Did you enjoy Memorial Day? Did you remember fallen soldiers? Did you partake in celebrations of the free life for which they presumably died? Or, are you like me and slept through most of it?
On the one paw, I didn't get invited to any barbecues. On the second hoof, it was pouring rain most of the day, so it's unlikely there were any barbecues to be invited to. On the third tentacle, what do barbecues have to do with memorials, anyway? Were the soldiers particularly big barbecue fans when they were alive?
I think my maternal grandfather fought in World War II. Or something close to it. Pretty sure it was the big one. I never really got to know the man. I was three or four when he died in civilian life. And even then, he was living some six thousand-plus miles (ten thousand-plus kilometers) away from where I was and still am. But I understand he was a fairly jolly soul with a sense of fun and smiles.
I never knew my other grandfather either. They both died during my early childhood. My paternal grandmother wasn't too far behind, done in by the effects of smoking circa her age 70, my age 7. I remember their half of a duplex in Skokie better than I remember them. A near-wall of plants overlooking the round, dark wooden table. Red carpet beneath the low coffee table in the living room, in turn beneath my grandmother's ashtray and game of solitaire — you know, with actual, physical playing cards. Dull beige couches and the old recliner. The black metal railing with swirly-cue bits. The rotary phone in the spare bedroom. Rust coming out of the bathtub faucet. The dark but tame basement, with its big freezer full of "goodies". Baby Linus and Lucy, wherever they feel like being. The memories fade, perhaps like the pictures that I'm sure we have somewhere. If not here, then certainly at my aunt's house, in which basement the low coffee table remains. Along with other relics.
Edit, an hour and change later: I'm told that, in fact, both my grandfathers were World War II soldiers. Fitting. Yes!
My mother's mother remains. Unfortunately, she does so in Israel, as I say, a continent and a half plus a major ocean away. Our communication is limited more or less to annual "snail-mail" cards (she doesn't do computers), and, every few times out of her weekly phone calls, I'll attempt a conversation via that medium. I tend to have nothing much to say, and she can barely hear my deep voice over the phone anyway.
A couple months ago, one of my cousin's friends whom I met at her wedding and subsequently befriended on the 'Book, playfully out of the blue listed me as his grandson. Joke's on him; I accept. Yay, I have a living grandfather! He's in California.... but still closer than Netanya!
Showing posts with label Lucy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lucy. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Linus
Three days from now, the twenty-second of December, 2012, marks the four-year anniversary of the death of Linus the cat, as well as the two-year anniversary of the death of my younger aunt. I wrote a big thing about Lucy, Linus's sister, after she died. I wrote a big thing about Cookie, my father's sister, about half a year before she finally took her one-way trip into the tie-dye dimension. But I never wrote a big thing about Linus, even though his life did end during this blog's lifetime; I only wrote a tiny thing. I feel like he deserves more.
Linus was, quite simply, the ideal pet. About his only quality that could be considered a drawback was that, like Loki before him, he was diabetic and required insulin shots on a rigid twelve-hour basis. But that wasn't a big deal. He didn't feel anything in the scrunched-up back between the shoulders (cats are like that), he got a treat after each shot, and he was happy. So beautifully happy.
He loved attention. He loved being petted. He loved a good, soft belly rub. His size, condition, texture, and easy personality made him the ultimate snuggle-bunny. He was, in essence, a living pillow. Not too clingy; very laid-back. He had a good life, and he knew it. He loved everything....except the dogs. (And perhaps Loki.) He and Lucy had to take refuge in the basement any time the dogs visited, and that was nearly any time I visited. The dogs have never gone to the basement. I always did. I knew where the really good quadrupeds were.
Sometimes in the morning, while the dogs were still locked away in the bedroom upstairs with my folks, Linus would be out on the dining room table, just relaxing. I'd bring the newspaper in, set it down in its plastic sleeve next to him — he loved licking plastic for some reason — pull out the chair a bit, sit down, snuggle him, bury my head in him, and stay there until someone else had gotten up and come downstairs — usually my cousin, who would see us and just sort of spiritually melt.
Linus was the only pet in our family that I could really do that with. The other pets were either too small (the yorkie, or Lucy), too reclusive (Abby), too grouchy (Loki), or just not really designed for snuggling (the pointy-eared schnauzer). Loki slept with me once, and watched Saturday morning cartoons with me, but he wasn't much keen on fully snuggling. About the closest approximation to Linus I've had, and still have, is Dinah the second schnauzer, who is basically the canine version of Linus. Same general temperament, good bit of size, nice soft texture. Yet, as much as I enjoy snuggling her, I've never really succeeded in burying my head in her and just leaving it there for a sizable time, the way I did with Linus. She's just not built that way.
I miss Linus so much. In this crazy world with religious nuts, gun nuts, sex nuts, money nuts, war, poverty, diseases, natural catastrophes, artificial catastrophes, and all other brands of madness raping our senses, I feel an ever-growing need to find something or someone snuggly and appreciative, bury my head in them, and just leave it there for a while. For brief windows in time, I had such a creature, and I will be forever grateful for that and for him.
Rest in love, precious pumpkin.
