Lost And Found

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An excellent series of tubes!

This Today

For me, May was a quiet month. But around me, things moved.

B's romantic journey cross-country has changed shape. K's journey out of country may help her shape-shift as well. Shan's too, I'd wager. Tans has a new home, and new work to give. Trevs finished his Chapter 11. My book did a dipsy-doodle on me. Rich Wilkins passed away. Sebastian Roberts was born.

In the wake of it all, I'm left feeling kind of raw, more emotional than I've been since...well, since last May - when I was the one in flux. At times like these, I don't have the right words. Thankfully, when words fail, there are sounds.

So here's a song that grew out of last month and came to its close at the beginning of this one. It's been a year since I smashed some musical notes together. About time, I say.

And to be honest, it doesn't look like the world's gonna stand still outside me anytime soon. Change is coming. Change is here. Change is eternal.

To This Day

True Romance

Get this.

An extraordinary ex of mine is throwing all caution to the wind, uprooting from her current reality, and beginning a trek cross-country to reunite with the one true love she's carried a torch for nigh on 15 years (and right through our four-year relationship, which of course complicated matters back then). Turns out the intended soulmate has finally admitted to carrying a torch himself, so the timing is perfect.

I think this is the most romantic thing I've ever seen in the real world and I wish them both the best of luck. B's a practicing chaos magician herself, so she knows exactly what she's doing. See you guys in Montreal this summer, on the other side.

Hands Like

Happy Valentine's, y'all.

For lack of anything current to say on the topics of love and romance, here's an old poem I wrote for a gal who dumped me a decade ago, but was just here a few days past - for a short but enjoyable visit in very snowy, very cold Cowtown:

she has hands like spiders
only not so fast and nasty
instead they move like water ebbs
connecting dots on me

she has hands oh spindly thin
long fingernails sometimes
double-joint piano hands
poised over keys of me

her hands sheathed in sweat back then
first holding mine so anxious
but now quite dry and jaded still
with no warmth left for me

these hands are mine own alone
raw cracked and brittle skin
clutch at spider thin piano hands
a fading memory

P.S. The four examples of chip music in the sidebar under Songs, I wrote for her as well - some 14 years back from now:

Plunge
Upended
Kerslamm!
Plunge (Extended Mix)

Head Like A Hat

Howdy, pardners.

Where'd we leaver off, now?

Oh, yessum.

Big Nose Barney done gone sittin' inna desert.

He be sittin' dere longertime, but not so long as ye'd notice. 'Less ye were lookin'.

Only one person lookin', mind. Ain't no person, neither.

It be Barney's horse.

Now, mosta da time, dat horse done cropper sand - no grass bein' round fer tha munchin'. And sand suit it jest fine. So it keepa onner croppin', waitin' onner Barney's command, if it ever goan come. But Barney jest sit, all quiet-like, makin' noner sound t'all.

Inner dat simple equine head a' it's, dat dere horse ponder a spell or two on why they sittin' dere doin' nuthin. Dere were a quest, weren't it? Lookin' fer some perty blonder lady wit da greener eyes, who be lookin' fer a Magic Cactus. Or lookin' fer some meaner feller wit tha fancy car could drive 'em all ta tha Cactus, he wantin' it too, all fierce-like. Dat maker tha horse mad, seein' as it coulda clomper alla way ta tha Cactus right good, no car needed and thankee ver' much. But no matter. Never happened.

Nuthin' happen.

Ye might be wond'rin why in tarnation I sayin' all dese things ta ye, and rightly so. It be a sadder lil' scene, Barney sittin' dere thinkin' onner sumpin', tha horse waitin' on 'is master, and nuthin' much worth sayin' t'all. Not sure why I'm even tellin' ye.

And tha horse? Jest puzzlin' on this here sitcheration done makin' him header hurt. Keep on croppin' grass, him mind say ta him. 'Cept it weren't grass, a'course. It were sand.

But I tell ye that already.

"Horse," sayer Barney, finerly.

This be the first thing he say in sommer weeks, I gotta letter ye know. Coulda even be months at the rate dat dere horse almost crop a hole through ter China in tha desert sands.

But by golly, them horse ears went up, and that horse done raise him ole cross-eyes to sorta stare at hisser master. Truth be told, he be lookin' mostly to the left. But still.

Barney took 'imself a longertime respondin'. And when 'e did, this is what 'e say:

"Good ole Elbows McGee. He hadda song. I'ma gonner sing it."

At this, dem horse ears perk up ta tha sky! Dat horse done lover it sommer singin'.

"Ye 'member Elbows, horse. He done player tha spoons, and tha squeezebox too."

