longtime reader (and even longertime friend) bc found this image somewhere on the internets.
(note: i had to make it a link, rather than grab the image itself, because for many people the image just won't load)
it's from dutch henry's, a bar in martins ferry, ohio.
bc lives a few blocks from the dutch, though i would suspect that, at one time, one could say that bc's house was a few blocks from his real home -- the dutch. it's a typical upper ohio valley bar, and when i was younger, we'd end our nights of semi-bacchanalia with a wiedmann's fine beer ... first in flavor, first in formaldehyde!
the dutch, i think, was moved down the block a few years ago, but bc can leave a comment and correct me on that one.
anyway. it's a nice touch of home, and it makes me miss ferry.
well, not ferry per se. nobody misses ferry exactly. :)
7.27.2005
7.24.2005
7.22.2005
7.21.2005
so when you're near me, darling can't you hear me ... s.o.s.
interesting thread on fark about "guilty pleasures" in your music collection. you'll never know, or understand, why people feel bad about listening to certain kinds of music -- never understand, especially, when a band you really enjoy is on the list. a lot.
i'm talking about abba. i've written before about the swedish supergroup and if i can find the old newspaper column, i might throw it on here, but until then, let me explain what first awakened my love of their music.
fall 1993 ... my senior year at college.
by that time i was a total mess. my best friend nancy had gone abroad for our entire junior year, and her pretty steady diet of letters and phone calls didn't do enough to make up for the absence. i'd come to lean on her heavily when we were sophomores, and in the year she was away i'd found the then-love of my life, had several other high-impact events sail right over my bow -- so by the time i saw nancy again, i was a complete wreck.
we'd met in the theatre department, in the basement of the venerable ace morgan memorial theatre building. i knew she had gone abroad to do theatre -- that was all she ever did, from what i could tell -- but i wasn't prepared for what that one year did changed in her.
when she got back, she didn't seem to care as much for it as she had before; she was in training to be an EMT, which i thought was halfway between insane and "oh, that's just nancy being nancy" ... but it was taking up a lot of her time, and i didn't understand it.
i'd just been dumped by the then-love-of-my-life-forever-and-ever-amen, and the thought popped in my head: why not nancy? we'd been thick as thieves since we met, and i'd thought about pursuing her, but another good friend, rob, had the same thought i did. he showed me the shel silverstein poetry book he was about to get her, i smiled and decided not to go down that road.
but now he was out of the picture. and my aforementioned-etc. was too. so why not nancy?
wish i could tell you. i think, though, that the bridge had been crossed. she and i were buds, never to be lovers. and that's fine with me.
so anyway. it's mid-october, we're gearing up for the first mainstage production of the year. we always did four -- two per semester, and the first one of the year was the most fun, because there was a high level of energy and excitement in the air (no finals bogging you down quite yet). i was in ace morgan, getting ready for the show's opening later that friday night. it was a bit chilly outside, with the sun barely perceptible in the autumn sky, and the shadows gave the lobby a cold, cubist feel.
i was there to "assign the house" -- to match reservations with actual tickets, taking into account professors whose classes i needed to pass, season ticket holders, etc. i liked to do this a few hours in advance, so that i wouldn't have to worry about the rush of energy on opening night.
i walked in the theatre, and i'd thought it was empty. but i was greeted by ... abba. someone was cranking music throughout the building before the shot -- something i'd never witnessed in my three years there. it was eerie only because it was so unusual. normally, silence, or the frantic sounds of work, were all you heard. the stage manager, moreso than the stars or the director, dictated things like this, and i remember thinking "nancy's the SM here ..." and on this evening it was abba. just loud, rocking, poppy abba.
i went wandering through the booth (it faced the stage from the back of the house) and saw nancy, out on stage, singing along. she didn't have a care in the world, it seemed, and i realized that she wasn't wearing camoflague pants -- she looked pretty, actually. in a dress and lipstick and everything. and she wasn't carrying a mikita or a toolbelt either.
something in her had changed that year abroad -- i'd be upset, in retrospect, if it hadn't -- and i never really got a handle on what it was. but hearing that awesome chorus ... "when you're gone/how can i/even try/to go on?" ... told me that, whatever it was, it was here to stay.
around the same time, i was deep into learning guitar, and those chord changes intrigued me. it would take a few years of self-directed therapy to get over the associations i had with abba and the aforementioned-love-of-my-etc, and once i did, i realized something: nancy was right on about abba. i wish i'd been able to enjoy it with her.
i'm talking about abba. i've written before about the swedish supergroup and if i can find the old newspaper column, i might throw it on here, but until then, let me explain what first awakened my love of their music.
