Bar B Que that stuff Son!

One day Loo came home with a huge box and asked me to help her carry it into the garage--that's Loo talk for carry it into the garage by the way. I set it down out back and started asking question about it. I knew Loo's mom wouldn't approve of a second bbq, (but this one was charcoal instead of gas, and way better). I voiced these concerns to Loo and she said that she bought the BBQ for me (because I voiced my dislike of the other grill. It is too hot.) I freaked out because that meant Loo's Ma would get mad at me, and she has been mad at me for so many things in the recent past that I think I have developed a psychosis as a result of it. I spend a lot of my thinking time worrying about how not to make her mad. It bothers me, a lot. I exploded quite suddenly at Loo, who thought she was giving me a thoughtful gift to me, and she was I just couldn't see it then. That bothers me, and it made me wonder if perhaps I might be manic depressive because I have these sudden extremes of happiness/euphoria and sadness/anger/frustration/rage, or perhaps I think I do. I don't get them much, but one of Loo's epithets for me is 'bipolar bear,' which always makes me aware of a perceived random occurrence of a negative emotion, be it anger, or sadness or something. Anyway, I said some unjustifiably mean things to her and apologized to her right before she went home. I felt bad the rest of the day. Why do I do that?

And today, a day or two later, I started to assemble the grill. As I removed the pieces I became aware of the absence of instructions for the grill. There weren't any. It must have been an item at walmart or home depot that someone got and turned into Goodwill, where her friends works, did I mention he gets great deals at Goodwill? The box was devoid of instructions. I ventured online for a grill instruction sheet pdf, but it was in vain. They must have the instructions at the original place of purchase. With no other option left to me I did what any sensible man would do. I did what my dad and brother would surely do. I put it together by the seat of my pants with the box picture as my guide. I have a good mechanical aptitude and spatial reasoning skills. In a couple hours I had it together. The hardware was missing one lock washer and had an extra flat washer, so I made due. And then we used it to grill some burgers.

Loo found a recipe online for these fiesta burgers which were really good. Let me tell you how to make them because it is so easy. First you take a packet of taco seasoning mix and mix it into one pound of ground beef, I did this like it was clay or dough and kneaded it in there, breaking it in half and starting over until its all mixed in the raw meat. I wash my hands at this point for some reason. Then you start making little patties, and by little I mean thin, as thin as you can make them, eight in number. Then you take a 1/4 cup of chive and onion cream cheese and a 1/3 cup of cheddar and mix it together. Then take a quarter of that mix and put it in the middle of four patties. I wash my hands at this point for some reason. Take the other patties and place them on top of the cheese filling ones forming a sandwich of raw beef. Pinch the edges closed and seal them up real well. Grill like you would grill a burger and put them in a bun. And on that bun put some salsa and some avocado. Enjoy. I had two, plus a regular hamburger (the package of ground beef had almost 2 pounds in it)

I see now that it is getting late and I should go to bed and get up early for work tomorrow.

It has been really uncomfortable here, weather wise. It's been in the 90's with high humidity, which I have never really experienced before. It's like sucking in the same air you breath out.

I found some article in Harpers about carrying a concealed handgun on facebook that I printed out. I think I'll read it now. Knight.

You Tell her Mel Gibson!

While I drove along Stadium dr. in Loo's Maxima--because she doesn't like to drive--I enjoyed the cold breeze from the vents of the air conditioner I just fixed. While she used my electric razor to shave her legs we listen to tapes of an irate Mel Gibson yell at his, well, I don't know who she is because I don't follow famous people, but I think she was his wife. His messages had a time stamp and Howard Stern would say, "and this is Mel at 2:17 am," and play the tape of him breathing heavily into the phone before he said, "...Whore! I don't need you any more! I don't want you any more. I hope you can't sleep. Youuuuuuuu fuck..."

The things he said to that woman, wow. You can learn a lot about people from the irate messages they leave on your answering machine from one am to four am. We laughed at some of the things he said. He seems obsessed with sleep as his main and repeated insult was he hoped she couldn't sleep, but as was evident from leaving a message on the machine, his curse wasn't working because, apparently, she was sleeping well. He would say he didn't need to talk to her and hang up and call back 3 minutes later and ask if she was there before taking off on a verbal tirade again.

