Helpless Happy Birthday

Today is my son's 7th birthday. Beyond all the celebration it marks two key times I felt totally helpless. Which is a key component to parenting as not everything is in your control. But this wasn't "Well I tried to get Johnny to read but we couldn't buy enough books" kind of helpless. This was dictionary definition helpless. A fish flopping in a dry cold ether of space helpless. Bad erotica helpless where they use the word mewl in the sentence. Because, in all other situations,s even in stressful situations, I will try to feign something or play it out in my head. Even just shake my fist in the air and scream "Damn it!" Its little bits like this...

 Did you hurt yourself? Err...well let me like fiddle around here while I look for that first aid kit I swear I keep in my car. You know, just in case. My keys are here somewhere. Oh, look here are the EMTs. Ok, bye. Good luck.

Then I race away and breather a deep hot breath of relaxation. I saved some face and that person got helped. Win-win.

So that day, I did not much. My wife and the doctors and nurses did all the work. As a 30 something male I will say that TV/movies have lied to me in two ways about women. Which, note that is not how you should learn about much, but especially over 50% of the human race, but there was a lot of good TV you see. First one is

1) All women wear matching bra and underwear. I know where this came from. MTV had a show called Undressed that was on around 11pm every night and it had lots of good looking teens and 20 somethings heavy petting in their underwear. Not going to talk much about it because there is a key wonkiness factor but episodes are all over Youtube. This is also not the post on the very rare and few times I got to test this theory.

2) Birth is a quick process, knocked out in a couple of hours. I call this the sitcom having a baby at the worst time rule. Ever watch Home Improvement. I know, I did to. We can be sorry together. Heidi had her baby on the way to the Car Guy of Year convention with Tim. Why the Car Guy of the Year convention is in boonie back of beyond Michigan and not Detroit (where the show was set) is beyond me but they needed to have that baby in a gas station in a snow storm. 

So, lets focus on number 2. And that feeling of helplessness. 

My wife, doing all the work, ask me to tie her hair back into a simple pony tail. Because she has got IVs in her arms and a fetal electrode running up her birth canal to monitor our son's vitals. And I just can't. I mean I am beyond reproach when it comes to anything with fine motor skills. Putting stickers on Legos? Oh, no way. I am just going to write Octan with this here sharpie don't mind me. Tie a tie? Mine look like the legs of guy who always skip leg day. Tie up her hair? Err, I got nothing. Luckily, a med student was there observing (My poor wife not just dealing with her own doctors an hovering parents but a plucky student who can't help medically but can watch) and was able to tie it back. 

However, the real sense of helplessness came when my son actually dropped into the birthing canal and they told my wife to start pushing. At the first contraction all the monitors started screaming and within one second about 7 doctors and nurses blasted in to assist the already 3 people in our room. And the massed around my wife and unborn son in a huddle of that periwinkle hospital scrub blue while I just stood in the corner. They screamed things like "code blue" and prep for surgery while alarms ringed those sharp submarine AAAOOOOGGAHHS from the movies. Over in the corner it was all the boiled down essence of awkwardness from every event in life. School dances holding up the wall. Sitting alone in the dining hall. Every first day at work. Going to a work conference by yourself. Waving at someone then realizing they were waiving at someone behind you. Hitting reply all on an email. All those turn to dust moments laced with dread that maybe she was dying? Or the baby? Both?

When the baby dropped and my wife's water formally broke my son's head hit the top of her pubic bone. So every time she pushed his head slammed into a wall and his vital spiked in a primal sense of panic. The doctors immediately whisked her away for an emergency c-section while I stood alone in the disheveled room. Towels and kidney basins dropped on the floor over wheel ruts left impervious to all cleaners. Its a huge room with the beige and rust and seafoam pastels favored by hospitals and cheap hotels. Outside the word was gone and it was nothing but void beyond the windows and runner drapes. Unable to help my wife, the staff and unable to effect the rush of that void. Feeling small and collapsing with the gravity to spark another Big Bang. 

Then, someone popped in and asked me to get dressed for the OR. 

In the OR, when he was born, the radio played "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen, testament to how rote this all is to the doctor's chatting about what they will do over the weekend. 

A Podcast You Read

Two of my friends have begun podcasts and one of them is proposing to start another where it is just him. This is in reaction to the quarantine for COVID 19 which, as a I write this, is relaxing in Ohio but I can also see it bounce back in the fall because people are dumb.

Oh, don't worry. I am not starting a podcast. I have a hard enough time with this blog and I don't have a partner to parry and pivot from. I would also be awful at editing and production values. Kids screaming in the background. A toilet flushing and some sort of weird hum as well. Max Headroom would take over and scream about his medical conditions. I mean, if you think of this blog as a podcast that you read then here is the extent of my artistic capabilities. 

If I did a podcast it would be rambling and too self referential for its own good. This is the kind of stuff on very early morning AM radio. Except instead of talking about UFOs and CIA black helicopters I will talk about going 0 and 3 on a MTG draft or how the tree in my backyard does nothing but spit branches out with even a passing gentle zephyr wind. Or dumb internal monologues except in my bargain bin puberty voice. Not like the plays you see here. I would for sure break into a horrible impression that would nuke people's ears. Something like

Co Worker, via text: Thanks for the info. I miss seeing your face on the admin wide zoom calls btw!

Me, via text: Oh me too! Thanks

Me, in my head trying to sound confident: OMG. She is flirting with me! YASS!

Also me, also in my head but not sounding confident which is pretty much how I always sound: No, dumbass. She is just being nice. 

Or really horrible rambling stories. Like I was at work the other day. Just me stuffing some envelope and in walks in a co-worker/teacher to print some stuff. And as she is printing while I am at my desk it starts to smell like the most wonderful fried chicken. Wafting from the outside and I am "What is happening? And, don't say anything because it will be awkward and awful for sure. Keep your head down. Type type type type." But for sure its weird and this is the first co-workers I have physically seen in like 3 weeks and I want to be "OH HEY HOW ARE YOU! I MISS HELPING YOU OUT INDEED. I HOPE THIS IS NOT WEIRD."

Or, I would just make it an oral version of my Twitter. Like, have you guys heard Run The Jewels!? Holy shit they are awesome. And timely! Why didn't I know about them? Well its because the only music you listen to is the same 20 or so Toonami soundtracks and video game scores while you try to get your 10000 steps a day. 

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Or hey I liked a bunch of Tweet by both a trans-femme MTG player AND that Neontaster guy who could be an Israeli counter intelligence agent AND then about a dozne Cleveland sports account AND that guy who likes bike lanes in Sandusky a bit too much. Yeah, eat that algorithm. 

If anything that is what I would call my podcast, Eat it Algorithm!

Books I Should Have Already Read, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Keeping on keeping on. This copy I got for free on my wife's neighborhood freecycle page. I mean the front cover was ripped off but the rest of the book was there!

• These book covers (and I know there are more) always show Harry and the crew in like normal clothes. he is wearing jeans. But the books always talk about robes and I imagine these guys running around in muu-muus with maybe some underpants and a tshirt underneath. 
• I have only read three of these books but this one is my favorite so far. There is enough of a familiarity with the characters and setting to feel comfortable but she opens up more of the world. Harry "blowing up" Aunt Marge, the trips to other places in the magical Hogwarts world, the Quidditch final, Snape finally losing his utter shit at Harry, etc all feel very organic, necessary, and rewarding. Do they go downhill from here?!
• Ron is still my homebody and there is a very uncomfortable and sudden bit of violence that describes how his leg breaks as he gets sucked under the Whomping Willow near the book's climax.
• Speaking of climax, when I read the first part of it I was a bit frustrated. Here is Harry getting deus ex machina'ed AGAIN but its actually a clever trick as his FUTURE self is the one who fires the Patronus spell.
• Dementors sound very cool and creepy AND I know 100% get the Prison Mike reference of The Office what with "The toughest part of prison was the dementors" joke. I want to visit Azkaban. I imagine it as basalt cone volcano rising from the sea and encircled by a island high chain of stone steps. Then hundreds of cell facing out from the rock into the sea at the steps with metal bars over their openings. The dementors loop endlessly on the stairs like video game guards for eternity.
• I ALSO got a Twitter joke where a user, in reference to the high turnover of officials in the Trump administration (Only hire best people you know) said "Hogwarts loses another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher" What a lovely cosmic coincidence.
• Doesn't the presence of a Defense Against the Dark Arts imply and welcome a looming and potential violence? Magical Self Defense perhaps because can't even your best bud totally clobber you with some bolt of purity or what not?
• I still know nothing about Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff save Hufflepuff wears canary yellow.