Tha horse din't unnerstand a word Barney's sayin', but he nod jest the same. If a song comin', he woulder nod 'til his header faller off.

So by n' by, asser night turner inta day and backer agin, they start ta singin'. Now, Elbows McGee done gone known for hisser epic poem-like singerlongs. But 'cuz I know how y'all modern folk be likin' tha faster stuff, I'ma cutter here ta tha best parts n'all.

Here'sa whatter they sang:

When yer lookin' far n' wide
Don' ferget yerself at home
No matter what longer tracks ye ride
And distant lands ye gonna roam
There be a hat ye oughter keeper on
Tha one ye wore when ye were born
It be tha nekkid hat o' yer own skin
From yer mommy daddy shorn
Sommertimes ye wanna doff it
Th'only hat ye truly own
Put onna diff'rent hair n'all
Wear it cut 'r combed 'r blown
But unnerneath, dere ain't no changin'
What ye always shoulder known
Dat hat be yer own head, boy
And it be comin' where yer goan

Yer head be like a hat, yessirree, yessirree
Yer head be like a hat, it done be, it done be
Yer head be like a hat, whinny whinny, whinny whinny
Yer head be yer own hat, take it ferm me, ferm me

Now, a hat issa important thang
Don' unnerestimate its wearin'
It canna keep tha hurtin' sun
Outter your eyes when it be glarin'
Or holder back tha force a' nature
When tha heavens they be sharin'
Them thunderstorms 'n snowy flakes
Could setter back a traveler farin'
Fer a spot half near 'cross the world
Or back home where skies be clearin'
Ta tip brims at fetchin' lassies
Hide yer eyes if ye ain't darin'
It be a gift up dere on toppa ye!
Ain't no heavy load fer bearin'
Yer head be yer best friend, boy
Time'a fer it ye start carin'

Yer head be like a hat, it be true, so true
Yer head be like a hat, made jest fer you, 'n you!
Yer head be like a hat, keep it brand new, like new
Yer head be yer own hat, not a shoe, nope, no shoe

So yer crop died on ye right fast
Ye're tha pity o' tha town
Or yer lady take her leave o' ye
While in dat weddin' gown
Mebbe some'un stole yer pigs
Or yer cow o' great renown
Mayhap nasty kid'uns
Wreck dat field dat ye be plowin'.
But feller, best take heart fer
What ye ain't lost this time 'round
Cuz God give it ta ye first
Ye keep it 'til yer in tha ground
It sure done look tha best on ye
This be what I always found
Jest keep wearin' dat dang hat, boy
It aim ta never let ye down

Yer head be like a hat, wit' a face, yer face
Yer head be like a hat, yer saving grace, oh grace
Yer head be like a hat, it set the pace, decent pace
Yer head be yer own hat, keep it in place, a special place

Oh, they gone singer inter many a'night, Barney croonin' hisser best and tha horse done whinnyin' along like he know how. Before a fortnight past, they be sittin' right next ta each other, roastin' them'a hotter dogs and marshermallers jest like usual. And sharin' themmer potater chips, salt n' vinegar, commer mornin'.

It be a jamboree fer 'membrin.

And then, pardners, at longer last, they done stop wit' dere singin'. Barney git all quiet agin, but not fer a longertime, thisser time. Finerly, he stander up and sayer ta him faithful compan'un:

"Me Agnes ain't me Agnes no more. Never were."

Tha horse put hisser equine mind ta makin' sommer sense'a that. Thinkin' mebbe this here Agnes were dat perty blonder lady wit' tha greener eyes? Yea, mebbe.

"Dat El Grapos may not liker me nose, but he ain't gonner find tha Magic Cactus neither. I jest know it."

'N this were dat meaner feller wit' tha car instead'a fine horse ta serve 'im well. Yea.

"I done lost me hat fer a bit."

Tha horse looker 'round some - not ver' well, mind ye - and din't see none hat. Not even on Barney's noggin, and if 'e found tha dang thang, weren't it be upper there? Gee.

"But that be over now," Barney say. And: "Let's goan home."

Ahh, n'more myst'ries. Horse unnerstand dat one jest fine.

So he leaver off his'a croppin', put hisser mind to a'clomperin', and feelin' better fer tha first time inna longertime, he walker 'longside hisser master.

Alla way home.

The Truth

Whaddaya know, it's raining!

So that's why Kevin and I aren't out riding.

Well, not really.

1) I haven't put the fixed tire back on my bike yet.

2) I am still sooooooooo tired and I don't know why.

3) Kevin went drinking instead. Hard choice, I know.

So Radiohead plays (new soundtrack?); chicken noodle soup settles in my stomach; Neil and I consider which golf course to make fools of ourselves on this weekend.

