the area.

The second interview was with the guy who sold me my kitchen flooring and bedroom carpet. He said he was a "good Christian man" and objected to the club in the vicinity.

Very strange, two back to back interviews with people I knew but when they showed the actual "business" in question I could not recognize the address. I've walked my dog down that street about 200 times in the past year but I drew a blank.

Defunct Saturn Update: I got a call from someone in Gary, IN and they told me they would come to pick up the car tomorrow around 9.

Stay tuned........

Four for Friday

Q1 - Pictures: When was the last time someone took a picture of you, and what were you doing? If you can't remember, then when was the last time you took a picture, and what was it of?


I can't remember my last picture and I don't care too. The last time I took pictures, I was getting my CamCorder up and running and uploading the movie to the PC. It's just 60 seconds of me filming my basement as I sing along to an acoustic version of "405" by Death Cab for Cutie.


Q2 - Vice President Cheney: Texas authorities have already cleared U.S. Vice President Dick Cheney of any wrongdoing over last weekend's incident in which he shot, i.e., “peppered pretty well,” a 73-year-old hunting companion in the face. Do you feel the White House and Mr. Chaney himself have acted appropriately in their handling of the incident?


No comment. I'm a C-Span/political junkie but I like to think of myself as an observer. My Dad had an opinion about everything and would debate any topic to the break of dawn.


Q3 - Real Estate: Do you feel real estate agents' commissions are justified?


Sure why not? If you don't like the commissions go to HomeYeah.com or just do a plain old FSBO. It's how the agents make their money. It's like asking if you think that food servers tips are justified.


Q4 - Best Friends: Who was your first bestest friend, and, are you still friends with them? If you're not in touch with your first best friend, do you keep in touch with anyone you knew--aside from family--when you were between the ages of five and ten?


Scott Miller in Niagara Falls back in 1973 - 1975. I moved to Ohio in 1975 and only saw him a few times after that. I saw him last in 1983 when I was 16 and found I had little in common with him. I haven't seen him since. No I have not kept in touch with anyone outside of family who I knew before I was 10.

Death of a Saturn

Tuesday night I'm heading up a major artery from downtown when I notice my car is losing power. The bucket is 13 years old and has 141,000 miles on it so I knew it wasn't going to be around much longer. My only question was if I could get it home.

Apparently not. As I hit each cross street I felt the energy being sapped out of the mobile. 38th street... 42nd street... 49th ... 52nd and then the car dies. I managed to get it off to a side street and was pushed to the curb my some helpful bystanders. The car remains there (I think) 3 days later.

I went out and bought a new car not wanting to mess with any repairs as I have done enough of that for the past 3 years.

Good to the last drop....

me! me! me! me!

4 things meme or is it 4 things me!me!me!me!me!me!me!me! (we all love to talk aboutourselves)

Four Things Meme

FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:

1. Web/Database Programmer in Indianapolis,IN
2. Bartender/Waiter/Cook at PJ's Pub at 3333 N Charles St in Balto,MD
3. Waiter/Chambermaid at the Hotel Schweizerhof in Grindelwald, Switzerland
4. Funeral Home worker in Columbus Ohio.

FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER:

1. Godfather II
2. Cool Hand Luke
3. Taxi Driver
4. Deliverance

FOUR CITIES YOU'VE LIVED IN:

1. Indianapolis,IN
2. Niagara Falls, NY
3. St Moritz, Switzerland
4. Baltimore, MD

FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:

1. Washington Journal - C.Span
2. Six Feet Under
3. Rockford Files
4. Blind Date

FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:

1. Van, Turkey
2. Rheboth Beach, Delaware
3. Red Lodge, Montana
4. Zermatt, Switzerland

FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:

1. en.wikipedia.org
2. www.yahoo.com
3. www.informit.com
4. Itunes store

FOUR OF YOUR ALL-TIME FAVOURITE RESTAURANTS:

1. Ho Sai Gai (Chinese restaraunt in Columbus, long gone but first ethnic restaraunt I ever went to)
2. Hotel Jura (Dornach, Switzerland.... it's where my grandparents took me)
3. Sal's Pizza (Larchmont, NY)
4. Some Guys Pizza (Indianapolis, IN)

