| Sunday, April 23, 2006 |
| Punk Rock |
As we approach the building, excitement mounts. There are a ton of people here. Stepping into the back of an incredible line that snakes from the door, down the block, and around again, I feel momentary anxiety creep in.
Its brief.
Across the street sits the X96 'Incident Management' vehicle, and the Scion they are giving away. Radio promotions... I shake my head.
There are liberty spikes as far as the eye can see, conductor's caps, worn straw cowboy hats with skull and crossbones sitting on the front as a warning that the wearer below is poison... old worn tee-shirts from bands dating back to the seventies, others with product logos practically shouting 'twinkie, cheerio's, crush'. One young lady was sporting a six inch mowhawk, gauged ears, pierced nose, cheeks, eyebrows, tatsleeves, and a shirt with strawberry shortcake on it. Intresting conglomeration. I like the contradiction.
Oi! It's freezing!
People are bouncing on toes, breathing into hands, there's a group ahead playing hacky-sak and smoking cigarettes. Almost everyone is pierced, wearing black, jackets with patches held on by safety pins. These are the misbegotten youth, the misunderstood, the rebels with a cause.. These are the children that stand in protest against commercialism, bureaucracy, they fight for originality... and they all look so very much alike.
They seperate us, boys from girls-the men are patted down-remove their hats-the ladies empty pockets and grin sheepishly. Bouncers shine flashlights on tickets and ID's, shouting for the next person. Everyone wants to befriend the mammoth bouncer, his head shaved, ears gauged, a cold hard stare permanently etched on his face.
Inside it's warm, too warm. Bodies are practically piled one atop the other- already a phenomenal line to the restroom.
We present ID's, again, and are stamped on the hands with special seemingly invisible ink...
Next we're stopped at the entrance to an area fenced in from ceiling to floor, for the 'adult' crowd. The man shines a handheld blacklight at the skin of the back of my hand, then half usher, half pushes me through... I feel like a herded sheep.
After all this, I really just want a beer. There are just as many people pushing, shoving, piling up in front of the bar.. as there are people doing the same at the foot of the stage.
The first band comes on, the members acting crazy, kicking over microphone stands, strutting about angrily, breaking stuff, spitting water at the crowd, which consequently stand in mock boredom, not really listening, not really caring.
The band is thankful for the opportunity to play with such a reputable band.
Next on comes a band with a certain kind of prowess. They play vintage instruments, dress like the stepped right out of an advertisement or movie from the fifties. They have shaggy-emo haircuts, their flesh white in pallor. They make me think of 'Grease', the musical. The crowd is more reactive, the music better delivered.
There's an intermission of sorts. The soundmen break down instruments and reset the stage. There's a light check, sound check, microphone check... the security person in charge of banging drums, strumming guitars is doing it with proficiancy, as though he is the only person in the world professional enough, experienced enough, to perform such a duty. He is NOT expendable.
He smiles at the insults and shouts coming from the crowd, he very coolly flips us the bird. I am undually impressed.
A chant rises up. Everyone stomps their feet. A girl on the balcony spills her drink on the crowd below, too innebriated to care, she plants an open hand on the chest of the man closest to her, pushing him toward the bar.
The place is rumbling with anticipation. I half expect the walls to start caving in.
In darkness the musical masters step into position. Guitarists shoulder their instruments, the drummer is poised and ready. With swaggering confidence our rock superstar takes up his mike,"How's Salt Lake City tonight,"he gives momentary pause,"The kittens are out tonight, eh, Fellas?" tipping the bent brim of his cap, he winks, "Hey, kitten." The motion went to a skantily clad woman with blue hair perched on the shoulders of a great mass of muscle. She rewards the rockstar by lifting her shirt and showing her ample chest. For the second time tonight, I find myself shaking my head.
The music starts, a viscious circle of rabid men is monitored carefully by security. They kick and stomp one another, smashing bodies against each other, throwing fists and knocking elbows. Gutteral cries issue forth, they are even more frantic.
The people take up the chorus. They sing verse to verse, some trying to look uninterested. Others raise fists and shout. Many raise forefinger and pinky, bending their elbows they 'throw the horns'. I even see some tears in the crowd, kids that can't believe their hero is standing just before them.
A lady has mounted the table in front of us, girating she tries to catch his attention. She's in the darkest part of the club, against the chain link fence. A beer hurdles out of no where, hitting her shoulder. She turns toward its path to no avail, there's a sea of apathetic faces staring back. Humbled, she crawls from her perch.
