Caustically Optimistic

cosmic crayola

A little over 1,500 days ago I traveled to New Haven with several other Bloggers to meet up and celebrate Golf Widow’s 1000^th Day as a Non-Smoker.  My friendship with and fealty to Suburban Island and Jyram are well documented but it was a nice chance to meet the other occupants of the Internet’s b list of celebrities.  I could document the trip for you but the story behind the story is more interesting. 

The short form is this:

A long time ago, a woman who writes under the name of Cosmic Crayola became sick and had to quit smoking.  A woman who reads Cosmic Crayola, the aforementioned Golf Widow, quit smoking out of solidarity.  Shut up, I know it was good for Golf Widow’s health and pocketbook as well.  That’s not how Golf Widow rolls.  While I am not entirely certain if Golf Widow would do something strictly for her health I am confident that above all things that Golf Widow would do anything for a friend.

If that doesn’t inspire you then you don’t have a soul and fuck you. 

Unfortunately it is 2,500 days and more after that our friend Cosmic is succumbing to the rigors of life.  It’s a rare friend that brings people together the way that Cosmic did that weekend in New Haven.  It’s a rare friend that inspires you to better yourself whether it is through quitting smoking or following another good example.  That day her good example and the desire to emulate it brought people together from all over the country to share fellowship and laughs.  I've met a lot of great people through blogging and photo-sharing sites but it was Cosmic who brought us together, in person. 

If I had to condense the Internet into a solid form I would steal the metaphor of the world-wide-web.  If we lose Cosmic, and I pray that we don’t, we’ll lose one of the strong tendrils that hold us all together and true to her Crayola heritage: made it more colorful.  I want to tell you more but, for now, the grief is still too near.  

once and future king

I usually mock the articles written by other Bloggers when celebrities pass.  I don’t have a strong connection to popular culture or the other humans but Michael Jackson is one of the few celebrities that I feel a connection to.  I think I understand now that the King is dead.  I’ve noticed that my friends who are younger than I am don’t seem to understand what we’ve just lost and have made comments like, “where were you when Michael Jackson died?”  How many of us were listening to music influenced by Michael on our iPods?  

I defy you to find an artist today who wasn’t influenced by his work.  The world may be easily divided into Beatles or Elvis people, but we’re all Michael people whether we like it or not.  For most of my friends, Thriller was our first album.  We had it on a record even and tape.  My friends that are one or two years younger than I am lost someone they ridicule; my friends closer in age lost someone who left an indelible mark in our lives.  

Tonight I went to the Dance Vigil for Michael Jackson here in Louisville with one of my friends from the Campaign for Change, Keith.  His camera was stolen while he was stolen while he was in the City on vacation.  At first, and always, I was there to Observe and Pass Judgment.  You cannot hear the music of Michael Jackson and not move.  I still took pictures for Keith.  I also did what I remembered from Golden Age of Michael.  I communed with the other people who mourned someone who contributed so much to our popular culture. 

Some of my earliest memories involve the King of Pop.  I remember learning to do the Thriller dance in PE when I was in Kindergarten.  I remember that teacher not being there long after that, either.  For my Lutheran, Christian, judgmental friends: Yes, this was at one of your Ivory Towers.  I remember that my mother bought the Princess Bean and I the book of sheet music for our piano lessons – we wanted to grow up and be like Michael.  I remember Junior High when it wasn’t cool to like Michael that I would still listen to his tapes on my walk-man. 

I remember during my first year of teaching when Michael did a special concert in the City, which was nationally televised.  I remember the next day my students at the Dirty I coming in and knowing the dances.  I remember delaying the start of class so that one of the students I shared with April could do his moves for the class.  I learned that day about the importance of giving the students some time and space in your classroom so they can teach you what they know.  That was also when April, who was my mentor, shared with the kids about Michael Jackson and modeled how to be the best teacher possible for your students.  If the Phoenicians thought I was a good teacher – and I am phenomenal – it is because of April’s example.  April also showed them how to really Moonwalk.  She is amazing. 