On to the next book!

The Grid

Sorry, guys its a topical poem. 

Here is my horror about Zoom calls.

Or any remote chat rig, to be honest

Their intimacy.

Peering into others homes, seeing

Piles of laundry

Dogs licking themselves

And, forget to mute yourself and yell

At your kids

Your spouse

Fuck, no. I am on a call.

A few more minutes, I think

Have three of these in 24 hours

This is what the President must feel like

That fuckhead, also applies to multiples on these calls

There is also the slow horror that they can see back to me

Permanent scuff marks onto the paint and divots in dry wall

I need a strong background. Family pictures and sports memorabilia

To end that fear when it inevitably returns

When you realize you've fantasized to four of the participants

On this call, but not on the next one.

A horrible burden it would be to read minds 

Peering into the grid, lines of codes and glowing pixels

Hearing these calls and knowing what all people think.

Mostly that you're boring. 

Books I Should Have Read Already, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Finished the second book so here are some thoughts. Note that there isn't a larger introduction or aside about the book since I did that in the first post. This will also be done via the handy dandy bulleted list

• Ok, I lied. One quick aside. But, still, bulleted list. In the last couple of days JK Rowling has been in the news especially after posting a manifesto defending her recent statements on gender and transpeople. I haven't read the manifesto but as someone who firmly supports trans folks and the determination that gender is inherently cultural and not purely biological, I don't think it would be something that excites me. It is tough to see fans feel so hollowed out by Rowling's statements and what seems to be a deep dig into the culture war trenches. As someone who was very taken aback by Orson Scott Card's toxicity (I loved Ender's Game and especially the Shadow series with Bean. Alas) I get it except HP is twenty times bigger than Ender's Game. It hurts. A girl I crushed on in college has an HP tattoo (That I never got as I stared at the back of her head in one of the umpteen Science Fiction classes) and I think if she still displays it proudly? I bet not. And rightfully so. For what it is worth, every HP book I got (Already on 3rd one and have some other ones in stock) are used or library copies. 
• Gideon Lockhart is a piece of shit and I hope he doesn't come back. And, yeah Ron is still my mans and boy I hope he doesn't die.
• Are Slytherin's going to be redeemed in the later books? Because, right now I hope not and they get crushed because its just pure dick baggery. I want some Fire Nation from ATLA vibes but its just pure mustache twirling. Like, kick these folks out if they have a latent time bomb monster that pops up every 50 years! Maybe its a balance thing like color black in Magic? Still got plenty of books.
• The mandrakes reminded me of Pan's Labyrinth, one of my favorite movies, so yay for that little aside. Going to have to go re-watch it. 
• Harry has some Sailor Moon vibes to him what with the MacGuffin's showing up at the last minute to save him. Sword and a phoenix ally? That is usually two seasons deep of upgrades for the hero.
• Are there other magical school that are not Hogwarts? Because could I go there where there aren't monsters and the looming threat of being collateral damage in Harry's story?
• I am liking this world and the wizardy a lot more than I expected. Thought I would be immune but here I am thinking what my wand would be made of and what I would specialize in going into my third year. Don't worry, those are surely coming in a later post. 
• Is this book set in 1992? Because when Nearly Headless Nick has his 500 year deathday party it says he died around 1492. I would guess since it is just a few years before when she wrote it. Still feels very timeless, but help me place it. Lucky I was not some British kid in 1992 or I would "Hey, ya think Harry liked....whatever British kids liked in 1992?"

On to the 3rd one. 

Osmosis

The greatest gift the universe has given me is that my children have not mimicked my nasty habit of screaming "God fucking damn it" or "Fuck me in the ass!" when suffering some minor and petty slight. Got shocked by the door knob to the basement? Took the wrong turn? Someone missed a free throw? Well, there you go. 

Note my children have begun to develop all sorts of other stupid quirks of mine. An anxious worry about what are we going to do next? Yup. Yelling "Ok, you win!" to end an argument? Oh, well they are in the AP class of that. Spending too much time on screens? Got it. 

Noted they do enjoy health fruits and vegetables as snacks so we got that going as well. 

Sticks

During a  storm the mighty basswood tree in the backyard spits out branches. Then in the next morning the charcoal grill looks as if subterranean arms are pulling it back to the earth. To slough off the iron, rust, and wood and melt it back into the earth to fertilize the tree. Smaller bushes are slain by forked branches cutting through the leathery leaves and thorns. Or just tall curved branches that loop up from the grass. Our yard's version of Ayer's Rock, thin wooden monoliths from the ground. 

But, no leaves. Those have been shucked to some further ether. Another neighbor's yard, perhaps? The woods a few miles away? Just dry spindly branches sometimes peppered with the ears of tundra green fungi. 

"That tree is dying," said our behind the fence line neighbor. He had come around to the front to tell me a large branch had fallen in his yard and what I was going to do about it. "Just put it in my yard. Sorry about that."

So, after the storms there is a second flurry of sticks that come from above the forsythia hedge. And not just from my tree but the elderberry bush behind said neighbor's shed. The shagbark hickory on the right of our properties that boomerangs off pieces of its bark with just a strong glance. My yard becomes the neighborhood woodpile for the tin pot yard dictators of the suburbs. These guys have their own edgers and seeders and I chop wood with the hatchet sharpened with my wife's chef block sharpener and rusted from dozens of camping trips.

My mother once came to visit and was leery of the tree. Clutching her rosary she said "Branch will fall" and rarely left the basement. Loaded with leaves that look like elongated hearts and the dew drop tiny flowers it does not feel ominous even with its 70 foot height. But the main branches from the first ring of limbs are as wide as diving boards and thicker than the handsome logs on the faux exterior of a Cracker Barrel. Those could fall with a Seussian "galumph" onto the ground  and cut a deep divot into the earth, unlike the wimpy branches from a regular storm. Those big branches are finite in their threat. One biblical storm and then its gone but the small are endless. Maybe she meant death by hundreds of pin pricks? The neighbor would certainly agree but he is protected by 50 feet of yard and the fan sweep of the branches. 

After the storm then there are questions. Will it be the next one that sunders the main branch? Live another day! Also potential. Fill up the wood bin and fuel a conflagration. The ever burning flame of summer evenings. 

Coffee Shop

Working as a barista I heard several phrases that cut me and then dug deep into the nodes of my brain. They never entered my vocabulary because I am not that brave. I remember verisimilitude and germane and salient from vocab lessons in 7th grade Study Skills class and I use these often, sneaking them into conversation to make myself sound erudite. Oh, that is a coffee shop word. We, like any shop worth its latte foam, had a chalk sandwich board. Problem is my hand writing is a ten car pile up into a burning factory awful. "It looks retarded," my wife once said. "I will never forget your handwriting" says a former coworker on Facebooks and she knows how to decipher words from bad notes left in the warehouse.

But on the sandwich board I wrote "Tyger tyger burning bright, in the forests of the night, what immortal hand or eye, could frame they fearful symmetry." Its a lovely bit of poem by William Blake. I decided to scrawl this on the board (Note last time I wrote on the board I wrote "Have a Latte of Labor Day" and this got sneered out of existence by the coffee intellegista. Karens with advanced degrees!) and it tickled the fancy of some passing men* to say "What an erudite sign"

"Why the sad puss?" That's another one. And, wait, woah. That is some ballsy stuff to say to Chelsea over here running the counter. I would be so embarrassed and this is also sexual harassment, right? "Oh, it means face."

No, the fuck it does not. Really? ***Checks notes*** I will be damned it does mean that but c'mon you knew what you were saying. It caught us both off guard and jacked up the serving line. 

"I will take a peach cappuccino. Like at the gas station."

Wait, what? Excuse me, ma'am but we don't have peach and I don't recommend that. I tried Pineapple Lattes for a while when I was trying to be the "in crowd" and it curdled the milk. 