In Portugal, Dave pretends to be on vacation while swinging business deals.

T-MINUS A FEW DAYS TO MONTREAL for Clem and Lisa.

Doug is home cleaning out The Sauna.

Thanks to Bill for checking in.

Phong will climb to the saddle this weekend, but likely without me.

Take 'er away, boys:

Drying up in conversation
You will be the one who cannot talk
All your insides fall to pieces
You just sit there wishing you could still make love
They're the ones who'll hate you
When you think you've got the world all sussed out
They're the ones who'll spit at you
You will be the one screaming out

It's the best thing that you've ever had
The best thing that you've ever, ever had
It's the best thing that you've ever had
The best thing you've had has gone away.

They Lie

So you're walking into work and it's the usual: try to figure out stuff that can't be figured, try to solve unsolvable problems.

You skipped your meds for a day and had the most vivid dreams. Something about Jeopardy (which you can't watch anymore) and one competitor is this jackass who refuses to look forward at the game screens and so demands Alex Trebek stand in a row beside the contestants. This throws everybody off and he wins the game - also because he's loud and rude and answers every question. Somehow you're on the set as they're taping this episode, but you keep to yourself, avoiding the cameras (though they catch you a few times - you're wearing a baseball cap to hide your eyebrows). Later, you help teenagers move lumber off-stage. Then you're flying around a stockyard, pretty high, trying to slow down enough to land without killing yourself. And your mother is there and she thinks together you can swindle the world. Just fly home.

Or something.

There was an earlier one where you could swear you were crying in your sleep and for a moment you understood your parents' entire relationship, every year of it, though your Dad leaves her so soon because your junk is taking over each room of the house and there's no space for whatever it is he needs space for. He knocks it all over and gets in a crummy old Camaro and drives off in winter, leaving her with you kids. Now your stuff is buried in snowdrifts along the dirt road, everything you used to care about - teddy bears and love letters and awards you won in track and field, charm bracelets too. It's all frozen over, and muddy, and people are walking and driving on it. You want your Dad to come barreling back down this road in that stupid Camaro and have a car crash right in front of you. That would be better than this.

She's sitting in her 70s suede jacket, playing guitar in the corner, telling you that you're good kids and it wasn't your fault.

None of it was your fault.

Today.

You're sick of talking to yourself because you're not such a good listener. The clouds are bunched and bubbled like airborne grey matter (yeah, like somebody's brain - how's that?) but they're only threatening and their bark is way worse than their bite. Ain't no rain coming. Just flirting with you like always, sunny day/grey day. Wishing something would happen. Wishing it would all fall out.

It stays in.

Pretty

Well, it didn't take long for this to happen.

Not sure what the kids are calling them these days.

Mashup? Tom Petty vs Radiohead?

I call it a minimix: Damaged Fake Plastic Love

Petty

The new Tom Petty is beautiful. I just listened to it three times in a row and can't say I won't do another before bed.

I've always loved Petty's distinctive voice and killer hooks, but what I'm enamored with this time out are his lyrics. So many elegant turns of phrase on this LP, puns and punchlines with just enough ring of truth to avoid cliche, simple statements that speak right to my core and sting tears outta me. But don't think it's a bummer. Every track is shower-singable, air-guitarable - pure pop.

Following is a sample of what you can hear Tom sing on Highway Companion, an album that, true to its name, is made for the long road - for driving hard away from your pain, returning home to excavate what's left of you, then turning that damn car around and heading back to the front lines to keep on fighting. Amen.

From "Saving Grace":

I'm passing sleeping cities
Fading by degrees
Not believing all I see to be so

I'm flying over backyards
Country homes and ranches
Watching life between the branches below

And it's hard to say
Who you are these days
But you run on anyway
Don't you baby?

From "Higher Ground":

Had to find some higher ground
Had some fear to get around
You can say what you don't know
Later on won't work no more

Square one, my slate is clear
Rest your head on me, my dear
It took a world of trouble, took a world of tears
It took a long time to get back here

Tried so hard to stand alone
Struggled to see past my nose
Always had more dogs than bones
I could never wear those clothes

It's a dark victory
You won and you are so lost
Told us you were satisfied, but it never came across

From "Flirting With Time":

A flash of light reminded me of you
This could well be your last stand
Hold the sunlight in your hand
Spread your fingers, feel the sand fall through
I've done all I can do, now it's up to you

You're flirting with time baby
Flirting with time, but maybe
Time baby, is catching up with you

You cried out and no one came to you
I've done all I can do, now it's up to you

Should be more to learn from this
Can't say I know what it is
No difference 'tween a hit or miss, it's true
I've done all I can do, now it's up to you

From "Jack":

