Caustically Optimistic

balenciaga ski masks

Or, 'there are no black people in the state of Maine,' 

Sunday at Lunch, my friend Erin and I decided to kidnap Richard.  We haven’t seen him in years and Erin misses him.  Just going to his house, calling him up, or showing up unannounced at his place of business isn’t our style.  We plotted how we’d go about it; we have it all worked out.

First, we’re going to stalk him because we don’t have any idea where he is.  We’re going to have to do some good old-fashioned police work and find that out.  Then we’re going to road trip there and have a stake out in the town in Maine where he was last seen and we believe he lives.  When he’s at work one day we’ll show up and take him.  Amanda won’t actively allow herself to be an accomplice in a crime so we’ll have her drive the get away van. 

Getting him out of his office will be the hard part.  This is what we think will work, tell us what you think: to distract any coworkers or clients who’d get in our way we’re going to have Foxy De sing the song and do the dance for Beyonce’s Single Ladies, Christian and Kirsten can do backup for her because they know the words and the moves.  Christian, don’t even deny it.  There are no black people in Maine so no one will be able to tell the difference between Foxy De and Beyonce.  Erin and I will snatch Richard while everyone is entranced by Foxy’s dancing.  We’ll have to borrow Christian’s Balenciaga ski masks and throw him in the van.  Kathy will be around in a minute in a chase car to retrieve the dancers.  It is the perfect plan.  The only flaw in it would be if Foxy De and Christian got into it on who got to be Beyonce. 

These, children, are the things you do for your friends.  You kidnap them in ski masks and throw them into vans.  I’ve done it before; it’s not that hard. 

Having lunch with Erin was fantastic and the perfect cap to a weekend themed on friendship.  On Friday another friend capped my need to be needed by calling with a problem that needed solving or a vent that needed venting.  Being needed is a vital part of a friendship – at least for me.  On Saturday another friend called with the same need during the day and I realized while this friend shared their tribulations with me that I was lucky to have this friend.  She is the person who’d do anything for you whenever you needed her to.  I only wish I weren’t such a taker when I should be more of a giver.  She was also going through the painful experience of divorcing a friend.  

The second friend reminded me of the fact that I too had recently been divorced by a friend – several in fact – because of my support for President Obama during the campaign.  Being dumped from a romantic entanglement is painful but being divorced from a friend is worse.  It hurt, it was the lamest reason to lose a friend and I certainly didn’t ditch them when I disagreed with their politics.  I counted one as a ‘best friend’ from childhood and I am steadfast in the fact that I do miss them and I am glad I will never see him again.  I have reached a point where I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that we’ve divorced and I no longer resent the time I spent with them in my life or the sacrifices I made to be their friend.  Normally I look back on time spent with awful human beings with a mix of bitterness, rage, and wistfulness but in this case I will maintain my antipathy for my friend but cherish the time we spent together and value what I learned from them about being a human.  As dreadful a person as he is and while his reasons for divorcing me are inane I did learn a great deal about how to be a friend and how not to be a friend from him.  I don’t know if it’s some strange level of maturity or wrong because it’s charming and incongruous all at once.  

There are no steadfast measures of friendship.  One story I could tell you would be this: I had sushi this weekend with Paul and Christian.  Paul was late so Christian and I walked around the mall waiting for Paul’s slow ass to arrive and we ran into one of my former students – which is always a fiasco – and the student pointed out that I had a shirttail sticking out of my zipper.  Christian had noticed and not told me and I knew this and said, “You betch!” and shoved him and then Christian shoved me back – all in play – but I didn’t realize there was a low fountain behind me and I fell in.  The manager from Godiva came out as I was splashing around and asked what I was doing.  Christian said, “That cheap bastard is trying to scrounge enough change up to pay for his dinner.”  Then when the mall cops came to see what the commotion was Christian claimed I was his retarded older brother who fell a lot.  That is what friends do for each other: cover, cover, cover.  Later, when we were finally met Paul at the sushi place and he asked why I was sopping wet Christian said, “you make people wet, it can’t be helped.”  That is also what friends do for you: they memorialize your stupid moments, never letting you forget them and they make sure everyone else gets to enjoy them as well. 

