JUST LIKE DAYDREAMING6
I first heard the creature stirring last night. Its language a strange cross between a bird, the click on a phone line, and an angry monkey. What is it? A possum? An albatross? Some undocumented, unknown beast? I am not sure. All I know is it has taken residence outside my window.
*I wish I was in 1956...*
This from a female friend of mine. For some reason that aside at the end of an email got me thinking like just about anything will get me thinking.
*One reason you wouldnt like to be in 1956: women could not have checking accounts on their own, you had to co-sign with your parents or your husband.*
Then, thinking a bit more:
*One reason you would want to be in 1956: You could get a really cool car from the 40s--even a 47 Cadillac--for a couple hundred bucks. They werent classic yet, just as a 90 Cadillac DeVille is not a classic now. Then, you could get in that car and drive down to the South and see Elvis play live on stage, the young, vibrant Elvis before the paunch and the paranoid delusions. You could see Elvis, Jerry Lee, Gene Vincent, Buddy Holly, and Roy Orbison live. Chuck Berry and Johnny Cash, too.*
If I were alive in 56, and the same age I am now, I would have been born in 1921. I would have had friends die in World War Two. The military would reject me for a number of reasons, eyesight being the main one. I guess I could have been a Beat, hung out with Kerouac and that lot. The 50s was very conformist, but then again, so is this decade. At least now we have more than three television stations. In the 50s, television shut off at midnight. Theyd play the National Anthem and then play a test pattern until six the following morning. They did this until I was a kid. There wasnt cable or VHS/DVD; if you wanted to see a film you saw it at the theatre or on TV. Of course, you could leave your doors unlocked and not really have to worry. People dressed a lot better as well; thats always a key selling point for me when I am preparing to travel to another time.
Friday morning. The fog was heavy and would not lift all day. It felt like we were in a gothic novel set in an industrial park. Our boss took our drink orders and went to Starbucks to fill them. I had a Chi tea. Both Braeden and Leigh had recommended it, and rightly so. It tasted like pumpkin pie.
This is a treat! The Bird Lady ejaculated all over my desk. What a treat!
She would say What a treat a total of five times in less than that many minutes. I took my Chi tea into the storage room on the pretense of collecting spent oxygen canisters from the mountain of boxes. We share this room with a title company next door so I like to rifle through their boxes of old plat maps. Sometime in the past, they built the State 99 freeway through South Sacramento. To do this, they had buy and destroy countless homes in its path. I have to wonder what thatd be like. You save up and dream of owning a house. Finally, you get the ability to do it. You live there awhile, make it home, get attached, then one day you get a letter: Were building a freeway. Were going to give you this much for your property. You need to reply by this date. I have to wonder what thatd be like. For some people it was probably just a case of, Well, were getting a fair price and that freeway will make it easier to visit Aunt Enid in Fresno. For some people it had to have been heartbreaking, you know. Maybe they had a shitty upbringing, abused by their parents and whatnot. They finally break free, make some money, and for the first time have someplace they genuinely feel is home. Then the state takes it away, tears it down, and paves over where it used to be. Looking at these maps, I see the dotted lines where houses used to be and think of all those lives and how they were affected by a very simple yet official sounding letter.
Its about buttfucking.
No way, its about how love can be trying and difficult but ends up being really good.
Two guys in their twenties are having a smoke break. After a few seconds of eavesdropping, I realize they are talking about Hurts So Good by John Cougar Mellencamp.
Okay, how do you explain the line Sink your teak right through my bones.
What?
When he says teak, Mellencamp obviously means wood meaning a male erection
Its *teeth*, not teak. Sink your *teeth* right through my bones.
Okay, how do you explain the line: Now that Im getting older, so much older, I long for those young boy days.? Young boy days? He is obviously a turdburgler .
A what?
An turdburgler, someone well versed in the act of buggery.
Youve obviously been watching too much PBS.
Maybe that isnt enough evidence. How about little pink houses for you and me. Pink house. Pink flag, get it?
Wed better get back into work.
I fight authority and authority always wins.
Need a temp that will bring a little bit of Uh Huh into your office? A little bit of Rain on the Scarecrow? Indenture Temps wants to be your temporary staffing solution.
