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The Ol' Ball and Cha...
Holycrap! You mean it's only been 5475 days, 19 hours, 16 minutes and 28 seconds.
 December 30th, 1989
12/30/2004 09:44:56 AM
I WILL BUST YOUR ASS!!!
Late one afternoon last May.
The phone rings. RZ answers. In the haze of my nap state, I hear her tell the caller: "Yes ma'am, but he's asleep. Well ok, hold on a second."
Then my daughter walks over to me and says, "Dad. Dad. Wake up. It's Guy." ("Guy" is my mom's nickname--long story).
"Tell her I'm sleeping."
"I did, but she says she REALLY needs to talk to you."
So I crawl off the red sofa and pick up the phone.
Me: "Hey Pat."
Mom: "Markham, I need you to come over here". Actually that's only half true, what she actually said was "Mah-cuhm I need you to cuh movuh heee-uh." what with the southern drawl and all.
Me: "Uh huh. Well, uh, let me wake up and I'll be over in an hour or so."
Mom: "No, I need you to cuh movuh now! Right now."
Me: "Ok. What's up? You alright?"
Mom: (pissed and snippy) "Oh I'm fine. Fine. Jus' FINE. It's your fah-thuh. I need you to cuh movuh and pull your fah-thuh out of thuh ditch. He jus' bought a mowduh scoot-uh, and he's already crashed it into thuh ditch."
Me: Enjoying the visual that's running through my head. I figured my dad was alright, otherwise there might have been a hint of pity in her voice.
Mom: "Mah-cuhm? You thay-uh?"
Me: "Um, yeah. I'm on my way."
The drive to their house takes me all of about eight minutes. When I pull into their driveway I see my mom looking down into the creek that runs in front of their house. She's a pissed-off, yet cool character as I walk up. She looks down in the creek again, looks at me, rolls her eyes, shakes her head as she walks away to her perch on the front steps.
I look over and see my dad, red as a beet, with sweat flying off of his wild, helmet pressed, white hair-- trying to push his brand new black Vespa out of the 8 foot deep creek.
"Pop. You a'ight?" I asked as I'm climbing down through the ivy to help.
"Aw I'm fine. Jus' he'p me get this thing out of the ditch. You take the front end an' pull, an' I'll push it from down here." he says.
So I latch myself onto a tree with one hand and grab the scooter with the other. On the count of three we heave the bike up and out of the creek and he's able to bring it back onto the driveway.
Pop: (seriously pumped on adrenaline) "DANG IT! My first ride on the cotton-pickin' thang and I wind up wreckin' it, I ain't had it home no more than fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes! I went up the hill and around the neighborhood, when I was coming back down the hill I guess I was going too fast to make the turn and when I hit the bump on th' driveway I jus' lost it, they told me I was 'sposed to lean into the turns, now I guess I know what they mean, I went running off the driveway, missed the tree, thank goodness, then the thang jus' fell out from unduh me. I ain't hurt, I'm embarrassed, knocked around a lil' bit, but I ain't hurtin', it's uh wuhn-duh I didn't kill myse'f."
My mom's ears perk up when she hears him mention "the thang jus' fell out from unduh me." and she comes off the porch in a mild roar.
"Fell out from unduh yuh? Len-uhd (Leonard) you went flat ovah them handle bahs! Mah-cuhm I tell ya he looked jus' like Supuh-man flyin'. Flat! In mid ai-uh! Jus' like this." and my mom stretches out her arms in flying superhero fashion. Angry.
"Holy crap Pop. Nice bike. It's not banged up at all." I say trying to lighten the mood.
"I've wanted one of these thangs all my life. Now I finally got me one." He says that with a true sense of accomplishment. Almost as if he's saying "God. Family. Country. Vespa." Pretty good priorities for a 69-year-old man I guess.
"Yeah, it's bad-ass too. Although I never figured you much of the Hell's Angel type. Let alone a flyin' Hell's Angel." I'm trying to lighten the mood even more.
"Don't tell nobody 'bout this 'kay? It's embarrassin'."
"Don't tell anybody?!?! Dude! you're the Vespa Warrior! Your legend must live on!"
"Naw seriously. Don't tell nobody. It kinda busted my pride."
"All right. I won't say anything. But the 'Vespa Warrior' tale would go down in history."
After our "understanding" he and I play around with his new scooter. He's showing off all the buttons, all the bells and all the gear. Excited as a kid. Later he takes it for another, slower, check-out ride. Being one to learn from his mistake, he leans into the turns and makes it around the block several times without a problem.
A week later I'm over at his house. I'm looking at his scooter when I noticed a label that he's made and stuck to the spot just beneath the speedometer.
Printed on the label, in 100 point, bold, sans-serif type:
"I WILL BUST YOUR ASS!!!"
As if he needed a reminder.
12/28/2004 08:22:29 PM
Day 21 - The Winter Solstice
Yesterday I participated in a group project thing over at Flickr. The project is called "A Day in the Life", and as you can probably figure out from the title, it's a photo journey through my December 21st, 2004.
So in an effort of total narcissim, and a heapin' helping of humiliation, may I offer up...
Meat
Warning: My apologies in advance for any possible man-flesh you may witness.
12/22/2004 07:26:49 AM
Out of Context
Random quotes from today.