"Ok, well then strawberry"

No, I refuse. Note the gas station was the Valero in Jacksonville, NY, a town so tiny it wasn't even a village but instead the gas station, a post office, and eleven houses plopped against soybean fields. Its a hamlet I would say, remembering another study skills word, but I think those would feature some actual leadership. Just saying this was not a hotbed of cutting edge cuisine but instead a place where the gas station laid out every Monin syrup they could get by the sugar and creams. For iced teas, I guess?

"My name is Summer. There is nothing funnier than naming a girl from upstate New York, Summer."

This is true. I am sorry, Summer.

"I can tell you are mad at me and my feedback. But I need you to learn how to foam better."

Yes, I am mad because I am getting my balls busted for not drawing a perfect fern on the latte. Have you seen my hand writing?! Have you seen our customers? One guy is called, no joke, Dan the Communist Painter. Did I mention I am good at the register? Like never even a penny off. And I washed the windows. You got time to lean you got time to clean, right?

Source: Pexels, Chevanon Photography

*Channeling a bit of Jane Austen

Periodicals

Opening the shrink wrap of a bundle of Highlights for Children magazine I realized that my children would never have the gut busting thrill of getting a magazine in the mail. I mean, I know they exist but my children are part of that emerging YouTube generation where live TV hurts their heads and endless books are on tablets through things like RazKids and Epic.

I had to wait 6 to 8 weeks (an infinite amount of time to a child) for the first issue of ZooBooks. Do you remember Zoo Books?! They came with stickers and a tiger poster and the elephants issue is free but only if you order now! And, now as an adult, wow thanks guy for a free elephants issue that you already printed. Can someone do the math? Did they only print 11 for the normal bundle and then sucker us into the getting the full 12th (one per month) by having moms call with their credit cards NOW?!

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My main stay was Nickelodeon magazine. Rememebr that back in the go -go 90s you had to pay for Disney Channel and we didn't always have it. Mami would pick and choose from the cable bill like someone saying "Wait, one second. We did not get cheese on this burger and were charged for it!" But Nickelodeon was a basic channel and that way my jam.

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Note that Nickelodeon magazine covered a lot of stuff not on the channel including this mascot fuzzy dog named Zelda that went on comic book adventures. I remember one prank sheet they included about hotels where they included a sheet of paper you could leave in the drawer of a hotel room. You know, where the bible is, right? Then as you leave you put this diploma looking thing in there that had MadLib style blank sheets of paper on it for your family name and that because you were so awesome that that room now needed to be preserved, but you (the new guests) were welcome to breath the air. There was also a Thanksgiving bingo card they included once where they told us to put a piece of inedible gristle in one square. You know, tape it over with some scotch tape. 

I didn't get Nintendo Power because the budget to make that worthwhile was way beyond my reach. I had friends for that with endless NES and SNES games. No Disney Adventures as aforementioned I was a Nick stan. Mad Magazine too which I bought only at the Amigo supermarket and sometimes even Cracked which was trickier to find and because of that felt special regardless of how derivative it felt of Mad. All the back issues of Mad and Cracked stayed in a space above my closet next to shoeboxes of Magic cards. To flick through when the power went out or before bed.

Books I Should Have Read Already, Harry Potter and Sorcerer's Stone

People find this shocking but I don't read much fantasy. I do enjoy playing fantasy but reading it, not my jam. In college I read all of the Lord of the Rings books and I was permanently scarred by the endless songs in them! More than enough. 

So, when I tell people that I have never seen or read anything Harry Potter related its also a bit of a shock. Note that being "nerdy" or "geeky" is now the culture so why would I have missed out?* Unless I actively was avoiding it. Not everyone reads comics books but everyone has seen the MCU movies, right? Harry Potter has seven core books, major movie, a theme park, spin off movies, and a rabid madcap fanbase. First book came out in 1997 so I was in the exact demographic for this book  back in the 7th grade. What was I reading then? X Wing novels, dear readers. Loads of X-Wing novels by Aaron Alston, Michael Stackpole, etc.

Decades into the HP phenomenon this is all I know about HP

• That episode of The Office where they go to the lake and pick team names
• In college the music school had this both physical and cultural cloister to it. In a campus of brutalist structure here was a concrete, glass and, wood (Yes, wood) amalgam of cubes from a lonely quad. And music school kids called everyone else Muggles. "And that means, what?" I would ask to many puzzled looks. 
• A co-worker once told me she was Hufflepuff and this coworker is very cute so I was "Oh, let me do this Sorting Hat thing" and I so wanted Hufflepuff and then I got Gryffindor. Which at the time I was majorly bummed but now I get it. 
• Quidittch is a sport in the world akin to Blitzball or Calvinball that people have leagues for.
• JK Rowling is now canceled due to her virulent anti-trans stances**

 Note I also have this stubborn penchant of wanting to see/experience things in their original media before the adaptation. Never seen any of the movies, so perfect time to read those books? . Twenty three years later I am still awkward and just read it so, lets go. 

It's fun! Loads of nods to hackneyed tropes on wizards and witches that feel quite fresh and note this is me reading it twenty something years later, after its influence has taken. I mean Harry himself is flat as a sheet of paper*** but the world is something for sure! Feeling both present (the modern day notes o video games, real world locations, trains, and holidays) and also aged and classic it all feels like an "old past." Or something from a parallel world. Lore really carries the day here with the references to ancient tomes and creatures. I now finally get those Jelly Belly beans my son loves where some flavors are gross like booger. And the collectible cards in the Chocolate Frogs? What a nice touch. These are real world super heroes. I want to explore this world more. How do they gather unicorn hair? How do they make the wands from all the wood and fibers? I want to see the Hogwarts greenhouse. More lore! MORE!

Some more quick asides

• Hagrid and Ron Weasely are my mans. I hope they don't die.
• While I chuckle at the name Slytherin (This is like Dick Dastardly), I do appreciate them as sort of this chaotic good like Esper in MTG.
• You go to Hogwarts for like umpteen years become this ace wizard/witch and then...what? Hermoine's parents are dentists, right. It seems like Hogwarts just created career academics. "Study hard, Potter. Then maybe you will get tenure."
• Ending is way too much a dues ex machina. Not even against the idea of someone swooping in and saving the day but the fade to black and then happy days that irks me. We spent five chapters setting up how shitty the Durdsleys were. Can we get a few more pages of the final battle?! 

I have the second book already tabbed so stay tuned!

*I have also never seen/read/watched any Dr. Who or Battlestar Galactica. Blog posts to come?!

**Quick aside and chain of rabbit hole...MTG Twitter is very vocal and like many Twitter cultures circular and insular with "celebrities." Many very vocal MTG Twitter folks are LGBTQ including numerous trans folks. So, that is where I learned about the cancelling JK Rowling and I will admit I have only cursorily scanned the issue but in support I will say all the HP books I got are from libraries or second hand. So, no royalties for her from me. 

***He does grow for sure just that he is more a vessel to keep the story going. 

Overheard While Watching Supergirl

"The Daxamites are powerful, but...they have a pronounced lead allergy. A well placed bullet and they are down" ***cocks gun***

Sure, but, isn't that true of like everyone? The allergy is what does them? Could I be a hero by poking them with pencils? Could they not invade the post industrial Rust Belt Midwest due to the high levels of background lead in again cities? I always knew the Great Lakes would be an excellent catastrophe refuge. 

A Horrible Habit

A horrible habit I developed in the late spring is this rollercoaster relationship with sleep and work. Around 4pm each day my boss and administration fire off projects to be completed. This is a witching hour where the mound of paperwork I need to take home feels olympic in scope. I've spent hours in the dusty building doing all the stuff I can't jam from home. Painting. Chasing this spiderweb. Counting cash and feeding the maw of payables.

4pm is also my bluesiest part of the day where its not that the day is over but we are hours away from starting another one just like it.  That's when it get something done. "Is this too hard to do?" I appreciate the sympathy but the answer is to make it work. The ends justifies the means.

By 8:30pm or 9pm I do unwind because I find 15 minutes to sleep in my children's beds while they watch video. I will often bring a book to read while they cruise Youtube before bed time stories but i rarely crack it. "I am just going to close my eyes for a bit"

Then in the living room is swoop into a nadir where the coach swallows me until I wake back at 11:30pm or midnight and shuffle PDFs to a from their digital homes. My wife has already gone to bed and these nights they smell of coffee and the wet smoke smell of a snuffed candle. I want to constantly pee and twitch my legs. And bat back emails to people. Can I text them now? Aren't you up? Where is that payroll form. I need it. You won't get paid. Why don't you want to be paid!? Are you secretly rich?