FOUR OF YOUR FAVOURITE FOODS:

1. noodles and butter
2. buffalo chicken wings
3. gipfelis (swiss croissants)
4. general tso's chicken

FOUR SCHOOLS YOU'VE ATTENDED: (all in Columbus, OH)

1. Westgate Elementary
2. Mohawk Junior High School
3. Columbus Alternative High School
4. The Ohio State University

FOUR THINGS YOU FIND YOURSELF SAYING A LOT:

1. at some point...
2. just go to Wikipedia
3. death cab for cutie rocks
4. biscuit

FOUR PLACES YOU'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:

1. Arizona
2. Switzerland
3. NY, NY
4. Miles City, Montana

Pile on many more layers ....

I cannot stop the Frey bashing today, but I think I'm on to something.

Here is the NYT book review of "million little pieces of ..."


Step 13: Write a book

I haven't even finished it yet but I came upon this.

the film director Gus Van Sant has likened Frey's voice to those of Dave Eggers and David Foster Wallace

Whoa! David Foster Wallace, that literate titan who wrote perhaps the most tedious book ever: "The Broom of the System". I only got through the first 80 pages but I must say he was trying really hard to convince the reader about how clever he is.

Also we have Dave Eggers another 21st century wonder who either fictionalizes truth, or truth-a-lizes fiction. I can't remember which.

If Mr Frey follows in the line of these two greats it's no wonder he's a bestseller.

Of course if I could only channel some of my "Page-rage" into finishing my half written story I too could become one of the "greats". just joking, really...

In another news we are working on putting new lights in our kitchen. We had some friends over helping and we finally got the ceiling fan after much effort. I don't know why we had trouble getting it right but he had to build it and tear it down again before getting it installed.

Once again, Frey taken to the woodshed by John Dolan of the eXile

Frey's Fall

I haven't read it but I'm sure it's good.

Unfortunately, I fear for what comes next.

James Frey writes another book that makes millions where he writes about how he conned a bunch of people, wrote a bs story and made millions.

Also, I see a LifeTime or Oxygen made for TV movie in the works that Frey can sell the rights to.

A million pieces of .....

by John Dolan Review of James Frey's book

This is one of the funniest book reviews I've ever read.

He nails Frey for what he really is: a complete phony and con artist.

The review was written over 2 years ago but Mr Dolan knew what was up long before the Smoking Gun had ever heard of this clown.

What's unbelievable to me is that neither Oprah or any of her producers believed Mr Frey's stuff. Someone needs their batteries changed in their bs detectors.

Here's a nugget from the article:

James Frey: A million little pieces

This is the worst thing I've ever read.

A Million Little Pieces is the dregs of a degraded genre, the rehab memoir. Rehab stories provide a way for pampered trust-fund brats like Frey to claim victim status. These swine already have money, security and position and now want to corner the market in suffering and scars, the consolation prizes of the truly lost. It's a fitting literary metonymy for the Bush era: the rich have decided to steal it all, even the tears of the losers.

Frey sums up his entire life in one sentence from p. 351 of this 382-page memoir: "I took money from my parents and I spent it on drugs." Given the simplicity and familiarity of the story, you might wonder what Frey does in the other 381 pages. The story itself is simple: he goes through rehab at an expensive private clinic, with his parents footing the bill. That's it. 400 pages of hanging around a rehab clinic.

It feels longer. It feels like years.

For all Frey's childish impersonation of the laconic Hemingway style, this is one of the most heavily padded pieces of prose I've seen since I stopped reading first-year student essays. Frey manages to puff up this simple story to book length thanks to one simple gimmick: he repeats. Repeats the beginnings of sentences. Repeats the beginnings of phrases. And the endings. Endings of phrases. Phrases and sentences.

Special treat for the multitude of readers of this blog

About a year ago I took a class from Writers Digest and started writing a short story.

It's a half - baked creation that I never got around to finishing.