"Do me a favor, don't talk about your wife in the sack."
"spreading christmas cheer like a virus."
"Congratulations! you SUCK."
"you're awesome. you SUCK."
"Copay? I don' know no steenkin' copay."
"Ho'd steeeeeeel!"
"No wonder I keep running into the floor."
"I'm currently in Helen Keller mode."
"as much fun as a barrel of dead monkeys."
"Snickers... cotton. Go figure."
"I wrote the massage in fact"
"Is you is who you said you is? Or ain't?"
"Dick. Nice. Nice. Dick. Dick. Dick with ears. Nice."
"wannuh swawp wives?"
"It's ok, I'll just pee down my leg."
"don't take this the wrong way dad, but if you were my age... I'd totally be checking you OUT!"
12/20/2004 09:24:47 PM
Tenderness
It's Sunday morning.
Les couldn't take it anymore, so she left and went to the gym. Rattled.
RZ is on the piano, singing. I'm on the Folgers coffee can with a tablespoon, rythym.
She's wailing "Nic Nac Paddywack" at full volume, while I'm playing the "drum" like Trent Reznor would play a machine gun. Dissonant.
She's in her pajamas. I'm in a green beauty mask.
It truly is a Hallmark moment, for the criminally insane.
12/19/2004 11:41:58 AM
12/15 - Continued
9:46 pm
More
12/16/2004 01:05:34 AM
12/15
5:10 pm
Sitting at my desk, squirrelling away at the mound of work that has drop in over the last couple of days.
5:12 pm
BB King just started warming up for his show tonight, no more than 200 feet from this very spot. I can feel his guitar wails in my sinuses.
It's going to be a good night!
12/15/2004 05:12:18 PM
Coming to terms.
I haven't written much lately.
Up until an hour ago I really couldn't put my finger on the reason or the cause.
You see an hour ago I was waiting in line at Kinkos when I noticed the yellow wristband on the guy behind the counter and my eyes fogged over.
I pretended to yawn. I pretended my eyes were watering. I was crying.
When I got to the car I bawled.
This was the first time I let go since I got off the phone with my brother last month.
The call he made to let me know he has cancer.
Finding out wasn't a complete shock, we talk often so I knew he had to go to the doc to get his "fig" checked. After his initial tests we laughed for a half hour about the finer points of the digital-rectal exam ("You know what I hate? I hate how my doctor lights up a cigarette right after he pulls off his glove!" and "Yeah! And I hate how my doctor puts BOTH of his hands on my shoulders!"). We laughed, no, we giggled because "it" wasn't real. At the time "it" was "waiting for results".
When I got a call a week or so after his exam, I saw the call was from him and answered with a quick, smart-assed, "How's yer nutsack?" he answered, "Bud, I need you to make me laugh... It's cancer." I couldn't answer him. I sure as hell couldn't make him laugh.
Fuck.
At that moment "it" went from "waiting for results" to Fuck.
I haven't laughed a whole bunch since.
Tonight, in my mind anyway, "it" lapsed from Fuck. to real.
Even as we talked about "it" last week. Even as he started radiation treatments, "it" wasn't real.
Tonight it's real.
Tonight I'm coming to terms.
My big brother's name is Len Strozier, and I hurt for him.
12/13/2004 09:07:38 PM
Ok. Ok. You're not grounded.
Yikes.
Maybe it has something to do with teenage hormones.
12/13/2004 01:05:24 PM
Pressing the red button marked "Do Not Press"
So I'm in this meeting with a new client a few hours ago.
He, the client, is dressed in camo/cargo pants tucked into his jack boots, a polo shirt and sporting he's a buzzcut. In addition to his choice of clothes I notice that he is built like a Hummer. Not one of those girlie/wussie H2 Hummers either. I'm talking one of those war-friendly, roll-over-enemy-babies-and-giggle, armored, battle limos. He's huge. He's also a serious person, big on intent, not much on laughter. I surmised from his outfit and demeanor ex-military, probably Special Ops or something like that. Later during the course of the meeting, I find out my guess is right.
So anyway, we're discussing plans for his project, answering questions, bouncing ideas back and forth. The meeting has a good vibe to it, everything is positive.
We're getting to the end of the meeting, the point where I start to daydream and my mind wanders.
I start to wonder what this "Dealer of Death" would do if I reach across the table and smack the living shit out of him.
Then the wonderment turns to urge.
Now, I find myself fighting the "urge" to wale on this guy's brow! Not that he's done anything wrong, mind you. He's been a hell of a nice guy. Likable even!
I just wanted to see what would happen.
Thankfully a rush of sanity and self-preservation washes over me, and the urge passes.
The meeting ends, sans bloodshed. We shake hands with one of those alpha-male, iron-grip, kind of gestures and he and I joke about that as he leaves.
Situation averted. All stations-- stand down.
The human animal... One odd beast.
Is this what PMS is like?
12/7/2004 04:21:43 PM
"This town needs an enema!"
Another "Macon-ism".
Granted it was a small blunder, but... Oh nevermind. You don't want to hear me bitch and moan about why I don't like this place.
(via kottke.org)
12/3/2004 05:10:42 PM
Dock. Dark. Dork.
12/1/2004 08:42:29 PM
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