The estimated blackboard pauses opposite his thesis.

Prefab Sprout - Jordan: The Comeback: Painful. Critics swoon over Prefab Sprout. And I demand that they justify themselves. This overlong album (by about 17 songs) grates horrendously. Twee and kaleidoscopic. It's so bad, I'm reduced to poor commentary with incomplete sentences made only of adjectives. The only song I really think is worthwhile is "Scarlet Nights," a touching yet rollicking farewell to a dying relative. (And if you can't tolerate even that, you're completely forgiven.)

The Iron Lady: I was too young to really get Margaret Thatcher. To me, Maggie was just a stern British headmistress on the news who was the last person you wanted as a babysitter. Oh, and the punks hated her. Normally, a movie about her would barely raise an eyebrow. But this has me itching to see more. And Meryl Streep could clinch an Oscar - or at least a nomination - on the basis of this trailer alone. Hell, she's not even onscreen for half her part!

Uh...um...this. This actually outdoes People of Wal-Mart. I mean, I kind of slightly enjoy POWM once every few years. But then I get to thinking...hmm. These people are genetically related to me. I could, theoretically, breed with one of these people and we could turn out a specimen that is not incompatible with life. All the DNA fits, we share the same number of chromosomes...it could happen. (Though, of course, the same could be said about a chihuahua and a Great Dane. Theoretically.) And it's at that point that I'm out.
See, with these two glass-eyed walking poster children for Ugly Anorexics of America, I don't even enjoy looking at them. There's no schadenfreude, no amusing rolling of the eyes. It's just disgust that paparazzi have deemed these genetic freaks somehow worthy of tabloids. I mean, they don't do anything interesting. They don't even move. They just stand, wear expensive, ugly...uh...clothes, and look homely. But combine this phenomenon with some of the most nauseating conspicuous consumption and saddest use for reptiles, and we have reached the level of obscenity. If this is what these twins are good for, then put 'em out of my misery. I have a garden to cultivate. Ship 'em off to Siberia. Or a cat farm. (I'm convinced they're gonna be the subject of the next Grey Gardens.)

"With thy blast of thunder/O tear me asunder!"

Storms. Good god, I love 'em. Too often here in Denver, we get the huge clouds, the darkened skies, the thunder, a fair bit of wind, some lightning, and some big raindrops. But all too often, they just tease us with what sounds like it could be some rip-roarin' fun, then move on with nothing to show for it except further evidence that we're just an inch of rain or so from living in a full-on desert.
For some reason, while Texas and so much of the south is reeling from a gawdawful drought, we've been getting rain, rain, rain, for once. And last night was the wildest of it all. I wandered outside to skies that were lit up almost constantly from lightning behind the most frightening, forbidding squall line I've ever seen. (Cue "Ride of the Valkyries" or "Night on Bald Mountain.") Seriously, the sky was dark midnight purplish-blue, and the thunder, for quite a while, was ominously silent. Only the wind played with the trees, freakishly, tickling the leaves in preparation for an onslaught.
And man, did it come. I haven't seen a storm pummel the earth like this one did in years. Some people get frightened to death of thunderstorms. I have to be a part of it. I run outside and stand, flee, exult in the middle of it all, and am whipped around by the wind, stung by the rain, blinded by the lightning, and riven by the thunder deep in my bones. And I run back inside, my body flooded with water, shivering, and screaming, "I'M ALIIIVE!!!" It's my soul's all-too-swift escape from a beige, cubicled world.

Storms like that inspire a myriad of Facebook posts, of course. Unfortunately, I notice how many people were amazed by all the "lightening." And I die a little inside.

(Added: Not five minutes after I posted this, did another wild storm hit town. You know exactly what I did. Only this time, I had to wait until the hail passed. My revelries do know bounds, after all.)

"The illegal cigarette waits for the formal airport."

Ambien - No long and heavily-researched rant here. But I've heard so many horror stories about this drug. One friend took Ambien before taking a flight to South America. The next thing he knew, he was being yanked off the plane forcibly by security, and was nearly arrested until he mentioned that he had taken Ambien. Other people have engaged in simple sleep-eating and sleep-driving, sleep-crashing, and coming to hours later with no recollection of said stupid actions. I'm sure you can Google to your heart's content and find more stories.

If the FDA had a conscience of any kind, it would yank this drug posthaste. As it is, I have NO trust and NO respect for the FDA. And for those people who claim that Ambien does such good for you? Go and get your insomnia treated safely and effectively...and ideally, naturally. You do not suffer from an Ambien deficiency. Figure out what's wrong. Then treat it appropriately.