Days of Grease and Angst

My parents split up the day I finished High School.
They had tolerated each other long enough to see me
enter adulthood. I remember driving back from a
graduation party and seeing Mom packing a tattered
U-Haul truck, brown boxes and furniture hastily
arranged in piles in the yard. Soon afterwards she
moved off to Dickinson, North Dakota to live with a
dairy farmer she met on the Internet.
A few months later my father’s new girlfriend who was
closer in age to me moved into our house. Darlene took
up most of his time constantly sending me on errands
or borrowing my car without telling me. When she
wasn’t exploiting my presence she viewed me as an
obstacle in their relationship. I felt like a distant
relative in my own home who had longed over stayed his
welcome.

I enrolled twice at Cactus State College in Phoenix
and dropped out both times lacking the motivation to
attend class and do the work. The only class I
attended regularly, the Cactus State German Klub
wasn’t even a class and I received no academic credit
for attending. My devotion to the Klub was because of
Anna Meier. She had blond hair and blue eyes but not
the bland, standard-issue American version of beauty.
Her eyes had a piercing quality to them and her hair
had faint dark streaks that brought out the blond in
brilliant contrast.

Coincidentally both our mothers were from the Bremen
area in northern Germany and she had grown up speaking
the language at home. My Mom had not spoken German
with me so I was forced to learn on my own. Anna spoke
the High German in the elegant and correct manner of a
northerner and I drank up every word she spoke. This
was in stark contrast to the feeble linguistic
attempts of the native Americans in the class or the
scratchy, lilting noise that the Swiss and Austrians
in the Klub tried to pass of as German.

By the summer 2003 I had a strong desire to move away
from sweet Darlene. I had to get an apartment of my
own. This was the summer I met Ron Ryan. I was only 21
at the time and in the need of cash I got a job
working at Chexley’s Restaraunt right off the Sandy
Mountain Freeway, exit 18 sandwiched between a truck
stop and a gas station.


The work was miserable. The place was a favorite of
old folks who sent the wait staff on endless errands
of extra lemon and napkin fetching although I was
usually relegated to the kitchen. The food was bad and
the grease coming out of the kitchen stuck to
everything that walked into the joint. At night I’d
come home exhausted from a shift and stand under the
shower for 30 minutes washing and scrubbing trying to
scourge the grease and my ill feeling towards all in
the world off of my body and soul. After the shower
lying in bed, I still felt as dirty as I had when I
came home. I tossed and turned in bed and found no
purchase in my crummy futon stained from last night’s
futile attempt at sleep. I would stare upwards at the
ceiling hoping that it some moment it might blow away
and the winds of fate would ship somewhere else.


My first shift at Chexley’s was the same day that Anna
Meier had turned me down when I asked her out on a
date. It had been months since I had dropped out of
Cactus State and I had not been back to the German
Klub having no desire to explain my academic
predicament. Still I worked up the nerve to call her
believing by starting a new job I could start a new
relationship.

She answered on the first ring, I took a deep breath
and without any introduction asked her to join me for
dinner the coming weekend. She told me that she would
have gone out with me had it not been for her
boyfriend, an individual by the name of Krisco.
Apparently he played bass in a heavy metal band that
had a strong local following. I could not ascertain if
Krisco was his first name, last name or a combination
of the two. Maybe it was just his stage name or
perhaps he didn’t even exist. I hung up the phone,
kicked over a stool and headed off to work.


Marty Sanders was the manager of the restaurant and he
was a balding, paunchy middle aged man with a raspy
voice who had been a drill sergeant in the Marines for
twenty years. He was also an incredible pain in the
ass. That first night he tasked me with washing and
wrapping 13 cases of Idaho potatoes in aluminum foil,
this was Marty’s way of letting me know one of the
many ways in which he could be a pain. I sat there in
a broken chair, hunched over a sink in the furthest
recess of the restaurant and washed potato after
potato, checking each box making sure they all came
from Idaho. For each potato I washed, I could hear the
words “Anna Meier”, “Anna Meier” echoing through my
skull. It was all so unfair, Krisco was right at this
moment spending time with the amazing Anna as I was
consigned to wash hundreds of potatoes, the cold water
rushed over my shaky hands, behind me sheets of
aluminum scattered all over the damp floor. Surely
there was some international tribunal or UN agency I
could petition to rectify this injustice.