fall 1993 ... my senior year at college.
by that time i was a total mess. my best friend nancy had gone abroad for our entire junior year, and her pretty steady diet of letters and phone calls didn't do enough to make up for the absence. i'd come to lean on her heavily when we were sophomores, and in the year she was away i'd found the then-love of my life, had several other high-impact events sail right over my bow -- so by the time i saw nancy again, i was a complete wreck.
we'd met in the theatre department, in the basement of the venerable ace morgan memorial theatre building. i knew she had gone abroad to do theatre -- that was all she ever did, from what i could tell -- but i wasn't prepared for what that one year did changed in her.
when she got back, she didn't seem to care as much for it as she had before; she was in training to be an EMT, which i thought was halfway between insane and "oh, that's just nancy being nancy" ... but it was taking up a lot of her time, and i didn't understand it.
i'd just been dumped by the then-love-of-my-life-forever-and-ever-amen, and the thought popped in my head: why not nancy? we'd been thick as thieves since we met, and i'd thought about pursuing her, but another good friend, rob, had the same thought i did. he showed me the shel silverstein poetry book he was about to get her, i smiled and decided not to go down that road.
but now he was out of the picture. and my aforementioned-etc. was too. so why not nancy?
wish i could tell you. i think, though, that the bridge had been crossed. she and i were buds, never to be lovers. and that's fine with me.
so anyway. it's mid-october, we're gearing up for the first mainstage production of the year. we always did four -- two per semester, and the first one of the year was the most fun, because there was a high level of energy and excitement in the air (no finals bogging you down quite yet). i was in ace morgan, getting ready for the show's opening later that friday night. it was a bit chilly outside, with the sun barely perceptible in the autumn sky, and the shadows gave the lobby a cold, cubist feel.
i was there to "assign the house" -- to match reservations with actual tickets, taking into account professors whose classes i needed to pass, season ticket holders, etc. i liked to do this a few hours in advance, so that i wouldn't have to worry about the rush of energy on opening night.
i walked in the theatre, and i'd thought it was empty. but i was greeted by ... abba. someone was cranking music throughout the building before the shot -- something i'd never witnessed in my three years there. it was eerie only because it was so unusual. normally, silence, or the frantic sounds of work, were all you heard. the stage manager, moreso than the stars or the director, dictated things like this, and i remember thinking "nancy's the SM here ..." and on this evening it was abba. just loud, rocking, poppy abba.
i went wandering through the booth (it faced the stage from the back of the house) and saw nancy, out on stage, singing along. she didn't have a care in the world, it seemed, and i realized that she wasn't wearing camoflague pants -- she looked pretty, actually. in a dress and lipstick and everything. and she wasn't carrying a mikita or a toolbelt either.
something in her had changed that year abroad -- i'd be upset, in retrospect, if it hadn't -- and i never really got a handle on what it was. but hearing that awesome chorus ... "when you're gone/how can i/even try/to go on?" ... told me that, whatever it was, it was here to stay.
around the same time, i was deep into learning guitar, and those chord changes intrigued me. it would take a few years of self-directed therapy to get over the associations i had with abba and the aforementioned-love-of-my-etc, and once i did, i realized something: nancy was right on about abba. i wish i'd been able to enjoy it with her.
morning has broken (my nose)
so i had surgery yesterday, to repair the damage done by the softball, and to repair my deviant septum. apparently it had taken to leading protests against my sinuses and getting tattoos and playing "grand theft auto: ear nose throat" into the wee hours of the morning ...
anyway. i discovered that me and codeine don't get along. it's like liquid crack mixed with liquid crystal meth with just a dash of espresso concentrate for a little extra oomph. i was up all night long. and i do mean all night -- i heard my neighbor, who works for the state department of transportation, leave at 4:30 ... i watched a show that i TiVO at 3 a.m. -- live ... i heard several noises that weren't, and i saw several things float around the room that, if memory serves, can't actually float.
recovery continues apace. will update when events warrant.
anyway. i discovered that me and codeine don't get along. it's like liquid crack mixed with liquid crystal meth with just a dash of espresso concentrate for a little extra oomph. i was up all night long. and i do mean all night -- i heard my neighbor, who works for the state department of transportation, leave at 4:30 ... i watched a show that i TiVO at 3 a.m. -- live ... i heard several noises that weren't, and i saw several things float around the room that, if memory serves, can't actually float.
recovery continues apace. will update when events warrant.
7.16.2005
neighborhood "block party"
all quotes guaranteed close enough to reality ...
"you know you got a sprinkler out in the back by the pond."
yeah.