You say what you want to Jack, I'm gonna get my baby back
Trouble came right away, now you say she's gone to stay
Cough it up, hit the street, left without a word to me
Oh oh, you don't know, how that girl could touch my soul

You say what you want to Jack, I'm gonna get my baby back

Suddenly you know my name, say there's only me to blame
It's gonna rain, it's gonna shine, gotta stay between the lines
Rolling down a lonely road, you say I should let it go
Wish you would come on down, if you need I'll come around

If you give me half a chance, I will make her sing and dance
I'm gonna give her all my soul, I'm gonna play her rock 'n roll

From "Damaged By Love":

She don't care about time
Time gets in her way
Fades into the wind
Days roll into days

She's got nothing to hide
And she hides it so well
Keeps broken dreams
To fix up and sell

Damaged by love
So young, and damaged by love

Eyes down at my door
And she holds out her hand
I love you so deep
But you can't understand

From "This Old Town":

Living free is gaining on me
Can't keep ahead of my dreams
My relief turned out a thief
Smooth as rocks in the stream

From "The Golden Rose":

Wish I was back in her arms again
Wish I was holding her tight
Wish I was back in her arms again
Safe from the night

She stood on the shore and she waved to me:
"Come back home"
Many a night I would think of her
All alone

And my favorite, from "Ankle Deep":

Took all winter...to get through the summer.

Dear Agnes

Dear Agnes,

It must be hot out there in that desert. I hope ye cin find shade from time to time. And may all yer oasises be real water, to drink deep from and mebbe swim in too.

The homestead be mighty empty without yer soul to fill 'er up. And ever'day I miss ye, from the minnit I open m'eyes to the minnit I cin close 'em - and that always take a while, what wit' all the tossin' and turnin' and wondr'in ever'night.

In the mornin' ye was always better at hearin' the rooster when he start to crowin', and after slappin' that feller once or twice to shut 'im up mebbe 'nother five ticks of the clock, ye'd always 'member to call 'cross to me and lemmerme know that the day were startin', Barney.

But sommertimes I wake before then and jest watch ye sleepin', fer ye look so peaceful and loverly such, and the sound of yer breathin' were a comfort ta me.

Agnes, I done miss yer breathin'. Yer snorin' too. And the way ye mash yer face inter the piller lyin' on yer belly. I bin takin' ta that way'a restin' m'self. Maker me think'a ye and not hurt so much.

And Agnes, I dinna mind the grumpies that usual afflick ya when the day first break. It were 'dorable, in its way, 'specially if I happen' inta the bafferroom when ye still be fixin' yer hair and 'plyin' yer girlie paint make your skin and lips and eyes and fingers and toes look so purty.

'Member that time we put some'a that foot paint on me own clompers? Hee hee hee what a giggle and it took almost f'rever fer the shiny sparklies ta come off. Might even still be there, lemmerme check...

Nope. Nuthin'. Maker me sad, it do.

Used ta maker us laugh.

Agnes, I done miss yer laughin'. Ye be the perfeck mix'a serious lady and nutty goofer, jest like me on the inside. We should be goofin' right now even, by heck.

Durin' any day we'd send each other a telegraph or two, and ye'd always come ta me if there were sumpin' stickin' in yer craw and makin' ye need to talk 'er out. Sommertimes it jest be a simple hello, or a "where did ye go?" and I like that last one most 'cause it maker me feel treasur'd.

Come twilight, me an' the horse would trot our way home and find such a fine meal bein' ready fer the eatin'. Or mebbe I'd beat yer chuckwagon there and make one m'self fer us both. Either way's a damn sight better than what pass fer grub now, 'cause ain't no sweet Agnes to make 'er fer, and Barney ain't got no motorvation to treat 'imself the way 'e treat 'er.

So it follow I done miss yer cookin', Agnes. Ye're a genius wit' it ta be sure, always inventin'. And I miss yer clumsy fumblin' round the kitchen too. I know it hurt muchly when ye burn yer hand on the cookstove, and I sure hope that bad'un welt ye done inflick yerself wit' be good n' gone, but I also lover the fack it happen at all. I know it be loony, but it done warm me heart how ye klutz it up so.

I dang miss seein' ye pull on the woolen gloves to washer the plates affer we eat, but more'n that I miss washin' em fer ye. I cin do it on me own jest fine, but havin' ye there to 'precierate what I done gone done, feel so much nicer all 'round.

And never mind settin' and unsettin' no table now. It jest dunna happen. Ye was the one could do that fer us, and wit' the artistic flair any time. All that flair ye done brought ta the homestead, it ain't my specialty, though I done haver the time'a me life pickin' things fer the 'stead wit' ye, chairs n' pictures n' shelves and lil' knicker-knackers that ye be perfeck at choosin' to fill alla the space n'all.