Counting change the right way - I'm so gonna date myself for this...at least, I'm sure I will. But go purchase something for $17.36. Plunk down a yuppie food stamp. And the cashier will undoubtedly (assuming there's not an automatic change dispenser) look at the $2.64 change display, and haul out two ones, two quarters, a dime, and four pennies. In that order. It's the tiniest of pet peeves. But. It ain't right.

The next person I see saying "thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, fifty, seventy-five, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty" while counting out the change in that order and handing it to me in that order, I will automatically tell to keep the change for themselves. Just because that's how it should be done, yo.

Transmissions from suburbia

Things that are making this morning one of the coolest in memory:

• Completed landscaping. When Mr. Man and I moved out to bum-fuck Kansas two years ago, we inherited a HUGE house as part of a short sale, and got the deal of the century. And although the house was far from being a money pit or "rustic," it did need some desperate TLC, particularly if two self-respecting guppies were gonna take up residence. New carpet, a new back patio, MAJOR work on the front lawn, a new tree to replace a dead one, new fences...you get the picture. This year, the Backyard of Killer Weeds has been magically transformed, by the power of expert landscapers, into the Stepford Backyard. Neat new lawn, a coupla mature trees and some tastefully placed shrubs (especially lilacs...Mr. Man loves lilacs), rocks bordering it all, three garden plots...it's magically suburbalicious. Looking forward to the 1st annual back patio party in a few months, once the sod is all set. Gonna be epic. I'll be sure to wear my seersucker pants and make fresh Cape Cods for everyone.



• Bob Mould/Sugar. Unfortunately, not Hüsker Dü. That shit is INTENSE. Anyone who can sit through New Day Rising the whole way through is better than me. Zen Arcade, as good as it is, puts me in a warped and bitter mood, the likes of which I nowadays try to avoid. But once Bob left for poppier pastures, he appealed a bit more. I scored Copper Blue a few months ago, and I've been hearing it a little at a time. What I hear, I like. Fits the day, too. (I also feel I should be listening to XTC and Robyn Hitchcock to make the day complete.)



• Cooler weather. I'm not afraid of blazing weather. I just like to contrast it occasionally. Today, hovering around 80 degrees feels blissful. Perfect blue sky, not a cloud. Brilliant sun. Feels like the type of day you run through a sprinkler, or go to the local waterpark.



• Green/mint tea. Boy, I'm really scraping the bottom here. Made green tea this morning and added in some freshly cut mint that our neighbors brought over from their garden last night. Some is going into a pot for our future benefit (Mr. Man now craves mojitos), and some is going into my green tea.



• That white peach I just ate.

"...much too sleepy and self-centered to ever hurt another person."

I've enjoyed Tina Fey, sure. I won't claim outright crazy fandom...I've never watched an episode of 30 Rock, nor do I know much of her comic stylings beyond her spot-on Sarah Palin skits. But I do like what I've read from/about her thus far. She seems a good egg.

But THIS brought me to a whole new level. God bless Tina Fey. There's a special place in heaven for her.

Mr. Cellophane - Chicago

I never woulda guessed this one would have made it here. Then again, it's not always 2 in the morning, and I'm not always under the affluence of incohol. But for those of you who are dying for those "fly on the wall" moments, Chicago at 2 in the morning provides 'em. (Note, if you will, the time of this blog post.)

Chicago (the town) is my least favorite city of all time, but Chicago (the musical) may just be my favorite musical. Ah, irony. Get me nice and happy (vodka or rum only, please...I like to be at least semi-functional the next morning), pop Chicago in the DVD player, and watch me go to town. Seriously. I will vamp and lip-synch to most of the songs there. In the dark. With no one watching me. I will praise, then kvetch about that funny honey of mine. I will proclaim that when you're good to Mama, Mama's good to you. I will tango with the best and sassiest and angriest of the murderesses in the cellblock. And I will become Roxie Hart, just to say that the name on everybody's lips is gonna be - sing it! - Roxie.

Perhaps more than all other songs, "Mr. Cellophane" catches me at my most vulnerable, and I relate to it more than anything on Chicago. Irony, I know, for someone who has been more visible than about 95% of most Americans. But I have a terrible tendency to fall into self-pity and melancholia. Even more ironic is the fact that I often crave solitude; I don't bemoan it. I'm not quite Greta Garbo, mind you, but I do have my moments, and if given the choice, most times, I'd rather spend a quiet night either alone or with just a select friend or two or three. (Don't get me wrong...I do enjoy a wild night out on the town every once in a while.)

