Amalgamations of El Jefe

Weirding me out..
Have you ever walked down the street and had a moment of total wig-you-out strangeness? An experience that makes you stop in your tracks and wonder about fate, existence, and whether the big guy upstairs' transmission system is slightly garbled? The other day I was struggling to maintain the last leg of a jog with manly forbearance when such an event struck. I had spotted this strange woman from down the road idly tooling around the street like some kid testing out a bike. As she passed I picked up the signals of an incoming transmission. I unplugged my earphones and engaged a polite smile expecting some inane comment about jogging in the goddamn cold (I had already lamented this decision). Instead I received a rather rude comment from said person. Apparently I'm a @$$%@. It wasn't profane, more along the lines of a grammar school taunt, but I prefer to keep the details to myself and away from smirky friends. I can only assume this lady, who looked to be in her thirtys, was either (a)handicapped or (b)having some kind of break down. Very odd and out of the ordinary. Made me wonder if I wasn't indeed a $#$@ and someone upstairs was just trying to politely remind me of the fact. Perhaps 25 years of toodling around with the vague impression that I was an alright guy when I was in fact a @#$*# had people in charge a tad embarrassed. Maybe my lack of progress from the starting point of a @$@$@ has merited a kick in the pants?

What if I had a guardian angel whose boss after a quarter century let him know in no uncertain terms that some progress would after all be expected. I pictured this rather wretched beauracrat sitting in his heavenly cube (I like to think his back isn't facing the entrance) wringing his hands one late night after everyone's left. He's trying to come up with ways to turns things around, to save his ecclesiastical bacon. He wonders what he could've done, where it went wrong etc. If I don't get this one he reckons, I'll be looking after three-legged poodles next and they rarely have good music collections. Thoughts along these lines only bring him/her to the conclusion that swift action is indeed merited. But how? What does one do if a party isn't living up to their spiritual end of the deal?...

We'll send him a nasty reminder shall we? Something short and sweet. But what? It makes me chuckle to think of some metaphysical watchkeeper racking his brain for an appropriate comment. It would have to walk a fine line really. I mean I can't really imagine an angel calling me a shiteater for example or a right bastard. Besides, in this age who hasn't heard that a million times? Right? No, it would have to be a comment that would jar said spirtiual slacker to their very core. Something that would have them wondering to themselves in their spare moments...


Am I a @$@$?...

Don't talk to the TV
You ever talk to the TV? Sure you have.. I know I have... I also know that stuff like that tends to irritate the crap out of friends and loved ones. What do you imagine it does to 28 perfect strangers? Classes of more than 10 people should be treated like watching TV with discreet and timely moments where interaction is acceptable. I'm not trying to be an ass, I'm all for interaction that everyone can benefit from, but when it comes to inane cackling, incessent noding, or any other activities that only show what an ass kissing whore you are.... well.. I stare at you with afore mentioned intensity secretly hoping you'll combust....
Sorry to fly off the handle but there you have it... one of my many pet peeves..

In other news , I finally took the bike in to the shop. I took it to the REI in freaking Cary which is about a twenty-five minute drive. Left it there and returned on Martin Luther King Jr's day just to get it. After a serious and awe tinged convo with Garland (I destroyed my rear derailer... cause I'm a mountain biking crazy man.. snicker), I learned that my fee had jumped from nothing to $35. Garland who was an interesting and very helpful cat convinced me that he'd done his level best to avoid a new part. He'd even tried to bend back my warped derailer. Like I said helpful. He even took the opportunity to whip out his impressively scary butterfly knife to cut a small piece of tape for me when I was in need (I became much more pliable at that point). At any rate I conceded that it had indeed been worth it to buy a new derailer as the old one tended to hit my spokes as the wheel revolved. I sucked it up and cheerfully walked out of there with a bike ready for me to demolish.. he advised me that I had a sticky link in my chain, but it would probably just work itself out... Cool I thought, I was already spending too many ducats on the derailer so who needs that added expense?.. Next day I jumped on me red carriage of death, headed up the hill to class, and the chain promptly snapped like a fat man's pants... I only add this analogy, because I'm starting to wonder if maybe all my bike problems are due to semi-regurlarly having a 230 lb man positioned in the region directly above the blasted piece of shit....
My own fault really...
mother#$%$

Accolades

Amalgamations Amazing and Very Interesting!

In a fit of nostalgia today, I decided to google a few old friends to see what they're up to. Spying being oh so much more convenient than starting some sort of dialog. Of course this sort of activity inevitibly leads to a narcissistic googling of oneself which led to a weird discovery. Some
dude who has a Clark web page keeps linking to me with the following...

AMAZING pierce on Cban Missile Crisis; http://www.patrick711.com/

&

Very Intersting..Cuban Missile Crisis Documentary; http://www.patrick711.com

eh?! This person's lack of punctuation/grammer notwithstanding, I'm just thankful for the ups!