"and another one out up front by the road!" said with a note of ha-ha-i-got-you by the new neighbor lady
yeah. i fixed that one. but thanks for bringing it up.
"you know, joe someguy installed all that. you should call him. he can fix it."
well, i think i know what's wrong and i'm thinking about trying ...
"joe did just about every sprinkler system in the neighborhood. you should call him."
almost every one? wow. that's absolutely fascinating! do tell more. and please enjoy yet another marlboro light while you're doing it; the smoke mixes so well with your aqua velva that i'm amazed women aren't throwing their bras at you as you berate my manly home upkeep skills.
"you know, it's hot today, but that breeze sure is helping."
yes. the hot air coming out of your mouth cancels it out, though.
"you know you got a sprinkler out in the back by the pond."
yeah.
"and another one out up front by the road!" said with a note of ha-ha-i-got-you by the new neighbor lady
yeah. i fixed that one. but thanks for bringing it up.
"you know, joe someguy installed all that. you should call him. he can fix it."
well, i think i know what's wrong and i'm thinking about trying ...
"joe did just about every sprinkler system in the neighborhood. you should call him."
almost every one? wow. that's absolutely fascinating! do tell more. and please enjoy yet another marlboro light while you're doing it; the smoke mixes so well with your aqua velva that i'm amazed women aren't throwing their bras at you as you berate my manly home upkeep skills.
"you know, it's hot today, but that breeze sure is helping."
yes. the hot air coming out of your mouth cancels it out, though.
7.14.2005
7.13.2005
flat on my back in the street, on my honeymoon, in san francisco
so someone who shall remain nameless (but it rhymes somewhat with "cron javelins") says i should post more pictures.
well.
i found this roll whilst cleaning out some junk drawers in the kitchen over the weekend. it was the "missing roll" from our honeymoon (mine and a.'s, not mine and cron's, because that one never ended), taken one morning as i walked from the tenderloin to fisherman's wharf.
enjoy. there are some new ones on the flickr page if you care to view.
oh -- if you're not easily offended, enjoy the boys from south park telling "the aristocrats" joke. warning: this audio file is incredibly, disgustingly, hilariously not safe for work.
7.12.2005
el blocq du writer
i got nothing to say lately.
if you're a regular reader ... wait. who am i kidding? you're not my wife (but if you are -- "hello dear!") and you're not me, at work, obsessively hitting refresh every minute, just to see if maybe just maybe someone out there has stumbled across my little corner of the internet and decided to leave me a comment.
and if you are that anonymous stumbler, well, i wouldn't blame you if you did not, in fact, leave a message. i've given you nothing to work with! nothing whatsoever!
i guess i could write about my recovery from my horrific softball injury, but what's to say? do what the doctor says and you'll recover -- that's my advice to the kiddies out there. that, and take all the vicodin you need, unless you're brett favre, in which case i'd say take it only during those two weeks you play the vikings.
i guess i could write about work, but what's to say? when your manager treats you like you're 10 years old, deciding what's the best use of your time without consulting you ... when you're so under-staffed that you find yourself actually able to do less work because you've got so much to do ... why, when that's the case, all you can do is ... well ...
you know, i'm not sure. and i think that's the problem.
i see a huge decision looming right over the horizon for me. maybe it's work, maybe it's not -- whatever it is, i can see it coming, like the sunrise at dawn or some hot chick crossing the street two blocks up. i can see it coming, bouncing rhythmically, oscillating, undulating even ...
what was i talking about?
oh yeah. the future.
something's up, kids. i'll let you know when it gets here, but right now, whatever it is just keeps me from expressing any thoughts whatsoever.
if you're a regular reader ... wait. who am i kidding? you're not my wife (but if you are -- "hello dear!") and you're not me, at work, obsessively hitting refresh every minute, just to see if maybe just maybe someone out there has stumbled across my little corner of the internet and decided to leave me a comment.
and if you are that anonymous stumbler, well, i wouldn't blame you if you did not, in fact, leave a message. i've given you nothing to work with! nothing whatsoever!
i guess i could write about my recovery from my horrific softball injury, but what's to say? do what the doctor says and you'll recover -- that's my advice to the kiddies out there. that, and take all the vicodin you need, unless you're brett favre, in which case i'd say take it only during those two weeks you play the vikings.
i guess i could write about work, but what's to say? when your manager treats you like you're 10 years old, deciding what's the best use of your time without consulting you ... when you're so under-staffed that you find yourself actually able to do less work because you've got so much to do ... why, when that's the case, all you can do is ... well ...
you know, i'm not sure. and i think that's the problem.
i see a huge decision looming right over the horizon for me. maybe it's work, maybe it's not -- whatever it is, i can see it coming, like the sunrise at dawn or some hot chick crossing the street two blocks up. i can see it coming, bouncing rhythmically, oscillating, undulating even ...
what was i talking about?
oh yeah. the future.
something's up, kids. i'll let you know when it gets here, but right now, whatever it is just keeps me from expressing any thoughts whatsoever.