Speakin'a fillin', there ain't even no voices or laffter ta deckerate the home none, no talkin' or sillifyin' ta make the night a good'un and taker 'way the tenshun a' the day. I be goin' ta me workshop ta fill me hours with whatever lil' project I cin dream up fer the moment, and that be fine and all, but it ain't enuf, nosirree.

And when it come time fer puttin' head ter piller, gee whiz. I done stay 'wake fer too many ticks'a the clock, flippin' ta that side, switchin' ta this one, and never settlin' down satisfied. Good grief, Agnes, when ye was here, one whiff of yer hair and I were happy as cin be, ready ta fall ta slumber straight away knowin' ye was right beside me slumberin' too. It ain't jest me heart that misses that, it be me whole body. And I won't even get inter the other ways me body misses ye, but landsakes that be a struggle indeed.

The way ye shift yer feet before fallin' ta sleep. I miss it. And I miss ye tellin' me ta stop bangin' mine 'round. I miss ye askin' fer me ta rubber yer back and neck and loosen knots in yer feet also. Gosh it seems I miss yer feet a lot. And blowin' on yer belly like a horse done flapper him lips sommertimes, only on ye it tickle and make ye laugh up a storm sumpin' fierce.

Many a night ye'd drew yerself a bath and light up some'a candles in the warm dark, and by golly I miss that bad. One time ye even draw me one and I feel like the luckiest feller in the town. See, I dunna know how ta do that stuff fer meself, Agnes. I'm'a not ver'good at relaxin' and takin' the downtime, as they say. Ye was best at helpin' me 'chieve them needs.

Ye was also best at workin' 'longside me, and I 'longside you. We was a dang strong team, whither pickin' frocks and chaps fer the comin' season or puttin' together tables wit' seventeen million parts n'all. I knew ye was me partner in crime when we first maker a picture frame and it go down like porridge flowin' smooth.

I canna even 'magine what it be like come'a year end and winter solstice if I canna have ye to stroll 'long main street wit' and collect up some deckerations fer a holiday cactus and hangin' 'dem matchin' stockins' we done picked out sep'rate but exack same 'cause that how we both like ta thinkin' things shoulda look. Fer the love'a Pete it done sadden me ta the bone.

I bin tryin' ta hiderway them nice photergraphs taken of ye n' me when we first meet at the weddin' (ye got the spirally poofy dress I so care for, and them loopy lacy shoes), but dunna matter if I stick 'em in a drawer or put 'em upside down, my mind eye be full'a ye all the time, in alla dresses and shoes and blouses and britches and sommertimes less. Tell the truth, lotter times less, but what cin a man do when his lady done pack up and make fer the desert all by 'erself?

And that be the thing, Agnes. Ye said ye need to do 'er alone, and I bin respeckin' that request best I cin, but lissen: it dunna haver ta be that way. I know what it's like ta walk the desert. I cin even face the Mega-Nega. If ye'd jest be able ta share yer journey and lemmerme in ta help, I'da be right there wit' ye, right 'longside ye where I dang belong.

Ye done prove ye're a tough lady. We all know it. Ye done prove yer head be hard as a stone too. But sommertimes ye need help, Agnes. Sommertings canna be done by one person 'lone. I know it, lady, 'cause I were the same. I were all tough for many a year, and I were dang sure there were only one way I could win. I hadda do it all m'self, 'cause a man should be able ta, right? Nope. What a man should be able ta do is ask fer help when he needs.

Ladies too. Ladies gotter see there's no shame in it, no guilt neither. The truth is, ever'one'a us need some'a help and we dunna get it by shuttin' usselves off from the things that spook us or might hurt some. We hafta face 'em, like I hadda face the Nega. But 'member, first time I face that beastie, I only beat 'im 'cause I had the help'a some special folk done give two hoots and more 'bout me. Soon as I open me arms and ask fer the help, that's when it start gettin' better. And best.

It be true.

I done look all over that dang desert fer a Magic Cactus that would giver me the power ta saver m'self. But I finally realize I weren't s'posed ta saver m'self at all. And that Cactus? It weren't out there. It were right back at home.

That Magic Cactus, I found, be other folk.

Agnes, there be one such folk right here writin' this letter ta ye, who lover ye ver'much and got least two hand ta lend.

'Til ye let me, I gotta keeper my vigil, lonerly as it be, and hoper fer the best. 'Cause I dunna know what else ta do, dear.

But there no way ye never comin' back ferm that desert. It would done gone do me in. That canna be the end'a this here story.

Nope way, Agnes.