“Mister poe-tay-toe, Mister poe-tay-toe please won’t
you wash me tonight…” I heard from behind me followed
by cackling. I looked up to saw a rail thin man with
jet black hair and a goofy grin plastered across his
face. He tapped me on the shoulder and said “Hey man,
my name is Ron, Ron Ryan don’t tell me Mr. Sand-Man’s
got you on tater detail tonight?”


“Yep, my name’s Max Abfall, I’ve just been sitting
here all night doing this but I hope to get to bus
some tables, maybe work as a waiter too, make tips”, I
said wishing I could just get back to my potatoes and
not talk to this person, whoever he was.


“Tips! are you kidding me? I just work here for the
50% employee discount and the atmosphere not to
mention those tasty potatoes. Tips…” He started
giggling again and bounced back out towards the
kitchen glancing at me over his shoulder as he hit the
swinging door.


As the summer progressed the days grew hotter and the
work became more intolerable. We had several assistant
managers but Marty Sanders was the chief. The worst
nights were when he worked to closing, this meant
being stuck in the restaurant until 3am desk scrubbing
the floor with extra strength Tide, cleaning the
sneeze guard by the salad bar continuously with
ammonia or just polishing every single salt and pepper
shaker in the dining area. I spent many summer weekend
nights and early mornings enjoying a “Marty Close”.


Financial troubles were compounding matters. My
landlord, Mr. Karl who I referred to as the “lamelord”
was constantly hounding me for last months rent. Often
times I fell behind in my payments and at times he
would threaten to have me evicted if I paid too late.
At night my bedroom ceiling inched closer in on me,
day after day and did not yield territory. It was
unthinkable for me to go back to my Dad’s house and
admit defeat in my own personal War of Independence.


I got to know Ron better. I hardly said a word to
anyone in the place but Ron always wanted to engage me
with dumb jokes and moronic puns. He’d step out of the
walk-in cooler with a vegetable tray and shout, “I
don’t get paid enough, I need more celery.” Once he
stared at me and started barking like a dog. I enjoyed
his irreverent company though I did not make that
apparent. I soon noticed the other employees avoided
him. Often times I would be the designated dishwasher
for the night and Ron would come at me with stacks and
stacks of plates greasy and dirty with half-eaten
meals each time dumping them in front of me singing
“for you, for you it’s a tasty treat for you”


One night as we were leaving I started singing a
parody of Phil Collins song I had made up in my head
during the shift. Somehow I’d changed the words around
to describe how the “Chexley’s Misery Index” was on
the rise and that working to 4am would be no surprise.
We got to both of our cars parked across from each
other laughing so hard neither of us could open up our
cars.


“Max-a-man, whoa I never knew you were a composer,
hey, can I ask you something.” he finally said gasping
for air.


“Go ahead whatever, just don’t ask me to sing” I was
caught off guard; I didn’t know I could still laugh as
I was afraid of breaking my streak of 37 consecutive
miserable evenings. I was a creature of habit and I
had a ceiling waiting at home for me.


“Hey, how come you never smile man?”


“There isn’t much to smile about.” I started reaching
into my pockets looking for my car keys.


“What’s it about, the job, Sand-Man got you down, or
it’s about a girl, a betcha it’s a girl.” He looked at
my wide-eyed, eager for me to continue the
conversation.


“It’s about just leaving me alone.” I ended our talk
abruptly and popped open the car door without saying
another word.


As I pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the
freeway I looked in my rearview mirror and saw Ron
still standing next to his car his hands open and
facing upwards as if he were still in conversation
with me.


After my long hot shower that night I stared at the
ceiling and felt it would suffocate me, days later I’d
be found in a room two inches tall. As I lay in bed
that night I tried to understand why I had been so
abrupt in my departure

My epiphany came the next day in front of a toilet
seat in the Chexley’s mensroom. I was working on
chopping up lettuce for the salad bar when suddenly I
saw Marty Sanders wheeling into the kitchen exclaimed,
“Goddammit, some old geezer just puked all over the
bathroom and Ron Ryan’s got the night off, I hate it
when that happens.” He started laughing and suddenly
his eyes fell upon me.