He mentioned something about a placenta and a tree ceremony that she didn't smile for. A Stern Show listener had to call up and explain how some people take the birth placenta, dig a hole, bury it and put a tree on top of it. I think those people have way too much time on their hands. Anyway, if you ever do a tree ceremony for yourself gentle reader, make sure you smile, apparently it's a BIG deal if you don't.

Loo and I listened and I checked to see what parts she found funny, most of what she laughed at I did as well.

I like listening to out of control celebrities. Its as though they fake being human for so long that when they do something truly human, losing it for example, it's a big deal. Oftentimes after they lose it they have to do a lot of damage control or lose sponsors, contracts, agents, etc. Behind their famous face they throw tantrums like the most annoying of us. I like that, breaks the wall that separates them from us, which they are quick to put back up.

I liked Tiger Woods' fiasco more. He was the poster guy for everything wonderful--for golf, for Nike, for inner city kids, you name it. And then he is txting porn stars about how he owns their pussy looks forward to sucking their ass, and he wants to pee on them. Hilarious. I wasn't surprised when those txts came out. The way I saw it he was hiding something huge, he seemed to successful to have it all together, because if he wasn't a sex fiend he might quite possibly be in the running for best human ever. Right? Name one thing Tiger woods did prior to his fiendish sexual infidelity.

I don't follow celebrities, or gossip, but when it comes up on Howard Stern and they have psychologists analyzing the celebrities it is truly fascinating.

Just wanted to share the image of Mel Gibson yelling at his un-wife while Loo shaves her legs with my razor and I drive her car to the doctor. Funny stuff.

another update

Great googly moogly it has been awhile!

I been away for awhile. Loo had to go to the ER for a fever and 7day long head ache. It took all night and they did a lot of tests, and needle sticking, which she hates and cried through. I felt so helpless but I did the hand holding thing and the "don't worry the doctors will fix you right up," thing. They found nothing wrong with her. We have gone doctor to doctor with more tests and more negative test results. She was ordered to lay down flat and not get up until they could rule out a spinal cyst. She was literally bed ridden for a month, with an unending headache that got worse if she sat up. She was miserable. And her mom... I don't know, its like she could only care about it for a week or so because after that week her mom wanted her to do chores and clean up after herself and

it was like she totally forgot about doctor number five saying, "Lay down and do not get up until we can rule the spinal cyst out." It made me mad that her mom would do that. Loo wanted to die so the pain would stop. I spent all my time around her to help her, but I couldn't make the pain go away. Finally mom and Loo exploded into an argument with me in the middle. It was awkward for me, but I didn't leave her side as they hashed it out. Mom wanted the room more organized, Loo had to explain it was beyond her ability to do that, neither one of them were listening to eachother. So loo exploded in a fury of pain and anger and screamed at her mom, and the level of pain finally registered in mom's brain and she stopped and cried and had to get the brother involved as mediator. I have had experience with people in constant horrendous pain, nobody else in the house has. You cant do that to people in pain, they can't get away from an argument... im just rambling. It was bad.

But for the first time in a month Loo has been vertical and mostly pain free. Doctor (neurologist) number seven changed from pain medicine to preventative medicine and supplements to great effect. Loo is mostly back to her old self, and I have been able to return to writing.

Before all this I went without Loo to her family's cottage on drummond island in the upper peninsula near Canada. It was a good time. I drove a '54 chriscraft, I sailed and I explored a bunch of tiny islands by kayak. Loo had to go to school and she told me I should go without her because it would be fun and it was. Ill write more about it, for now im just filling in the gap.

Our lizard is doing well, growing and eating like a healthy Savannah monitor lizard.

I had moved into Loo's mom's house and into Loo's sister's room, we'll call her Beans. I just got a book shelf and organized my room which used to be Beans' room. For the first time it was clean and everything had a place and it was good. That night, not even 13 hours from its new organized state, Beans called from Colorado, there was a problem with her living arrangement with her boyfriend and she was coming back tonight on a last minute flight.

I had to remove any sign I had lived there before she arrived. All my stuff is in the basement again in messy hap hazard piles. For some reason Loo's mom wont allow me to move the two dressers that are down there, so I got a new dresser to handle it.

