The Silence of the Butchey

Yesterday was my Birthday.

I went to sleep last night laying on top of my bed, clothes still on and a towel across my bare feet for warmth. I like to do this once in a while when I am feeling... undomesticated.
When I woke up around 2:30, the fan was on and it was pretty cold.

I was laying diagonally across the bed so I folded the covers over me from both sides like an enchilada.

Then I pulled out "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" from somewhere in the bed and started reading.

Reading Joyce is like thinking your own thoughts, only they're someone else's.

It's 6 a.m. right now. I've just taken a shower and I am not looking forward to going to work.

Yesterday was my birthday.

48 Eventful Hours

Had my pre-birthday bash this weekend (among other things) and a good time was had by all!

And, no, you evil bastards, it wasn't my 40th!
(Okay, yeah, I'll be 40 next year, but in the meantime... eat my shorts!)

Interesting side note: Two of my closest friends weren't at the party because they both had sons whose birthday is the same as mine. Coincidence? Or the mysterious hand of fate...

(Meanwhile, back at the ranch...)
I cannot imagine a more enjoyable birthday weekend:

Friday Night: Went to see the Mark Morriss Dance Troupe at the Mesa Something-or-other Ampitheater. First of all, this facility absolutely rocks. Very modern but tasteful and just hanging in and around the theater was really enjoyable. M had suggested we go some months earlier and it happened to fall on the birthday bash weekend.

Now, the dancing was always technically good, (just ask me because I'm an expert! I'm also very good at driving) but the style of dance varied greatly.

The opening number, for instance, was a tad bit Oklahoma-esque and I watched as M managed to scrunch down about as far as she could into the far corner of her seat, almost, but not quite, dissappearing into another dimension.

Ironically, she'd earlier told me to vamoose if I didn't feel the love. At that moment, however, it seemed there might be 2 new patrons at the nearest bar, come intermission. Luckily, this was the exception to the rule.

The next number, modelled around a piece by Bartok, was urgent, dramatic and arresting. I don't know how to do this piece justice other than to say it was like watching some compelling foreign intrigue unfold - one which took place on another planet. Blah blah blah.

For me, the guy to watch was "Pony-tail Boy" (so named by M), a.k.a. Bradon McDonald. Not only could he dance, but he had a fluidity of motion, expressiveness, and a committment - which made him compelling to watch.

Oh, yeah, and there were a few hot chicks, that could dance pretty good, too.

I could go on (example: there's a print by Escher in which man evolves - and one of the Moriss pieces somehow evoked this) but... maybe you should just go and see for yourself. Really.

Saturday: Woke up around sunrise, wrestled around with M a bit (I think she won - best 2 out of 3 falls) and then, well...

*not every birthday celebration should necessarily start this way (kids, do not try this at home) but once in a great while...

In preparation for Saturday night festivities, M had gotten together the fixin's for Dave-a-ritas - (marguaritas named after their illustrious creator, Dave, for whom we now pause and prostrate ourselves in the ultimate display of gratitude. As my father would say, "like kissing Jesus!") Anyway, they'd been freezing/curing all night and before transporting them to Longhair's, I wanted a small sample. Just a taste, really...

This was at about 7:30 in the morning. M had one. I had one. Oh, god, yes, and then M heated up some mole' to go with eggs and salsa. So good. And then, of course, we each had another to go with Breakfast.

Let me mention that Dave-a-ritas are famous for two things:

1. The are so-o-o-o tasty.
2. They pack a wallop!

Time passes and, suddenly, its 7pm, I'm back at Longhair's with a party going in full swing. I am wearing army pants with no shirt, a cowboy hat and sunglasses, and I am attempting to play ping pong. Suffice it to say a fun time was had by all -and- by 9pm, I was done!

Happy birthday to me.

So, M tucked me in, and headed back to her place. Which leads me to the next part of the story...

Sunday Morning - Had gotten out of bed, briefly at 7 am, to get some hot grease (namely, a Sausage Croissanwich), consume same and return to my post-inebriated coma. Then, at 11 a.m. M calls:

M: Can you come over? Something strange is happening here.