P.S. Now and then I run my cursor over his tummy in this picture and imagine his purrs. (Click to enlarge.)
Linus was, quite simply, the ideal pet. About his only quality that could be considered a drawback was that, like Loki before him, he was diabetic and required insulin shots on a rigid twelve-hour basis. But that wasn't a big deal. He didn't feel anything in the scrunched-up back between the shoulders (cats are like that), he got a treat after each shot, and he was happy. So beautifully happy.
He loved attention. He loved being petted. He loved a good, soft belly rub. His size, condition, texture, and easy personality made him the ultimate snuggle-bunny. He was, in essence, a living pillow. Not too clingy; very laid-back. He had a good life, and he knew it. He loved everything....except the dogs. (And perhaps Loki.) He and Lucy had to take refuge in the basement any time the dogs visited, and that was nearly any time I visited. The dogs have never gone to the basement. I always did. I knew where the really good quadrupeds were.
Sometimes in the morning, while the dogs were still locked away in the bedroom upstairs with my folks, Linus would be out on the dining room table, just relaxing. I'd bring the newspaper in, set it down in its plastic sleeve next to him — he loved licking plastic for some reason — pull out the chair a bit, sit down, snuggle him, bury my head in him, and stay there until someone else had gotten up and come downstairs — usually my cousin, who would see us and just sort of spiritually melt.
Linus was the only pet in our family that I could really do that with. The other pets were either too small (the yorkie, or Lucy), too reclusive (Abby), too grouchy (Loki), or just not really designed for snuggling (the pointy-eared schnauzer). Loki slept with me once, and watched Saturday morning cartoons with me, but he wasn't much keen on fully snuggling. About the closest approximation to Linus I've had, and still have, is Dinah the second schnauzer, who is basically the canine version of Linus. Same general temperament, good bit of size, nice soft texture. Yet, as much as I enjoy snuggling her, I've never really succeeded in burying my head in her and just leaving it there for a sizable time, the way I did with Linus. She's just not built that way.
I miss Linus so much. In this crazy world with religious nuts, gun nuts, sex nuts, money nuts, war, poverty, diseases, natural catastrophes, artificial catastrophes, and all other brands of madness raping our senses, I feel an ever-growing need to find something or someone snuggly and appreciative, bury my head in them, and just leave it there for a while. For brief windows in time, I had such a creature, and I will be forever grateful for that and for him.
Rest in love, precious pumpkin.
P.S. Now and then I run my cursor over his tummy in this picture and imagine his purrs. (Click to enlarge.)
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Lucy — 1993 - 2010
“Laughing and crying ... it’s the same release.”
—Joni Mitchell, “People’s Parties” (from Court & Spark)
“Even when you look for [weirdness], you’re never prepared for it.”
—Hobbes the tiger
What a long, strange trip it’s been.
I had been remarking of late that I hardly saw family anymore. It seemed like everyone was either sick, hundreds of miles away, or flown from this mortal plane. I needed to see people. I needed to feel love and life. And what better time to see people than the weekend of my twenty-fourth birthday. My cousin was in town, and we would get to see a couple of lesser-known-to-me relatives in Arlington Heights, as well as a couple of long-time-unseen family friends. And that’s not to leave out some family quadrupeds — Dinah and Stella from downstate, Tazzy and K.C. in the suburbs.........and Lucy.
We talked; we laughed; we smiled; we ate; we caught the end of a rare Cubs victory; all was good.
It’s always abrupt.
I neither heard the cry nor saw the break. For a little while, we all thought everything was fine and all was clear for the consumption of Princess Torte. Then we decided we should check on her.
A forearm should not bend like that when she walks.
The emergency vet’s diagnosis and our resulting decision thwacked me like a one-two punch. How the heck could she get stuck in a chair she should know so well? Had she really been that sick this last week?
It was a bizarre and surreal moment when she came in for the last time, wrapped in a towel with an IV through a bandage on her other leg. She clearly wanted to drift to sleep as we snuggled and admired her one last time. Curiously, she had not shown signs of being in pain since the original cry. I remained fixed on her.
This was more than a house pet; this was the lone representative of my whole conscious life to this moment.
Lucy was adopted as a kitten by my grandmother Lila in 1993, as was her twin brother, Linus. I was in second grade at the time. When Lila died the following year, my uncle Jim took up the young felines. For a few years in the middle, Jim had his own place in the suburbs, and so that’s where Linus and Lucy went. The rest of the time, everyone stayed with Lori......and Loki and Abby.
Lucy tended to take a back seat to the other cats. Loki was the alpha, and he and Abby ruled the upstairs. Of the two “Van Pelts,” Linus, being bigger and more sociable, got the lion’s share of, well, most things. This may explain the distaste that Lucy expressed toward the other cats. But I gave Lucy as much attention as I gave anyone. She was primarily Jim’s cat; anyone else had to specifically look for her if they wanted to see her.
I couldn’t resist that eternally youthful kitten face. She didn’t seem to think me too shabby myself. She was the most enthusiastic of the four about claiming me as hers. The more enthusiastic the rubs and snuggles, the better, I say.