Loo's mom became scatterbrained and for lack of a better word crazy about Beans returning. She started postulating why Beans would need to come back so fast and she made herself even more crazy with thought of her daughter being beaten, or getting pregnant, or both or something else. It was weird because Beans treats her mom poorly, but Mom bends over backwards to accomodate the whims of Beans, now 20 years old. The silver lining in all this is that the Mom's focus will be shifted from all that I do wrong to Beans and all she does wrong because she is worse than me with the things that make the mom crazy. I think I talked about that in an earlier post about waterglasses and dishes and such. I like to use the same glass of water to drink from throughout the day, and the mom doesn't like that because dirty dishes need to be placed in the dish washer.

Got to go get my teeth cleaned. Wahoo!

God stole my teddy bear

I was seven years old when I stopped believing in God, it wasn't until I was fourteen or so that I stopped believing in the supernatural. But I can not forget the day I stopped believing in the christian God, the god of Abraham, Yahweh.

I was in Carpenteria with my family for the weekend, my great aunt has a place right there near the beach. It was Saturday night when I realized I didn't have my teddy bear. I had had him forever, he had one eye, he was white and his name was Snowy. I took him everywhere. Until one day I lost him, somewhere. I looked everywhere for that bear and I couldn't find him. I was in tears, my family looked everywhere my dad was asking people on the street if they had seen him. Nobody had.

It got to be saturday night, the last night we would stay there before returning home. With nowhere else to turn, and as a last resort, I turned to Yahweh for help. I told him that I realized I hadn't been a very good christian. I skipped out of church whenever possible and seemed to only go for the doughnuts, which were delicious, and I didn't seem to spend much time thinking about Him or doing anything to spread his word and stuff. But, I told him, if he would let me find Snowy, or remember where I had put him, I would be the greatest christian He had ever seen. There would be no end to the wonderful things I would do for him. And it was then with the hot tears streaming down my face soaking my pillow that I prayed myself to sleep repeating the words, "Please let me find him, please let me find him."

The next day I still couldn't find him and we had to go home. I looked up to the sky--for every seven year old boy knows precisely where God sits to ruin your day--and said, "Thanks for nothing jerk-face. It would have been so easy for you to let me find Snowy. I wasn't kidding about before, this will be the last time I talk to you." And I remember feeling so much anger. I wanted to do to Yahweh the worst thing that I knew how to do, the worst thing that any human could do. I waited for the moment when no one was watching and I flung my little arm into the sky and flipped Yahweh the bird.

For years I probably still believed in Yahweh enough to hate his guts while waiting for snowy to turn up. It wasn't until I was about fourteen or so that I came to understand that none of the mythic traditions of the religions of the world or of history were true. I realized it was silly to be mad at an imaginary figure and stopped. Then I started learning about what we know and what we don't, and found that science was responsible for so much and that religion tried to compete with that as though it were on equal or better footing. This made me mad on account of the unfairness of it all and I read a great deal about all sorts of subjects, while religion continued to claim the wonders by saying in essence, "wow, science, isn't that extraordinary? God is more complicated than we thought."

After reading the book of Job I see that this would be my own personal Job story; Satan made a wager with Yahweh that if you took his Snowy away and ruined his day, he would curse you, and Yaweh, ever the sucker, said, "You're on." And Satan won, although since Yahweh knows everything he would have known that I would curse him and he wouldn't have taken the bet, which makes Satan the fool for betting with a guy that knows the outcome ahead of time.

Anyway, that's how it happened. I wish I had a better ending for you, but I don't.

I wonder what would happen if on my death bed someone brought my Snowy to me? Now that would blow my skull.

Catching Fireflies 101

Ten minutes here we go. Yesterday I caught fireflies for the first time ever in my life. I wanted to write a dedicated piece about the experience, but I don't know when I'd get to it. I' guess I'll do it now, no reason not to.

To catch fireflies you need two people; one person to catch 'em and on person to hold the jar that holds 'em. The second person has the harder job, I think, because the fireflies like to climb straight up and you got to shake or tap the jar until they fall off the walls. Then you can pop the top and dump the new bug in and carefully seal it to make sure you don't crush any sneakers that got by you.