Im hungry, Thelma stops typing and looks over at Leigh. You know what sounds good? Steak, maybe some Benihana. Of course, the Benihana up in Sacramento isnt nearly as good as the ones in the Bay Area. No, I shouldnt spend that much money. A salad. A salad with some nice, crisp lettuce, some cut up tomatoes, some cucumbers, and a few croutons. I cant decide on the dressing, though. Im torn between the feta ranch and a vinaigrette. That feta ranch is good, but its fattening.
Weary of the continuing food dissection, I walk down the hall that leads to entrance. In the reception area, there is a life sized oil of Aaron Burr scowling down on anyone foolish enough to visit our office. The corridor continues behind this painting but the walls are rough brick and the floor cobblestones. Ive never been to the end and suspect the hall just keeps going and going. Along the way there are picture windows looking out. I stop at one offering a view of the Battle of Gettysburg. I have to turn away when a cannonball decapitates a Union soldier, vaporizing his head.
Thats gotta suck.
Manny the Culvert Troll is wearing a Kings jersey and munching on popcorn. He asks what Ive been up and I tell him about my plans to go to school.
Yeah, thats cool. I once knew of a teacher, best teacher around I was told, but he would not have me as a student. So, I made a likeness of him out of mud and that was my teacher.
Did that work?
It did, but he kept telling me to do really bad things. Aww, check that out! MCT gestures at a soldier screaming as a ball strikes his leg. Theyd always amputate. And, even if the shot was down by the ankle, theyd take off the entire leg. He looks over at me appreciatively for second. The entire leg, man, he looks back at the battle. At least this guy got a leg shot. You were a goner if you got hit in the torso, they had no way of dealing with that sort of wound.
He pulled up a chair to watch the battle and I crept away, back towards a secret portal to the so called real world.
The night before I had gone to Borders. Leigh had recommended a book on Jeff Buckley and I needed something to read while waiting for my car to be serviced. As I made my way to the performing arts section, some guy with a ginger mustache was flagging down a clerk.
Do you know where I can find Phil Collins?
Hopefully in a casket, I muttered, quietly enough not to rile any Phil aficionados with ginger mustaches.
The Jeff Buckley book was sold out so I bought a volume on the Clash which has been really good so far. Yes, the Clash were working class poseurs, fronting with a muddled image butstill a great band. People always label the Sex Pistols as *the* punk band but, as good as they were, their output was very limited. One album, all the songs basically sounding the same. Johnny Rotten was great, and the other yobbos made music that complimented his bile, but the Clash had many more dimensions, in my opinion.
Saturday morning I sat in the dealership for three hours reading. One thing they did was a tire rotation and I can feel more vibration coming through the steering wheel now. I need to get new tires in the near future butI should take care of my car switch before getting a student loan. I need as few financial obligations as possible when going to get financing on another car.
Saturday night, Melissas birthday party at Amys. There was a karaoke machine and a bottle of Jim Beam going around. Bourbon and microphones. Bad combination. I wreaked my voice trying to sing along to Carly Simon. Everyone had a lot of fun and Amy and I did not have a confrontation. I was kind of monopolizing the karaoke machine, sidling up to sing backup on just about every song. Near the end of the night, Josh took me aside and we had a good talk. I think things are good between us, I hope so. People were still at their house when Dave and I left at six.
I didnt wake up until half past two, slightly hungover. Today has been, consequently, very low key. Some reading, some napping, some eating. Last night was a lot like the old days, when we were younger and more wild. Today, all of us are paying for it, lying low and muttering promises never to drink that much againnot until the next time. I didnt get that drunk, I think my ills are from the mixture of red wine, bourbon, beer, champagne, and rum that I drank.
The scariest bit on the news is not about Iraq or North Korea or Israel, it is that Kangaroo Jack is number one at the box office. Waking up this afternoon, I checked the Yahoo news first thing. Korea wants knee to knee talks, Iraq has admitted to four more warheads, and Kangaroo Jack has hopped to number one at the box office. Kangaroo Jack, for those of you not in the know, is a movie about a talking kangaroo that raps. You know that if its this popular therell have to be a sequel. Im seeing Kangaroo Jack II: Back in the Pouch or maybe Kangaroo Jack II: Now its Marsupial
I first heard the creature stirring last night. Its language a strange cross between a bird, the click on a phone line, and an angry monkey. What is it? A possum? An albatross? Some undocumented, unknown beast? I am not sure. All I know is it has taken residence outside my window.