I kind of figured she would outlast all the others — the others being two diabetic big boys and a lady some three-and-a-half years her elder. By the time Jim died, Loki and Abby, the kittens of 89, had also gone, granting the “Van Pelts” the whole house. Lucy’s behavior changed from that point: she became more social, stopped hissing at her brother, and, for some reason, stopped grooming herself. I didn’t think to call her a “Rastafurrian” at the time; I just thought of it now. Anyway, I spent a few hours over time attempting to comb some of the mats out of her fur. She was quite resistant to that the first few times, but I believe she came to realize that it was a “necessary evil,” and so I could get away with it while she napped.
Lucy changed her behavior still when Linus departed. The spotlight was all hers now, and she claimed it calmly, quietly, and gracefully, although one person whose bedroom she now shared would beg to differ about the “quietly” part. She’d get a bit bossy after a while, and, out of the blue, she’d pick up some of Linus’s old tricks. Also, for no apparent reason, she would soak the underside of her face in her water (a long time habit of Dinah the dog, from whose schnauzer beard water drips all over the floor).
That cat had brains. She and I could communicate, and I swear she figured out how to open the basement door.
For about seventeen years out of my twenty-four, Lucy remained, a consistent sweetheart and an anchor to the best of my days.
As we drove back home, just after midnight, I could momentarily see, between the tears, a full (?) moon masked by lightly hazy clouds. I think there was one small lightning fork beneath it as we came down McCormick. I don’t know if it means anything, but it seems somehow poetic.
Lucy changed her behavior with each close death. Now, with Lucy’s passing, perhaps it’s my turn to change behavior just a bit.
Lucy, exact date unknown, 1993 – June 28, 2010.
Rest in peace, my Angel.
(This is my final photograph of Lucy, taken on May 31, 2010.)
—Joni Mitchell, “People’s Parties” (from Court & Spark)
“Even when you look for [weirdness], you’re never prepared for it.”
—Hobbes the tiger
What a long, strange trip it’s been.
I had been remarking of late that I hardly saw family anymore. It seemed like everyone was either sick, hundreds of miles away, or flown from this mortal plane. I needed to see people. I needed to feel love and life. And what better time to see people than the weekend of my twenty-fourth birthday. My cousin was in town, and we would get to see a couple of lesser-known-to-me relatives in Arlington Heights, as well as a couple of long-time-unseen family friends. And that’s not to leave out some family quadrupeds — Dinah and Stella from downstate, Tazzy and K.C. in the suburbs.........and Lucy.
We talked; we laughed; we smiled; we ate; we caught the end of a rare Cubs victory; all was good.
It’s always abrupt.
I neither heard the cry nor saw the break. For a little while, we all thought everything was fine and all was clear for the consumption of Princess Torte. Then we decided we should check on her.
A forearm should not bend like that when she walks.
The emergency vet’s diagnosis and our resulting decision thwacked me like a one-two punch. How the heck could she get stuck in a chair she should know so well? Had she really been that sick this last week?
It was a bizarre and surreal moment when she came in for the last time, wrapped in a towel with an IV through a bandage on her other leg. She clearly wanted to drift to sleep as we snuggled and admired her one last time. Curiously, she had not shown signs of being in pain since the original cry. I remained fixed on her.
This was more than a house pet; this was the lone representative of my whole conscious life to this moment.
Lucy was adopted as a kitten by my grandmother Lila in 1993, as was her twin brother, Linus. I was in second grade at the time. When Lila died the following year, my uncle Jim took up the young felines. For a few years in the middle, Jim had his own place in the suburbs, and so that’s where Linus and Lucy went. The rest of the time, everyone stayed with Lori......and Loki and Abby.
Lucy tended to take a back seat to the other cats. Loki was the alpha, and he and Abby ruled the upstairs. Of the two “Van Pelts,” Linus, being bigger and more sociable, got the lion’s share of, well, most things. This may explain the distaste that Lucy expressed toward the other cats. But I gave Lucy as much attention as I gave anyone. She was primarily Jim’s cat; anyone else had to specifically look for her if they wanted to see her.
I couldn’t resist that eternally youthful kitten face. She didn’t seem to think me too shabby myself. She was the most enthusiastic of the four about claiming me as hers. The more enthusiastic the rubs and snuggles, the better, I say.
I kind of figured she would outlast all the others — the others being two diabetic big boys and a lady some three-and-a-half years her elder. By the time Jim died, Loki and Abby, the kittens of 89, had also gone, granting the “Van Pelts” the whole house. Lucy’s behavior changed from that point: she became more social, stopped hissing at her brother, and, for some reason, stopped grooming herself. I didn’t think to call her a “Rastafurrian” at the time; I just thought of it now. Anyway, I spent a few hours over time attempting to comb some of the mats out of her fur. She was quite resistant to that the first few times, but I believe she came to realize that it was a “necessary evil,” and so I could get away with it while she napped.
Lucy changed her behavior still when Linus departed. The spotlight was all hers now, and she claimed it calmly, quietly, and gracefully, although one person whose bedroom she now shared would beg to differ about the “quietly” part. She’d get a bit bossy after a while, and, out of the blue, she’d pick up some of Linus’s old tricks. Also, for no apparent reason, she would soak the underside of her face in her water (a long time habit of Dinah the dog, from whose schnauzer beard water drips all over the floor).