And indeed it was.

Her neighbor/friendly acquaintance had suffered a psychotic break. He'd broken out one of his windows, shaved his head and, while M and I talked, had started loudly counting outside her apartment. I could hear him over the phone.

Moments later I am racing over in my truck (hair plastered to my skull), when my truck starts chugging and I realize I have to stop for gas. Finally, several panicky minutes later, I arrive, and...

Everything's fine.

No noise. No one around. He's back inside and all's well. At least, seemingly so*

*We did hear breaking glass a bit later, but thought it was the originally broken window still falling apart. Unbeknownst to us, it was a new window.

A few hours later, we head out to get coffee and do respective errands. Downstairs, in the parking lot, we both get into our cars, and I look up as a large naked bald man walks out of his apartment and into the parking lot.

Our eyes meet as he walks past and slowly walks down the center of the driveway and towards the street. M jumps into my car, she calls 911 and we follow as he trudges along.

We continue to follow at a distance as he walks the length of the parking lot and then, without a sideways glance, out into traffic.

After a semi-miraculous trip across Broadway he walks about a half a block and then, into, of all places, Ted's Hotdogs.

Yes, really.

Interesting sidenote: another man about to walk into Ted's froze with his hand in the air, and, continued to hold that position until well after the naked man had left.

The naked man left Ted's (obviously forgot his wallet) and the police arrived to take him into custody.

And then we went to coffee.

Wall of Voodoo, Dude.

Lunched briefly with a coworker today at a place called Meatballz in Scottsdale. Its just around the corner from work and the Calamari on Fridays is pretty good. Just don't pronounce the "i" in Calimari or they look at you funny.

Oh, and did I happen to mention the place is run by New Yorkers?

Re: NY - I've finally come to realize I just can't get a way from the fucking place. Oh, sure, I left like a thief in the night, sold or gave away most of everything I had, moved thousand of miles and now do I everything I can to avoid even the topic... but everywhere I go, everyone I meet - my girlfriend (or whatever title you want to use - M points out we haven't exchanged stuffed animals yet, so maybe squeeze or ol' lady is more appropriate? You fill in the blank. Hey - maybe we should have a contest... anyway), my coworkers, half of my customers and every other person on the god damned planet that I strike up a conversation with - they're all from Brooklyn or Queens or Long Island or some other god damned place. And man are they smug about it.

But I digress..

So, anyway, there I am, having eaten the Calimar' when Sully, my big bald-headed irish coworker shows up. We sit, bitch about work for a while and then "Mexican Radio" comes on:

"I feel a hot wind on my shoulder
and the touch of a world that is older..."

Me: Man, I dig this song. Reminds me of my old buddy, D. It was kinda of our theme song back in the day. (pause) Though I would be hard pressed to say why, exactly.

Big Bald Headed Irish Co-worker: Yeah, Black Flag was one of my favorite bands back then.

Dude.














It was Wall of Voodo, dude.

And then we talked about the Blue People of Kentucky.

Hiya Kid,

Congrats on the Art Opening!

Sorry I'm not going to make it but I'll be there in spirit. (I'll be the forty-something old guy in the corner getting drunk on cheap wine, chatting up twenty-something ladies, okay, girls, whatever, and trying ever so casually to name drop about acting with big Broadway stars in NY... okay, we didn't really act together per se, but we were on the same stage at the same time... well, almost.)

I was going to sneak out and suprise you but realized I'd spend more time in the air than with you so I gave it up. Blah blah blah.

X's and O's,

Your Big Brother.

P.S. See you in Chi-town for Cinco de Mayo!

Old Men on the Front Porch - and that Old Man is me-e-e-e!

Stayed up last night to shoot the breeze with Longhair, a.k.a Seal.

(Okay, I went to bed at 9:30 but we talked for a couple hours non-stop and let's face it, 9:30 for an old geezer is like midnight for the young pup!)

Remind me to tell you sometime about the Eccentric Gay Millionaires we once worked for. And, no, I wasn't the Pool Boy.