But when you look at Amos, pitiful character that he is, you can't help but feel for him. His wife double-crosses him, becomes pregnant with another man while behind bars, lies to him on the stand, and then abandons him after she's declared innocent. And that's his fate, end of story. Roxie goes on to stardom with her arch-nemesis, and ignores the only guy who offered her unconditional love? Ouch.

I dunno. Something about that abandonment and sorrow just strikes a really deep chord in me, and I'm not sure why. People do like me, for the most part. But I often come off as aloof, which is a shame. I've been blown off in social situations many times, probably no more than most anyone else, but I think I've let this hit me more than most. Still, I'm alternately exhilarated and frightened to death to perform this song on karaoke. It ain't no "Just a Gigolo," that's for sure. Very sobering and soul-baring, which ain't exactly the domain of karaoke. But again, I've emoted enough for a stage in the den of my home, singing and acting along with John C. Reilly. I ain't nowhere near good enough to be Amos on stage, but in my head, I can fully empathize and inhabit his character. Who knows? Maybe some night, I'll screw up the courage, down enough liquid courage, and see what happens on stage. Maybe in DC, where if I screw up, no one of consequence will care, and I can bring it back home all polished up.

(Fun Uncle Spike fact: in 2007, whilst celebrating my birthday, in the safety and comfort of my living room, I downed four appletinis. Maybe five. The last three were spiked with cinnamon schnapps. I totally bonded with Chicago. And spent the next two days recovering. PAAAAIN. To this day, I cannot tolerate appletinis.)

Seel-yeh Beer-ghee-teh?

(Prompted by a college classmate's recent posting about the birth of her first daughter.)

If you're announcing the girl's name, and then you immediately have to post a pronunciation guide for both the first and the middle name, you FAIL. When your daughter grows up, she will harbor resentment toward you in a special place in her heart. Go back to baby-naming 101.

(Incidentally, what does it mean that I, who most likely will not have kids, have such strong opinions about baby names?)

Also? "Don't tell your parents that Obama is dead when you meant Osama. Because it causes tears. Whoops."

In re: Osama bin Laden: A few FB thoughts from friends of all stripes (well, maybe not Republicans).

• "Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, And let not thy heart be glad when he is overthrown"
  - Proverbs 24:17


• "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction... The chain reaction of evil-hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars-must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation." - MLK, Jr.


• I refuse to celebrate the killing of another human being, regardless of their past acts. It is good that he is gone, but the hive of evil has millions of insects.


• Wow, finally. It's hard to be glad that someone is dead, but what a relief!


• deep ambivalence on the death of Osama bin Laden...killing begets killing begets killing. where will it end?


• Osama is dead! I, along with everyone else directly affected by 9/11 can finally begin to heal. The event changed my life and having the killer killed puts me at peace. Justice was FINALLY served. Go Obama, Go Military!


• Death happens. So does life. Osama bin Laden's death will only bring to life another homicidal maniac lurking in the midst. Because unfortunately, someone is bound to fill his shoes. Rejoice if you must, but please remember life's brutal cycle. And NEVER forget those who perished as a result.


• May 1st Prayer...Now I lay me down to sleep...one less terrorist this world does keep...with all my heart I give my thanks...to those in uniform regardless of ranks...you serve our country and serve it well...with humble hearts your stories tell...so as I rest my weary eyes...while freedom rings our flag still flies...you give your all, do what you must...with God we live and God we trust....


• Obama did in two years what "that other guy" couldn't do in seven. #justsaying

Where were you? I was at choir rehearsal with about 80 fellow men, and the guy standing next to me suddenly showed me a text from his, uh, current love/sex interest (I'm not sure how to term him). Then he got another text from his partner of 20 years saying the same. From that point, it was on. He and I were on our phones, hunting down news coverage that might have said something. Huff Post? Nope. CNN? Nah. The local TV station? Not that either. Their servers must have been overloaded. We did this for about 10 minutes, until I realized...duh! Facebook! And it was there that I saw ten consecutive posts from friends saying that bin Laden had finally been killed. Sign of the times, right? I'll give HP and the local networks a bye on this one, but CNN? Really? Get new servers or upgrade your old ones. That should NEVER have happened.