That cat had brains. She and I could communicate, and I swear she figured out how to open the basement door.
For about seventeen years out of my twenty-four, Lucy remained, a consistent sweetheart and an anchor to the best of my days.
As we drove back home, just after midnight, I could momentarily see, between the tears, a full (?) moon masked by lightly hazy clouds. I think there was one small lightning fork beneath it as we came down McCormick. I don’t know if it means anything, but it seems somehow poetic.
Lucy changed her behavior with each close death. Now, with Lucy’s passing, perhaps it’s my turn to change behavior just a bit.
Lucy, exact date unknown, 1993 – June 28, 2010.
Rest in peace, my Angel.
(This is my final photograph of Lucy, taken on May 31, 2010.)
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Advertising Round-up (Cinco de Mayo 2010 installment)
I love poking fingers at advertising. It's a nice, reliable target, and I figure any debate that may emerge will be nicely light-hearted and not blow up in a hideous ball of flame. So here I go.......
.....Starting with the Progressive Insurance saleslady. She's annoying. Please, someone make her go away. Fakely (is that a word?) perky salespeople are annoying and, as far as I know, virtually nonexistent in real life. Why would anybody who sells insurance (the very idea of which makes at least one portion of my brain blow up in a hideous ball of flame, but that's my problem) be that perky?
Another highly annoying trend in ads is that of things seeming as though they really ought to be funny.......you guessed it.....but aren't. That brings me to the Dairy Queen "lips" icon. I think I've mentioned that character on here before, but I never really explained why. Lips, if you're out there......you're not funny. Either stop trying or go away. Arby's Oven Mitt and the lady from T-Mobile both seem to have disappeared from our televisions, and I haven't missed either of them. They had the same problem.
One more major irritant to me is any use of the phrase "ooh-la-la" in an advertisement. As soon as I hear that, I make it a point to not buy that product.
And the big one that really seems to be in full swing these days: using words naturally exclusive to one part of speech (noun, verb, etc.) as a different one. I don't know if I ever actually noticed it that much before recently, when I first saw billboards for Droid (whatever exactly Droid is) over Chicago that read "A bare-knuckled bucket of does." When I first saw that, I was confused. I interpreted it for a moment as pronounced "a bare-knuckled bucket of d'ohs." I thought "Uhh...okay. What am I going to do with a bunch of female deer? Lucy doesn't get along with other quadrupeds that well. She hissed at her own brother for years." Then I got closer to the thing and saw at the bottom, in smaller print, "...In a world of doesn't." Suddenly, it all became clear: certain marketing people must be destroyed. I've noticed the phenomenon many times since then. I think Chex Mix is now calling themselves "a bag of interesting." In fact, one of the most recent ads out there features the promoter actually catching itself using "bacon" as a verb. Ironically, it was the Dairy Queen "lips" icon........
....Anyway, I happened to recall an old Calvin & Hobbes strip while I was thinking about that. I go along with Hobbes. Leave it to the cat to be the voice of reason.
All right. Um.....another one I just remembered: the occasional tag line describing something as "being the new (other thing)." That may have been clever once, but now it's just cliché. And confusing at that.
How should one advertise, you ask? Simple. Follow the example of Empire Today carpeting. Describe what you're selling in an easy voice....not shouting. Car dealers, I'm lookin' at you. Then, at the end, have a nice, simple, catchy jingle. Empire's been using the same jingle, recording and all, for I don't know how long. It's gotta be at least from the Sixties. I can tell you this: I don't know if I'll ever actually use Empire's services, but, by golly, I know their phone number by heart, thanks to their jingle.
On radio, meanwhile.........yeah, I still sometimes turn the radio on when my mp3 player's battery runs out or the Cubs game is on.......I understand they once would run programming alternating between one song and one commercial, rather than a handful of songs followed by seemingly interminable commercials. I wouldn't mind bringing that back. Or radio ads could be in the form of nicely crafted songs. I got a few vintage Coke ads by popular bands from back in the day, such as the Who, the Box Tops, the Blues Magoos, and so on. They're probably on YouTube somewhere. But a nicely crafted original song is good. The Kars for Kids song, on the other hand, is one of the most revolting sounds I've ever heard. I change the station as soon as that keyboard plays.
And that can be my ending note for this rambling: kids' singing is not pleasant. Keep that stuff on your own digital cameras, Facebook accounts or whatever. I don't care if he's dead; if Michael and the Jackson Five pop up on my radio, I change the station. If the kid writes their own songs, bleeding angst and oozing creativity, preferably with a psychedelic touch, then maybe I'll consider them. And, while I'm at it, that Just For Men ad with the little girls giving that stuff to their father is just creepy.
Right. Well, I'm off to dinner. I want my baby back baby back baby back baby back ribs. And maybe a Tommy James record.