The music is fast, hard, pulsing, alive. It's an intimate performance, the venue small. There are no big obnoxious lights, no stage theatrics. Just men beating drums, fingers picking at strings, one bent to the crowd- veins protruding at the neck, muscles tense, sweat dripping, face reddening. He crouches low, making himself small, then pouncing he bounds around showing us how much larger than life he can really be.
Its over too soon.
Everyone screams for an encore.
We chant his name, we chant the band name, people shout out names of songs yet to be played.
The star apologizes, its the pumpkin hour, city law prohibits a certain decibal at a certain hour. We are exceeding that.
He begins his descent, changes his mind, taking up his personal accoustic guitar that just happened to be set and ready for use at the foot of the stage. He entertains us for another five minutes.
We cheer profusely.
Nothing like a rebel.
We get it.
Point taken.
Can't wait for the next show.
Job well done.
We writhe involuntarily as the crowd shifts toward the door impatiently. For the second time tonight, I feel like a herded sheep. Outdoors I take a deep breath and enjoy my moment of nostalgia.
Can't wait for the next show. |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 11:02 AM  |
|
|
|
| Thursday, April 20, 2006 |
| Lonely |
I'm boiling yams, kneading dough to cut for biscuits, shucking peas, while I wait for the oven to heat.
He sits, watching and waiting - glancing o'er his shoulder, out the window, across at the clock, "Last time they took her it was four o' clock 'fore they ever got her home!"
Then he curls his fingers, rapping their knuckles against the table top. I push a curl out of my eyes, run a hand across my brow, "Yeah? She's been gone a little while," I agree.
Then blanching the yams, putting the biscuits into the hot oven, begin boiling water for the peas, I offer him a coke.
"Anything interesting in the paper?" I shout to his good ear.
"Some idiots stole some books from the Mormons," he disgustedly folds the paper and tosses it to his feet.
"No kidding?"
"Yeowp." he sighs.
"You know, last time they took her it was four o'clock 'fore she ever got home! Took her earlier to set her hair. Its ridiculous!" His face flushes.
"Didn't she want her hair done?" I ask, trying to keep it light.
"I don't care if she gets her hair done, I just hate that they do this to her. She's getting older. These parties all day wear her out!" He's at a fevered pitch.
I take the biscuits, steaming, from the oven. I put one on a plate, smothering it with butter and strawberry preserves I gently lay it at his elbow. "There ya are."
He nervously picks at it. He sniffs, fiddles with the arm of his glasses over his left ear.
"Yeowp," he says.
"Did you grow up here?" I ask. I know he's worried, but it's only been an hour since she left.
I wash my hands, peel and cut the yams.
He tells me about his childhood of growing up on the mountain. He elaborates about the time he rode his bicycle through a plate glass window, shows me the scar still white on his forearm. He says they took in a stray dog with a lead bullet in its side, said you could feel it through the animal's hyde. He said "Old Charlie", the horseman shot the dog because he hated strays. He said that dog was sooo smart. She'd wander three blocks down and sit outside the butchershop. He said the man always came out and gave her a soup bone. She'd saunter home with her proud new prize. He said the paperman hated her because she was "Fierce Protective" of her family, and would snarl and bark when he came around. He threw her a package of tainted meat one day. He continued soberly, "A man shoulda given that boy a punch in the mouth. But, my dad was a gentle sort, kind, naturally cheerful. He didn't have it in him to hurt a body."
He suddenly grows quiet. His eyes are trained toward the blossoms on the tree outdoors, but he's not looking at them. I don't disturb his silent reverie.
Instead I crumble brown sugar on the yams, covering them with marshmallows, stir the peas and turn the hamsteak.
He shifts, bright and awake,"I wonder why it takes a body three hours to see the doctor?" He complains, "Last time they took her, she wasn't back before four o'clock! She just can't take this kind of excitement anymore!" His knuckles rap the table top again.
I arrange his supper on a plate. The ham steak in thick slices, peas, candied yams, and steaming biscuit don't appeal.
"Make her a plate for the icebox," he says. As I obey, he continues, " make yourself a plate, too." He's never offered before, customarily I eat after they do, a cold lunch from home, but he's earnest. I can see he doesn't want to eat alone.
"Alright, thank you."
