On the Drink of Disaster

True story.
The problem with doing karaoke in a bar, is that generally you're expected to order something. Now, contrary to popular belief, I'm not much of a drinker. Steady yourself. I know, gentle reader, the shocking truth is that most of the stupid stuff I do, I do completely sober. So when I do go to a bar, I try to surround myself with other light-weight girly men for camouflage. But eventually, like zebras pacing the watering hole, one of us has to go up and order something. Last time, there were only two of us and it was my turn to test the waters for crocodiles. My buddy says, "Get me a Miller Lite." Great. No hiding out on the savanna. So I go up to the bar and order a manly Miller Lite and an equally masculine Mike's HARD lemonade. Oh yeah, feel that testosterone pumping. The bartender has obviously been trained well and remains stoic, but my spindly legs are poised and ready to bolt at as soon as the glass hits the counter. That's when one of the local lions lifted his large head and groggily starts to shake off his stupor. His eyes scan the surroundings and his nose goes up. He smells fear nearby, but he hasn't honed in on it yet. The bartender comes around with my drinks which tell every predator around that I won't put up much of a fight, and just as he reaches me, the lion's pupils widen and snap into focus.

"Excuse me..." he says with lazy calm. "Don't take this the wrong way, but one of those drinks is for a girl, right?"
"No," I say, exposing myself as the prey that I am. It's not like I can run at this point anyway.
"Oh, Jeez dude, I'm sorry. I just read somewhere that Mike's is one of the most popular drinks among women." The lion recklessly and effectively swats his large paws in my direction.
"That's mine." I look back at my herd longingly as this guy verbally chews my limbs off.
"Really? No offense man, really. I just assumed that one of those HAD to be for a girl." His head goes back down. The kill complete. I drag my bloodied carcass back to our table and explain to my friend how it was his stupid Miller Lite that made me look like a lady.
We did get the last laugh though. The lion was really bad at karaoke, but we told him he was good. Take THAT! You may be King of the jungle, but your roar sounds like crap.

Meanwhile, from the 'Becoming what you detest' department:
Up until last Saturday, I had been in a Starbucks exactly once in my life. I was carpooling and was not the driver. I had no choice, I don't even remember if I ordered anything. But in the last week, I have gone to Starbucks *4* times. What's wrong with me? I feel dirty. And on top of it all, I liked it. That's right, you heard me. I LIKED IT! I'm a Chai tea chump and apparently will pay over 3 dollars for a 'tall.' I hate myself.

And as a total non-sequitor, let me tell you why I think this seemingly innocuous picture makes me laugh. It's a shot from our living room, and granted not one of the most flattering. Study it carefully. Note the pile of dirty dishes and half finished knitting project. This my friends, is exactly what my living room would look like if my wife were suddenly vaporized. Well, except the lid wouldn't be on the peanut butter, but otherwise it's dead on. Don't worry folks, it's just a simulation. Chris is JUST FINE.

Bright Lights, Big Idiot.

aka: Gomer goes to Town

And now for another episode of, "Why I hate traveling."

Pretty much, I have no travel skills. I can't blame it on my parents, they tried. I just got nuthin in the travel-intuition department and it makes me feel like the last 35 years have counted for absolutely nothing. If I can't even get from point A to point B, why worry about the shortest route, or how long it's going to take, or whether I packed enough snackies? Fortunately, I try to compensate by "Being Prepared." Unfortunately, that translates to "Carry a lot of cash in case something goes wrong" which admittedly isn't the most practical philosophy, but it's fairly effective as far as defense mechanisms go.
So this week I have to go into downtown Chicago for two days of training. And let me make this perfectly clear, I HAYAATE traveling to/in/from/through/around Chicago. Maybe if I was the only one there it would be better, but then I suspect I'd be running for my life from zombies or something...
Anyway, today was day one of this training. Class starts at 9am, so Chris and I are out the door at 6am, to get to the Elgin train station by 7. So far things are going smoothly, and I actually make it onto the train. Mind you, the station itself isn't open yet, so you just jump on the train and get your ticket later. It's not like they don't know where you're going. So I'm there with 9000 commuters and I'm the only one without a monthly pass. No worries though... I have CASH! So after we get through Bartlett, the conductor comes around. After quickly checking the passes for everyone in the front half of the car, he gets to me. I hold out a $20 (because that's what the ATM deemed me worthy of) and he squints. "Which stop?" he asks. Now you would think that a college grad wouldn't have any problem answering that. I stare. I have one choice. "Union Station" I say. His eyes roll. "No, which stop did you get on." Yeah... you see he doesn't know how much my ticket costs until he knows where I started. I stare...blankly. Where did I start? He wants Point A, not Point B. I can NOT remember the name of the station. Nothing. Time passes. People with actual tickets start to wonder what the hold up is. I've got nothing. Then my brain starts to trickle into my mouth... "Big, err Elgin, no, egh... TIMBER! Big Timber!" The conductor puts his head down. Punches a ticket, looks back at me and slowly says, "That'll be $5.15, sir." At least, that's what his mouth said. His eyes said, "Sigh... now I have to dig out $14.85 in change for this dope who can't remember where he was 15 minutes ago."
When we finally got to Union Station, I opted to walk 2 miles to class instead of trying to negotiate a cab or the busline by myself. Happy ending though, I did actually make it to class on time.