First person is the firefly hunter and has to be able to see them when they aren't lit up. They move away from you if you approach too fast. From twenty feet away or so they dart left or right quickly, but if you calmly walk up to them you can catch them quite easily. The firefly's favored means of escape is to slowly and steadily fly straight up. All you do is walk to them and extend your hand under them and raise your hand, scooping them right out of the air. Than you gently close your hand so as not to crush them and go to person number two who taps the jar, pops the top while you open your hand and shake the firefly into the jar.

After you catch a bunch--we caught 50ish--you take the jar to the basement and turn out the lights to watch them light up the darkness. The 'fire' of these fireflies are a neon yellowish green, it really stands out. After your eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the basement you will find the light of a firefly is almost blinding. When they light up.

But between the intermittent neon flashes there is a time when the fireflies climb all over the inside of the jar while their butts aglow like little neon embers, it is really faint--like a distant star, if you look right at it sometimes you can't see it, but if you look away you can. In the darkness all you can see is the bug butts neon glow randomly walking around, sometimes together sometimes not, all over the place, like bioluminescent deep sea jellyfish drifting in twisting currents.

They looked like stars to me, stars twisting into galaxies, galaxies drifting across the cosmos with the occasional neon-supernova flash.

I wanted to take a picture or a video, to show people--you, friends, family, the world--this amazing thing. But the camera's back lit display polluted the darkness with its piercing light, drowning out the soft glow of the fireflies. I tried to cover it with my hand, and succeeded in trapping the light pollution, but the camera wasn't sensitive enough to catch those minuscule embers.

It reminded me of something my dad said to me once. He use to photograph lots of stuff until one day he suddenly stopped. Didn't even bring his camera to the family summer trips anymore. Now you can't even get him to take a picture. I asked him why.

He said, "I find that I focus on getting the picture just right, but overlook the experience, the people around me, all of it. When I get home and we are talking about our memories, It's like I wasn't there; my memories are of lining up the perfect shot. I decided it's better to see it with your eyes around the people you love than through a lens, oblivious." Or something like that. Ever since then it has been something that I am aware of, taking pictures or experiencing things fully.

After watching those bugs crawl around that jar in the darkness with my favorite person I felt really happy and thought I'd share it with you. I don't think I will ever forget those little guys crawling around the inside of the jar in the darkness.

After we were done we let them go. Outside we popped the top off the jar.

I wanted them to escape from the jar in a geyser of neon yellow lights like a violent quasar, happy to be free and fill the night with their fire.

But they climbed to the top and took flight one by one--no swarm, no geyser, no lighting up. Simply flying away into the night, invisible. Somehow, it was better that way.

The Great State Rivalry part 1

I dislike the frequency with which I write here, to that end I want to write at least 10 minutes, non-stop a day, everyday. It should be easy, you know? Like just 10 minutes, anyone could do that.

Loo keeps me pretty busy. we have a lot of fun and do lots of things. We went to the great bear music festival for a day, which was all folk music and fun, more fun than I thought. I think that is one of the reasons I like Loo so much is she pulls me out of my shell so to speak and gets me to go to things I would never go to on my own.

have I told you about the state rivalry? People here, some people I should say, have this inferiority/superiority complex about the state of Michigan being cooler than California. I can tell how effective that is because it hardly phases me. The way it usually happens is my manager at work will randomly walk up to me and say, "Hey California," which is my nickname because of the many like named people, we have two Ryans, a Brian and a Ben. From across the backroom , amidst the blasting of air tools and hoses those names all sound alike. The Manager likes to give orders to everyone at the same time and it gets confusing, so they call me California.

"Hey California, did you know our asparagus is the best in the nation? Way better than California's asparagus."

And then I said, "I was unaware California even made asparagus. Besides I personally don't like that so I don't really care."

"Oh yeah, our asparagus is amazing. You know what else is amazing?"

"No."

"Our strawberries here are way better than California's strawberries," he said. Now the gauntlet had been thrown down. I have been going to the Oxnard strawberry festival for years, and most of the strawberries that are made for the USA are made right there in Oxnard. I figured I knew a thing or two about what a good strawberry tastes like.

"I don't know about that, our strawberries are very tasty."

"Well, ours are better. Have you ever tried one?"