During the Campaign for Change, one of the songs you’d hear at rallies was “Man in the Mirror,” and this song was on campaign mix-tape.  Even Senator McCain has been caught doing the dance from “Thriller.”  Whenever that CD rolls around in the rotation or I hear that song it’s all the more powerful because of what we did in Indiana for the Republic.  I knew that Obama was my candidate when I was at his rally and heard that song, because of how people maligned Michael, that he would have the guts to use that song while other candidates wouldn’t have.  I never believed the things they said about Michael and I’m glad he was acquitted.  I remember dancing on the top of an SUV with Nancy when he was set free because it was a good day for American justice. 

 Yeah, Michael was strange but I don’t think he ever hurt or meant to hurt anyone.  I think that he’s an example of how, when we push kids in the wrong way, we ruin them.  As a teacher you always have to be wary of the long-lasting effects on children that you may or may not have.  You always have to leave the world a better place than you found it. A small part of his tragedy is that while he tried to that for other people, I am not sure people did that for him when his mind was young and malleable.  Beside all that, during Shakespeare’s time he was considered weird – Chaucer too, it’s more a function of genius I think than malice.  

Michael, I would wish for you that you rest in peace but that isn’t right: I hope you never rest.  I hope you live in us through your music, your innovations, and your genius.  Thank you for all that you’ve given us and still continue to give.  

the Bard would be proud

This Saturday I went to Macbeth presented by the Kentucky Shakespeare Company.  Many of you outside the Commonwealth of Kentucky probably find the idea of Shakespeare performed by the denizens of Kentucky comical; it is indeed.  The plays put on by this company are either really good or tragic.  Macbeth is a play that is really easy to perform badly.  This was so well done that I would go again.  Unfortunately, unlike normal people I can’t go from ‘point a’ to ‘point b,’ without something ‘interesting’ happening. 

I went with Linda and some people from church; I think they’re my parents.  I haven’t been to Central Park coming from where I work so Linda text-messaged me (bad) directions.  This was in response to my asking her, in reference to a bottle of wine, if she’d like to have an Ménage a Trios, which is by coincidence my favorite brand of wine to drink too much of.  Unfortunately, this was presented more as a proposition between: myself, Linda, and the waitress; instead of: “would you like to get drunk on a cheap bottle of win with me?”  The waitress was down but Linda was not; it was humiliating for everyone (except the waitress).  To revenge herself and her house upon me she sent me on Coolio’s fantastic voyage through the worst parts of Louisville.  The plays are performed in Central Park, which again has all the seediness but none of the class of New York’s Central Park.  It’s entirely possible that I was supposed to drive passed all those meth houses and “Gentlemen’s Clubs” to get there. 

The Bard would be proud. 

The play was great but went wrong in several areas.  The Kentucky Shakespeare Company has an African American actor.  He has recently lost a great deal of weight – or since the last time I was here to watch it – and now looks like Dave Chappelle.  I kept expecting him to do or say something funny.  I kept hearing him say, “THEY SHOULD NEVER HAVE GIVEN YOU HIGHLANDERS MONEY!” and, “&$%# YOUR COUCH, HIGHLANDER!  &$%# YOUR COUCH!”  He was wearing big boots like Chappelle did in the Rick James episode.  There was also a boy who looked like Harry Potter, but that wasn’t as distracting as Dave Chappelle as Macbeth.  

As with every low-budge Shakespeare Company, the company did something, ‘different’ and ‘snazzy’ with the costuming or theme of the play.  Shakespeare’s stories are timeless so we can juxtapose them on any canvas we want to.  This Macbeth was costumed in an amalgamation of the subcultures that are outfitted by Hot Topic.  At first I wasn’t confident that the people in bondage pants and Hannibal Lecter masks were actors in the play but when they knew all the lines my fears were assuaged.  I think they chose this motif because they use the same basic set every year and the dark, patent leather with bright plaids set the tone for Scotland.  Actually, the costuming was brilliant and I would explain it to you but it would betray the fact that I have a master’s degree in teaching English.  It was like watching Chaos Bean’s people kill each other. 