All my loverin',
Barney

P.S. There be lotta salt n' vinegar tater chips left. It be no fun eatin' 'em 'lone.

NOW WITH MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT! (thanks Agnes)

Dear Agnes

Make New Stuff (Part 2)

Other people are making new stuff too! How exciting!

Here's Dave's contribution:

Partial Class myMasterPage
Inherits System.Web.UI.MasterPage

public delegate Sub MasterPageMenuClickHandler(s as object, e as EventArgs)
public event MenuButton As MasterPageMenuClickHandler

Private _currentButton As String

Public Property CurrentButton() As String

Get


Return _currentButton

End Get

Set (ByVal Value As String)



_currentButton = value

End Set
End Property

Sub btnMenu1_Click(ByVal sender As Object, ByVal e As EventArgs)
' Assign value to public property
_currentButton = btnMenu1.text

' Fire event to existing delegates

Raiseevent MenuButton(Me, e)
End Sub

Sub btnMenu2_Click(ByVal sender As Object, ByVal e As EventArgs)
' ' Assign value to public property
_currentButton = btnMenu2.Text
' ' Fire event to existing delegates


Raiseevent MenuButton(Me, e)
End Sub

End Class

In this item's honor, I must point out that writing code is WAY harder than writing sentences. When I write a sentence, I can tell pretty quickly whether or not it's doing what it's supposed to do.

When I try to write code, on the other hand, it's more like: type, compile and pray it accomplishes its intended result. That's the beauty of the above. You struggle and struggle and struggle to talk the computer's language and when the computer finally goes, "Oh yeah! Sure, I can do that!", you bellow in triumph and lapse into total exhaustion.

Dave insists coding is not an art, because it expresses nothing.

I beg to differ. I say it expresses turmoil, patience, adaptation and ultimately - if you're lucky (in my case), or skilled (in his case) - achievement.

Lettuce Be Friends

Update:

The bachelor fridge is looking remarkably empty. I'm down to cereal and whiskey. But I just ran out of Rice Milk, so next up the whiskey's going on the cereal.

Fortunately, caring friends have other ideas.

Dave was first to say I needed to consume something green.

Teresa now makes good on that sentiment with the actual delivery of a thing called "lettuce" that will apparently boost my immune system and provide helpful nutrients.

I thank her for this contribution and return to the feverish making of new things.

Make New Stuff (Part 1)

Hey.

When I lose something really special, my coping mechanism is to feverishly make new things.

Last summer I lost probably the most important thing I was given. And it rained a lot.

This summer I lost probably the most important thing I've found. And I wish it would rain a lot.

So here's a tune I made called The Rains.

Pitter patter.

NOW WITH ADDED THREAT OF RAIN! (thanks Mike)


Image approved (and captured)
by Bandwidth Nazi Michael Helms

Pretty Hate Machine With Teeth

I've been listening to a lot of Nine Inch Nails since my return to bachelorhood (mainly because the circumstances of said return were not to my liking).

Yesterday I started singing "Something I Can Never Have" from Trent Reznor's first album Pretty Hate Machine while listening to "Beside You In Time" from his latest, With Teeth. I figured they fit pretty well together, so when I got home I mixed 'em up.

Here's In Time I Can Never Have You.

Enjoy, if you like this sort of thing.

NOW WITH MORE NAILS IN THE COFFIN! (thanks Dave)

Whaddaya know, it became a trilogy.

Here's If She Says I Have To Apologize.

And here's That's What I Get In The World.

Bachelor Bacchanal (Not)

So what is it bachelors do again?

Lemme run through the checklist here and see if I can turn up any missed gems to fill my idle hours with.

1) Set up passionless, functional single bed (they call it a twin, which is a misnomer because any attempt at co-slumber upon such, let alone vigorous sexual activity, would result in the capsizing or possible paralysis of any or all parties involved).

Check.

2) Decorate the space. And by "decorate", I mean erect two towering CD stands, position a bookshelf and cover it in books, fill a bin full of books and then fill another bin, also with books.

Done.

3) Demonstrate ability to make spaghetti of one type with ease and confidence. Display this talent to none but myself. Eat the results with pride and enthusiasm of diminishing intensity.

Done like dinner.

4) Revel in complete sovereignty over the remote control. No diplomacy, bribery or outright warfare required on Planet Me. Total televisual domination. Yep, yep.

Yawn.

5) That bed I mentioned earlier? Get off it in the morning allowing only enough time for just me to perform necessary ablutions and clothing selection before livelihood-related departure - and sometimes not even enough time for that.

Zzzzz.

That's it?

I honestly can't think of anything else. I'm too old to throw all-night parties, pursue an all-pizza diet, or enforce an all-movie poster decor. Or at least, these pursuits lack the appeal they once held for me.