7.07.2005
how odd
i could not sleep.
i woke up around 4:30 a.m. and decided that i was up, officially and on the record, and decided to stop trying to fight it.
i opened the laptop, went to drudge and saw the sirens and the red type: bomb attacks in london.
i wonder why i woke up at 4:30 a.m., and why i could not get to sleep?
i woke up around 4:30 a.m. and decided that i was up, officially and on the record, and decided to stop trying to fight it.
i opened the laptop, went to drudge and saw the sirens and the red type: bomb attacks in london.
i wonder why i woke up at 4:30 a.m., and why i could not get to sleep?
7.04.2005
i felt like this thursday night
i swear, this movie pretty much sums up my ER experience after the drugs kicked in.
god bless america!
until i get into a photography mood again, here's a recycling of some lesser-known favorites.
the july 4 photo essay.
the july 4 photo essay.
7.02.2005
the wall clock turned into a giant vicodin-breathing lizard
mind you, i can't remember how the horrible accident shown below happened. in fact, i can't even find out, because i don't know how to contact any of my "teammates" ...
i think i was standing on first base, with either no outs or one out.
i think the ball was hit to the shortstop. i think i started running toward second.
next thing i remember is someone asking me for my home phone number. i gave it -- i'm not sure how -- and then i am in the front seat of my neighbor's van, with a hysterical a. ...
as far as i can remember, i might have been trying to break up a double play, and the shortstop may have thrown the ball straight into my face. (at least i broke up the double play that way) or maybe i got hit by a line drive. thing is, i have no idea.
my teammates have not called. have not stopped by. didn't even bother to stop the game, even though i was unconscious for about 45 seconds on the field. they just dragged me off, called a. and told her that i "might not be able to drive" and, apparently, kept on playing.
what makes this all the more disconcerting is that it's an official league, with official rules, and an official umpire. one would think that there would be procedures in place to handle such situations -- and maybe, just maybe, they were followed. if that's the case, then they seriously need to be rewritten. and if they weren't, or if none exist, it might require a call to my favorite law firm, seeing as how i've got some pretty serious damage to my front teeth.
and what makes it even more disconcerting is that, in theory, i play for a church-league team. yes, that's right -- my "community" church of about 3,000 people organized this team. and the spirit of christian brotherhood has so moved my fellow teammates that not a single one of them, to my knowledge, has found any way to get hold of me or a., to see if i'm OK, to explain what happened, etc.
i am sorely disappointed in this group of men, and while it does nothing to diminish my opinion of the church i attend, it certainly does color in some of the outer edges of the picture.
***
so the ER was nice. i'll have to admit that.
the most frightening moment was right after i was admitted ... even though i was totally out of it, i realized that the speed with which i was being admitted into the ER was a sign that i looked far worse than i'd thought.
the doctors put a neck collar on me, a precaution because i'd lost consciousness on the field, and immediately my arms began to lose feeling. imagine what it feels like when your arm or leg goes to sleep, only that you're totally 100 percent aware of what's happening and have no ability whatsoever to wake it up. that's what it was like, and i think the doctors went into george-clooney-on-"ER" mode and started ordering CT scans and biopsies and 50 cc's of whatever STAT and all that.
turns out it was a false alarm. but what an alarm.
the ER personnel were nice, friendly and very, very gentle. and one of a.'s best friend's sisters works there, so she came down to see the freak show in all my glory. it was great to see her, only because it was another friendly face.
after three hours or so, i was released home. i could barely keep my eyes open on the drive back, because of all the drugs they'd given me -- drugs that were very, very nice, by the way. the first few seconds after the injection my heart raced to about twice its normal limit, which worried me, but soon settled down and put me in a very euphoric state.
i credit that with allowing me to keep my cool for the most part that night. some things you can't change, and this was like 20 of them, so what else could i do but listen to the doctors, fantasize about the nurses, and watch the wall clock turn into a giant vicodin-breathing lizard every minute or so?