The play was well done though.  It is usually an acceptable performance but while you’re sitting there with people light up and bugs are chewing on your extremities it’s difficult to tolerate something that isn’t completely fantastic.  Theater people scare me, especially when they think they’re from Britain.  This wasn’t just tolerable; I’d sit in the heat and watch it again.  

be prepared

I was a Boy Scout a long time ago and I think that the Boy Scouts are a good organization for people who have fewer friends than I do and enjoy being eaten by bugs.  I learned a great deal in the Boy Scouts and about ninety-five percent of what I learned can be categorized in “information I will never need,” and, “things I learned from my father.  The other five percent of things I learned are what makes me such a neurotic mess today.  I try to blame my parents like any decent Christian, but it ends up being the fault of the Boy Scouts. 

One of the neurotic little habits I picked up was the need, or attempt, to be prepared for every eventuality imaginable.  This has caused me to the object of scorn and taunting people who have traveled with me before – most notably the things I toted all over Rome the time we went while at University.  James and I – another Boy Scout - made everyone get anoraks that folded up into tiny pouches, and carried around an Italian phrase book, deck of cards, baby wipes, and a first aid kit.  Kristy had a good laugh at this, and refused to get an anorak, this was all very comical, until it rained on and off the entire time we were there, and we wore the anoraks every day and had to use the first aid kit, baby wipes, and deck of cards on Kristy.   James lent her his anorak because he is a scholar and a gentleman.  Despite this preparedness, we left one of our suitcases in the van in Nebraska. 

On Saturday night I was to go to see Mac Beth with a group from church that I like to call, “random members of my family and Linda.”  I had to go there from work so I packed a small bag of clothes to change into before the play.  The play was going to be in Central Park, Louisville, which has all of the seediness and none of the charm of Central Park in Manhattan.  I needed some shorts and a lighter shirt than I wear to work, not to mention appropriate shoes for being in a bad neighborhood.  In an example of history repeating itself: I left all of this at home.

Now, I am sure you are sniggering at my preparedness: he packed a bag and left it at home.  I would like to draw your attention to always having a Plan B and a Plan C.  My backup plan includes always having something at Target that I like, and am going to get eventually, picked out and on sale.  This is always available to me in case I need something appropriate to wear at the last minute.  This always works out so I left work on Saturday night and headed to Target where my plan came to fruition.  I will grant that at this point Plan A seems a lot better and economically more sensible.

On the way to the dressing room I realized that I had to use the restroom.  I hate using public restrooms but there was no way I’d last through Mac Beth and be able to use the restroom at home.  I dropped what I wanted off at the dressing rooms and went to the bathrooms and was glad that I was going to be in there alone.  I think that using a public restroom is a tawdry and unhygienic; I would hate to have been seen doing it. 

Being seen doing it wasn’t going to be an issue, it was perhaps the most foul smelling thing I have ever done.  I normally wouldn’t share this information with anyone but the comedy ensues when I had to use all the toilet paper and then discover I picked the toilet that didn’t flush.  I am guessing that if I were a regular patron of public restrooms I’d have known some sort of sign that I had picked the defective toilet.  Instead, I had to fill the broken toilet with the most noxious thing to come out of anyone’s body ever. 

I’d feel bad for the person who found it and had to rectify that situation, because it was truly gruesome.  I do not feel bad because I pay a great deal of money in taxes so that we can provide every child in the Republic with a free education and it isn’t my fault they didn’t take full advantage of that.  You can lead a horse to water, you can hold their head under it, but you cannot make them drink. While I am heartily embarrassed of my actions I feel no remorse for the poor soul who had to clean it up. 

While this plan wasn’t economically preferable to the first plan I am lucky that I used the bathroom because that would have been much worse in Central Park.  I can’t imagine, if they have a bathroom, that it would have been much better.  I’d rather blow up a Target’s bathroom and leave than do that in Central Park and have to sit through the rest of Mac Beth with everyone knowing – at least in my neurotic head – what I had done.  

