Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Blackie and Pepper

DAY: Wednesday (but I keep thinking it’s Thursday)
WEATHER: Frickin’ cold still
ATTITUDE: Hmmmm….Pretty good, really
SITCOM IDEA: “Bushwhackers” A story about two lipstick lesbians who live in Alaska and guide people into the wilderness for a living. There would be the constant sex from the two hot gay girls, and an ever-changing range of visiting characters, all mingling with a quirky cast representing an eclectic gang of typical small, tourist-town Alaskans, trying to make their way through life, and love, and animal poop.
WISH FOR THE WEEK: I wish for all my mad manifesting skills to pay off, and for me to win the writing contests I’ve entered and also that I receive 23 million dollars in the year 2006 and that my life is wonderful, perfect, and totally fun.

I must first say hi to my friend Brett and wish him good travels and an easy move. He’s moving to Phoenix in a coupla days. Good luck, Brat.

And this leads me to something to talk about. (I knew I needed to write this, just didn’t know what to say…)

Today when I called Brett…Well, let’s talk about Brett and me, and friendship. This’ll make for a nice long blog.

When I moved to Idaho, I was six-years-old. I think I got there after school had started, because I don’t remember a summer there. Anyway, I don’t remember much. I remember being embarrassed in front of the class because I’d read the book “The Little Woman” for my book report, and in giving my report about the book, I pronounced ‘woman’ like ‘woo-man’. My teacher was an insane old lady with that disease that makes your head wobble back and forth so it looks like you’re always saying, “no”, and she exclaimed, “Woo-man?! Woo-man?!” shaking her head “no” furiously at me.

I remember Brett.

He was my first friend. Him and then my friend Troy, and then a dude with the unfortunate name of Jason Fokker (he lived a couple doors away from me).

But Brett was my first friend in Idaho.
We’re still friends.

We have that best friend vibe that spans all time and space and whatever we’re doing and wherever we are and whatever happens ever. It’s weird, because I thought that everyone should have at least one person like that in their life, and I find out that not many people really do. Not someone who’s known them since they were six, and can still pick up the phone and start talking like they just hung out, even though they actually haven’t talked other than through email in at least a year.

I feel sorry for those of you who don’t. It’s really fucking cool having known someone who’s not your relative for thirty years and remained total friends with them. It’s cool to know someone who has the same speech patterns as you, uses the same freaky slang you still use from your teenage life, and knows what you mean whatever you say.

Brett and I have been playing phone tag for the past couple of days, and today I went to call him.

I thought I’d play a funny on him and do a character for his machine. I was going to pretend to be this dude Chris that grew up with us, that was a total little douchebag that we always did not like. Chris was a spaz and a dork. He had this wimpy little cat named Blackie that he would pit against Brett’s cat for some weird reason. From the time we were like, nine years old, Chris would call Brett and say shit like, “Blackie could beat up Pepper.”
And Brett would go, “Whatever, Chris.”
“I’ll bet you that Blackie can beat up Pepper.”
“Shut up, Chris. I’m hangin’ up.”
“No. Really, I’ll bet he can. My cat can beat up yours. Blackie can kick Pepper’s ASS!!” and crazy shit like that.”
And Brett would shrug and say, “Okay, Chris.”
And Chris would bring his spazzy dork cat to Brett’s house. We’d put him in the backyard with Brett’s cat, Pepper, and let ‘em fight. Pepper always destroyed Blackie, and most times Blackie would jump the fence and run off.

Also, when we were kids, at the same time as the cat-fights were going on, we developed nicknames for each other, and ourselves. Brett’s nickname was Forge. There is a reason, but I won't say it here. Anyway, not too many years ago, Chris approached Brett—I think at a high school reunion and called him Forge—a name he’d dropped around the sixth grade.

So I was going to call and say, “Hey FORGE. My cat Blackie can kick your cat’s ass,” all lispy and dorky and spazzy, like Chris would.

But he answered.

So I said, “Hey FORGE,”
And he cut in and quickfired—“Hey Kas!” (because that was my nickname-it’s my initials) and then the crusher, “Hey HOLLYWOOD!”

I hadn’t thought of that little name of mine in years.

I grew up in a small town in Southern Idaho. A small, Mormon town. People there are very conservative, and very conformist, and very not flashy or cool.

Apparently I was too cool for them. (Okay, I was too flashy)
Because everyone spontaneously started calling me Hollywood when I was about 12 or 13. To this day I don’t know who started it, or why.

It wasn’t just the kids at school. It was them, but not only them. It was adults, too. And one time it was the lady behind the counter of the bowling alley where my friends and I went to play video games.

I walked in, and she said—all smarmy and sickly—“Hey, HOLLYWOOD…”
It was weird.
It wasn’t a nickname I really cared for or thought I deserved. And it was used a lot. Mostly by my friends, though, to be dicks.

Like Brett did today.

He totally fucked up my joke, and nailed my ass. Busted me out with the familiarity of someone who’s known me forever. It was great.