All Saints Day

In my church's tradition, the first Sunday of November is All Saints Day. It's a time of reflection and remembrance for those who have died in the past year. Candles are lit and a powerpoint is shown as we're reminded to celebrate their earthly and eternal lives. I've always found it to be kind of a weird juxtaposition with modern day Halloween, but I suspect at one point it there was a more natural transition between the two holidays. Now, after a month of sugar and hype, I am challenged with trying to find joy in death. Real death, not movie death or funny or ironic death. Not the Halloween, costumed, candy-coated death. And it's difficult.

This year brought it's own unique frustration. About 20 people from my church died in the past year, and I didn't know any of them. I only even recognized one last name, but didn't recognize her face. Does that make this a good year? Am I lucky or am I a big jerk for not being involved enough? So while I'm stewing over that, my brain starts listing Christian death hymns. Amazing Grace. I've always been drawn to them. Partly because of my inner-goth-child, but also I think Bono (love him or hate him) summed up my feelings on the matter. Take My Hand, Precious Lord. He said that Christians generally don't like conflict, especially in their music, and yet most of the great songs revolve around some conflict. All My Tears Be Washed Away. You can't have a good song or story without a problem. I'll Fly Away. Throwing death in the mix inherently adds conflict.

And then the chorus of O Come and Mourn with Me Awhile poured into my head:

Oh love of God, Oh sin of man, in this dread act Your strength is tried.
And victory remains in Love. Jesus our Lord is crucified.

Talk about a rollercoaster. Love... sin... dread act...victory... crucified. From the chorus it's kinda hard to tell who's really winning. Sure, It's really a Good Friday/Easter hymn but I was struck by the parallel, though I couldn't verbalize it at the time. In six months I'll go through this again in reverse. Life to death, death to life. Celebration to mourning, mourning to celebration.

At this point, Chris looked over at me in the pew and whispered, "Do you need a Kleenex?" Needless to say, I'm all like, "No, I can handle it." Later in the car I fessed up that apparently I'm dealing with some stuff that's bubbling through to the surface. "It's ok, deal with it as it comes. At least you're feeling something," she said. And she's right... again.

Karaoke Evangelist

Slowly but surely I'm figuring out what makes for a good night of karaoke, and what makes for an agonizing and humiliating one. Basically, if you end up feeling like this guy when you're singing, you're doing right. So here are my observations:

-Find a good karaoke place. I would define "good" as somewhere that's encouraging and welcoming, not necessarily a hub of high quality singers. For instance, my favorite place has this fantastic KJ (I think that's what Karaoke DJ's are called) who remembers your name, tells you that you are picking excellent songs, and who will even sing with you if you need that extra support. I also appreciate the fact that he cares what you sound like. He adjusts your volume, reverb, etc so you sound 'right' even if you don't sound 'good.' Jeti Entertainment rocks. I took all this for granted until a couple weeks ago when we went to some other joint assuming that all KJ's were equal. Suffice it to say, they're not.

-Pick songs you've listened to in the past 10 years. This may sound obvious, but it's really easy to get all nostalgic about some song that's aged well in your imagination. When you're up there singing, you want to be focusing on the music and the moment, not "Gee, I thought this song was much cooler" or "Huh, this song really is about homosexuality" or even worse, "Man, this is a LOT higher than I remember it."

-Don't pick long songs. If you've followed the above rule, this should help you find music you like in the 3 to 5 minute range. Believe me, the difference between a 5 minute song and a 7 minute song is staggering. Just because "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" is in the songbook, doesn't mean you should sing it.