"No. Have you ever had a California strawberry?"

"Yeah in the store. The taste doesn't compare."

"You can't compare farm-fresh to store-bought."

"Our strawberries are very small, like a raspberry and full of juice. The juiciest thing you've ever tasted. In a couple months it will be the season and you can try some Michigan strawberries and judge for yourself."

"Looking forward to it."

That was a month ago or so. I went to a pick-them-yourself strawberry field out here in Michigan with Loo and her mom. All the while being told how our California strawberries don't compare to Michigan strawberries by every Michiginian who heard about the rivalry. I get to picking, and it reminded me of picking strawberries with mi amigo hispano hablante, or my Spanish speaking friend. I picked strawberries to see what it was like. He picked like ten times as many as I did, but it was tough work.

Michiginian strawberries are quite small, some of them are the size of raspberries, but most are twice that, or five times smaller than your standard California strawberry, which are quite large. We picked about 2 pounds worth of these berries. I don't remember what we paid, but we loaded up the car and headed back.

The conversation shifted between answering 4th grade brain teaser car game questions and inquiries about what would happen when the Michiginian strawberries trump the strawberries of my home in terms of flavor, juiciness and texture.

As we approach home people are getting excited. When we arrive home everyone is focused on getting the strawberries prepped at the expense of everything else, like unloading other groceries, which I did.

When I entered the house everyone was gathered around the sink washing strawberries off. Once that was done they placed the strawberry in their open mouths and bit down. Then they rolled their eyes and made moaning sounds, followed by, "Oh, Brian you have to try this!" And, "Oh these are delicious," and "Just when I think they can't get any better..."

I washed the strawberry off, opened my mind to the possibility of tastier strawberries than home, waited for my objectivity to emerge, closed my eyes, and plunked the berry into my mouth. I bit down.

The berry gushed its juices into my mouth, far more than I expected or was accustomed to, some of the juice leaked between my lips, down my chin, across my throat and into the collar of my shirt. As my teeth passed through the flesh more juice arrived and splashed all over my tongue. I felt the flesh and skin and seeds wedge between my teeth. The juice was unsweetened, and for lack of a better word, blandish. I chewed it up and swallowed it feeling that familiar strawberry aftertaste on the end of my tongue.

"I'm not impressed," I said.

"Well, you probably picked a bad one," Loo's mom said.

"Do me the favor of selecting a good one for me, please," I said.

In a concerted group effort the Michigan team rooted around the two pounds of strawberries to find the best of the bunch, the one strawberry that would prove, irrevocably, the dominance of Michigan strawberries over California's strawberries. Someone picked a berry up for the other to study while they kept rooting for a better one. Once that was done a second berry was held up against the first. Some silent deliberation ensued before they all agreed that this one berry was the quintessential Michigan Strawberry.

They gave it to me as though it was a ruby. I took it and repeated the same procedure as above. I closed my eyes, cleared my mind, sunk my teeth into it and felt that unfamiliar juice gush out into my mouth and splash onto my tongue. This one was a little sweeter, I could taste it. It was a tasty berry, but there wasn't much to it--one bite and it was gone.

"That one was alright," I said.

"This was a bad batch," Loo's mom said and than frowned.

"Yeah," they all agreed. I repressed a smile about how quickly it had changed from "these are AMAZING," to, "this was a bad batch."

Maybe it's true that these berries were a bad batch, but we picked them right out of the ground from a bonafide strawberry patch in Michigan.

The Mi. berry was juicier, and smaller, but not as firm or as sweet as the giant Ca. berries which can sometimes take three or more bites to devour. So I'm going to keep an open mind, but for this round the score is California strawberry: 1 Michigan strawberry: 0

Besides this state rivalry thing has the added bonus of people trying all kinds of tasty strawberry desserts and treats on me. I have had strawberry shortcake, strawberry pie, strawberry medley and etc. Remember that the next time a situation like this presents itself. You could go along with it and say, "Yummy!" or you could build the tension with a "that's alright I guess." and get them to try to convince you otherwise. Tasty desserts could follow.

Make Art not War

Ever since the international community signed the Make Art Not War proposal one year ago intense socio-economic-political strife has ensued and today is no different.