Its the summer. The kids can sleep in, but my daughter taps on my feet at 6am and says "Good Morning."

Movies I Should Have Seen Already: Uncut Gems

I too waited to see Uncut Gems until it came on Netflix because I am at the point in life where going to the movies requires the logistics of D Day. 

Do we have a sitter?

Are the kids in good enough moods? Should we give them their meds?

Is it worth it? Oh, shit! Do we have cash for the sitter!?

Is there anything you want to see? I'll see anything but up to you...

But when the movie began trending on Twitter it was a call to go watch it and be ever late to the party. This is how I win.

And the movie is good!  I'm a sucker for these 2 to 3 day odyssey type films but it is funny, paranoid, and tense. Its very anxious as layers upon layers are stacked onto the mutated get rich quick scheme run by Adam Saddlers Howard Ratner. And, yeah Sandler is amazing in the role making Howard someone who is slimy and selfish yet quite charming. He is Walter White without any of the cruelty and the actual hero of this tale.

Note this movie is a lot. It has mobsters, jewelers, basketball stars, fish, and enough low level street grifters to fill out the first few missions of any GTA game. It has Idina Menzel (the Frozen lady) in it for like 5 minutes and she is amazing in it. Kevin Garnett plays himself nearly 10 years in the past and it makes all the sense. I bet in a few years people will day this movie was based on real events. How this rock influence the NBA.

Movie steeps in the NYC culture of the Diamon District and I get the feeling many bit roles were played by non-actors just asked to play themselves. "Wanna make a few bucks? Here just say this to Adam, here. You know Adam, right?"

Also...I had no clue who Julia Fox was before this but JESUS FUCKING CHRIST  have you seen Julia Fox!? I am not one to swoon over celebrities (More of a girl next door or at the copier type person) since I realize they have teams of makeup artists, hair stylists, chefs, trainers, wardrobe fokks, etc to make them look all shiny and new but my goodness sometimes you need to ignore all that and buy the hype. And she, like Sandler, does well balancing the grift and charm of her character.

One thing I did not like was the score which is this angry Casio synth piece. Imagine a rolling boil and Moog synthesizer fucked and you get the score. And, look, I love ectronic music but considering the score is often lounder than the spoken words that sucks. I get this is part of the anxiety ( Reminds me of a horror movie soundtrack) but could they have dialed it down a bit. 

Go see it. Its on Netflix so no excuses!

Yelling

"Would you mind closing your windows? We can hear you screaming all the way down the street?"

This bolts a tiny catalyst of petty deep in my brain. "Oh sorry about that but no." Its 90 degrees out and being laid off trying to save money on utilities. 

"Well, it interrupts my day. Your poor kids. All you do is yell."

I have avoided neighbors. They are tiresome little things that all act as feudal lords of their tiny plot of land. Always mulching and having a mower. Then a trimmer and an edger.

"Well sorry Karen but THIS IS MY NORMAL LEVEL OF VOLUME. YOU CLOSE YOUR WINDOWS!"

I slam the door and my children they look up from tablets and coloring booms. "WOW! DADDY! WHAT HAPPENED?"

"NOTHING!"

"ITS

Moody Poem 1

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Tiki Bar

I have been reading much more fiction lately so here is a try at fiction. I write these while stuck on conference or Zoom calls.

_______________________________________________________________________

The local tiki bar opens at 3pm on Fridays to cater to an early crowd of suburban boomers and retirees. What had begun as small space set in a former paint store (splatters on the brick walls testament to this) had now become a beyond hip place that you need to take your grandma to and also first dates. The owner, trying to capitalize on the popularity, briefly indulged his original dream of an Italian restaurant and ordered his cook to prepare little bowls of meatballs. When fans pointed out the disconnect he made on glaze pork balls with minced garlic in a pineapple teriyaki glaze. But, that flopped so it returned to bar snacks and drinks. 

Jonas was the youngest person there at 3:15pm and felt impressive when he ordered something not on the menu. "The original daiquiri please. With the Appleton, please," and the bartender smiled and a couple two stools down shrugged and nodded before glancing back to their menus. This was as far as his expertise went on rum. And he had heard it from another customer. Its a trick he learned years ago, in the weird unfulfilled times after college and he overheard someone order a "Bud Light and Crown Royal shot."

"In order to be an expert all you need to know is more than the person you are talking to." That is what he learned from a coding guy in the basement of their shared office building.

"Is that how you solve all the tech stuff?"

To which the tech replied, Jonas never learned his name, "Well, I don't do that kind of stuff. But yeah."

His drink arrived in a fluted glass with slivers of lime pulp still floating on the top. The bartender has spiral cut a bit of lime rind and hung it off the rim. He sips on it and then pretends to be very busy on his phone. He checks the time and it is 3:27pm. He has already peaked in this indulgence with the off menu drink. Now it is just a matter of time to get until 4pm when he has to leave and be back in the office. 

The door opened to the patio outside and someone else from the office entered. This drained the already ebbing confidence from his body until it sunk into the  floorboards. 

It was Maria a sales person in line to be lead once Robert retired. She put away her phone into a baggy corduroy purse and then noticed him. They worked across offices but it wasn't a big company and nether a big space. 

"Hi. Tina tells me that you take your lunch late and now it makes sense." She didn't ask and took the seat next to him. "What is that?" she asked pointing at his drink.

"Oh, its a Daiquiri."

"Like at Senor Frogs?"

This is where having no confidence helped as he had no snobbery, "No, ha! Good one. No, its lime and sugar and rum. White rum. All in the right proportions and shaken with tons of ice."

"Its not on the menu," she said thumbing a copy of the dog eared bar guide.

"No, but they can make it. Just ask."

"Obviously. Is it good?"
And he slide the drink over and said, "Sure. want to try"

And, was that appropriate. Would she think he was weird. Trying to poison her? Drug her? What about germs? 

She did, take a tiny swig. Tipping her head forward to the bar from the far end where condensation was still unbroken. 

"Oh, that's good. I will have one also."

Jonas had a penchant for falling in love with any person who paid any attention. He was not attracted to men but they were someone he wanted to be best buddies with. He heard other men his age had the same problem but it felt, at 32 and alone, this was isolated to just him. But, he was now in love with Maria and imagining a wholesome life together AND a primal fantasy. All because of this drink. That was it.

Cosas Que Mami Dice

Here is a list of Mami sayings to celeberate Mother's Day. These sound better in Spanish

"Blacker than an wolf's mouth" aka soemthing very dark

"Faster than a crow peels a peanut" aka very fast, lickety split.

"Little town, big bell" aka someone who is s gossip. Or someone who thinks they are a bigger deal then they are. The office snitch is little town, big bell

"That is a pretty cage for such an ugly bird." aka a fancy house or car for a bad person. Or someone flexing beyond their means.. Mami usually said that as she saw old men pulling up in convertibles.

"Everyting has a solution except death." aka we can figures this out. I find myself saying this ALL THE TIME as I get older and especially in the nightmare confluence of Corona and public education.

"Peaches and cream" or "shit eaters" aka both which mean rich snobs

"At night all cats are black" aka same difference or everything's the same or a wash. Also, why my mother insisted to always have black cars.

"It's guilty!" aka its filthy. Took me years to realize this was Mami trying to say filthy in her boozy thick accent.

"Shit like a tied up duck" If you got the runs and Mami is around then you are like a tird up duck. I think its a pate reference? I never asked about these. Just went with them.

That's Fine

I routinely check my blog metrics and notice the same bead of two lonely readers viewing each post. That is fine because I don't think I have anything particularly interesting to say. I often talk to myself because I consider it my form of prayer. Hash out the situation in my head. Say what I would say if I had all the money in the world. All the courage. All the time and insight. This blog is a digital version of that. Talk to myself. Making a note to remember something that fired enough synapses into my brain to merit recording for all to see.