Another measure of friendship would be when I left Erin today, and I will leave this at that.  We were at Erin’s office (yes, on a Sunday) and clients showed up so that was my cue to leave.  Erin said good-bye and hugged me; it was the most natural thing in the world.  I don’t hug people.  I don’t hug my mother.  I remembered to hug my Great-Grandmother when I saw her last instead of shaking her hand.  I don’t just hug like everyone else does; constant gratuitous touching is meaningless to me and probably to you as well but that it didn’t bother me is a measure of the fact that we’re friends.  In contrast the person I worked for on the campaign used to hug people all the time, including me, and it always made me want to jump out of my skin and throw myself in the Ohio River.  If we would have been friends it might have been different.  That’s what friends do for you; they reshape your comfort zones and push you to be better people. 

Le Mort de Marie

My friend Marie at Suburban Island had a near death experience, which she discussed at her page. She thinks that I could somehow make the death of my dear friend, mentor and accomplice into a humorous tale. I think she is one sick dame.

Now Marie is deeply religious and takes her Catholicism very seriously (at least for a middle class, suburban white woman) and when she dies she will most likely be canonized as the patron saint of the Internet, suburban housewives and Bloggers but I think an early death is out of line. She has to perform three miracles before she dies anyway, so it is not her turn.

When my partner in crime does find herself in queue to see Saint Peter she will soon hear this prayer from her beleaguered devotees:

Hail Marie, full of wit, hear us Bloggers now and in the hour of our emo. Keep one hand on my shoulder, the other firmly over my mouth – hold on a sec, okay?

I’d like a Double Caramel Mocha Frappachino with whip and sprinkles. Could you use skim milk and make it venti? Perfect!

Beautiful Marie, gracious advocate: help my stats flourish and readership grow. Stay my hand when I start to rant and guide me towards the well-developed sentences and story lines – hold on again, I’m sorry – someone is beeping on the other line. Okay, okay. I’m back– yea though I walk through the Valley of Tech Support I will fear no error message for you are with me.

Keep my ideas fresh and my camera handy. Guide me to good blogs and good readers to me, if I die before I wake I pray the Lord my toys to break. E Pluribus Unum. Amen.

However, when Marie hears the wireless access in Heaven leaves a lot to be desired I’m sure she’ll be less likely to go towards the bright light. That and knowing that her husband and kids can nag her in Heaven as on Earth she will stay here with her headphones. Also, I need her for my varied adventures as a willing participant or vicarious comrade. I don’t know what I’d do without her, or the rest of world for that matter.

getting to the tail end of things

Today, if it is indeed still Saturday, my aunt Stella (my Godmother and the Duchess of Warsaw) put her Chihuahua to sleep. Her Chihuahua was very old and in poor health but it is still painful to see a pet go. I am not going to write about how important pets are in our lives – we all know that pets are better than people – I will instead repost a slightly edited piece I posted at my old address about my (late) friend Buddy, an amazing Dalmatian who died rather face a second (or is it third?) Bush Administration.

On the occasion of Buddy losing part of his tail.

Originally Posted on June 20, 2003

getting to the tail end of things

I stayed home from vacation this year under the very transparent pretense of taking care of the dog. However, my parents weren’t home twenty minutes and we were packing out to the Emergency Veterinarian’s Office.

My parent’s had gotten in from their vacation and Buddy (our dog) was terribly excited to see them so, like all dogs, needed to be let out of the house immediately. It is important to note that Buddy has two speeds: asleep and get the hell out my way, slowpoke. Buddy usually speeds right out the door and I slam it after it so we don’t let mice, bugs, Democrats, Mormon missionaries or neighborhood mongrel children into the house.

Today Buddy stopped and now the last inch, inch and a half of his tail stayed in our kitchen and the part still attached to his body went wagging out on the porch.

Is there a mouse in the house?
Buddy hadn’t noticed that his tail was missing but I noticed that there was a mouse by the door and was none too happy to see it. I bent over to pick it up. I’m a boy and a teacher of small children; dead rodents are common fair in my world. That is when I noticed that it was the severed tail of our canine. While I’ve never been a fan of blood or other germ conducting bodily fluids I am and always have been a guy and a brother so I have chucked all manner of animal (alive and dead) at my sister. The severed tail of the family pet (even if Buddy isn’t my buddy) is quite another story.