(pause)

Okay, well, I occasionally did skim the pool but that wasn't my only job, okay? OKAY? (man those little shorts chafed). Anywho...

At least I didn't have to watch the monkeys.
And, no, I'm not kidding.











We've come a long way, baby.

Human Pin Cushion.

Bush

Potpourri

Woke up this morning having dreamt that I was being examined by my old boss, Dr. Mackey. (And, no, Neil, she is not a proctocologist.) She was asking if I smoked a lot in the early mornings because I had signs of osteoporosis...

I attribute this in part to a late night conversation with M the night before, which included weight lifting as a means of reinforcing bone density. That and a coupla cigarettes smoked.

The interesting part about the dream was that I was actually being interviewed for Chiropractic School, but for some reason this included a full physical exam. And no, it was't sexual...

So, I logged on yesterday and tried to respond to some of the comments to my
previous blog but couldn't. Some technical difficulty thingey. Whatever.

Yeah, so I was up late playing cards. Okay, I didn't really play cards that late, but then after I got home I couldn't go to sleep. Too much restless enerby. Had played with some friends/clients and in a combination of good luck and misfortune won both tourneys.

Oh, and yes, I am one of those nimrods who enjoy Texas Hold 'em. Did the whole World Poker Tour-aholic thing. (There really should be a whole 12 step program: "Just step away from the TV!")

And while I'm at it, what's up with the whole clean up your house, fix up your house, get into shape, shape up your look, improve your life, your dog, your ass, whatever. Jesus! Here's an idea, instead of sitting on your ass watching people tell you how to do all that, just do it (all references to Nike are purely unintentional, I assure you)

But I digress.
Where was I?

Oh, yes, responding to comments about Lunch with the X:

First thing - to those diehard romantics who think we should get together to rekindle a lost romance: I'm currently in a relationship in which things are going pretty well. (Oh, sure, it could all go down in flames tomorrow, but, in the meantime I kinda look forward to what comes next.)

So there's that. -AND -The X is happily married - has been so for 10 years. I think they just had their anniversary.

Plus there's the whole, "there's a reason we broke up in the first place". And I'm not finger-pointing here, just stating the obvious. I mean, there's a reason we split up, right? Maybe things have changed. Maybe they haven't. Don't get me started.

Eh, more later.

Wave #3 part 2: An open letter to my ex-wife...

Hello, my dear.

And how is your garden growing today?

Mental Gymnastics - Installment #1 : Ya know, its funny. I normally use phrases like "sweet thang" and "my dear" in a semi-flip way that is intended to be casual, fun, and imply a certain amount of friendly affection. However, in certain cases, (as with one's ex-wife) these words can take on a more ominous significance.

Is "my dear" intended as flip? Friendly? Or could it be implying more? Maybe its Freudian? Or maybe these words are simply a throwback to an earlier time? Blah blah blah. The interpretations are endless.

In the end, however, I think its better to just be yourself and let the chips fall where they may. Sometimes a banana is just a banana. Anyway...

Regarding our chance meeting, I can't express how pleasant it was to see you:

You were both gracious and lovely (and I don't want to sound too corny, here, but the years have truly been kind). And... it wasn't the torturuous event I'd somehow anticipated!

So... yeah, I figured we'd bump into each other sooner or later upon my return. (In fact, a friend just reminded me that I'd dreamed about you with a baby while I was still in NY - weird, hunh?) But I'd always anticipated this with a certain amount of trepidation....

It wasn't too many years ago I was in Rochester, MN, driving down the road and, suddenly, I saw you, driving in the opposite direction. Of course, it wasn't you, and I realized this moments later, but the physical sensation I'd experienced in the meantime was all too real. However...

Time passes. The world whips around the sun a few thousand times, and then...

Then, just a few weeks ago, we bump into each other and... things have changed. It was so good to see you, and, what's more, the feeling seemed mutual. You even asked me out to lunch in the spur of the moment:

K: So now that we've finally bumped into each other, we should do lunch sometime.

A: Lunch?

K: Sure, we could catch up on everything.

A: Umm, sure. Okay.

(pause)

So now there's this whole lunch thing looming in the air...