-Go with a Buddy. It doesn't have to be someone who's going to objectively critique your singing, in fact it's probably better if they aren't. Matt (my friend in the picture) is the best Karaoke buddy ever. He's like the person riding shotgun who calls everyone driving slower than you an idiot, and everyone going faster a lunatic. In Karaoke that translates to rolling his eyes at someone who sings really well, and a slight head shake and knowing smile when someone sings like poo.

-Bring your own fan club. I just learned the value of this last night. Hearing applause from strangers is rewarding, but if you bring friends, you'll be sure to have an attentive audience. It also helps time go by quicker in between songs when you have more folks to chat with.

-Allow yourself to suck. Laugh off whatever goes wrong. Part of the fun of Karaoke is learning what works and what doesn't. You'll find these things out quicker and have more fun doing it if you take risks. This of course, is where a good buddly/fan club comes in.
I've had several conversations like this:
"So, How'd I do?"
"Dude, you rocked. I'm totally inspired. Now I'm going to try a song by Journey?"

Or the opposite:
"So, did it sound as bad out here as it did up there?"
"Man, Let's just say that I don't think this is really a crowd that appreciates the Spice Girls like you do. But at least now you've inspired me to try 'Faithfully.' At this point, what do we have to lose? "
And the cycle continues...

Lastly, Matt and I have had a couple discussions about this. Matt is much more careful about picking songs that he thinks the crowd will enjoy, even if he's not a 100% comfortable singing them. I was under the impression that a song, of any style, done well would be appreciated. Experience is showing that choosing songs the crowd wants to hear is generally received well regardless of how good you sing it, and that singing a song with technical accuracy isn't particularly valued. Maybe that's a no brainer given that we aren't competing for cash or anything, but it took me a while to figure it out.

So in conclusion. Don't stop... belieeevin'. Hold on to that feeeeeeelin'.

Meeting Leeroy Jenkins

Yesterday I found out who Leeroy Jenkins is. Apparently he's an older (by internet standards) meme that I totally missed out on. But it meets my personal criteria for comedy-gold which is, when you watch the video that started it all, it just isn't that funny. You ask yourself, "What is the big deal here?" Your inner voice gives you about 30 reasons why it isn't amusing and what would have really made it funny. But then suddenly that same voice turns on you and you can't get it out of your head. I've been belting out, "LEEEROY JEEENKINS" all day with the full knowledge that nobody I blurted to would get it... and yet I couldn't stop.

Comedy Gold.

The True Spirit of Halloween

(This is not my cat, but I wish I had thought of it...)

Let me tell you why I like Halloween. It's a purely sadistic reason. Chris doesn't *think* she likes Halloween so I take it upon myself every year to convince her otherwise. We have our own Halloween ritual that goes something like this...

"I hate Halloween, gah..."
"I know honey... I'm not really excited about it either. Should I get some candy anyway?"
"Ugh. Why? So a bunch of teenagers who don't even bother to put on a costume can pander at our house? You can if you want, but you have to watch the door."
"Ok... I'll take care of it."

(four bags of candy later)

BING BONG
"Murf urf turf"

"Whoa aren't you spooky! Here's some candy."
"Why is that kid dressed in the Scream mask? He can't be older than seven. Did his mother actually let him watch that movie? What's wrong with these people?"
"I don't know baby. That movie's older than he is, I suspect those masks are cheap these days."
"This holiday is ridiculous."

BING BONG
"Twick or tweet"

"Aw... Here ya go little ninja. Hey Chris, you just missed the cutest little assassin."
"Sigh... you're just perpetuating the problem. If we don't feed them, they'll quit coming."
"Then I wouldn't get to watch this tiny unicorn with baggy legs wobble around!"
"Really?"
"Yeah, if you hurry you can see her try to climb our stairs"
"Oh! Hee-hee! Look! Here comes a little bumblebee!"

That's when I know I've got her. At least for a little while.

But also, just as importantly, if we hadn't been giving out candy, we wouldn't have met our neighbors right across the street (who we've just been watching with a condescending eye from behind our curtains for the last 6 months.) With one of the kids dressed in a Star Trek uniform, we probably should have known that we had things in common. Then the mom says, "Have you guys seen Babylon5? My husband loves that show," and it was like the heavens opened up for my wife. "I'm watching it right now in the other room!" Chris replied.

So yeah, if it turns out she knits, I'll probably never see my wife again, but at least I'll know where to find her.