Actually, no I'm not. I just remembered one more annoying trend in advertising: using re-recorded versions of classic songs in the ad, especially if the lyrics are altered to suit the product. I don't know if there's a connection between the Chili's jingle and "Draggin' the Line", but I haven't seen the Applebee's ads with the bastardized oldies for a while now, and I'm perfectly okay with that. (Although it was pretty laughable when Kentucky Fried Chicken was using "Sweet Home Alabama" for their ads.)
Okay, now I'm done.
(All company names are trademarked in the names of themselves. Blah blah blah.)
Edit, a few days later: I was just reminded of a groovy commercial character earlier when I saw one of the ads: the Miller High Life delivery (or, more frequently, revocation) guy. Go get them rich business @$$#*£&$!
.....Starting with the Progressive Insurance saleslady. She's annoying. Please, someone make her go away. Fakely (is that a word?) perky salespeople are annoying and, as far as I know, virtually nonexistent in real life. Why would anybody who sells insurance (the very idea of which makes at least one portion of my brain blow up in a hideous ball of flame, but that's my problem) be that perky?
Another highly annoying trend in ads is that of things seeming as though they really ought to be funny.......you guessed it.....but aren't. That brings me to the Dairy Queen "lips" icon. I think I've mentioned that character on here before, but I never really explained why. Lips, if you're out there......you're not funny. Either stop trying or go away. Arby's Oven Mitt and the lady from T-Mobile both seem to have disappeared from our televisions, and I haven't missed either of them. They had the same problem.
One more major irritant to me is any use of the phrase "ooh-la-la" in an advertisement. As soon as I hear that, I make it a point to not buy that product.
And the big one that really seems to be in full swing these days: using words naturally exclusive to one part of speech (noun, verb, etc.) as a different one. I don't know if I ever actually noticed it that much before recently, when I first saw billboards for Droid (whatever exactly Droid is) over Chicago that read "A bare-knuckled bucket of does." When I first saw that, I was confused. I interpreted it for a moment as pronounced "a bare-knuckled bucket of d'ohs." I thought "Uhh...okay. What am I going to do with a bunch of female deer? Lucy doesn't get along with other quadrupeds that well. She hissed at her own brother for years." Then I got closer to the thing and saw at the bottom, in smaller print, "...In a world of doesn't." Suddenly, it all became clear: certain marketing people must be destroyed. I've noticed the phenomenon many times since then. I think Chex Mix is now calling themselves "a bag of interesting." In fact, one of the most recent ads out there features the promoter actually catching itself using "bacon" as a verb. Ironically, it was the Dairy Queen "lips" icon........
....Anyway, I happened to recall an old Calvin & Hobbes strip while I was thinking about that. I go along with Hobbes. Leave it to the cat to be the voice of reason.
All right. Um.....another one I just remembered: the occasional tag line describing something as "being the new (other thing)." That may have been clever once, but now it's just cliché. And confusing at that.
How should one advertise, you ask? Simple. Follow the example of Empire Today carpeting. Describe what you're selling in an easy voice....not shouting. Car dealers, I'm lookin' at you. Then, at the end, have a nice, simple, catchy jingle. Empire's been using the same jingle, recording and all, for I don't know how long. It's gotta be at least from the Sixties. I can tell you this: I don't know if I'll ever actually use Empire's services, but, by golly, I know their phone number by heart, thanks to their jingle.
On radio, meanwhile.........yeah, I still sometimes turn the radio on when my mp3 player's battery runs out or the Cubs game is on.......I understand they once would run programming alternating between one song and one commercial, rather than a handful of songs followed by seemingly interminable commercials. I wouldn't mind bringing that back. Or radio ads could be in the form of nicely crafted songs. I got a few vintage Coke ads by popular bands from back in the day, such as the Who, the Box Tops, the Blues Magoos, and so on. They're probably on YouTube somewhere. But a nicely crafted original song is good. The Kars for Kids song, on the other hand, is one of the most revolting sounds I've ever heard. I change the station as soon as that keyboard plays.
And that can be my ending note for this rambling: kids' singing is not pleasant. Keep that stuff on your own digital cameras, Facebook accounts or whatever. I don't care if he's dead; if Michael and the Jackson Five pop up on my radio, I change the station. If the kid writes their own songs, bleeding angst and oozing creativity, preferably with a psychedelic touch, then maybe I'll consider them. And, while I'm at it, that Just For Men ad with the little girls giving that stuff to their father is just creepy.
Right. Well, I'm off to dinner. I want my baby back baby back baby back baby back ribs. And maybe a Tommy James record.
Actually, no I'm not. I just remembered one more annoying trend in advertising: using re-recorded versions of classic songs in the ad, especially if the lyrics are altered to suit the product. I don't know if there's a connection between the Chili's jingle and "Draggin' the Line", but I haven't seen the Applebee's ads with the bastardized oldies for a while now, and I'm perfectly okay with that. (Although it was pretty laughable when Kentucky Fried Chicken was using "Sweet Home Alabama" for their ads.)
Okay, now I'm done.
(All company names are trademarked in the names of themselves. Blah blah blah.)