We talk about the weather and the war. We talk about happy times with the children in our lives, mine being sons, his being granddaughters. He recounts times he courted his wife, his eyes dewy. He misses her, feels the void she left behind. Though, she only just went to get her hair set, then off to see the doctor, she's been gone all day.. they have spent over sixty years together, it seems he realizes now how little time they have left. He grows impatient, sorrowful with each tick of the clock. I stay with him after supper's long gone, dishes washed and placed in their respective places. The food is stored in small containers in the icebox. We chat some. Four o'clock comes, then goes. I pray she's home soon. He carries on awhile about mining, then stops abruptly, asking where I'm from, where my kids are, then says, "Well dear, I've bent your ear long enough. You've had a very long day, worked hard today. I 'spect you have to go home and start all over again." He looks out the window,"Reckon I should let you to it. Haven't talked this much in years, my voice needs a rest."
I smile and rise, patting his arm, " She'll be back soon."
He smiles,"See you tomorrow, young lady." |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 8:28 PM |
|
|
|
|
| Dawn of a New Day |
It's the end of the day.
Her hands aren't busy,
Her mind reels..
She thinks of ways to fill them.
Her day to day scene is a constant whirlwind of action, when it ends its so abrupt.
Her head is always full of "things to do".
It seems her hands can't keep up...
Then comes the evening,
Her subjects laid to rest,
So sudden...
She's left with uncomfortable silence,
The feeling that something was left undone.
Quietly she bends- kneels-
She interlocks her fingers so tightly the knuckles are white with bloodloss.
She prays for forgiveness.
Strength for a new day.
Her mind clears,
the restless itch disappears,
She thanks the heavens for the relief and calm instilled,
For the wonderful blessing of knowing she has a whole new day.
So, softly she kisses her babes.
She lays her weary bones in the solitude of her mattress
Finally
Finally
Finally
Sleep...
Her dreams once held in childhood return.
She's able to frolick and play,
Bask in the sunlight,
Pick flowers for her mother.
She wakes with anticipation for This is her New Day. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 7:58 PM |
|
|
|
| Saturday, April 15, 2006 |
| Pervert. |
Went on a date tonight, with a boy I met on an online dating site. I'm really beginning to lose faith in the whole craze. I have yet to encounter one good experience from meeting boys online. Not ONE!
We were supposed to meet at seven, but I got off work at four and was just a few blocks from his place, so I called in the morning and asked if I could just come early. He was stoked, "Sure! yeah, come by, I'm really excited to see you."
Bullshit.
I get to his house at a quarter after, get lost on the way there, couldnt find his building, and was pretty frustrated when I finally did. I ring the bell with my heart in my throat. I baked him cookies at work, orange crisps, they were delicious. He answers covered from head to toe in grease.. he's not bad looking per se, has dark hair, nice eyes, but is absolutely skeletal. His features are sallow, his skin pale. I thrust the cookies at him as he compliments the way I look. "Hey thanx" was all I could muster. He invites me in and hugs me in exchange for the treats.
It was awkward.
He is apologetic from the onslaught, looking extremely nervous. I take a deep breath and decide to give it a chance. He was so wonderful in his emails. He says he has to get ready, he has been working on his truck all day. So, I make myself comfortable in his sparsely furnished living room. He disappears. I hear water running. I look round, two worn leather couches with tears in the cushions, an old recliner that I believe was white at some time, a small table that looks displaced, a television on the floor, the entertainment system standing empty, a queen sized bed still in plastic leaning against the kitchen island, a bicycle, grease all over the floor, fingerprints on both sides of the doors as though someone had just lifted them onto their hinges, its too quiet here. It smells like a garage. There are curtains made of some heavy fabric that are incredibly out of place. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The shower has stopped. He's coming.
All black.
The shirt is silk, the pants are pleated and dressy. He spiked his hair and put on cologne. He looked skeletal and pale before, this outfit enhances the affect.
Giving it a chance.
I ask what he would like to do... he isnt sure. He says he is flat broke, so maybe we could just kick back and watch movies.
Erm, sure, I guess.
We go to rent some, he offers his arm, so I take it. He's really tall, and bony. He guides me over to the movies and scans the titles. He takes my hand and we walk the store. He picks a couple and pays with a hundred dollar bill.
I'm thinking, 'what the ....?' He said he was flat broke. Hmmm..
On the way back he says he isnt hungry, though as we were leaving he said he was starving, so we just go back 'home'. He leads me to a back room.. his room, where (he says) the only functioning television is. There is a twin sized bed in one corner, a television on a dresser opposite, a tv table with a laptop on it, and two cats in the room.
