Organization is not conducive to creativity

Overall, I’m doing better on Christmas this year. I bought the fresh (appropriate size) wreath for my front door on Dec. 7th, my tree is up and decorated and some gifts have been purchased. I know that compared to a lot of folks, I’m way behind. If I am compared to me last year, however, I’m way ahead of the game. Last year, everything was such an ordeal – take, for example, my horrendous 2006 wreath:

December 18, 2006

Know what happens when you wait until Dec. 16th to buy your fresh Christmas wreath? You end up with one of the two remaining ginormous, dried-out wreaths from Lakewood Gardens. Even though they gave it to me for half price, it was still expensive. Installed on the front door, it touches the doorknob. You cannot close the door from the inside because it’s impossible the shove the branches back outside.

So what happens is:

Doorbell
Cursing
Open door
Me: “Well hello, (inconsiderate neighbor bearing gift) do come in. Could you wait here just a second?”
Run to open the kitchen door (the one with sleigh bells attached to the doorknob) and push button to raise garage door.
Zip past assh, er, neighbor to close front wreath from the outside.
Run around to garage scooping up pissed off cat that I forgot was in the garage and is starting to slink towards freedom.
Come in through kitchen door trying to protect face and throat from cat (effing sleigh bells).
Me: Dropping cat, “pant…pant…wheeze…egg nog?”
Asshole: “Nice wreath.”

Gosh, after reading that again, this Christmas seems pretty boring. Come to think of it, my family got a kick out of my incompetence last year. It was such a terrible year that by the time Christmas came around, we’d decided to just embrace the lunacy (but Erni wriggled free).

Disturbing Trend

Anybody else notice the proliferation of inane “greeters” stationed next to the entrances of businesses? It’s my theory that this all began with churches, specifically, elderly Sunday school classes. The logic’s the same for both church and the secular, really. They are hoping that by appearing welcoming, people will return – and bring money. Being as we've now entered the "hap, happiest time of the year," I expect that we shoppers will be forced to navigate an obstacle course of bell ringers, greeters, sample trolls, etc. when most of us just want to get our shit and go home.

We have a greeter here at the large medical center where I work. Apparently the prominently marked information desks located close to the entrances are not enough. We need a fat guy sitting outside on a stool, with a portable heater and an entourage of squirrels to make sure Cletus and Lurline know that this here university medical center is just happy as hell to practice on, er, treat them.

My neighborhood Kroger now has a greeter stationed by the door. I don’t understand; it's not like we have any choice -- we gotta buy food. Is it corporate management’s attempt at warmth? Do they honestly think customers will return because there’s an employee with vacant eyes grinning ear-to-ear next to the entrance? (Instead of, say, bagging groceries.) Well, not this customer. I come back hoping to see Mr. Snappy, the homeless guy that takes it upon himself to return all the carts from the parking lot. There’s a happy guy. He’s got a crack bounce to his step and he’s always snapping his fingers to a melody only he can hear.

Ageless rhythms

I got to see Man Man last night and it was a hundred times better than I expected. And, I got to see them in the perfect venue from the perfect vantage point. They performed in a small, stripped-down club that caters to the indie crowd. We were lucky enough to snag a couple of the folding chairs lining the wall. I realized I wouldn’t be able to see a thing if I tried to stand anywhere on the floor, but, I could stand on the chair and not be in anybody’s way. I’m never that lucky.

I must admit I stressed quite a bit over even going. I knew I would be out of my element agewise and was afraid of being perceived as one of those pitiful old bags desperate to hold onto relevance -- trying to be cool. When we arrived, a guy walked up asking for the admission and to see our ID’s, if we were going to drink. My husband had his but I failed to bring mine. The guy says, “I really need to see everybody’s ID.” I said, “Dude, it’s not that dark in here.” He responded with, “Okay, you’re obviously … uh … I mean … over 21.” I said, “Nice save.” We went outside, carrying our drinks with us. One of the managers came out and told us this wasn’t Louisiana and we couldn’t take our drinks outside. So, basically, I got in trouble twice within the first 30 minutes. Then I got over myself. Sure, we were the oldest people there but the many people we talked to seemed genuinely pleased to see somebody, outside of their cohort, that got Man Man.