***
so now it's been, what, 48+ hours, and i'm out of the acceptance phase, almost past the too-pissed-off-to-breathe phase, and just entering the let's-face-how-fucked-up-things-are-going-to-be phase. i made breakfast this morning, which is a good sign ... a pathetic attempt at an omelet -- but i did include some mini-chopped summer sausage, and some sauteéd mushrooms, which is good. i can "chew" scrambled eggs, and as long as i don't think about the fact that my two front, and one right, teeth feel like chiclets, i actually can enjoy a bit of food.
sorry for the gross picture below; as you can see, i edited it after chief's comments. it was kind of gross, but hey -- that's as pretty as it gets around here for a few weeks, at least.
i think i was standing on first base, with either no outs or one out.
i think the ball was hit to the shortstop. i think i started running toward second.
next thing i remember is someone asking me for my home phone number. i gave it -- i'm not sure how -- and then i am in the front seat of my neighbor's van, with a hysterical a. ...
as far as i can remember, i might have been trying to break up a double play, and the shortstop may have thrown the ball straight into my face. (at least i broke up the double play that way) or maybe i got hit by a line drive. thing is, i have no idea.
my teammates have not called. have not stopped by. didn't even bother to stop the game, even though i was unconscious for about 45 seconds on the field. they just dragged me off, called a. and told her that i "might not be able to drive" and, apparently, kept on playing.
what makes this all the more disconcerting is that it's an official league, with official rules, and an official umpire. one would think that there would be procedures in place to handle such situations -- and maybe, just maybe, they were followed. if that's the case, then they seriously need to be rewritten. and if they weren't, or if none exist, it might require a call to my favorite law firm, seeing as how i've got some pretty serious damage to my front teeth.
and what makes it even more disconcerting is that, in theory, i play for a church-league team. yes, that's right -- my "community" church of about 3,000 people organized this team. and the spirit of christian brotherhood has so moved my fellow teammates that not a single one of them, to my knowledge, has found any way to get hold of me or a., to see if i'm OK, to explain what happened, etc.
i am sorely disappointed in this group of men, and while it does nothing to diminish my opinion of the church i attend, it certainly does color in some of the outer edges of the picture.
***
so the ER was nice. i'll have to admit that.
the most frightening moment was right after i was admitted ... even though i was totally out of it, i realized that the speed with which i was being admitted into the ER was a sign that i looked far worse than i'd thought.
the doctors put a neck collar on me, a precaution because i'd lost consciousness on the field, and immediately my arms began to lose feeling. imagine what it feels like when your arm or leg goes to sleep, only that you're totally 100 percent aware of what's happening and have no ability whatsoever to wake it up. that's what it was like, and i think the doctors went into george-clooney-on-"ER" mode and started ordering CT scans and biopsies and 50 cc's of whatever STAT and all that.
turns out it was a false alarm. but what an alarm.
the ER personnel were nice, friendly and very, very gentle. and one of a.'s best friend's sisters works there, so she came down to see the freak show in all my glory. it was great to see her, only because it was another friendly face.
after three hours or so, i was released home. i could barely keep my eyes open on the drive back, because of all the drugs they'd given me -- drugs that were very, very nice, by the way. the first few seconds after the injection my heart raced to about twice its normal limit, which worried me, but soon settled down and put me in a very euphoric state.
i credit that with allowing me to keep my cool for the most part that night. some things you can't change, and this was like 20 of them, so what else could i do but listen to the doctors, fantasize about the nurses, and watch the wall clock turn into a giant vicodin-breathing lizard every minute or so?
***
so now it's been, what, 48+ hours, and i'm out of the acceptance phase, almost past the too-pissed-off-to-breathe phase, and just entering the let's-face-how-fucked-up-things-are-going-to-be phase. i made breakfast this morning, which is a good sign ... a pathetic attempt at an omelet -- but i did include some mini-chopped summer sausage, and some sauteéd mushrooms, which is good. i can "chew" scrambled eggs, and as long as i don't think about the fact that my two front, and one right, teeth feel like chiclets, i actually can enjoy a bit of food.
sorry for the gross picture below; as you can see, i edited it after chief's comments. it was kind of gross, but hey -- that's as pretty as it gets around here for a few weeks, at least.
7.01.2005
freakin' softball ...
click here for the photo of the aftermath of my collision with a softball.
more later, including what memories i can stitch together of what got me to this state, but for now -- here's what i looked like upon arriving home from the ER last night.
broken nose, messed-up lips, concussion. i wish i could blame the teeth on the softball, but that's just my lifelong hatred of dentists. :)
oh, and i'm so embarrassed -- i should have cut my nose hairs before getting injured. :)
more later, including what memories i can stitch together of what got me to this state, but for now -- here's what i looked like upon arriving home from the ER last night.
broken nose, messed-up lips, concussion. i wish i could blame the teeth on the softball, but that's just my lifelong hatred of dentists. :)
oh, and i'm so embarrassed -- i should have cut my nose hairs before getting injured. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)