And my thoughts? I was pretty thrilled last night. I'll admit, the posts up above sobered me up a bit. My thoughts were more like this. Not all the way to yelling "U-S-A! U-S-A!" jingoistically while waving the flag and pounding some brewskis, but certainly less measured than my friends, for the most part. For the time being, this is a good thing, right? Just good to keep in mind that yes, someone is bound to take his place, and he's now a martyr for the cause. Always a gray lining.

And then there was the Trekkie with a starfleet insignia on his chest...

Does anyone understand the appeal of tattoos, or why people get them? I don't have one, and I feel no compulsion to get one. But I'm so curious about why. I ask this with no judgment.

I hit the free weights at the gym, and many of the badass guys working out with me have tattoos all up and down their arms and legs (and I'd imagine, were they to remover their shirts, we'd see lots of 'em on their back and maybe their chest). And I just wonder. Again, I can't judge, really...if I don't understand why they do it, I can't say anything.

Even one of my clinicians back in chiropractic school had an insanely ornate and large tattoo that stretched across her lower back. It took multiple sessions to complete. Really, it was beautiful - far and away the most beautiful tattoo I've ever seen. I think it was a tattoo of a Hindu deity, and was not just designed with the typical black ink, but bright reds, yellows, and greens permeated it. But again, I don't understand why. And more to the point, why would one get a tattoo on a part of the body you wouldn't even be able to see or admire easily?

The most audacious tattoo I've ever seen was also one of the simplest ever: a single plus sign on the left deltoid region. This forever branded the guy as being HIV-positive (yes, he was gay, and displayed it on a profile on a social/sexual networking site). No comment, other than that I would never. For more reasons than one.

So there you have it. Fellow bloggers of the world wide webiverse, and random stumblers upon this screed, I ask you...whither tattoos?

Adventures in Puddletown, part 3

Ugh. Clusterfuck of a day today. Spent the first part of the day working with my blessed bookkeeper (which reminds me: send her flowers) who helped me deal with an absurd tax situation. Long story short, the state thinks I owe them a craptacular amount of sales tax. This might be true if the tax rate were about 50%. Ain’t no WAY.

Had a second issue about work. Won’t bore you about it, but it made me bust my ass home and pack in record time for my trip out to Puddletown. Got to the airport, and I was nearly pathologically harried. Like to the point where if I had really stopped to think about it, I would have thought the universe was sending me a sign.

As it turns out, it might have been. You see, this trip was for a business seminar. I signed up for it a few months ago. I thought it kind of weird that I had yet to receive materials for it. So once at the gate, I called the organizer up. She kinda hesitated, then said, “Um, we rescheduled the seminar, because we didn’t want to interfere with Easter.” Cue righteous rage on my part. Scandinavian rage, so you know it was subdued. Still, HOLY HELL. No one had told me about it. And some research on the part of the organizer revealed that she had indeed sent out an e-mail to that effect, but had neglected to put my e-mail address on it. FUUUCK.

So here I am in Portland, for no real reason anymore. Man, I feel like the proverbial fish out of water. I’ma try to make the best of it, though. And there are some things so far. Like the fact that when I landed, it was SUNNY. And once I got my car and drove around, I saw that there wasn’t a muthafuckin’ cloud in the sky. Nowhere. People have been saying today has been the nicest day all YEAR. And tomorrow’s gonna be even nicer, warmer.

Also, I got to indulge in the joy that is La Buca. This tiny trattoria was the site of my first meal the day I moved to Portland. I got the “abituale”: penne with vodka cream sauce and spicy Italian sausage. So damned simple, but so damned good. Actually, the first bite was kinda ennh, but the more I ate, the more I remembered just how heavenly it was. Food like that really could become habitual.

There was also Ben & Jerry’s. The ice cream shop. ‘Nuff said.

Back to the clusterfuck. Simply navigating Portland can be infuriating. Got lost on the way to DJ Jazzy D’s place, then finally found it 15 minutes after I shoulda been there. Then I began unpacking, and realized that with a phone with maybe 2% power remaining, I had forgotten to pack a phone charger. It was off to the local one-stop-shopping bazaar, and thank GOD they were open late. So now my phone is happily charging away.

I was hoping to head out on the town tonight, badly. But it’s been such a blast to my sanity today, I think it’s for the best I stay back and just sleep it off. Seriously…the concept of a totally free weekend that suddenly fell from the sky weirds me out. Maybe I’ll head to the coast or do some hiking, get back to nature. Karaoke is most assuredly in my future, too. I’d take a free weekend in Puerto Vallarta or Maui any day, but Portland is not on the short list. Well, I’ll just make do. A good big breakfast will do me well for starters, then I’ll go from there.