I didn’t, however, get the opening act. It’s not so much that every song sounded the same. Or that the musical range of the group seemed to consist of three chords. But that the lead vocalist was a whiny bitch about the sound. They fixed the sound. It didn’t help. They seemed to have a devoted core of a half dozen fans that for me, served their purpose. When they cleared out I snagged my primo location from which to view Man Man.

Now, standing on a folding chair is not conducive to much movement. I contented myself to perfecting my head pump (Note to self - next time don’t use hairspray. Kinda ruins the effect.), banging my shoulder blades rhythmically against the wall, and watching the group in front of the stage as they gleefully undulated forward and back -- my son among them.

My perception of the show? Primal rhythms created with an assortment of musical instruments and unexpected objects and vocals that pushed the limits of physicality. All presented in a manner that would put Ringling Bros. to shame. These guys were there to put on a show, to entertain. There was no ego. There was fun. They looked like they were having the time of their lives. And, why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t we all.

“I know you need to find
What you thought
you left behind
in a past life.”
Feathers - Man Man

Oh no he di-n't!

I am currently enrolled in a writing course at the local Minnie Me university and I’ve made it a point to never mention any of my classmates or their writing in this blog. Mainly because they all seem to be computer literate and they are all bigger than I am. I don’t think any of them would have a problem with kicking my scrawny ass. Aside from that, they are all decent folk that, like me, only want to learn to write better. We get along well, at least no one’s stormed out in tears -- yet.

It is required that we read our classmates’ work and critique it. This can be extremely nerve wracking for both the reviewer and the writer. Ultimately, the exercise is tremendously useful for both.

We have one student that likes to write Vietnam war stories. Not a genre I would choose to read on my own but hey, if it’s well written, I’m a happy camper (“The Things They Carried” comes to mind). This writer took exception to one classmate after another saying they got bogged down by all the military acronyms contained in his previous story. Some abbreviations were obvious while others defied our attempts at research. We were actually wimping out because the story itself was a rambling, disconnected, pile of suck. We left it to the professor to point that out.

In the current story submitted by this writer, Iwo Jima is mentioned and marked by an asterisk, sort of. This was the mark: @ (that's not the actual mark but the closest I could come given my choices in this format). Hmm, puzzling. Was it a printer turd? I glanced down the page and noticed the same mark next to a footnote. Ah, here’s a first. No one had included a footnote yet. Here, dear reader, is the content of said note:
“If an explanation is needed for Iwo Jima, I would suggest that you stop reading this paper. In fact, I insist you stop reading this paper now, asshole.”

My initial reaction was What the … did he just call me an asshole? Here I am, minding my own business, spending my valuable lunch hour slogging through this fucking 32 page story and this is what I get in return? Insults? I tried to rationalize. Was it his pathetic attempt at humor? Was is rabid patriotism? Because, he couldn’t possibly believe that anyone in that class had never heard of Iwo Jima. Jesus Christ, even if we slept through junior high and high school and Western Civ., there were two major motion pictures released just last year about Iwo Jima. Then I thought about the author, who is the most irksome of assholes. You know, the guy that prefaces his opinions with patronizing, self demeaning bullshit. “I don’t know, I’m just a dumb ol’ boy that prolly doesn’t know half as much as you,” said in a tone that means the exact opposite.

So, I did as the author suggested and I quit reading. Why the heck should I waste my time on work done by someone that holds his audience in such disdain? I’m not sure what I’m going to say when it comes my turn to critique the story. I’ve got a feeling I’m not the only one that was offended, so my bet is that another classmate will unload on him before they get to me. If the guy has any brains at all, he’ll apologize to us at the beginning of the class.

Fear has ruined Halloween

The Halloweens of my childhood were so much better than my kids’. We were turned loose to trick or treat all over town. I think I went to only one Halloween carnival my entire childhood and I thought it was really lame. I wanted to get out of there with my friends and go trick or treating.

I remember Buck and Beth sneaking eggs out of the house.

I remember me and Bill sorting our loot when Buck and Beth would come home, howling, covered with broken eggs and putting us in stitches telling us what happened.


I remember how cold it always was and not wanting to put a coat over my costume.


I remember Buck as a teenager putting together elaborate schemes to scare the shit out of trick or treaters.


I remember the times he played “Spooky” over and over again by the door.


I remember the rivalry between me and Bill on who could collect the most candy.