American History GenY

So I'm at our local movie rental place the other night looking for something "We both can watch" and I see two of my favorite teenage stereotypes; thin crazy haired boy and darkling lip-pierced girl. Yes, you know them. They looked exactly as you are picturing them in your head. Anyway, I'm at the checkout counter with 1408 (you know, because Stephen King is a fun-for-the-whole-family kind of guy) And I'm listening to this girl build her case for why she should be allowed to rent an R-rated movie without any of the following:
a) A card or account at the store
b) Being 18
c) Consent from anyone over 18 with an account

After the old "I've looked everywhere" line and the "I turn 18 in 2 weeks" argument, she fesses up that the movie she's been dying to see is American History X

Now this was honestly disturbing to me. Partially because I had totally blocked out how rattling that movie was, and it had completely fallen off any of my Top10 movie lists. For me, it was a powerful and effective movie, but it's a movie you shouldn't get excited about seeing. If you haven't seen it, the 2 cent summary is it's a Neo-Nazi movie about hate and redemption. But if you're anticipating ENJOYING American History X, then you aren't old enough to watch it. There. I've said it. I guess I'm old now. Back in my day, the cool kids had all seen Clockwork Orange against our parents wishes. But we were also reading it in English class... And if this girl, in all of her black eyeliner glory had been trying to charm out a Shindler's List DVD, I would have had the same reaction.

The other thing that bothered me was that I knew there was nothing I could say that would convince her otherwise. It's a heavy movie. Any form of "Wait" would have only strengthened her resolve. The girl behind the counter said No, and the situation was never really in my hands, but I couldn't think of anything I would have said other than, "No because I said so." That frustrates me. There should be a more convincing logic than that (not that "I'm the adult and ultimately I'm responsible" isn't a logical argument.)

So GothGirl, if you're reading, Go rent BoonDock Saints, or The Shining, or Fight Club or something else fun and naughty on your 18th birthday (whenever that may actually be.) Save AHX, Platoon, Memento, and Saving Private Ryan until picking up the DVD doesn't make you all giddy.

My little Pestilence...

If you're a reader of Chris's blog, you're probably familiar with the 4 kittens we 'acquired' (read: found in our backyard) early this spring. The Kittens of the Apocalypse, (that would be Famine, Pestilence, War and Death,) have become a constant source of reward and frustration. As much as we enjoy the little fleabags, taking care of them comes with some sacrifice. For one, our backyard has become a big green, private litterbox, which isn't surprising given how much they eat. Also, I noticed that we don't have any birds this year, go figure. But lastly, Chris and I have done our best to stay emotionally distant from these strays. We know we can't take them in, and yet we also know that they won't make it through the winter without our help. So for the past 4 months we've gone back and forth about how much we were going to take care of these cats. To feed or not to feed? Do we get them neutered so we don't have 800 cats next year? What are we going to do in the winter?

So last Sunday, Chris and I get in the car to head to church and find that Pestilence had been hit by a car the night before. Let me just preface this with the fact that I had absolutely no intention of getting attached to this cat. It's an outdoor cat. Outdoor cats starve, freeze, or get hit by cars. Logically I know this, and I've seen her dart in front of my car in the driveway. I have even given myself the, "We'll take care of these cats as long as we can..." speech several times. But here's what makes Pestilences death so frustrating... of the 4 kittens, she was the one that we had nurtured the most. Over the summer months she went from staying 3 yards away to walking over my feet to get to the food. During her brief stay in our basement after being spade, she'd nuzzle and let us pet her. Oh, and we haven't even gotten that Visa bill yet either. Sigh... Twist that tiny dagger...

So this is the part where I learned more about myself than I want. I don't know where I thought death-coping skills came from, but I was reminded that I don't have any. I am apparently a sensitive sentimental dope who grieves uncontrollably for feral animals. So I buried this cat, in hopes of some form of closure and that maybe it'll be easier next time around.

I find it interesting to see how people react when you tell them that you're grieving, probably because I'm really self-conscious about how I react to other people's tragedies. One of my cat-hating friends gave me a genuine, "That sux, I'm sorry" which I appreciate on many levels. He could have joked or laughed. He didn't, that was a gift. I think one of my other friends, who also recently lost an outdoor cat, summed it up as, "No more cats for us, too much heartbreak."

Indeed.


(Really when else would I get to use this picture?)

So, in case you're wondering, we're batting a thousand on ironic names. War is the friendliest, Death is still alive, Famine is always the first to the food dish, and Pestilence never got sick.

Turning 35

Here's pretty much how my day went today...