Then he laughed like he always does when he gets one up on me. The dink.

But, Brett used to worship Lush Rimjob, oh, I mean, Rush Limbaugh. He used to think he was so cool, and he’d turn up the radio, or TV and try and force me to listen to the fat man drone, and he’d tell me Rush ruled and other silly nonsense, and so now you all know how big of a dork Brett is for that. Ha ha ha!!

Good luck in Arizona, my friend.

And to all you six-year-olds out there reading my blog, STAY FRIENDS WITH YOUR BEST FRIENDS CUZ IT’S REALLY COOL WHEN YOU’RE OLDER!

Monday, December 12, 2005

Signs of Seasons

DAY: Monday
WEATHER: Cold. Witches and tits come to mind.
ATTITUDE: Fearless
WHAT WOULD ELVIS DO?: He’d rock and roll.
WISH FOR THE WEEK: I wish I lived in Washington

I’ve had an interesting life so far. I’ve done many things that not many people have. How many people can say they graffitied their names in a giant oil tank sixty feet underground? How many secret gardens have you built? Who else has played guitar to a snoozing moose, only to be interrupted by a prowling mountain lion? How many of you out there have been strolling along a mountain trail--bare, but for boots, and come face to face with a berry-eating black bear? Who else got their first tattoo from a homeless guy fresh out of prison for a bag of mushrooms?

Except for that last example, I’m sure not many others have done those things I’ve done. It’s been interesting. I’m sure it can only keep in that vein, though lately things have seemed a bit mundane. Not unfun, just kinda home and child oriented, with the only crazy things happening going on inside my head.

See, the thing is, Terri and I have been planning to move to Washington for years now. The truth is, I hate the Midwest. I know, there are a lot of great things about it, I’m sure all of you out there will tell me. But I haven’t found those great things to be so great for me.

I long for mountains, and serenity, and clean water. I want to breathe sunshine and rainwater. I want the West.

Now, you may not know this from reading my blog, or checking out my website, but I’m very reliant on signs. I follow the signs of the Natural World. I believe that my path is revealed to me before I walk it, and that as I walk, the nature of my journey is spelled out for me to see.

I want to move to the Pacific Northwest. Well, I want to move to Idaho, but Terri doesn’t, and we have to have a middle ground, and I love Washington only just slightly less than Idaho, and Terri likes it, and so that’s where we’re headed.

But lately there have been some crazy signs.
I feel like we may be moving there just in time to be in the middle of a volcanic eruption, or a tsunami, or just an earthquake. I mean, things seem volatile over there, and I keep seeing these shows on Discovery about impending disasters over there.

Our climate is changing. The Earth has been shaking a bit more lately than ever in my lifetime. There are several more active volcanoes. The ring of fire has been quite active. They were even worried about Mt. St. Helens not long ago.

The thing is, I still feel like going there.
And so does Terri.

Is this a stupid move?
Should we hang out here in Milwaukee, where I find it hard to breathe and freak-out tri-annually about the condition of society in this crazy place, and the polluted everything?

I don’t think we will.
Terri and I both believe in that there’s something big brewing. We are entangled in the mystery of the year 2012. We’re mystical, and metaphysical, and Indigo, and all that jazz. We listen to our inner-voices, we are guided by our higher-selves.

We think that if we’re going to move there, and the whole place is going to be swallowed by Nature, that perhaps that’s what mass-ascension is. We’re pretty sure we’re meant to go there, even if there are signs saying there may be danger ahead.

It should make for some interesting experiences, no matter what happens.

Not that I want there to be volcanoes, and quakes and walls of water 200 feet high. I’d love to go there, settle-in, and just live a normally interesting life, too. I’m just sayin’ that if some craziness occurs while I’m there, it’ll make for good stories to be told over the campfire. Or in blogs.

I guess I’m saying that it was my birthday a few days ago, and that I feel different, and that we’re making changes, and it seems to be a whole new life again. I think I’m just apprehensive about it all. The coming year holds promise, and I’m trying to be afraid of that.

I’ll keep you all up on what goes on. I hope it’ll be interesting.
Thanks for slogging through this with me.
Have great days filled with perfect change.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Sagittarian Soliloquy

DAY: Wednesday
WEATHER: Deep Freeze
ATTITUDE: Really good
CARTOON CHARACTER OTD: Spock from the animated Star Trek
WISH FOR THE WEEK: That snow was warm

Blog Humbug! Blog, blog, blog.

I’ve had thirty-seven calls about not writing a blog. Well, thirty-seven on my home phone. Sixty-three if you count the messages on my superhero phone, and my undercover secret society phone.

I’m busy, people. I have things to do.

I’m takin’ pictures of my bed head, and drawin’ stuff, and things like that. Plus there’s the whole, “getting abducted every month” thing that I’ve got going on. Damned Haggis.

I’ve been writing books. Workin’ on my store.
I’ve been playing with Zane and Caspian.