“Hey Max!”, he shouted, “I got a little project for
you, I need you to check the mens bathroom, we might
need a little help back there.” He continued chuckling
and handed me a mop and a bottle of ammonia. “Hey,
it’s nothing a man can’t handle with a garden house
and a gas mask.”

Mop in hand I shuffled off to the bathroom to the
sounds of the muffled laughter of my co-workers. The
bathroom was a disgusting sight and I was overcome
with dry heaves as I frantically pushed the mop back
and forth slopping ammonia over the floor. I wiped the
vomit off the toilet seat and realized that my
co-workers had lumped Ron and I into the same boat. If
were to have any allies in this place I’d have to seek
out Ron’s friendship.

About a week later, actually 4 A.M, after finishing a
“Marty Close” Ron raced out to his car and I yelled
out to him from my station wagon. “Hey Ron, you
feeling alright, you looked pretty beat down today.”


“Just another day in paradise.” He replied, I think he
was surprised that I was talking to him after my
abruptness the week before.


“How’d you make out, Mr. Sanders says he might put me
out on the floor next week?” Indeed the boss had
mentioned this to me that night and I was feeling a
little better about myself. I needed the money.


“A whopping $39 dollars in tips, I ought to just get a
job serving at the retirement home down on Maynard
Ave, same crowd that we get here. This is just a load
of crap.” Ron shifted back and front of his car
looking up at the sky.

“By the way”, Ron continued, “I heard Sand-man gave
you the nasty bathroom drill the other day.” I
detected a feint smile on his face.

“It was the most awful, grossest thing I ever saw”

“Maybe, but sometimes there’s value in waste, not in
this particular case but one mans’ trash can be
another’s gold”. I had no idea what he was talking
about but I wanted to hear more.

“Hey Ron, I got an idea”, I said, “You want to go to
the water park tomorrow, we both got the day off.”


“Are you getting social, my goodness, sure let’s hook
up, we both could use the fresh air but who’s gonna do
clean up if some kid craps in the urinal.”


The day at the water park was a blast, we must have
stood in the wave pool for three hours. Even I was
entitled to a good day. Afterwards we headed out to
the picnic area, grabbed some fries from a nearby
stand and sat down enjoying the warm sun and the sound
of people indulging themselves in water sport.

“So man, what is the deal with you?” he asked
point-blank.


“I got issues, Ron, above all I need money.” It felt
easy talking outside here, far from home or the
workplace. The waves from the tidal pool had knocked
me into a stupor and words were about burst out
freely.


“I got no damn money, Anna Maier dating a guy named
after a brand of vegetable oil and I want to be as far
away from my Dad’s idiot girlfriend as possible… if I
don’t come up with $100 bucks for last months rent,
I’m going to be living in a tent.”


Ron just stared at me for a while and said, “Chill
biscuit, I can help you with things maybe get you some
money. We can work things out.”


“Doing what, working more hours at Chexleys?”


“Nah, doing Internet stuff, research, it’s an easy way
to make money.” Suddenly I noticed Ron was looking
around him a furtive glance passing over his face as
if he didn’t want anyone else listening in to this
incredible secret he was divulging.


“Ok, I’m game. What do we do, blast out emails about
secret Nigerian bank accounts and solicit people for
finders fees then take the money and run, or is this
just a garden variety Ponzi scheme.”


“No, no, no it’s not like that.” His voice became
insistent and soft at the same time. “We’ll talk more
later, surf ‘s up Mr. Potato-Head.”

About a week later Ron called me on my cell phone as I
was leaving work around midnight and invited me to
come over to his house to work on his Internet
project. He told me to wear black clothing. I thought
perhaps we were going to some Internet café full of
Goth rockers and I had to dress the part.

I got to Ron’s place which was a small mobile home in
a dirty trailer park. Before I could knock, Ron swung
the door open and pushed me back down the steps and
raced over to a white van parked in front of his home.
He leapt in and montioned to for me to do the same. I
got in the van and we quickly drove off heading up
into the Ventana Foothills. The whole time Ron did the
talking, his speech getting faster as we climbed
higher. The van bounced up and down Rondino Drive and
he took each turn quickly forcing me to grab onto a
strap.