*I wish I was in 1956...*
This from a female friend of mine. For some reason that aside at the end of an email got me thinking like just about anything will get me thinking.
*One reason you wouldnt like to be in 1956: women could not have checking accounts on their own, you had to co-sign with your parents or your husband.*
Then, thinking a bit more:
*One reason you would want to be in 1956: You could get a really cool car from the 40s--even a 47 Cadillac--for a couple hundred bucks. They werent classic yet, just as a 90 Cadillac DeVille is not a classic now. Then, you could get in that car and drive down to the South and see Elvis play live on stage, the young, vibrant Elvis before the paunch and the paranoid delusions. You could see Elvis, Jerry Lee, Gene Vincent, Buddy Holly, and Roy Orbison live. Chuck Berry and Johnny Cash, too.*
If I were alive in 56, and the same age I am now, I would have been born in 1921. I would have had friends die in World War Two. The military would reject me for a number of reasons, eyesight being the main one. I guess I could have been a Beat, hung out with Kerouac and that lot. The 50s was very conformist, but then again, so is this decade. At least now we have more than three television stations. In the 50s, television shut off at midnight. Theyd play the National Anthem and then play a test pattern until six the following morning. They did this until I was a kid. There wasnt cable or VHS/DVD; if you wanted to see a film you saw it at the theatre or on TV. Of course, you could leave your doors unlocked and not really have to worry. People dressed a lot better as well; thats always a key selling point for me when I am preparing to travel to another time.
Friday morning. The fog was heavy and would not lift all day. It felt like we were in a gothic novel set in an industrial park. Our boss took our drink orders and went to Starbucks to fill them. I had a Chi tea. Both Braeden and Leigh had recommended it, and rightly so. It tasted like pumpkin pie.
This is a treat! The Bird Lady ejaculated all over my desk. What a treat!
She would say What a treat a total of five times in less than that many minutes. I took my Chi tea into the storage room on the pretense of collecting spent oxygen canisters from the mountain of boxes. We share this room with a title company next door so I like to rifle through their boxes of old plat maps. Sometime in the past, they built the State 99 freeway through South Sacramento. To do this, they had buy and destroy countless homes in its path. I have to wonder what thatd be like. You save up and dream of owning a house. Finally, you get the ability to do it. You live there awhile, make it home, get attached, then one day you get a letter: Were building a freeway. Were going to give you this much for your property. You need to reply by this date. I have to wonder what thatd be like. For some people it was probably just a case of, Well, were getting a fair price and that freeway will make it easier to visit Aunt Enid in Fresno. For some people it had to have been heartbreaking, you know. Maybe they had a shitty upbringing, abused by their parents and whatnot. They finally break free, make some money, and for the first time have someplace they genuinely feel is home. Then the state takes it away, tears it down, and paves over where it used to be. Looking at these maps, I see the dotted lines where houses used to be and think of all those lives and how they were affected by a very simple yet official sounding letter.
Its about buttfucking.
No way, its about how love can be trying and difficult but ends up being really good.
Two guys in their twenties are having a smoke break. After a few seconds of eavesdropping, I realize they are talking about Hurts So Good by John Cougar Mellencamp.
Okay, how do you explain the line Sink your teak right through my bones.
What?
When he says teak, Mellencamp obviously means wood meaning a male erection
Its *teeth*, not teak. Sink your *teeth* right through my bones.
Okay, how do you explain the line: Now that Im getting older, so much older, I long for those young boy days.? Young boy days? He is obviously a turdburgler .
A what?
An turdburgler, someone well versed in the act of buggery.
Youve obviously been watching too much PBS.
Maybe that isnt enough evidence. How about little pink houses for you and me. Pink house. Pink flag, get it?
Wed better get back into work.
I fight authority and authority always wins.
Need a temp that will bring a little bit of Uh Huh into your office? A little bit of Rain on the Scarecrow? Indenture Temps wants to be your temporary staffing solution.