Edit, a few days later: I was just reminded of a groovy commercial character earlier when I saw one of the ads: the Miller High Life delivery (or, more frequently, revocation) guy. Go get them rich business @$$#*£&$!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Dreams from Chicago
The lecture hall had been terminally conquered by severly disturbed, numerous, and narcissistic vandals. All over every wall, every step, every table side, there were repulsive, creepy photographs of strange people.....alien life forms, as far as I was concerned. How about the floor? Could there be a safe escape route down there somewhere? I was about halfway down when I was suddenly greeted by a bright, black, shiny diamond in a cave of coal. She was beautiful—an adorable little nose and the most perfect pair of eyes, eyes that screamed sanity and reason. We greeted each other with open paws, and she raised a paw and cast aside the scary apparitions.
Crowded tables. What the hell were all those kids doing at a meeting like this? I bid a not unkind farewell to my mother's coworker, hopped in the old red car that died two years ago, and plopped onto my bed, which was resplendent in its big blue blanket and adjacent to the old bookshelf which featured books with curiously colored spines.....books that, oddly enough, I don't remember either buying or inheriting.
Wait a minute.....I thought I was in Chicago. What am I doing back in my bed already? Is Spring Break over? I haven't even seen Lily, gone to Margie's Candies, or gotten the new Pretty Things "Phillipe Debarge" CD. Okay, I know time flies, but not at the speed of Zeppelin. I'm bloody well in Chicago, and I'm going to get that CD.
I could feel myself slipping on something. It felt like my bed.........well, it felt like a bed. Maybe I was slipping through a wormhole back to my hometown. Any moment now, I should see the morning light shining through the little window with the brown curtains around it.
Ah, much better. Morning light......the sound of someone showering.....that's more like it. Come to think of it, it sounds and looks like both of the showers are running. I thought there were only two of us. Is someone downstairs? I hear noises that suggest it. Is something happening here? Am I missing something?
No. Nothing is happening. I know this because the morning light is once again shining through the little window with the brown curtains around it. Only this time, it is real. Or at least as close to real as anything else I could perceive. The sounds of water had subsided, and now the only sound that remained was a faint thing that sounded like a cross between a child learning to speak and......and......someone.......singing. You know who that is......
Crowded tables. What the hell were all those kids doing at a meeting like this? I bid a not unkind farewell to my mother's coworker, hopped in the old red car that died two years ago, and plopped onto my bed, which was resplendent in its big blue blanket and adjacent to the old bookshelf which featured books with curiously colored spines.....books that, oddly enough, I don't remember either buying or inheriting.
Wait a minute.....I thought I was in Chicago. What am I doing back in my bed already? Is Spring Break over? I haven't even seen Lily, gone to Margie's Candies, or gotten the new Pretty Things "Phillipe Debarge" CD. Okay, I know time flies, but not at the speed of Zeppelin. I'm bloody well in Chicago, and I'm going to get that CD.
I could feel myself slipping on something. It felt like my bed.........well, it felt like a bed. Maybe I was slipping through a wormhole back to my hometown. Any moment now, I should see the morning light shining through the little window with the brown curtains around it.
Ah, much better. Morning light......the sound of someone showering.....that's more like it. Come to think of it, it sounds and looks like both of the showers are running. I thought there were only two of us. Is someone downstairs? I hear noises that suggest it. Is something happening here? Am I missing something?
No. Nothing is happening. I know this because the morning light is once again shining through the little window with the brown curtains around it. Only this time, it is real. Or at least as close to real as anything else I could perceive. The sounds of water had subsided, and now the only sound that remained was a faint thing that sounded like a cross between a child learning to speak and......and......someone.......singing. You know who that is......
Thursday, February 26, 2009
As Humane as is Deemed Sanitary
One of my mother's friends wanted to go to the "humane society" (an interesting name, I think, for a place that houses forgotten pets) to look at dogs after his own dog suddenly died last week. I tagged along with him and my mother, and, of course, I went to visit the cats while my mother and her friend went in the back to the dog section (which, I discovered later, has its own, um, "scent"; I suppose that would be inevitable....). They have a couple of sections where we can basically go in and freely mingle with the four or five cats that are in each of the two sections. While I was in one of the "cuddle rooms," I just sat for a moment and gazed at one particular cat who was on the window sill, staring out at the dreary, rainy-day plains with bare trees. I couldn't help but wonder what someone in his (I think it was a "he") position might have been thinking, stuck in a room like that, looking out at a grey sky and a sort of brown-and-yellow ground (Cats probably don't know from "brown" and "yellow," do they...?). Is this the best of all possible worlds? Is there something nice and worthwhile beyond these walls? It reminded me so much of me.....
.....But they were all nice cats there, although a few of them slept through my entire time there. I'm not the sort of person to disturb sleeping cats, although some younger people who patronize the Humane Society apparently are..... Anyway, one black cat cuddled up in my lap for a little while, and shortly thereafter, a much younger cat, about seven months old, I think, who sort of resembled Lily (picture link) but with more black, eagerly grabbed my fingers and gently teethed on them. She was quite adorable.
I could go on and on about cats.......
.....I'll just say that Lucy fails to have a problem with me smelling like other cats.