“Look, I can trust you right, because this does have
to do with the Net, it also deals with height being a
function of wealth, the higher you go the higher you
get, know what I mean.” He was balancing the steering
wheel, a cigarette and a Red Bull energy drink and
spoke on.

“Alright, welcome to the Ryan Institute for Advanced
Studies in Garbology. Fact 1: All these clowns up here
are rich and Fact 2: Tomorrow is trash day in the
Ventana Vista subdivision. Fact 3: People throw out
some pretty valuable stuff and its our job to find out
what that is.”

As we entered the subdivision, Ron became very quiet
and began driving carefully. He pulled up in front of
a house and told me to get out to go fishing. I hopped
out of the van and grabbed the first trash bag I found
jumped back into the van and pushed the bag over the
seat and into the open area in back of the vehicle.

We kept driving through the subivision stopping at
about every block and I leapt out and grabbed the
first trash bag I found. It was exciting grabbing
peoples trash and stuffing it into the van. It was
absurd and I had to force myself from laughing. I had
no idea what we’d do with it but it felt good to be
taking something from these people. After we had
grabbed about ten bags of trash Ron quickly exited the
subdivision and we rode back in silence to Ron’s
trailer in the valley below.

We got to his house and took the garbage in. As I
entered the living room Ron started tearing up the
bags and dumped the trash onto newspapers laid out
from wall to wall. The odor was noxious and liquid
sprang out of the bags and started soaking the papers.


“C’mon, man!” Ron exclaimed, “Get to work, stop
trippin’ and start rippin’.”

The Pebble and the Road

so this morning I'm watching TV. After about 45 minutes of C-Span I had my infoFill and switched over to watching the 3 Stooges on another channel. Suddenly the sound goes out. I check other channels and notice that the sound is static on every channel except for WTHR which comes in crystal clear.

I call the cable company and about 8 hours later decide to grab a TV out of the basement and test it. The basement TV (about 1/4th the size of our main one) works fine.

So I now have a 36 inch monster TV in my living room that only receives audio from WTHR.

Arrggggh.

I got the TV free about 5 years ago and have been paying for it ever since. About two years ago I ended up shelling out $200 to fix a $5 part because the service center had to swing by pick up the chassis and drop it off in addition to labor charges back at the shop.

It's also a huge pain in the ass to move. I'm reminded of this as I contemplate shucking the piece out on the street.

Now how am I supposed to watch all those newly released Rockford Files DVDs without a S-Video ready TV?

It just reminds me of the expression "It's not the trail that wears you out, it's the pebble in your shoe."

Stop what you are doing, walk... no run, to your nearest DVD store

THE ROCKFORD FILES ARE NOW AVAILABLE ON DVD!

REPEAT

THE ROCKFORD FILES ARE NOW AVAILABLE ON DVD!


I can recall watching the show when it was on NBC on Friday nights back in the late 1970's. I loved the fact that unlike just about anything else on the tube the star (Rockford) took his lumps.

He was constantly getting his ass kicked getting blown off by women and being betrayed by his friends. The Charlie Brown of private Investigators.

I once saw a A&E Biography piece on James Garner and one of the reasons the show was abruptly cancelled in 1980 was his health was so bad from getting beat up all the time during filming. He refused to use body doubles and just like the character he portrayed he stood up and took it.





Rockford Files on DVD

Doug Flutie rules

Doug Flutie rules

this is a great story

talk about "dropping" old school beatz.

I've heard about drop-kicking to score points over the years from people 40 years older than me but I've never seen it done in the modern NFL.



!story!

Doug Flutie converted the NFL's first successful drop kick for an extra point in 64 years.

But the two-time defending champion Patriots staged a late comeback, as the 43-year-old Flutie made the NFL's first successful drop kick since Ray McLean for the Chicago Bears on Dec. 21, 1941. It followed Cassel's first pro touchdown pass, a 6-yarder to Tim Dwight that made it 25-19 with 6:10 left.


As the ball sailed through the uprights, Flutie punched the air and was mobbed by teammates. Then he ran to the sideline, where he was embraced by a smiling Belichick.

"I just thanked him for the opportunity," said Flutie, who had been dropped to third-string quarterback before the game. He felt he had "probably an 80 percent chance (of making the kick). It was fun.

!story!