I've mentioned this before but sometimes I worry that people will find this blog. Folks from work. Old contacts from high school. A friend of mine started a podcast and she had my on it. I didn't mention the blog but we mentioned my Twitter handle (@garikapc) on which there is a link to my blog.

Would someone find this blog and be aghast? Or laugh at its foolishness? I would be flooded with readers! But, still just two. Which is fine as this is all just prayer. Personal but in an open air way where hopes and fears go alfot. With mine they nestle into a tiny corner of an undulating digital scene filled with stories and information. People don't have much time for the grains and that's fine. 

Making Bread

Baking bread reminds me of Nelson Rafael Perez Perez. Thats my father. His mother and father were no relation but it is horrible branding. However, he embraced it. Had the name embossed on the knick knacks of 70s and 80s middle management. His padfolio with the leather and brass label etched with it. A marble based pens holder that lost its pens. 

When I bake bread I see these tchtotkes. The logos of all the banks he worked for. Santander faux torch. The Aguadilla Farm Credit unions 4 leaf stripped angular clover. I also see him. Sitting shirtless and in slacks on a Sunday afternoon listening to music in the stark black furniture of the living room. The hair on his chest is thick and curly and he wears charcoal grey slacks. This is lounging outfit with a Schiltz beer, soemthing quite exotic in Puerto Rico. My father would have loved Ikea. The mod-wod designs to further his 70s lifestyle magazine aesthetic.

The bread machine? That was a novelty. Bought at the first Sam's Club on the island in the labyrinth traffic jams of Bayamon. It had a cylinder shape the size of a five gallon paint pocket a clear done head. I thought it a bread microwave and asked him to make the braided croissants and pretzels from the insert cook book. But I just had to watch as it stirred with a whimpy paddle stirrer and then the pre programmed rises. "It will be ready overnight."

"Overnight?!" I reacted. The most exciting part was the hot glow of the electric coils that baked it. The finished loaf was the same domes shape and obtuse for slicing. The croissants? Mami just bought those at the same Sams Club.

After my father passed the bread machine collected dust. "Died of laughter," as mami would say. It sounds better in Spanish. My singing uncle then took it. Which was fine beacuse later, when my dog had puppies, they took one for a few months and then I decided to just take the dog back one day. Now I had the second generation. From what I know, over a decade since I've been to PR, he still makes the funky loads. Dog eared bread machine books bought lifetimes ago from the old Borders in Plaza. 

When I bake I think of my father and the cookery knick knacks left behind. His electric wok. The liquor cabinet with an already ancient and much depleted bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. I know let my bread rise 3 or 4 times. To kill time. To give the kids soemthing to smack. "Hey, son? You bored. Here smash this." 

It gives the bread a mealy airy bite that is different from the dense shell of his bread machine better. Ill say mine is better if only because of the process.

Some Fictional Swords

This was meant to be a Top Ten listicle type thing but then it ran out of gas. I realized that it was more certain poses or people with swords. So tweaked it a bit for some riveting content.

If you read this list and it sends you into a flight of fury then I am sorry. I had no clue there was a sword lobby. Thought that maybe it had died around World War 1. All that said, here are some cool swords I can elaborate on.

Crysknife from Dune

I once had an ex girlfriend try to read Dune and she read the first sentence and immediately put it back on the shelf. Its a sci-fi lovers science fiction that is a space opera with not a ton of fun. That doesn't mean they are bad, but you think you are going to get Star Wars and instead you get a dusty Hamlet except here they talk about the geopolitics of medieval Denmark. You like world building? Then Dune is your book. And, yes I am very excited for the new movie. And, yes, I know the 1984 one is awful. And, also yes, the varying sequels all have ups and downs and suffer from new Star Wars syndrome where everyone is connected.

But crysknifes are bad ass. Made from the tooth of a fallen sandworm, which is akin to a god. A knife made from god parts!! Infinetly sharp and "if it is drawn it must draw blood."  I do not dig the biological look to it. The yellowed body and hive like aspect of all the holes. Feels like a shit load of angry bees is going to come out of it.

Source: https://dune.fandom.com/wiki/Crysknife

Brotherhood Sword from Final Fantasy X

I originated the fake rule that I have told to a handful of friends (Which means, of course, you live by it) that all boys must go through a pro-wrestling phase. A related one is that your favorite Final Fantasy is likely whichever one you played during your formative years. 13 to 16 years of age I would say. For me that was Final Fantasy X.

And before we get to the hardware....I am not getting into some argument about which one is the best. Because I have only played a few and that is one fandom I do not mess with. Like, when we go to the local game store sometimes there are guys playing Card Fight Vanguard and I am not fucking with that crew. They have cards with power levels in five figures. Same for any Sacramento King fans. Those are HARD people.

Source: SquareSoft

But Final Fantasy X was that one for me so here we go. I love this goofy thing which has a lovely name of Brotherhood and bestowing it on someone shows that fraternity. The fish hook tip at the end (which I would assume, in real life, is woefully impractical. It will literally hook onto things and ruin your flow), the bubbling blue water in the body, and the little handkerchief flourish at the end all give it some steampunk water world vibes. Which is how i would describe the first few hours of FInal Fantasy X.


The Diamond Sword From Minecraft

Maybe its because you have to build the Diamond Sword yourself? Or maybe its because there is nothing stronger than it in game. There is no secret super duper platinum sword. All you can do is enhance it with magic but at a base level there is nothing stronger. But there is something very strong and EARNED about getting this bad boy. Which is hilarious considering how it looks and the frantic cartoony nature of the game's combat but this thing feels incredibly powerful. When you have the diamond sword you have gotten somewhere in the game regardless of any achievement the game tells you. Full diamond gear? That is God mode.

Source: Mojang, Microsoft

Darth Maul's Lightsaber From Phantom Menace

Ok, hear me out. Unless you were there in 1999 it is very easy to dismiss the HYPE for The Phantom Menace especially twenty something years later after endless (and mostly well deserved derision). But, it was so cool. A new Star Wars. Who is that? What is going to happen. And why does that guy have a lightsaber WITH TWO BLADES!?!? That fight in the Naboo corridors was wonderful and the visuals make it. And that double edged lightsaber is part of that. Disclaimer: I know that the "old" Stat Wars is gone and the "new" Star Wars has new canon where Darth Maul survived and becomes this key villain in all these shows and books, etc. And, that is great. Go with that. He still has that awesome sword.

Source: Lucasfilm, Disney

Stay sharp, folks!

Fleeting Time

Today I went for a walk. To further cheat death and guarantee I'm around

Longer to pay off my car

Write "From hells heart I stab at thee" on the

final check. Laugh a bit longer at memes shared by my crush. That report from work

The Pantiloni Landscaping account. Copy is

my passion. We got it. 

I take supplements. GNC is essential.

Fish oil and zinc and vitamin c

Longer to see the films soon to be leaked 

on the web. Those poor actors.

I'll fit in college pants again I've drug around every move. Cedar chest crammed with them.

On the walk, I moved the fallen branches of 

Scotch Pine away from the foot path. Twisted boughs from the trail into some strangers backyard. "There." I said. "Safe" Attaboy.

"Damnit." Stranger said. "Not again."

False fall where cold winds shimmer the ponds of water on the sidewalk

"I'm spent," gurgles the drowned grass. No more room the water takes over the dips in the trail. This valley is now a lake. For the fleeting time being.

Fish Story

One hobby I've had since childhood is aquarium keeping. Note that how active a fish keeper I am depends on the circumstances. Which, I guess, is true for anything but what I want to emphasize is the going to college is a killer for the hobby. Renting or moving three states over also jacks it up. And each time you strike your tank and reset you face the start up cost. Tank, filters, substrate, chemicals, patience, and fish.

To give some bonafides to my fish keeping I want to write about my evolution. From a single gallon unfiltered fish bowl* to then 10 gallons and 20 gallons. Ive never gone bigger due to the aforementioned. Moving tends to strain relationships in ways reserved for assembling Ikea furniture. Moving a fish tank? With the soaking weight of the substrate and water? You better be either swole, clever, or blessed with a patient (and hopefully swole and/or clever) bud. My father in law has a long neglected 50 gallon tank that is more filth than water. In its ever decreasing depths lurks a monster plecostomus the length of my forearm. Plecos (as is easier to refer to the miscellaneous species by the generic) are those "tank cleaning" fish. And that is a bold face lie because plecos do not clean your tank (they don't eat algae or poop) and are inherently messy fucking monsters. They grow to the size of the tank until, like the basement monster here, all the they can do is barrel roll in what is now a coffin of many errors.