Yep, I'm a geezer.

Also a bachelor.

And bored.

Revenge On The Mega-Nega

Actually, it weren't thinkin' that saved 'im.

It were somethin' quicker, somethin' uncoilin' from a place deep inside Barney he din't really know existed but recognized the moment it showed isself, like his own hairy tentacle hidden mosta the time and now springin' to duty - the first duty, the only duty.

His savior were anger.

The Mega-Nega din't really know what hit it when this gangly, scraggly cowboy nearly jumped outta his boots and britches and jest like it had wanted, into its waiting arms.

'Cept the arms weren't there for long.

Never mind the burnin' hot wellpipe. Never mind the soiled potato chips and their abandoned, emptied bag. Never mind the missin' comics, even.

All Barney needed was his bare hands.

The Mega-Nega lost its left arm first. Barney dug his fingers into the nubby jelly of the thing's shoulder and he found it weren't that strong at all really. He'd been right about the sharp spikes - they was already worn down to tiny prickles like a baby cactus mebbe, and that were nothin' new to Barney, so in he dug and kept on diggin' until he found the Mega-Nega's bone, which under his pryin' hands felt like nothin' more than a thin wafer, a haft of wheat he might lodge between his lips one fine day for some idle chewin'. His rage snapped it in two and it crumbled to dust.

"Er--" gurgled the Mega-Nega, but that were all it got out before Barney rammed his other hand down the raw, sloppy gash it called a mouth. He told hold of the knobby bulb he thought might be its vocal chords (or chord, who knew?) and made that the next rung on a ladder he would climb backwards, down into the foul heart of this sick meatpile that wanted him for a mate, submerged and drowned in its dark pools forever.

"YOU WANNA HUG?!!!" screamed Barney. He knew the Mega-Nega couln't answer him 'cause its vocal chord were already a pulverized lump in his fist, and he were still goin' down, down, right through all its stupid, poorly made guts - everythin' doublin' back in on isself, each intestine and blood vessel a snake devouring its own tail and so destined to die, always die, soon as it finished its vile eating.

Barney's other hand were comin' with 'im, pullin' that useless right arm into the main mass of the Nega now, and without decidin' at all, jest straight off wrappin' it round the thing's neck, pullin' it tighter, almost casual like that's the way it shoulda always been and Barney was only helpin' it achieve its life goals a little sooner.

"Ghlkk--" protested the Nega, but Barney din't hear it. He were already down by that hairy tentacle he'd first seen creepin' toward his prifferal vision ages ago it seemed. And at the bottom here, his tentacle of hate were finishin' its own unfurlin'. He pressed on the fuzzy, bulbous Nega-extension with all the might he could darn well muster.

Well, it exploded in a messy blurt of thick, sticky fluid that roped across this parta the blasted desert and thickened up with blown sand seconds later - and Barney saw millions of tiny black bugs swimmin' in the stuff, clawin' madly for whatever sick air they needed to power their beastly, shriveled lungs and totally failin'...failin'...failin'.

Somehow this finished the Nega. It were collapsin' around him in waves of goopy sludge, soakin' his best gingham shirt and weekend britches right through and grossin' him out somethin' fierce, but Barney let it fall - every last milky membrane of split-apart Mega-Nega, now just messy trash he could clean up with a good broom or let the desert sweep away in its own time, as it did everythin' else.

Includin' his love Agnes, still gone from him now and to where nobody knew.

But the Mega, the Mega-Nega...it were nowhere at all.

Nowhere 'cept dead.

Return Of The Mega-Nega

So.

It's been a crappy week for me, with no sign of improvement on the near horizon. That calls for a Big Nose Barney story.

BIG NOSE BARNEY VS THE MEGA-NEGA PART II

It were Saturday - comics day.

But no comics for Barney this week. He'd already been to the Dusty Gulch Nerd Convention last weekend and stocked up on enough action, adventure and feats of near-reason to last him at least as long as Agnes's trek through the desert lasted.

That's what he hoped, anyway.

She'd set out eight days ago, eight months after they'd first met at the wedding of Buck's second cousin Wilf and his fiancee who Barney couldn't 'member the name of. But he sure 'membered his first glimpse of Agnes, in her spirally, poofy dress and the way she tossed back the moonshine like no other and how she picked up all Wilf's second and third cousins' chilluns and heaved and hefted them about - landsakes, what a set of arms and her legs were pretty fine too. Barney had never seen such a woman before and knew right away he'd never see one like her again neither.