-"End of the World as We Know It" by REM was the first song I heard on the radio
-Slogged through work... being the Friday of a three day weekend, it was a pretty low energy day. I had some good fixes, just didn't do much to get ahead.
-Got a card from Brian at lunch that contained a "gift certificate" that expired 2 years ago. Thanks B... wasn't really planning on cashing that one in anyway.
-Got to be 'the voice of the district' today as I was asked to voice over about 5 sentences for the automated phone system. If you call and want to know more information about the District Truancy Policy, I'll tell you!
-Got a voice mail of my sister singing Happy Birthday, complete with cha-cha-cha's.
-Fought the holiday traffic all the way home, so I called Megan at school to let her know that NickleBack was on the radio (it's an inside joke of ours that NickleBack is ALWAYS playing on the radio somewhere in the Rockford area.)
-Played my first open mike night at The Brick cafe, with Matt and Mark. Jim couldn't make it :-( Matt sang and played solo for the first time (amplified.) Mark brought harmonicas so he played along with MTA and Cows with Guns, then we did Million Dollars together. Mark also did accoustic versions of "Hit Me Baby One More Time," and REO Speedwagon. Totally forgot to sing my one birthday song, but I did do Proper Cup of Coffee.
-After that, Matt and I went straight across the street to a bar and Kareoke'd for 2 hours. We both got carded, which always makes us codgers feel young again. We were then told by the bartender that if you get THAT excited about getting ID'd, it's a dead giveaway that you're not underage. It's the first time I've done Kareoke and it was great because pretty much all the regulars were at the On The Waterfront Festival, so we had the place to ourselves and could try anything we wanted. And really... what better way to celebrate than to sing songs poorly to strangers?
-Save Tonight (Eagle Eye Cherry)
-Tainted Love (Soft Cell)
-Over Now (Cause and Effect)
-Glycerine (Bush)
-Hemmorhage (Fuel)
-With or Without You (U2)
Note that this list is in chronological order as well as "songs in my vocal range" in descending order. All facts considering, Hemmorhage went pretty well. I got to use my rockstar voice! :-) U2, however, I probably should have left for Bono.
Matt did really well too. Of course he's not stuck in the 80's/90's like me, so he sang Johnny Cash, The Who, Floyd, Queen, and Chuck Berry. He too tried his hand at a U2 song but was smart enough to sing it an octave lower (and earlier in the night...) but loose enough to do the Johnny B Goode dance.
-Lastly I got a, "Happy F-ing, Birthday" from some woman wearing way too much pink on our way out.
-Home by 12:30 because I'm an animal.

Ta-DAH! And now I'm 35. HOO-WEE!

I'll take "Things I don't want to discuss in the dentist chair" for $100, Alex.

Last week I found myself being talked at by the new girl at the dentist's office. I'm not exactly sure what her position is, or what she's aspiring to be, but I do know that it was too early for me to discuss much of anything with anybody. So I'm sitting in the chair, she's fiddling with things that are supposed to be sterile, and she starts making conversation.

"Is it hot out there yet?"
"No, it's still pretty cool" (it's 8:15 in the morning)
"Did you see gas prices today?"
"No, I bought gas yesterday"
"How much was it then?"
"3.25"
"That's what it is today! It's rediculous."
"yeah."
"I hear it's going up to 3.50"
"Hmm," I muttered as I start looking around the room for something I can shove in my mouth so I can just grunt non-committal responses for the rest of this discussion.
Now, you've probably read the above conversation one of two ways. Either you're thinking that it's pleasant and superficial, or you're saying to yourself that after I made two "No..." statements, she should have figured out that small talk was not a service I required. I fall into the latter category because I'm sure I didn't accidentally say no... twice.
I hear some drawers open and close behind me while I try to settle into the chair. And then the talking picks up again.
"You know the holocaust? Are you familiar with that term?"

???

"Uh-huh" I choke out, trying not to sound as shocked and horrified as I really was.
"Ever since I was a kid, I thought that I would live to see another one."

I'm absolutely speechless. So I do the only thing I can. I wait to see if that was a definitive statement or if she's expecting me to somehow respond. The awkwardness doesn't last long, she breaks the silence with, "Yeah, it's getting so bad, it won't be long before people can't afford bread anymore."

Ok, So here's what I figured out...
1) She was still talking about gas prices
2) I AM familiar with The Holocaust. I am also familiar with The Depression.
3) If there's a chance you might confuse the two, don't bring either of them up in conversation. Frankly, it's offensive.

I've never been so happy to see the Dentist walk through the door in all my life.