.....But they were all nice cats there, although a few of them slept through my entire time there. I'm not the sort of person to disturb sleeping cats, although some younger people who patronize the Humane Society apparently are..... Anyway, one black cat cuddled up in my lap for a little while, and shortly thereafter, a much younger cat, about seven months old, I think, who sort of resembled Lily (picture link) but with more black, eagerly grabbed my fingers and gently teethed on them. She was quite adorable.
I could go on and on about cats.......
.....I'll just say that Lucy fails to have a problem with me smelling like other cats.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
(original date posted unknown) A Disclaimer That I Thought Was a Good Idea
I would like to point something out to some of the "outsiders" (you know who you are) that I've directed to this blog. It's this:
While much of this blog is based in a typical "Okay, like, this is my life" manner, much of this blog is also based in a cyber-music-revolution, wherein cool, thinking people realize what's going on with the record industries and stand up to them like the proper, upright citizens they are. Any music that you may find on or through this blog is posted with the intent of (a) expressing myself when I'm too lazy or pressed for time to make an original recording, and (b) turning people on to obscure but far-out artists. In particular reference to the latter, it is quite recommended that if you dig things you hear here, you should seek out the real thing and support the artists. Please. Hopefully there is a good way to do this.
Oh, and one other disclaimer: Lucy (the cat), to my knowledge, does not have chronic or recurring headaches. She's perfectly fine, although she does require the occasional combing...otherwise she sort of mutates into the mythical Greek beast Hiddeus who's half cat and half your great-aunt's living room rug. According to Greek legend, Hiddeus spent most of her life in a secret (or "hidden," hence the origin of that word) cave in Mount Olympus and only surfaced when the scent of Greek tuna salad reached her. It is speculated that Odysseus found this cave one day, long after the Trojan war. He had gotten bored one day and decided to spend some time on Mount Olympus. He was never heard from again. Centuries later, archaeologists came across a cave in Mount Olympus with a mysterious skeleton inside, at almost the exact same time as which a British woman named Geraldine Rumsbury reported that her brown "Welcome" mat with the flower design had somehow been replaced with a rather unsightly grey shag and would whoever did this please give her her brown mat back (no one has yet responded to this request).
Anyway, enjoy the blog.
Peace.............
While much of this blog is based in a typical "Okay, like, this is my life" manner, much of this blog is also based in a cyber-music-revolution, wherein cool, thinking people realize what's going on with the record industries and stand up to them like the proper, upright citizens they are. Any music that you may find on or through this blog is posted with the intent of (a) expressing myself when I'm too lazy or pressed for time to make an original recording, and (b) turning people on to obscure but far-out artists. In particular reference to the latter, it is quite recommended that if you dig things you hear here, you should seek out the real thing and support the artists. Please. Hopefully there is a good way to do this.
Oh, and one other disclaimer: Lucy (the cat), to my knowledge, does not have chronic or recurring headaches. She's perfectly fine, although she does require the occasional combing...otherwise she sort of mutates into the mythical Greek beast Hiddeus who's half cat and half your great-aunt's living room rug. According to Greek legend, Hiddeus spent most of her life in a secret (or "hidden," hence the origin of that word) cave in Mount Olympus and only surfaced when the scent of Greek tuna salad reached her. It is speculated that Odysseus found this cave one day, long after the Trojan war. He had gotten bored one day and decided to spend some time on Mount Olympus. He was never heard from again. Centuries later, archaeologists came across a cave in Mount Olympus with a mysterious skeleton inside, at almost the exact same time as which a British woman named Geraldine Rumsbury reported that her brown "Welcome" mat with the flower design had somehow been replaced with a rather unsightly grey shag and would whoever did this please give her her brown mat back (no one has yet responded to this request).
Anyway, enjoy the blog.
Peace.............
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Welcome
Ha ha, I have a bit of a tendency to fidget when I'm on camera, so when my hands are below the shot, it kind of makes it look like I'm up to something I shouldn't be. Hee hee. I assure you that everything happening in this video is G-rated. I think.
Questions? Complaints? Requests? Hints and allegations? E-mail me here or here, follow me here, or Facebook me here.
This blog is dedicated to Lucy, whom I thank for seventeen years of pleasure, and to Loki, Abby, and Linus for their contributions to memories as far back as my own memory goes.
Peace............
Questions? Complaints? Requests? Hints and allegations? E-mail me here or here, follow me here, or Facebook me here.
This blog is dedicated to Lucy, whom I thank for seventeen years of pleasure, and to Loki, Abby, and Linus for their contributions to memories as far back as my own memory goes.
Peace............
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
How I recorded my "It's PSYCH" song
Someone asked for this to be posted here, so here it is, copied and pasted from its original location on It's PSYCH (with a few minor edits):
Whew! Here we go......
First step: Jam a bit on the guitar. Eventually, I hear something that sounds like a song.
It often helps a bit if I play with the settings on this crazy little device:
It's capable of creating a great many different sounds. The "Vox Phaser" setting shown in the photograph is the one I used for the main backbone of this song.
The RP300 also has a few different drum beats built in. I use one of those in the recording. The "percussion" is the first thing I lay down in the song. It usually requires a lot of tedious editing. Yecch. It also sounds a tad 80s-ish, but it was nicely muted in the final song, I think. I'm not that big on mainstream 80s percussion. I'd get a drum kit, but (a) I don't know if I could hook one up to the computer...I doubt it, and (b) the people with whom I live would have none of it.