Im hungry, Thelma stops typing and looks over at Leigh. You know what sounds good? Steak, maybe some Benihana. Of course, the Benihana up in Sacramento isnt nearly as good as the ones in the Bay Area. No, I shouldnt spend that much money. A salad. A salad with some nice, crisp lettuce, some cut up tomatoes, some cucumbers, and a few croutons. I cant decide on the dressing, though. Im torn between the feta ranch and a vinaigrette. That feta ranch is good, but its fattening.
Weary of the continuing food dissection, I walk down the hall that leads to entrance. In the reception area, there is a life sized oil of Aaron Burr scowling down on anyone foolish enough to visit our office. The corridor continues behind this painting but the walls are rough brick and the floor cobblestones. Ive never been to the end and suspect the hall just keeps going and going. Along the way there are picture windows looking out. I stop at one offering a view of the Battle of Gettysburg. I have to turn away when a cannonball decapitates a Union soldier, vaporizing his head.
Thats gotta suck.
Manny the Culvert Troll is wearing a Kings jersey and munching on popcorn. He asks what Ive been up and I tell him about my plans to go to school.
Yeah, thats cool. I once knew of a teacher, best teacher around I was told, but he would not have me as a student. So, I made a likeness of him out of mud and that was my teacher.
Did that work?
It did, but he kept telling me to do really bad things. Aww, check that out! MCT gestures at a soldier screaming as a ball strikes his leg. Theyd always amputate. And, even if the shot was down by the ankle, theyd take off the entire leg. He looks over at me appreciatively for second. The entire leg, man, he looks back at the battle. At least this guy got a leg shot. You were a goner if you got hit in the torso, they had no way of dealing with that sort of wound.
He pulled up a chair to watch the battle and I crept away, back towards a secret portal to the so called real world.
The night before I had gone to Borders. Leigh had recommended a book on Jeff Buckley and I needed something to read while waiting for my car to be serviced. As I made my way to the performing arts section, some guy with a ginger mustache was flagging down a clerk.
Do you know where I can find Phil Collins?
Hopefully in a casket, I muttered, quietly enough not to rile any Phil aficionados with ginger mustaches.
The Jeff Buckley book was sold out so I bought a volume on the Clash which has been really good so far. Yes, the Clash were working class poseurs, fronting with a muddled image butstill a great band. People always label the Sex Pistols as *the* punk band but, as good as they were, their output was very limited. One album, all the songs basically sounding the same. Johnny Rotten was great, and the other yobbos made music that complimented his bile, but the Clash had many more dimensions, in my opinion.
Saturday morning I sat in the dealership for three hours reading. One thing they did was a tire rotation and I can feel more vibration coming through the steering wheel now. I need to get new tires in the near future butI should take care of my car switch before getting a student loan. I need as few financial obligations as possible when going to get financing on another car.
Saturday night, Melissas birthday party at Amys. There was a karaoke machine and a bottle of Jim Beam going around. Bourbon and microphones. Bad combination. I wreaked my voice trying to sing along to Carly Simon. Everyone had a lot of fun and Amy and I did not have a confrontation. I was kind of monopolizing the karaoke machine, sidling up to sing backup on just about every song. Near the end of the night, Josh took me aside and we had a good talk. I think things are good between us, I hope so. People were still at their house when Dave and I left at six.
I didnt wake up until half past two, slightly hungover. Today has been, consequently, very low key. Some reading, some napping, some eating. Last night was a lot like the old days, when we were younger and more wild. Today, all of us are paying for it, lying low and muttering promises never to drink that much againnot until the next time. I didnt get that drunk, I think my ills are from the mixture of red wine, bourbon, beer, champagne, and rum that I drank.
The scariest bit on the news is not about Iraq or North Korea or Israel, it is that Kangaroo Jack is number one at the box office. Waking up this afternoon, I checked the Yahoo news first thing. Korea wants knee to knee talks, Iraq has admitted to four more warheads, and Kangaroo Jack has hopped to number one at the box office. Kangaroo Jack, for those of you not in the know, is a movie about a talking kangaroo that raps. You know that if its this popular therell have to be a sequel. Im seeing Kangaroo Jack II: Back in the Pouch or maybe Kangaroo Jack II: Now its Marsupial