I mentioned to my parents that the dog’s tail had been cut off and Mom laughed that laugh that Moms laugh when you tell a joke in poor taste to indicate that you’re not as funny as you think. If you were the Mother of Spritopias (sounds like a horror film) then you too would have a prize-winning laugh. She came over to where I was, rolling her eyes and doing the requisite strut of the Republican Party and gasped, I had indeed severed the tail of our dog.

Major Dad. Thank God for my father because while I was busy taking in the comedy of the scene in our kitchen and my mother was processing that I had altered our dog he went outside to get the dog. He barked orders (when he goes into “Major Mode” he ceases speaking and starts to bark) about stuff to get and things to do. My sister is a Princess and my mother apparently was one because it fell onto me to follow these orders. My mother started calling veterinarians while I rounded up the stuff we needed to stop the bleeding.

Our dog does have Downs Syndrome but he wouldn’t have noticed his tail being gone if he wasn’t stupid. There aren’t enough nerve endings there to feel much pain and even if there were he bangs the damn thing up and down everywhere he goes. He didn’t even notice that his tail was partially gone. As a result he wagged on down, across the porch onto the lawn and part of the way up our way getting his blood all over the place. It looked like a Crime Scene

The Major does not like the dog and it would be safe to say that he hates it. The poor old man had to catch the dog, wrestle him to the ground and then bandage his wounds using the best of Boy Scout First Aid. If you are ever in need of medical attention and your only hope is the Boy Scouts of America write a living will in your own blood and pray that they let you die. It’s quicker that way.

After our inept attempts to bandage the dog had failed several times Mom came outside to tell us that she had made an appointment with the Emergency Veterinarian.

Who gets to tell Chaos Bean?

Mom and I coaxed the dog into car where I got to ride, sans seatbelt in the back like a Hoosier down Preston Highway (one of Kentucky’s most dangerous roads) and onto the Outer Loop (the other dangerous road in Kentucky) while my mother called my Aunt Stella (an avid dog lover, Buddy especially) and then my Grandfather (her father) and the subject came up, “who tells Chaos Bean.” Chaos Bean, my sister and THE Princess, is the last to hear any important news whether it is her business or not. It is also “her dog” and she has had people killed for lesser offenses. She likes this dog better than she likes her nephews (but you would too if you knew them), most of the humans she encounters, even more than she likes me. If that wasn’t true this morning then it is now.

Well, Buddy remained blissfully unaware that his tail was missing as we drove to the vet – he was thrilled to be on a car ride. The only thing on his nerves was that I was holding his leash and his tail (he’s a huge Dalmatian) and every chance he got he’d free his tail and wag blood all over the place. I was embarrassed but the people at the Vet didn’t have a problem at all, they were very understanding about blood all over the place not to mention his shedding.

Bitch, Please! When I say that I’m really berating someone or expressing contempt but Buddy was saying, “Yeah, honey, I’d like fries with that!” This dog, bleeding all over the place and a part of his vertebrae sticking out wants to cruise for female dogs. There is nothing as comedic as the sight of me trying to hold both ends of the dog and keep them from meeting up. He wanted me off his tail and was dragging me all over.

Finally some nurses took him away and bandaged him up while we waited for a doctor. It took them twice as long as the Major’s inept but noble efforts but theirs worked. The amazing thing is, they used a lot of duct tape. Normally that is what a man in our family would do but this time we didn’t. Who knew that his was actually the correct answer this time? This time and no other.

In short order the veterinarian came out, assessed the situation and dispatched us back home. Buddy is staying over night while they cut more off his tail, close the wound, clean him up and make him comfortable. If I had known vets were so efficient I may have been born a dog instead but its probably better not to be a dog - you could end up with me as your owner.

Radio Free Chaos Bean

On Friday I was listening to the talk radio and this woman asks the host if she is ready to be a parent. She explains that she is not sure that she is emotionally or financially ready to be a parent. The host responded that she was ready to do it if she was mature enough to ask that question. I thought that good advice until I remembered that I was listening to Adam Carolla – formerly of Love Line – because he is a crass retard (not unlike myself) and not because knows what he is talking about. Danny Bonaduci corroborated his sage wisdom.

You can tell that I am an immigrant because I put “the” in funny places.