Next stop: the amplifier. Sometimes, I will hook up the guitar directly to the amp and bypass the RP300. That's how I got the slightly fuzzy "lead" guitar sound.
I hook the amp up to the computer via a standard-to-mini adapter from the amp's "headphone" output to the computer's Line-in jack.
For the love of whomever you revere, make sure the volume on the amp isn't too high; this is a powerful amp I have; you don't want to blow out the speakers on the computer! I put the volume level on the amp at just over one (max is ten).
Separately, I also have a depressingly cheap microphone plugged into the "mic in" jack on the computer. My voice isn't very strong; I'd like a higher quality mike, but, you know, Bush economy, man; you do what you can.
Lucy, I'm trying to talk to people here. I'll give you fresh water in a bit.
From this point, the magic basically takes place in Audacity, a completely free, cross-platform audio editor available at audacity.sourceforge.net .
Here is where I record everything (separately, of course) to the computer. It's also where I can change things from stereo to mono or vice-versa. I went with mono on this one. I also increase the bass, add echo effects to my voice (they seemed to fit the song), adjust volume levels as necessary, do various bits of cutting and pasting, and, of course, do insane amounts of overdubbing.
There are a great number of tricks you can pull off with this piece of software. I thought about putting in a backwards guitar somewhere, but I decided it didn't really sound right with the song. The straight fuzztone lead was enough. I did a few takes on the guitar solo before finally leaving it as it is. I'm not exactly Leo Kottke or Jimmy Page........
How I come up with the lyrics....well....I wish I knew. There are some things I just know I want to include in the lyrics, like the "White Bike" reference in the first verse, and the "Babelfish clouds" in the third verse. Outside of that...I just work at it until it sounds right. I will admit that writing lyrics helps me explore the language a little bit. The Reverse Dictionary sounds like a great idea...I frequently have a concept in mind and would like to know a word that fits it...but I've used it a few times, and I don't think it works very well. It is a "beta version," though...at least according to the front page.
****
That's all I got for now. Questions? Comments? Random ramblings? Coherent conversation? Something in between? Etc.
Peace............
All right, Lucy, I'm coming.
Whew! Here we go......
First step: Jam a bit on the guitar. Eventually, I hear something that sounds like a song.
It often helps a bit if I play with the settings on this crazy little device:
It's capable of creating a great many different sounds. The "Vox Phaser" setting shown in the photograph is the one I used for the main backbone of this song.
The RP300 also has a few different drum beats built in. I use one of those in the recording. The "percussion" is the first thing I lay down in the song. It usually requires a lot of tedious editing. Yecch. It also sounds a tad 80s-ish, but it was nicely muted in the final song, I think. I'm not that big on mainstream 80s percussion. I'd get a drum kit, but (a) I don't know if I could hook one up to the computer...I doubt it, and (b) the people with whom I live would have none of it.
Next stop: the amplifier. Sometimes, I will hook up the guitar directly to the amp and bypass the RP300. That's how I got the slightly fuzzy "lead" guitar sound.
I hook the amp up to the computer via a standard-to-mini adapter from the amp's "headphone" output to the computer's Line-in jack.
For the love of whomever you revere, make sure the volume on the amp isn't too high; this is a powerful amp I have; you don't want to blow out the speakers on the computer! I put the volume level on the amp at just over one (max is ten).
Separately, I also have a depressingly cheap microphone plugged into the "mic in" jack on the computer. My voice isn't very strong; I'd like a higher quality mike, but, you know, Bush economy, man; you do what you can.
Lucy, I'm trying to talk to people here. I'll give you fresh water in a bit.
From this point, the magic basically takes place in Audacity, a completely free, cross-platform audio editor available at audacity.sourceforge.net .
Here is where I record everything (separately, of course) to the computer. It's also where I can change things from stereo to mono or vice-versa. I went with mono on this one. I also increase the bass, add echo effects to my voice (they seemed to fit the song), adjust volume levels as necessary, do various bits of cutting and pasting, and, of course, do insane amounts of overdubbing.
There are a great number of tricks you can pull off with this piece of software. I thought about putting in a backwards guitar somewhere, but I decided it didn't really sound right with the song. The straight fuzztone lead was enough. I did a few takes on the guitar solo before finally leaving it as it is. I'm not exactly Leo Kottke or Jimmy Page........
How I come up with the lyrics....well....I wish I knew. There are some things I just know I want to include in the lyrics, like the "White Bike" reference in the first verse, and the "Babelfish clouds" in the third verse. Outside of that...I just work at it until it sounds right. I will admit that writing lyrics helps me explore the language a little bit. The Reverse Dictionary sounds like a great idea...I frequently have a concept in mind and would like to know a word that fits it...but I've used it a few times, and I don't think it works very well. It is a "beta version," though...at least according to the front page.
****
That's all I got for now. Questions? Comments? Random ramblings? Coherent conversation? Something in between? Etc.
Peace............
All right, Lucy, I'm coming.
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