I’m always starting this blog with reasons why I haven’t written in it for so long. I do that because I have one friend who reads it. Thanks, Matt. So I figure I at least owe him an apology for the long gaps between when he gets to read about the ridiculous and mundane things in my life.

My birthday is in two days. I’ll be 35. Holy crap. I know I’m not the only one who’s gonna say this, or who has said it, but I can’t believe I’ve made it this long.

When I was 19 I figured I’d be dead in a few years. Same thing when I was 25. When I turned 30 I freaked out. Thirty is so adultish. It’s the goodbye year to your youth. 35 seems like it’s the goodbye year to my goodbye to youth years. I still can’t believe I’m tickin’. Gawd knows I’ve taken a lickin’.

Just the drugs I’ve consumed thus far in my life should have killed me. I mean, the chemical composition of them, not the fucked up stuff I did under their influence. If I were a cat, my lives would have run out long ago.

There have been several times where I’ve almost died where me being whacked out on drugs was not at all a factor. I would say that drugs were not a factor at all, but I’m certain some of the situations that almost killed me involved drugs in some way, so I can’t rule their roles out entirely.

Someone is always on drugs. Nearly every single person you see is strung out on something. Now remember, things like caffeine and nicotine are drugs. So are aspirin and other fever-reduction pain pills. So is carbon monoxide. And pesticides. Everything that has to be “prescribed by a doctor” is a drug. Chocolate is a drug. Chemtrails, which fall upon all of us, and are breathed-in constantly by most humans on Earth right now, have drugs in them. Some scientists say that love is a drug. So do some singers. And poets. I think I may have even said it sometime. Well, I said it right now, but under the pretext that other people were saying it. Someone said it before me, at any rate. Drugs influence our lives daily. They also influence a lot of deaths.

I learned that even if you’re strung out on coffee so much that your stomach acid is running down your leg, you can still fall asleep while you’re driving. I found out that you should not let people on crystal meth play with guns, or baby alligators, or automobiles. On that note, I also discovered that the human body can stay awake for 18 days straight. (some hallucinations and overall insanity may occur) I discovered that you can run down a mountain in the dark if you’ve eaten good enough acid.

My friends and I used to strap on headlamps, climb up a mountain, and run down it. RUN down it. I’m not talking about a nice, mellow grade with grass and flowers, here folks. I’m sayin’ we used to run down a mountainside. One with rocks, and holes, and trees, and stumps, logs, crevices, boulders, bushes, and all the other stuff you’d find on a mountain in Idaho. Yeah. You can run down mountains in the dark, jumping for twenty feet or so, and rolling back up to keep running. You can dive between tree limbs, bounce off boulders, and careen your way back to the fire without getting hurt. All while goggling out of your mind, (or into it, perhaps) on LSD.

You can take acid, drink rum, smoke pot, and then do too much coke and stay alive, too. You may turn blue at one point in the evening, and forget to keep your heart beating, but a friendly reminder from a junkie friend to “breathe, dude” should get things going again.

Oh, the things I’ve learned about accidentally surviving. Thirty-four years well spent learning those lessons.

I’m gaining some white hairs here and theres. It’s pretty nice, really. Not gray. Shockingly white. I’ve always known I’d have long white hair when I was an old man. I can see myself beginning that look now.

I’m by no means saying that I’m old. I plan on living a very, very long time. I feel great, still kiddish and everything. I’m in good shape, just found out that my lungs are happy and all. I don’t feel old. I’m not saying that.

Just that I’m an adult. And that I can see myself in the future more clearly than ever before. I like where I’m headed.

I quit drinking Coke. Those of you who know me will commence freaking out now.

For many years, all I’ve consumed as far as liquids go are Coke and Coffee. The 2 C’s. But that is all over now. Coke was killing my teeth. I quit. It’s been almost a month now. I drink water, and juice, coffee, and tea. And that’s it. Well, a peanut butter chocolate malt now and then…

My New Year’s Resolution has been stated more than a month early: I’M QUITTING SMOKING.

Those of you who know me and are already freaking out about me not drinking Coke anymore may now pee your pants and run to the phone to call me to make sure one of those crazy bullshit stories I’ve been telling about aliens and talking animals and stuff like that wasn’t actually true and I’ve been replaced by a Pod Person.

It’s true. I’m done with it.
It’s expensive, stinky, and not necessary.
It’s over.

I figure with not drinking soda (that’s pop for all my pals in Idaho), and not smoking, I’ll gain some weight. This is a good thing for me. So while that happens, I’ll probably have to workout so that it doesn’t turn to fat.

So as my 35th birthday approaches, I’m not looking at it as if I’m aging, really. I’m wizening. And I’m actually on my way to gaining more youth. I feel better already, dropping the bad Coke habit I had. (I drank a twelve pack a day)

I think 34 was the beginning of my life. A new life. Again.

And I guess that’s what I’m talking about today.

Rock on, my friendally friends.
Have good days.