But that was then and this is now and the last he'd seen of Agnes were the rear of that poofy dress as she headed out into the desert and became a silhouette, then a snaky shimmer like a heatwave, then nothing at all as the blue air and yellow sand swallowed her up and she were gone. He kept watchin' for a while after that, but he din't make a move to follow - he'd promised her, after all. This was her desert trek, her very own, and no other guy or gal could help her find the Magic Cactus she were lookin' for. Barney could have drawn her a map, you see, but that map would only point to where he found his Cactus, and she weren't lookin' in that direction besides.

Nope.

Lookin' somewhere else entirely.

Right, so like I was sayin', it were comics day, but Barney weren't goin' to the Dusty Gulch Pharmacy to drop his three bits and pick up a little excitement. No, he'd sit here with his back against the rusty wellpipe and eat salt and vinegar potato chips by hisself, leastwise 'til his horse was done at the dentist and it was time to go pick him up.

But jest then--

The wind stirred up. Pebbles bounced. Tumbleweeds tumbled.

And there, standin' before Barney as it had nigh on a year ago, and still as big as it were back then ('cept mebbe a little duller on those sharp shoulders and spiky feet, but that could jest be the light) were the Mega-Nega. All 10 foot and some 'a it, all slimy and gross and fulla things that could scrape ya somethin' good if you got too close - 'cause the Mega-Nega, see, it might be ugly and mean and all that, but it loved hugs as much as the resta us and if it got a chance to come close enough, it'd hug you so tight it ain't never lettin' go. Barney knew that good.

The Mega-Nega laughed. It had a habit of spittin' when it laughed, so Barney got a couple drops a' the stuff on his nose (which were the first part of him that got anything on it, stickin' out as much as it did from the resta him).

That Mega-Nega spit sure did sting.

"Go away," said Barney, wipin' his nose.

"Why should I do that? It's much nicer here. And you look like you need a hug!"

"Not from you I sure dain't," Barney said, tryin' not to look at the Mega-Nega. If you stared at it long enough, you noticed its eyes were really deep, like this water in a dark pond with lots of other stuff underneath, and wouldn't it be neat to go down there and see what that water's surface was hidin'? Jest dip your toe in a bit, or mebbe both feet, and walk down a ways, mebbe waist-level, see, and then sheesh, before ya knew it you were swimmin' in there and even though it were cold, it weren't so bad and you got used to it anyway. Soon enough, you was one of those things under the surface of the water, and jest as hidden too. Jest as neat to look at from far away, which is exactly what Barney were tryin' not to do.

"Who else is going to hug you?" said the Mega-Nega, and even though it were only sayin' somethin', it sure felt like maybe the Mega-Nega were touchin' him.

"Don't need no hugs today," insisted Barney. "Goan be jest fine."

"Where's your horse? He leave you too?" asked the Mega-Nega. Barney weren't lookin', but he could sorta see the thing were standin' a bit closer to him now. There were a hairy tentacle at the corner of his eye, flippin' around some, and mebbe he should get up off the dirt and get his back away from that rusty wellpipe. But it were hot out today, and he liked the chill on his back. Better than salt and vinegar chips even.

Din't matter. That were definitely a hairy tentacle comin' closer.

Barney rose and stumbled back a ways. Dropped his chip bag too.

No comics today. Not today.

"Hey Barney," oozed the Mega-Nega. "There's no Magic Cactus out there for her. And this desert's biiig. She'll be searching forever and you won't see that spirally poofy dress again, not even the back of it. You better forget you ever saw it in the first place."

"No," said Barney, but he din't sound too sure of himself. He wanted to keep moving backward, but it were hard to go anywhere when you was doin' yer best not to really look at anything. He put a hand on the rusty wellpipe but it weren't cold no more. It were burnin' hot and he had to take his hand away. Did the Mega-Nega do that to the pipe? It had lots of powers. Mebbe this were one Barney din't know about yet.

He were rackin' his brain for the right fighting technique here. Should he try to drop-kick the Mega-Nega? Nope, it were taller than 'im. What about a body-slam? Dunna think so. That would mean he'd need to pick the thing up, and once his arms was around it, the Mega-Nega would start its tight huggin', the won't-let-go huggin', and that would be that. Mebbe he could trip it, and it would fall on its mean, mean face and maybe choke on its own stingy spit, which were still flyin', I should mention, every time it said one of its awful words.

Barney's friend Scosst from Ancient Rome Arenas could fight the Mega. Even clumsy Buck would stand a chance with his five-shooter. And Zynacor, if she were watchin', she'd come down from the clouds up there and give Barney a big knife or somethin', to chop up that hairy tentacle. But ain't none of them here. Just Barney, a rusty wellpipe, and a spilled bag of potato chips. No comics at all.

The Mega-Nega opened its arms. Barney had to think fast.