King's Island

Last week, for Jason’s birthday, we went to King’s Island.  I could regale you with stories about the amusement park but you’ve been to one and know the drill.  We stood in lines, we rode rides, we observed teens dressed all in black shameless licking each other in line, we ate food that cost too much, came perilously close to dehydration and sunburn, and had a very good time.

I felt old, not because we were there to celebrate someone being thirty but because after one ride I was too sore to want to any more like it.  I’d have been happier if I had hung upside down in the sun for three hours waiting to be rescued by a volunteer fire crew.  I just read an awful book by Frank Peretti about big foot and creationism or science being dumb, and while I’d like the hours I spent reading that book back the ride was not unlike the description of how big foot killed people 

I didn’t know the book was about Big Foot.  I am ashamed to have read it. 

This trip was also notable for the fact that things went so well, at least as far as I know.  I may no longer be their friend.  No one got sun burnt, dehydrated, or shanked.  It’s very hard to be seen in public with me because I am embarrassing.  I have no social skills.  A kind person once submitted the idea that I may be slightly autistic but the truth of the matter is that I am an asshole.  I would be ashamed to know me. 

A case in point would be when we ran into my greatest fear in the park: an albino.  It makes no sense and is probably bigotry at it’s worst but I am afraid of albinos and I avoid them at all cost.  I should be ashamed but I sell cars: I have no shame.  Most people who hear this point to the statistical chances of encountering an albino in the wild but I defy statistics; they show up on all my vacations.  I probably had a bad experience with a 7UP as a child or something.  I am also afraid of riding in elevators and peanut butter.  If I ever encounter an albino holding a jar of peanut butter in an elevator I will probably soil myself. 

I think my favorite part of going to the park is that my sister bullies people to get on rides.  Not people she is with, but gorgons on their youth group outing or if we’re lucky macho dudes impressing ‘their women.’  She emasculates them or herds them on to the ride using peer pressure – but don’t try to get her on a Ferris Wheel.  I would ride a rollercoaster that does anything or drops from any height, but I won’t get on a Ferris Wheel. 

And all of this?  This is was my summer vacation.  I have hope to have a real job before too long and real vacations, without albinos.  

zero to one

Good news everybody!  I was in a four-car pile-up!  I am okay and so is my car, besides a small issue of the bumper and my neck hurting but I’ll live.  The other people are fine but their cars are not fine.  Yes, I did give out business cards.  I was the victim; I should get something out of it besides a great story.  I went to see my medical professional today after church, I am still color-blind and neurotic.  My car is the same condition it was before the accident – the Germans know what they’re doing when they design a car.  We’re all very lucky that professional soldiers, and not our auto manufacturers, led our fight in the World Wars. 

I put my Facebook status as, [Legal Name] was just in a four-car pile-up, Volkswagen – 1, Domestic Cars – 0.”  While anyone who knows me knows that if I were to have a serious personal catastrophe I wouldn’t post it as a Facebook status, I apologize to anyone who feared for my health or, more importantly, the integrity of my car. 

This should have been an entry about how Big Macs are the key difference between Chaos Bean and myself.  Apparently, our mother used them as prenatal vitamins when I was germinating in her uterus but not when Chaos Bean was.  Valerie is using this method, against anyone’s better judgment during this pregnancy.  She’s balancing this with Filet of Fish. 

Unfortunately, someone who was most likely intoxicated and definitely stupid couldn’t stop his van in time, running it into an SUV which ran into a mini-van – carrying a newborn baby home – and ultimately into my efficient little sedan.  The offending driver of the out of control van claimed that he couldn’t stop without using our cars as slow-down lane because he had several hundred gallons of water in his vehicle.  I don’t know a great deal about cars but I know a great deal about physics and if my car is loaded down I know it is going to take a while to stop.  I would describe for you the delicious Bullitt County pandemonium but since there were babies and old ladies taken the hospital, can it really be funny?  If it were my grandmother I'd be all attention but this is someone else's life.  

My car is fine though and so am I.  I survived seventh graders, I’m not afraid of an out of control van.  I appreciate your concern.