Gaze upon my works and despair

Source

That said, I made that mistake because getting a tiny one inch pleco and turning it into a monster is a common fish keeping mistake. So is getting live bearer swordtails, mollies, or guppies that have dozens of fry gobbled by their parents. I grew about three generations before the cannibalism, not all the bad genetic cross breeding,** wiped them out.

As I learned about the fish I leveled up into caring about the tank. No more plain beige river stone but instead living substrate like black sand. This stuff comes in sealed bags with water and living bacteria. Perfect for plants. All the anxiety of gardening above ground but now do that underwater. And then success is when they get so large you need to prune them back. I got some broad leaf sword plant to flower! It had an anthurium flower look with a pale white flower and a scaly and swarthy stamen.  Marimo moss balls like green Star Trek tribbles. I don't go cheap an buy the ones that are tennis balls wrapped in moss. Eventually they grow too big and blister open so its a coiled carpet of moss on the bottom of the tank.

I have tiger barbs the size of half dollar coins that I've nursed for five years and at the peak of fish keeping I had three tanks. And a commitment to half water changes each week.

Now, I no longer have that energy. I condensed my two 20 gallon tanks into one, especially after the light hood failed on another. And it looks pretty good with a thick jungle vibe that hides the archway of my mopani wood. Got cory cats (my favorite fish) and snails to for a vertically designed tank. Wasting nothing, and to keep the good biological bacteria going, I have three HOB filters on the back of it making for a way overfiltered and densely planted/living system. For the unitaited this is equivalent to hooking up three Xboxes to make one SUPER Xbox albeit...its still just an Xbox. But you never have to delete any data!

Merging the two tanks brought a dozen or so assassin snails into the now solo tank.

What a poetic incongruity! Assassin snail! I bought six tiny ones from RMS Aquaculture*** two years ago to neutralize a plague of pesky pond snails.And, they've grown into giant (well for a snail) helical terrors.

Im going to wreck it

Source

Because, in the new tank I came across two hollowed out husks for my nerite snails! Nerite's being "good" snails bought to actally eat algae and general shuck off film from the tank. They are the secret to a great aquarium. And they are expensive, like $5 a pop for something the size of a chick pea. Here was $10 left to squander, dispatched from their life too early.

First thought? They just died naturally. But then I saw six assassin's rugby scrum style piled on top of a hapless nerite! The bastards are ganging up on the "good" snails! I had become an ecological terrorist. God letting loose the satanic serpent in the garden.

The combined tank had few pond snails so the assassins must have shucked those and then, in hungry rage, "chased" down the nerites to hollow them out.

I spent minutes (Its a small tank) knocking assassins off the stalks of plants. On top is where the nerites like the graze on the biological film of the leaves. Get down, you bastards. I will be back in...a couple of hours. I  also crushed some smaller assassins in between my fingers. But while it felt satisfying with pond snails, here I wanted to cry. Sorry, boys. But, you left me no choice. Of course, in their snail voices, they would counter me saying what idiot would not expect this. Assassin is in our name. We EAT other snails. Fuck, you snails. SQUISH!

Is anyone in the market for an assassin snail?

*It was actually a cube. It was meant for hamsters. Or hermit crabs. Really just a plastic cube with a slit top for air.
**Copies of copies of copies of copies. Ever have a professor in college who gave you pamphlets of "their" textbook. The unpublished one? Or the out of print book of which they have the only dog eared copy in the state? My fish were like that.
***Its big and has a TON of fish but there is no joy. Eeveryone who works there I swear is just minutes away from bugging out for a smoke break. A store with joy locally in the NEO is Pet's General. That is the truth.

A Play on Homeschooling

Life lessons while homeschooling


Me: What is the theme of this story?
Son: Um...oh! To not trust strangers!
Me: Yes!
Son: Yeah, like you should only trust people who are friendly. Like your mom, dad, teacher. Or a police office.
Me: Oh, yeah, but...never trust the police.
Son: Wait...why
Me: ... ***how to explain institutionalized racism, a de-emphasis on community policing, polarized social dynamics, poverty, and the allure of power to a 6 year old*** Well...never talk to the police unless I'm there. Or you are in mortal danger.
Son: Yeah, or if you are lost.
Me: Yes...or that

On Minor Inconveniences

I imagine the cells in my laptops battery to be hexagonal honeycombs interlaced with lithium and nickle. And a few have flickered out and begun to wean away the light from their neighbors. The battery is a Light Brite clown plucked of a few red bulbs on its nose. Its just bad enough. Askew but functional like the door to the patio that is swollen from the faulty weather stripping. You have the shoulder the life out of it to close. I can never be unplugged for more than 40 minutes. I carry a 10 pound semi portable desktop around with me with less a lifespan than a mayfly.
The minor annoyances of privilege come forward during this time of plague and quarantine. I hate myself for them but they remain. I confess them in my journal, where no one is sure to read them.

"Dear Diary, today the motor on the electric pencil sharpener died. I had to dig through the junk drawer to find the manual one I had from senior year figure drawing. I had no clue we had so many markers. And packets of seed. And half dried glue. Now I need to go back out to the trash."

"Dear Diary, today in the work Slack chat no one gave a like to my meme."

"Dear Diary, I am afraid they are realizing at work how I can be replaced. I never expected it, but I never expected the plague."

"Dear Diary, the fish tank begun to leak and I lost it. No one saw it but I said a Nancy Kerrigan "WHY ME!?" to the barbs and cory cats living in there.

"Dear Diary, today I wrote in a voice that is hard to separate from my own. It remind me of the most cutting feedback I ever heard. "When I read your story, all I can think of is the college fitness center. And this shouldn't be the case. Your story shouldn't be so insular. Parasitic.'"

I try to follow the advice but everything comes as a caricature. Remember, parasitic. So a confident man is indubitably a player. The kind of guy who sharks pool halls and want to wager on the second of your friendly games. "Never fall for that," told me one of my mom's steady boyfriends as we left the pool hall. "Only play with people you know."

How have my character changed? Im not sure I have, yet.

Something Scary, The Lighthouse

Spend enough time in Twitter and you find digital gangs of the like-minded. If you ever spent time on a message board in the 90s or 2000s then its like that but only centralized through effort. 

There is NBA Twitter, which is undefeated.

There is Mil/NatSec Twitter, which is humanistic and self depreciating.

There is MTG Twitter, at odds with its varying factions like some nerdy Balkans.

There is film twitter which is where I get most of my movie recommendations.

So when I saw The Lighthouse on Amazob Prine I had to say, let's go! I liked The Witch and Hereditary.

I won't be poetic and get right to saying yeah this is a good movie. Well acted with an uncomfortable intimacy that romanticizes nothing about the situation. Neat movie to reflect on during these plague times when we have time to watch and write blogs. Amazing verisimilitude even to how it is shot in some wonky aspect ratio used by camera in the old Instagram  app icon. This is a film geek's movie. Which I am not (I just dabble in all meaning I'm a C+ in hobbies) but I can appreciate the touches.

Is it spooky? Eh not really save for a very unnerving scene with the sole female role in the movie. Its a spiraling sense of woe and anxiety which is nice when so many lingering shots on the buildings spiral staircase. A rare story open to interpretation but also quite clear in what happens. Innocuous things have a malignancy to them. A seagull. A mermaid figurine. The nightly toast.

Sometimes things are good beacuse they are just entertaining and fun. This film is good because its a good story albeit not sure you will find any sort of them/allegory. The statement is that they made it.

Oh and HARK! And, monkey punch!

Fake News 1

"Please make sure to remove any contact lenses. Wear your glasses, if you need them." This came from the friendly security guard at the Corning test lab. She pulled a pen from a loop around her arm and gave it to me to sign the release.

"Oh, I don't wear contact lenses," I say.

"Great. When the tests are very aggressive tiny shards can still fly off."

It's Dr. Betty Gallo job at the Corning plant to push the latest glass to its limits. A new Pyrex glass shaped like Betty Boop? 

"That was us! Well we just used a demo royalty free cat at first but we proved we could do it. All those angles."