Chaos Bean and I have two uncles who are young enough to be our brothers. If we need advice we ask Drew and Danny. We do what Drew suggests and do the exact opposite of what Danny tells us to do. Why? Danny is retarded. It may be the name. It may a coincidence. It may be completely random but I am going to stick by our long-standing “Danny is retarded” policy. I am sure there is something to be said for Mr. Bonaduci; he has turned his life around and drives a German car and I respect that. My uncle, however, volunteers at the Special Olympics he is hoping something positive will rub off on him.

I have decided that I should stop with the Internet journals and writing. I should be on the radio. Chaos Bean and I should have a show – we would be on in the afternoon or early evening because the only times we are up and alert at four in the morning is when we have not yet been to bed. Chaos Bean thinks we should be on the television because we are just as fun to watch but then I would have to worry about combing my hair and not picking my nose. Also, people can listen to the radio anywhere. People do that while driving but have no business watching TV while driving. Also, being on television robs us of the chance to piss off the blind. I could care about the deaf and you can tell them I said that.

Chaos Bean and I have all the qualifications to be radio hosts: we have unqualified opinions, sketchy pasts and we are very funny. We also drink too much, can shout someone down O’Reilly Factor style and the Bean knows where to throw down if you want to have fun.

This idea is one of my better ones. I should get the Alex Vance on this right away. This will be genius. If any of you have a radio station you want to be really popular really quickly then you should contact the Alex Vance expeditiously.

in black and white

Peter, who I am about to starting calling “Radio Free – Vatican” told me that, “Dude, the world isn’t black and white,” and I countered, “It is when you’re color blind.” That is, indeed, the story of my life. Here is the run down on our conversation, and where I am black and white:

Newt Gingrich is thinking of running for President, giving hope to fat, Lutheran kids who had sex with their geometry teacher with an absolute lack of social skills that they too will do something with their lives. However, in defense of this small demographic, please, Newt, do you think that being humiliated in front of the Republic once enough? Do you have to do this, again? You have to ask yourself, “How many times did he touch that hot stove before his mother viciously beat him out of the kitchen and back into his room where he wrote tawdry geometry proofs?”

Newt did something some thing most politicians only talk about: some thing. He did something while he was Speaker of the House and not many can claim that. After forty years, the Democrats had little to show for it and all of Bill Clinton’s accomplishments are rooted in the Contract With America. Newt may be social inept, but his revolution was why I could not vote for John Kerry in 2004 – what did John Kerry do as a legislator? Nothing, he never led and henceforth anyone leaving the Federal Legislature should have something to show for it if they want me to promote him or her to Commander In Chief. Bill Clinton’s legacy as President is putting the Republicans in control of the Congress, the Courts, and practically electing George W. Bush, twice.

bells will be ringing

Question: Can I wear the suit I wore to my Grandmother’s funeral to her husband’s wedding?
What I learned: “There is nothing sexier than a man in a classic blue suit.” – Jessica Grams

Next Saturday my Grandfather will be remarried and this has led to a flurry of questions, controversies, and discussions. Can I wear the same to the wedding as I did to the funeral? What do we call her? What does Great Grandma think about this? I was going to raise these questions with the Ms. Manners of the Blogosphere, L’ Empress, but then I might run into a situation where I would not be able to do what I wanted to do anyway because she had directed me to the Path of Ought.

national shortage

Now that American Idol is over for the time being (let’s all hold hands and hope ‘the time being’ is ‘forever’) Paula Abdul is in the news for doing something useful for once. She is lobbying the Senate of the People’s Republic of California for Salon Hygiene. Read about it here . I find it amusing that celebrities want us to take them seriously after having a career like hers. If I had the ear of the Senate of the People's Republic of California for an hour we would talk about something more important, like pushing Fox Studies into the ocean before the weight of all their BS caused the entire state to become a part of the Pacific Ocean.

I saw that news story first when I looked at CNN, and then they had an article about Tom Cruise. I decided today that I would like to be a celebrity because it must be fantastic to live your life unaware that you are completely ridiculous, having the Republic pay attention to your half baked ideas and to have no shame. I could lobby the Senate for better service from Mc Donald’s drive-thrus, and I could jump on Oprah’s couch. I have no shortage of half-baked ideas either. I just have a shortage of national attention.