He fidgets at first, lying on the bed with his head pointed in my direction. I'm sitting on the edge. 'Lets lay down sideways, might give us more room, be more comfortable.'
I (being a complete numbskull) agree.
So there we are, complete strangers, snuggled on a twin sized bed.
I'm fighting the nausea.
He throws his arm over me five minutes into the flick, grabs my boob with the excuse that he was groping for my hand.
Newsflash: MY HANDS ARE NOT ATTATCHED TO MY CHEST!
I gently remove his hand, sit up and hug my knees.
He apologizes, for the second time.
We commence watching the film. Next thing I know he's rubbing my leg, then flies in for a kiss. Whoa, buster! We havent even exchanged ten sentences, I'm not swapping spit.
'Your killin' me,' I exclaim. 'Not yet, sweetheart, that comes later,' he says... laughing, but looking quite serious.
Okay, enough is enough, I'm officially freaked out. I move to the end of the bed, trying to consider how to get out of this.
I am ushered out when the mister realizes I am not about to have sex with him. I wont even entertain the notion. He is unimpressed with my old fashioned principles.
So, I skip in the rain to my car and head to a coffee shop. My parents are watching my children.. and I dont want it to be in vain.
When I walk into the place its nearly empty. There's a sign saying to wait for seating... and I do. Ten minutes of watching the waitresses chatter with each other about the foul weather. Finally one comes across, 'are you being helped'... uhhh... no.... can I have a seat?
She places me in direct eye contact with an older man sitting by himself. He is facing north, I am facing east. . . His booth is positioned east/west. He keeps looking at me, so I pull out my writing notebook and busy myself. He shifts, I see the movement and look up.
Nothing like inadvertantly glancing at someone over a cup of coffee and glimpsing his package hanging out of his shorts. Ugh. I look away, totally disgusted. What the hell is UP today?
He is looking at me. He puts his legs under his table, thankfully. I continue to write. The waitress comes by and refills my cup, I thank her, add my cream and sugar and inadvertantly glance at the man again. He hurriedly puts a leg up on the booth, exposing himself again. Now I KNOW this is some sick perverted way to express his exhibitionism. I shake my head and look down, putting my notebook in my purse, I interlace my keys with the fingers of my right hand. My strong arm. I throw my money on the table, grip my pen like a knife and head out the door. He doesnt follow. There are waitresses on the walk smoking with their manager. I tell her that someone should politely inform the man that his stuff hangs outta his drawers when his leg is up on the booth. She laughs.
I give up. I just give up.
Todays Horoscope... this is hillarious:
Saturday, April 15, 2006 TAURUS: Love at first sight happens so rarely. You might be able to discern that the chemistry you have today with someone special is not exactly love. But it is close enough to love to be an emotional transformation.
Which perv could it be? |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 1:09 AM |
|
|
|
| Thursday, April 06, 2006 |
| Studies |
He sits at the table in quiet concentration,
His brow is furrowed.
He impatiently taps the eraser of his pencil on his notebook.
A frustrated sigh escapes through clenched teeth.
"I just don't KNOW!" he laments,
finally allowing his rage to explode from his little frame.
The poor kid.
He reads a bit, flipping back and forth from page to page.
I set a bottle of juice and a cookie next to his mess of papers.
"Take a break"
He sighs,
"I love you, Mom." |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 6:44 PM |
|
|
|
|
| Raindrops keep fallin' on my head |
"Boy that rain's comin'' down real hard, and the winds just a-blowin''! Its dancin'' a dance out there on the road... Well, everywhere, I guess," He says as I melt the bitter baker's chocolate.
The sun moves to the edge of the clouds-peaking about to watch the raindrops dance.
They glisten on the branches of trees, clinging to leaves and pink blossoms, ''til they grow heavy and can no longer hold.
Fall Fall Fall Wee Raindrop!
There's an oily rainbow on the asphalt, the air smells of sweet sage, clean, wet, desert.
There are construction workers bent under the storm.
Their yellow parkas shine with precipitation.
I bring them hot cocoa.
They're grateful.
I lean back, my own cup of guilty chocolate pleasure steaming in my hands.
I watch them work awhile, inhaling the scent of rain steaming off hot tar, engine grease, and earth.
When I feel I am properly soaked, chilled to the bone, I head back.