Political tensions reached their breaking point yesterday between Ireland and England involving a tax dispute on Irish goods. “You can’t do that and not expect a reprisal,” said Sarah McConnell, 35 of Ireland, “Our boys and girls are ready to kill.” The boys and girls to whom she is referring are of course the Irish River Dancing Armada.

British PM Alistair Moline didn’t seem worried. “While the IRDA possess some skill in dancing with the lower half of their bodies, our boys and girls have mastered both the upper and lower halves. It doesn’t seem fair to have a dance-off competition against them.”

The dance-off will take place today at 6pm in a neutral arena created for these kinds of disputes. Ingrid Balantino of Julliard School and Fajkidf Ingstörolm of The Helsinki School will judge. Both professors have over a century of dance experience combined.

In other news the United Legion of Artistic Nations is meeting again today to discuss the many problems associated with the Make Art Not War proposal.

“Third world countries are ill suited to participate in the MANWP as a proper education and the study of art is not offered, but of course neither is a regular education, fresh water or food,” said German sociologist Joseph Kann in a statement yesterday. “Art is a luxury and one the people of the third world cannot afford. And studies have shown that western and eastern audience are enjoying tribal dance less and less, especially when in competition with B-boys, jazz and Ballet. The dances are unique to each tribe. Finding knowledgeable impartial judges for each dance is impossible. They will never be able to compete against the west, and will continue to fall behind.”

That hasn’t stopped Florida resident Jim Smithers from teaching the art of mime to the third world countries pro bono in an attempt to put them on an even playing field with the other nations in regards to the performing arts.

“It feels good to finally use my art for something good, like some humanitarian purposes,” Smithers says. “Already some great talent has taken my craft and used it to resolve land disputes in northern Kenya.”

When asked about how his Ugandan Mime Troupe would fare against South Africa’s Shakespeare Brigade at the ULAN conference next month he smiled and said, “They’ll need more than Ole’ Yorrick this year if they expect to win.”

***

In the US frustration mounts as giant banking firm Goldman Sachs uses Ingrid Gulen to lobby their case for congress. Ingrid is well known to have no American rival in the art of interpretive dance. Her motions have swayed congressional opinion in favor of Goldman’s recent proposals.

“It isn’t fair,” Senator Joe Binder (R-Texas) said. “A regular person can’t afford the skills of such an artist, only a major banking firm can put Ingrid [expletive] Gulen on their payroll.”

When asked about the banking firm’s arrangement with her Ingrid Gulen said, “For the first time ever I can completely devote myself to my craft, my art, my love and put food on the table for my family without the need of two other jobs. That has never happened before. I don’t intend to walk away from this.”

***

Federico Guzman de Capistraño the world famous expressionist painter was found dead in his mansion on the edge of Nice in the French Riviera last Friday. The autopsy revealed trace amounts of TXX in his system, TXX is a neurotoxin found in the puffer fish. Friends of Federico maintain that he hated fish with a passion and would not have eaten the famous sushi dish ‘Fugu’ while on holiday in Japan. Strangely his last painting depicted Fugu in its various sushi arrangements.

“I bet you anything the Russian’s killed him,” said Sebastion Miguel de Fuerza, a neighbor of Federico. “Everyone knew he had a ULAN commission to resolve a territorial petroleum dispute between Russia and Kazakhstan.”

The Kazakh ambassador made a statement over many of the allegations.

“The world grieves for the loss of such a talented artist, and while it is true that we had commissioned him through ULAN to resolve our dispute with Russia it is unfair to our northern neighbors to allege such a heinous crime was their doing.” When I asked him one on one about the chances of a favorable outcome for the dispute he simply sighed before saying he had no comment.

***

The Rust Belt continues to rust as more military technology is piled upon it. Battleships, fighter jets, tanks and cargo trucks sit in the humid sun and rust away by the ton. Environmental scientists are worried about the long-term effects of leaving eighty square miles of rusting metal open to the environment. They have already measured an increase in ozone and iron oxide in the atmosphere and so much metal in one area has created a hot pocket that is affecting global weather patterns, notably above Canada, which asked politely for the Rust Belt to be relocated further from their borders.

***

The ULAN Graphic Art Summit had to be postponed on account of technical difficulties. It will resume tomorrow at seven eastern standard time.