I remember that my friend Gail’s mom always gave out homemade popcorn balls. Some house in every neighborhood gave out caramel apples and word spread like wildfire. Some asshole would give out coffee candy. Rumors of needles and razor blades abounded. My feet would be soaking wet. My skinny arms sticking out of my coat sleeves (because I would be wearing last year’s coat) would be freezing.


And I was free, after dark, with a bunch of other kids, knocking on strangers doors and receiving candy.





A few of my favorite Halloween quotes:





'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world.~William Shakespeare

One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.~Emily Dickinson

Where there is no imagination there is no horror. ~Arthur Conan Doyle, Sr.

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. ~George Carlin

Shadows of a thousand years rise again unseen,
Voices whisper in the trees,
"Tonight is Halloween!"~Dexter Kozen

Backward, turn backward,
O Time, in your flight
make me a child again
just for to-night!~Elizabeth Akers Allen

Clothes make a statement. Costumes tell a story. ~Mason Cooley

Just like a ghost, you've been a-hauntin' my dreams,
So I'll propose on Halloween.
Love is kinda crazy with a spooky little girl like you.~Classics IV

Acting is like a Halloween mask that you put on. ~River Phoenix

The dream reveals the reality which conception lags behind. That is the horror of life—the terror of art.~One of the best quotes by Franz Kafka

I know'd it, know'd it,
Indeed I know'd it brother
I know'd it - Weeee!
Dem bones gonna rise again.- Anonymous Early American Ballad

THE HORROR ... the horror ...

Dear God in heaven. This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I had my TV on and tuned to a local morning program. The station has been running ads for haunted houses, and Halloween supplies. This morning I actually had chills run down my spine when I heard the music accompanying a local commercial. It was heart-stopping …

it was nausea inducing …

it was …

it was …

gasp …

“Deck the Halls.”

Incoming!

You know, every now and then circumstances converge to create incidents that are comic theatre at its very best. If you’re really lucky you get to witness one of these sidewalk improvisations. I was that fortunate person yesterday.

After another stimulating day of cataslacking at the medical center library, I clocked out and walked outside toward the parking deck. My path takes me along a sidewalk bordered on the right by a shoulder height brick wall and on the left by perfectly spaced, sickly Willow oaks. I noticed a squirrel on the wall and was amazed at how close he let me get before doing a lazy squirrel hop along the flat crest of the wall. He stayed about 3 feet in front of me.

I was mildly interested because we don’t see squirrels around here often. The last time we had a family of the critters in our corner of the campus, it was wiped out in one day by a hawk -- so much for animals killing only for food. Like an avian serial killer, that raptor picked them off one-by-one, sadistically displaying his victims, splayed out on tree branches outside numerous windows of our building.

So, as I was walking along with the squirrel on point, a doctor passed me on the left. Everything was cool until the squirrel ran out of wall. Now this squirrel had several options when it came to the end of the wall:
1. Stop.
2. Run down the other side of the wall into the chancellor’s garden.
3. Run down the sidewalk side of the wall and do the squirrel equivalent of dodge ball like they do in the middle of the street when confronted by a car.
4. Leap from the wall to a tree on the other side of the walkway.
If you picked number 4, you’ve read my blogs before.

The squirrel leaps, grabbing desperately for any branch. It manages to grip the end of a spindly low-hanging branch and swings toward the trunk. Freeze frame. Remember the doc that passed me? Well, he’s now dead even with tarzan squirrel. Resume action. The doctor is walking along, lost in thought, oblivious to his surroundings. I’m more interested because the squirrel’s now committed and I’m wondering how he’s gonna get out of the situation. In a split second I discovered squirrel reflexes are fast but they have their limits. The doc didn’t have a chance. One second he’s walking along, minding his own business. The next he’s smacked upside the head with a branchful of squirrel. I swear the rodent had hold of one of the poor guy’s nostrils as the branch swung back. It took me about .000001 seconds to process what I’d just witnessed and react. Another pedestrian was next to me and in unison we said, “Whoa. Dude!” The guy next to me said, “Did you see that?” I responded with, “Did that guy just get bitch slapped by a squirrel?” We then proceeded to laugh our asses off all the way to the parking deck while the doc kept looking over his shoulder at us. He was not amused. I keep replaying the event in my head -- in slow motion, complete with a high pitched tarzan yell.

The urban jungle … sinister … unpredictable … inhabited by kamikaze rodents.