Knights of Pythian and the Yes Yes Boys
This year was truly a new year's eve to remember. As I'm still a-visiting for the holidays, I spent the waxing hours of 2003 with my folks here in Tacoma, WA. As per usual, the troops bundled up in their winter finery and joined the fracas at Tacoma's annual First Night Celebration. First Night for those of you not in the know is a friendly new year's eve celebration that focuses on music, fun, and avoiding the sauce. Wilst your author looks askance on the latter and grumbles a bit, he none the less trundled out with the family hive to bring in the new year. While this year was not the best, we still enjoyed quite a few good musical shows, a short-film festival, and even a hula. As is usually the case with such affairs, while I wasn't particularly thrilled to go, I came back humming a tune. Not to mention both barrels cocked and loaded with blogging material.
First Night is set every year in downtown Tacoma. It's one of those events that the city fathers hope will someday revitalize a stagnant quarter of the city. Every year most of downtown is cordoned off and the citizenry wander around these unfamiliar climes clutching maps and vaguely wondering where the Parking Lot #3 stage is located. I've attended a number of these events, (my folks being avid Tacoma partisans) and have always had something of a sneer for the rundown industrial urbanity that has comprised Tacoma's downtown. A downtown of abandoned buildings, bums, and faded dry-good adverts still visible on old brick buildings. Every year I like to gripe that while I would prefer not to go, I can't very well have my mother walk the vulgar streets of downtown Tacoma unescorted. Eyes are rolled, buttons jacketed, and we head off. The weird thing is that in the last few years Tacoma's downtown has indeed seen such a revitalization. The University moved in, two knew musuems have been built, businesses have sprung up, and this year for the first time I rode to First Night on our new Czech made Light Rail train system. Tacoma on the Rise! Yet while the old is torn down and the new springs up, the old heritage lingers and a strange amagalmation prevails. As American cities go, one might say Tacoma's been around the block. I won't bore you with the details but suffice it to say that our port was an impetus for the Spanish-American War, we had a helluva good time provisioning the gold diggers headed for Alaska, and if some dude at a railway company hadn't made a rash decision you'd have heard of Tacoma instead of Seattle. All this means is that history is just hanging about all over the place. Like some teenage kid it'll suddenly and unexpectedly walk up to you asking for a light. You squint a little, try to be cool, and mutter something about not smoking. Secretly though you just want to tell the little turd to piss offf. Such is heritage.... a tricky bugger to say the least.
Anyways, at some point in the night, our Mum who controls this parade of culture with an iron hand decided to wait out the final hour or so of 2003 listening to some band called the Yes Yes Boys at a place called the Pythian Temple. Hah! , I said nervous gleam in my eye, what do you Tacoman's get up to? Since my voice is several octaves to low to reach the mountain top, these pithy comments were lost to the ether and we bustled off forthwith. Now you may be asking yourself, what the hell is a Pythian Temple?, well my mind had wandered through the same equations and the sum could only equal nefarious in my mind. The temple itself doesn't look like a temple, but just another squat 3 story building in a tight row of squat 3 story buildings. If you knew what you were looking at, however, and gave it a good look, you'd notice that its facade was of stone and smacked of goth. You'd also probably notice the word's Pythian Temple written on the front, the sort of detail the mind prefers to gloss over on casual inspection. Like I said, Nefarious. We walked up the stair and down a corridor that reminded us of some noir detective movie. After passing several doorways that were labeled as Pythian ceremonial chamber or Bathroom not working MEN, we entered the main Pythian chamber. That's when Nefarious got upgraded to Oh crap and then after several minutes, downgraded to What the hell? How to describe this room? After some thought, I decided it was like crossing Peck's Mayberry courtroom with a greek orthodox church without the icons... Add a few insane touches and you have every Knight of Pythia's home away from home. There were weird murals, strange and oddly placed squat wooden thrones of various sizes, and incongruent little pieces of Americana. Boy scout plaques, pictures of Abe and GW, one weird photo of some Shriner dude all decked out, etc. All tacked to the wall obviously by one guy who was probably about 5'10.
All of this was enough to cause several moments of pause to anyone who relies on clean living, but then in front where the alter should be, and in front of the big wooden throne, the Yes Yes boys started their set. At that moment I was prepared for anything, chanting, snake handling, you name it. What I didn't expect was the Yes Yes Boys. A band fronted by a woman on the ukelele featuring a steel slide guitarist, a bass player, and a jackass. They played blues of the 20's and 30's and as I found my seat, I struggled to digest them and not seek available exits. After a while I decided I had to give the boys ups.. Their music with its jaunty and happy beats irked the crap out of me and their perkiness and good cheer unnerved me. But they seemed quite proficient with their instruments and well rehearsed. Besides I thought to myself, what's wrong with happy? dancing the Charleston? laughing at shannigans?!.... Upon reflection I just don't seem to have it in me....
And then there was the jackass. While the rest of the band focused on their expensive and well crafted instruments, this guy, the wizenheimer of the bunch, came kitted out with one drum, a cowbell, two wearable washboards, and an assortment of thimbles with which to play. He sang in his wizenheimer nasal voice and sported a goofy grin throughout.
I think its fair to say I learned a lot that night. Grew a little. Broadened my horizons and made some headway towards accepting other people's strange proclivities for the ukelele and such. I left that temple with respect for the "boys" and even found myself tapping my foot to their jaunty rhythms.

So Happy New Year to you Tacoma another First Night's mission accomplished.

However, I should state that regardless there is no where in a million alternate dimensions where I don't hate that jackasses guts....

and his goddamned thimbles....