Dr. Gallo walks me down a catwalk over a regular din of thuds and partial shatters. Every so often its a "dung--crink" She even wear a lab coat over a hot pink blazer. No shoulder pads, however.

She still has a hint of loopy Minnesota accent in her, testament to a previous life there including a gig at 3M fibers.

Today is a Smash Day. Dr. Gallo and her team are researchers so most days are spreadsheets and models. But on a Smash day (They happen every 6 months) people can let all frustrations go unhinged.

Her team is bouncing new glass wares off varying surfaces to test durability. Break patterns. Chipping. "It's a supply chain issue. Cost too. We make a funny pattern on the glass like say paint it and everything is thrown off."

When loading the rockets for Apollo missions NASA accounts for everything to the weight of the freeze dried ice cream. One more set of dehydrated eggs and could the launch be sent on a collision course. Same for the glass. "Add soemthing obvious to you measuring dish like say a handle and we have all sorts of angles," said Dr. Gallo. We had just reached the armory.

Baseball bat, wooden.

"Beacuse now it can break different where it lands and how. Can the handle reverberate that shocks back into the glass?"

Cricket bat. In Upstate NY?

"Oh watch out this can be heavy"

20 pbs sledgehammer

She has it all. Ball bearings and rubber bands. Hammers with wooden and synthetics shafts a Dremmel drill.

Collapsible batons like police use. The "shiinnnnk" noise they make on opening is beyond satisfying.

"Everything but guns," she smiles and closes the now empty closet. "That needs some more control"

Being Cold

I've spent more time along and freezing in last 4 weeks then in my entire life. The freezing part? That was hard for the first 18 years or so. Alone? I've always been ok riding solo. That's easy for me to say as big, fat passes as white guy. But never were both factors so together as in the recent stay at home situation. I'm in the downstairs basement office with no heat except the ornery, overweight cat. She curls into a blob on the Ikea chair and wheezes, putting out low grade BTUs.

But, predominantly, I'm alone in my office. My building. The walls here have bent from years of seesaw temperatures. It takes forever for water to dry after sweeping it through with a mop. The floors stay slick and dangerous with dappled slow drying water. 

There are varying degrees of cold. 

There is the sudden chill. That one wakes you up as you feel it creep up your spine and to the top of your head. The nagging chill from the bottom of your feet as it cuts through your socks and under the tongue of your sneakers. That is the worse as its cold enough to slow everything down but not enough to kill you. It makes me miss keystrokes as I scrunch the sleeves of my sweater as high as they go over my wrists. Press my hand against furniture and it saps whatever warmth Ive built. Errantly graze a brass door knob and feel it sickle through skin. Rime forms in standing water and the drip drop noises sound thicker.

A True Story

This is a true story. This happened. In the 11th grade. I've changed names to protect the affected.

In this plague I often check my privilege.

I have food. Health insurance. Internet. Vehicles. A job. An office to be solitary in while I work. I worry about nothing save my A1C. My boredom.

My privilege is also education. Bless be my 11th grade AP biology teacher, Mrs. Manilla.

From her I learned early the difference between a virus and a bacteria. She staged a debate where we had to argue of viruses were truly alive as they were nothing but packets of genetic material. No cells. No Golgi apparatus. 

But here is the story...we were learning about reproduction. The real dry stuff, don't worry. X and Y chromosomes. Blastulas and what not.

And Mrs. Manilla told us how seven was mostly water and sugar. "Glucose. For the sperm cells to use as energy"

Then Mariela raises her hand.

Few words. Mariela was the sort of high school character they come up in movies. Gorgeous. Intelligent, in every AP class our school could muster. Even AP French. She was trilingual! She played sports, volleyball and softball. Student council. Was she made in a lab and released on all places my high school in Guaynabo, Puerto Rico?

And she says "Then why does it taste salty?"

To which Mrs. Minilla replied "Because taste buds are on your tongue. Not the throat."

Then the class went on as if nothing but you could launch a Titan missile with the kinetic energy stored from everyone trying not to scream laugh. Poor Mariela. She didn't deserve it. She was legitimately and sincerely amazing.  Just bad timing. She recovered. See all the aforementioned.

We don't deserve our teachers. That's for sure.

No Swimming--A Poem

Prayer flags flutter over the bladed

Edge of the bulldozers shovel

What yelling, picketing, bitching, and hollering Did not stop, history did 

Moved the red bud tree, gnarled trunk, further

a few more months into its ancient life

Social distancing stunting minds, blooming others.

Coyotes run down the hollow streets

Right down Euclid, Coming down Carnegie

They have always been here

Your teacher tells you over the phone

Picking at scraps, I'm between rust 

Thick with vines now. End of summer feels

In spring you can see the coast of Canada

On Lake Erie, if you squint, if you believe 

History cleared the horizon as it whips the flags on the beach. No swimming.

Work Remotely Mix

The bots that spy on me when I use Youtube reminded me that I have created a quarantine-remote work playlist. They nicely label it "My Mix" but its the drive to work in 13 minutes when it usually takes 25 mix. I wanted to share it because listening to it every day reminds me of this single moment. Is this going to be one of those moments where everyone remembers where they were?

Where were you when you were told to stay at home due to Covid 19? When work got canceled? Or made remote?* Is this like a 9/11? Challenger explosion? OJ verdict? I doubt it has that sharp punch. Instead its a pervasive gloom. So less of a moment then changes and activities. THose memes people pass around asking for five jobs but one is a lie, etc. Instead I think of this mix. And if you read the warning there is a lot of electronic music here so be forewarned.



A song to shuffle down the highway too or open my icy dark office to. If this were a movie the opening credits would play along building to a moment you would think is exciting but is actually quite dull. The log in for my computer takes and opens my email. Stuff like that



A song to type and bounce from room to room to. Did that tile drop to the floor? Has anyone been here? Did the cleaners do what we asked? Dial keys tones to check my voicemail. Here is a ton of email drafts flying out the old inbox. The copier just warmed up. So, lets go!



Boots and cats. Boots and cats. Boots and cats. Boots and cats. Boots and cats. The getting thing done song. Boots and cats. Boots and cats. Boots and cats. Boots and cats. At around 1:47 in the "chorus" of the song there is a quick drum tick tock beat that makes me idle thinking of work crushes. But then back to boots and cats, boots and cats, boots and cats

Shit usually at this point I have to take a phone call so the songs stop....one second....Ok, all done....



A quick break and then getting more stuff done.



Yes, because I, in my dark office surrounded by the shells of broken laptops and wondering if that noise I just heard is a mouse or a murderer means I am truly the hardest motherfucker ever.



Hardest. Motherfucker. Ever. But...only when I have taken my asthma meds and my Emergen-C vitamin powder



I am incapable of listening to this song and not start doing some sort of exercise. One day a coworker made fun of how I did pushups and damn right I sung this song. And, fuck pushups. I am not Batman so lets see how those pushps help you when you need your time sheet signed or computer password, reset!?



Now I am sad. I don't know why but I am. And here usually I start listening to some podcast or talking to myself.





*I do because I'm a weirdo. I had just raced back from a wholsesale club on the far far west suburbs to buy a cartoonish amount of pens and gallon zip loc bags for remote learning kits our school was making.  I jumped out of the car when I saw the texts from co-workers we had been canceled for three weeks. Then our reading teachers opened the door for dismissal and told me. It was warm that day for early March.

On Mami in Quarantine

Mami called me the other day to tell me that she has begun to super self isolate and not leave the basement of my sister's house. My sister lives in one of those McMansion style homes cut quickly from what used to be a swamp so its big. Bigger than my house so Mami saying she is quarantined to the basement is the equivalent of me being quarantined to my house. She still drinks wine. Which I am not sure how she gets but I imagine it is one of my nieces dropping it outside the basement door that opens to the patio. A tall goblet filled with wine and marked by a saucy beaded charm. Safe and fabulous.

"Better than being back home," said said meaning PR. There people are ordered to confine at all times and going into the Easter weekend prohibited from leaving homes at all Friday through Sunday. Save for gas or pharmacies everything else is to close. Mami said she would be afraid but the reality is she was a champ at this before. All those years drinking wine on the patio and talking on the cordless phone until the battery bleeds dry were practice. This is her Super Bowl.