The cocoa long gone, the workers pre-occupied.
I smile to myself, singing aloud, "Raindrops keep fallin'' on my head!" |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 6:32 PM |
|
|
|
| Sunday, April 02, 2006 |
| Clean Laundry |
There is definately some unconcious connection between happy moments in childhood and the smell of clean laundry, but only if your wash is completed in your parent's washer and drier. It doesnt matter if you use the same soap as anywhere else, something is different. I like to spend the weekends at my parent's house. I always forget my pajama's and sleep in one of my father's broken in warm sets. My mother always has sugary cereal and a jar full of cookies for surprize guests. They are phenomenal, mom and dad.. they raised nine children, always managing to keep the cupboards full and the cheer invariably set in place within our home.
Mom was a nurse, followed in the footsteps of her mother. I wonder often if the art of healing is perpetually passed from mother to daughter in our family lineage. My grandmother was a wonderful healer, mom used to tell me stories of her mother going out to tend to the neighbors. My mother holds the same pedastal in my eyes. She has worked in every imaginable category of nursing, her whole life dedicated to healing. Even now she is a pillar of support. My sister Julie was the fortunate daughter that inherited mom's drive for helping ailing individuals. I thought at one point it was me. Mom used to tell me I had a real talent for observation, and I am working as a home health aide, but I havent anywhere near the talent that Julie has.
Dad is a mechanic, the best in my eyes. This man can fix anything. While searching for the man of my dreams, I looked for someone that was similar to my father, tall, energetic, quietly humorous, sense of adventure, large hands, warm smile, intimidating when he wants to be, with a knack for fixing things... never found him. At least I havent yet. I always joke that they broke the mold after dad was born... men just arent made with his old fashioned sense of family and work.
My mom and dad wanted thirteen kids. Their doctor made them stop after me, number nine. He feared another pregnancy might seriously damage my mother's health, or even kill her. They are both retired now, galavanting across the country in their RV. Mom has a quilting business that she and dad seldomly operate. Their basement is absolutely filled to the brim with sewing paraphanalia, material and the like.
They left this weekend, asking me to come feed the cat and the fish. My apartment is only nine miles away, but my sons and I stayed here anyway. I slept in my father's broken in pajamas, my sons wore his old t-shirts to bed. One of my best friends from childhood came over and we had coffee, watched movies, grew nostalgic. Home still feels like home, even when mom and dad arent in it. When I took my clothes from the drier this morning I was instantly reminded of the happiest times I shared with my family in this life, almost as quickly as the blink of an eye. I remembered everything at once, filling my heart with joy and I actually giggled out loud. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 11:08 AM |
|
|
|
| Saturday, April 01, 2006 |
| Astrology |
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Love at first sight happens so rarely. You might be able to discern that the chemistry you have today with someone special is not exactly love. But it is close enough to love to be an emotional transformation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just what I need. No, really, I mean that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TAURUS
Saturday, April 1, 2006
(Tomorrow)
Something chaotic has disrupted your plans. You need not face the present crisis alone today. Talking to a partner will be the best way to feel better about a situation. His or her objectivity about things is priceless.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Damn, I wish I had a partner. . . So far so good, no impending doom revealed as of yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TAURUS
Sunday, April 2, 2006
(Today)
Your luck is greatly improved today. Look to make a move in any relationship or love matter that has not been going your way. A friend or close relative has some key information.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ooooh! I love these ones!I cant WAIT for tomorrow... who's got the goods? Where's my key information.. do I have to wait?!?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TAURUS
Monday, April 3, 2006
(Today)
You will have an opportunity to take a short journey today. This could lead to many wonderful opportunities. Fate is your best friend tonight. Use a casual afternoon sojourn to prepare for a serious adventure.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
hmm.. just what I need.. a SERIOUS adventure
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 1:13 PM |
|
|
|
|
| That's My Boy |
In all seriousness he looked up from his work,
"Mom?"
"yes?"
"Do you know why deers dont have UNCLES?"
"Why dont deers have uncles, skiddies?"
"Because they have antlers."
He is bewildered because I am laughing uncontrollably. "I swear its TRUE!!"
Which inevitably brings more laughter, which in turn makes him sad. He bows his head and puffs out his lip.
"OI, Hey, I'm not laughing at you sweetie!" I reassure,"I thought you were telling me a joke."
Such an observant son I have. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 2:27 AM |
|
|
|
|