The old house would have been ideal for quarantine. Her current apartment merely just suffices. But the old house with its two living rooms and front and back terraces offered multiple spaces to idle. The backyard with patchy grass and the doomed lemon tree. In a testament to the tropical heat if we wanted to garden we could just grab a shovel and go. Eggplants and corn and pigeon peas were favorites to just stick in the ground and come a week later to see shooting from the muddled clay. The alleyway between the houses where we could play wall ball or squirt water on the neighbor's freshly waxed car.

Watch ants idle in lines on the outside of the house. Let a mosquito sit on my arm until it engorged into a cartoon Christmas light bulb bug. Then squash it in a cruel move where so helpless it can't even fly. Watch a lot of TV. Clean the ever hot water of the tiny 2 gallon fish tank and the blue gourami skimming air off the surface. Walk down to the bottom of the street and peer over the steep hill where the neighborhood ended and dove into the Rio Piedras.

All acceptable to a basement.

Conspiracy

Here are some low grade conspiracies I swear are true.

There is no difference between the deluxe and basic options at the car wash. Maybe if it was one of those hand wash places when your extra five dollars gets another guy on the hood. But at an automatic place? Total tipoff.

The reason toothpaste commercials show a great big gooey glob of toothpaste is to sell more. You only need a pea sized amount. It even says that on the packaging!

That Jetdry rinse agent stuff is baloney. A plot by Big Dish to suck your money. Oh, its for your fine china? Well if you had such dishes I know your maid is polishing them anyway!

They put all those stickers and cardboard inserts on new pants so you deliberately miss one and look like a jabroni the next day at work/school. I dont need seven stickers telling me what size these are! I am not a cyclops!

The truth can hurt sometimes.

Barenaked Ladies

I was up at 4am on slogging through chromebook serial numbers and had the CW's Supergirl on in the background. The CW's whole Arrowverse is something considering it began as just a single show about a Oliver Queen/Green Arrow that then begat about five other shoes and produced the sort of unified TV universe to mirror what Marvel does on the big screen. But, this isn't to talk about those shows it was just this one scene where Supergirl's adopted Earth sister can't hang out with Supergirl because her sister has a date. To go see a Barenaked Ladies concert. In the year of our lord 2016-ish.

This is not a throw away line. Arrow had an episode where Steve Aoki got name dropped a ton but HE WAS IN THE EPISODE! The couple never goes to the concert. The band never shows up. However it does show the couple (Alex and her police detective girlfriend. I am horrible with names on the show. Note I watch it in the background) in band shirts as they prepare to go to the concert. No offense to Barenaked Ladies. GOod for them for still playing shows and making people happy but the name drop and then the little payoff felt hapless and unbelievable. And note this is a show with aliens and alternate universes and a lady who can fly and is bullet proof.

That's it. I should sleep more.

*I will argue Arrow Season 1 into 3 is some solid TV action. Once he becomes the ersatz Batman for the TV universe I tapered off and checked in for big moments and crossovers. Hey, just like paper comic books.

Ikoria Early Hot Takes

A brief stop at attempts to sound poetic for a brief old man rant about the upcoming MTG set: Ikoria: Lair of Behemoths

Look so I lived through Scourge where we were told that it was going to be the big crazy set with monsters and that fizzled like Y2K. Then the company delivered with big old sets like Rise of the Eldrazi and the dragon madness on Tarkir.

But, this set is coming in a hot huge mess. And that is both the positive and negative aspects of  hot huge mess. To be timely this set gives me Tiger King vibes. Big and loud and filled with characters and emblems. You want to keep looking but should you? Easy to get (IT IS HUGE FUCKING MONSTERS!) but also difficult to get (What are these mechanics? Why am I looking for my vintage Mirage rules insert book?!)

I appreciate the flavor of this world. It has this Godzilla vibe (more on that later) where humans are trapped on a world filled with these epic beasts that we live around. Pick a side or get crushed. And there is something primally pleasing about GIANT guys in MTG. I am old enough to remember when we thought Craw Wurm was an absolute unit. My first rare ever, opening a 4th edition starter pack on the second floor of Plaza De Las Americas, was Leviathan. LOOK AT IT! IT IS HUGE!

This card is also awful

So, I dig that. But they amped up wacky-o-meter to something around Leviathan's converted mana cost because we have dinosaur cats and hippo dinosaurs and demon krakens and nightmare elementals and all kinds of jams.

OH LAWD HE COMING!!

Because this permeates the set (which makes sense from a design point of view. You can get these wild guys at all rarities) it really feels like we are in wacky land. Nothing wrong about that but none of these strike me as terrifying. Fun but...well once in the sixth grade we had to design an animal and I designed the Slicer which was a razor tooth tiger otter thing with poison. Got me an A because I made the thing and wrote my at least five paragraphs essay explaining it but still goofy.

I like it but it feels like too much for my old man bones.

The mechanics make me cringe. WOTC/MTG clearly signs they are going digital with this set because what a monster to track on paper. Hard to explain unless you know the rules but mutate gives me the unease that banding did back in the day. The mechanic takes me back to arguing over the lunch table on who was right.

Whenever I see this name I have to roll off "Block Rocking Beats"

Hang around gaming for long enough and you will hear the term "grok." It's shorthand for being to understand something organically. A program you use can be easy to "grok" if the interface lends itself to it.

This is the first MTG mechanic I can't grok without outside resources. And that does not mean how to use efficiently or optimize. I'm good enough to know why I lose at MTG but not good enough to elevate past C+ efficiency.

No, I mean that reading the card doesn't really seem to explain the card.

On a digital client like MTG Online or Arena, well that is easy because the program enforces the rules. I bet Arena will have a neat little demo that shows you how your creatures mutate if you go top or bottom.* And that is awesome but what a mess to track in paper especially at the LGS level. I feel that I am either going to get henpecked by the spikiest spike or let some kid slide with a misplay. Either way I will lose. Either to efficiency or the dumb luck that never favors me,**

Even more complex is the companion mechanic and limitations on deck building. Only even numbered cards? Only one card type? Amazing how MTG can keep pushing design space 25 years in and how digital can amplify that but god damn is it going to feel bad at the FNM when someone runs this guy and they have something with a five cost converted mana cost. Because people are human. Everyone seems to be screaming about cheating but I'm just worried about casual fuck ups.

I think I can run this in Oona commander as one of the 99, right? Right?!

Call a judge? No LGS here has them on staff. Be a dick? Its not in my DNA. Get wrecked? OK, I guess.


One fun thing with the set is the alternate art on the cards. Remember the Godzilla reference?

I shoot the lights out

Somehow WOTC got with Toho to license their 50 plus years of monsters to make alternate art versions of cards in the set. So, no, Godzilla is not really in MTG but he represents a card (Zilortha, Strength Incarnate) with same effects. Its a pre-made alter. And note there are other art variants available in different packs, etc.

I think it is easy to be dismissive of WOTC's recent dive into alternate art/limited edition madness. I wish I was rich enough to afford all of them but as mentioned earlier...I'm human. However, with the PAPER release of Ikoria delayed until May (maybe even later)*** I do hope these help sell packs so we can keep putting little bits of cardboard in plastic sleeves and thinking that it is us who is somehow smarter.


*Yes...phrasing.
**Note that every MTG player says this.
***Digitally it will still release as normal. And while I look foward to trying these cards and mechanics out (I mean, you read this blog. I'm wrong often) on say Arena it really fucking sucks. It is petty to say that is what irked me most about the pandemic but damn it I'm not made of stone. .

Creeping Chill

Its a creeping chill in my office made colder by the emptiness of the space. At regular intervals there are phantom noises that should not be there. A gurgle of water from the outflow pipe. The bright whir of fans and compressors leading into the rattle of the stainless steel. The drop of panels in the ceiling as drip pans overflow. The whine of the copier running its final power cycle and going to sleep.
The noises don't scale into the terrifying. We don't have phantom footfalls or the slam of doors. Its a stillborn sense of cold in the hallways and elevator shafts. The bricks of the walls sweat as whatever warmth leaves their clay and winnows into the air. Time stops except when that sharp scream of the phone brings me back to reality.
"Hello. Yes, Im here. No, I can't be on any help but I will text them."
And I forward my messages along into the void while surrounded by the silence.