Morton Malaise

I was at the Office Tap in Morton the other night when Phil Luciano walked in with some blond woman. They came in, she sat down, and he went to the ATM. Less than a minute later, he approached the bar, said something to the woman, and they both scurried out the door like their heads were on fire and their asses were catching. Did the Looch see something that frightened him? Could it have been the bartender, who is 5′ tall and maybe 90 pounds soaking wet? Was it the group of large, non-native drunk people at the back end of the bar? Did he feel the lighting was unflattering to his figure? Only the Looch knows for sure.

During an email conversation with the lovely and brilliant PH, I sent her a screenshot of several junk emails I received. She suggested that I post only the subjects in the form of a poem. While the form is absolutely horrible, and there’s no syllabic structure to be found, here goes…

Become a big member holder and all will be in order.
The blue pill will save your little friend from death.
You can travel East or West but you’ll stay so manly blessed.
Live a big life of a big man with a big instrument inside your pants.
Now you will have hard rock not only on your CD’s but in your pants as well. (That’s my favorite. It made our office laugh a lot.)
Unleash the power in the sleeping dragon.
Be proud of your biggest achievement that shines in your pants.

Wasn’t that fun?

This is bullshit.

Your Word is “Fearless”

You see life as your one chance to experience everything, and you just go for it! You believe the biggest risk is being afraid and missing out on something amazing. Sometimes your fearlessness means you’re daring. You enjoy risky activities. And sometimes your fearlessness means you’re courageous. You’re brave enough to do the right thing, even when it’s scary.

I had a social studies teacher in 8th grade who was pregnant. I remember a time, when she climbed up on a chair to change a poster, and my friend Russell said, “How now, brown cow?” She had been pregnant for some time and often made fun of how her belly grew through her pregnancy, kidding with our class. I also remember the way she looked at Russell when the tears came to her eyes and said, “Really, Russell? How now brown cow?” The face she made and the way she felt was a vulnerability I had never seen in a woman, because my mother made it a point to never let her guard down in my presence.

My Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago. She had a radical mastectomy and reconstructive surgery at the same time. She also had terrible, terrible radiation and chemotherapy for almost a year afterward. The whole time, my Mom tried to stay strong before me, and was scared to death to be vulnerable in front of her son, because she had always been this solid block in my life, the one thing I could count on, through my father leaving when I was 3, through the pathological liar she married when I was 10, through it all. I walked into my Grandmother’s dining room to see my Mother’s head in her hands one night during her fight against cancer. My aunts tried to push me out of the room, but I wouldn’t leave. My mom was terrified that she would die and leave me. Her hair had fallen out, her feet burned every time she stepped, and her insurance money had run out. I was in my mid-20’s, and I felt like I was ready to see my Mother as a person, scared, tired, vulnerable, like we all are. I still wake at night seeing my Mom raising her head from her hands, her eyes shot with tears, and scared to death because her boy had seen her afraid.

These things are why I respect Mothers. The eyes into which sons look, and the smiles we will never forget, and the tears that fall when their children are hurt or scared, are the most beautiful things this world has.

This song isn’t exactly a memory, but the Gaslight Anthem is absolutely incredible. They’ve drawn a lot of comparisons to early Springsteen and the Replacements. The title of the song is “Even Cowgirls get the Blues”, and no, it’s not the same one you’ve heard by a million other artists. If you like it, I would suggest going to YouTube and watching every Gaslight Anthem video you can find. I bought the album The ‘59 Sound on vinyl a few months ago and haven’t taken it off the turntable since.

Well, it seems there are 5 Tuesdays in March. Tradition would dictate that a Blogger Bash be held, but it seems some of us are having some problems getting along with some of the others. Because of the juvenile nature of, well, the whole fucking deal, I think we should have the next Blogger Bash at Chuck E Cheese. The grown-ups among us can drink beer and piss and moan about local politics, while the others can settle their problems in the giant ball pit. And first one to get a million Skee-Ball tickets and buy me a plastic spider ring gets to hang out with me for an hour.

I said I was taking a break, but…
Peoria’s Mothers are crying,
Crying for help.
Peoria’s lights and
Her people and
her tears are dripping down
Her face.

Peoria’s streets bleed,
And the Mothers of Peoria wait
And gasp
And sing
For the unfairly stolen.

For shame. For. Shame.

I am not happy with this blog recently. It’s poppycock. I am taking a break from blogging. I may sporadically post something if the mood strikes me, but don’t expect much. Much of the anger and frustration with the world I once had has faded a bit, maybe because I’ve met someone who makes me really, really happy and the annoying shit doesn’t seem to bother me as much. It is what it is.

Eddie Vedder doing karaoke “Where the Streets Have No Name” during Cubs Fantasy Camp at Best Western in Mesa, Arizona. He’s so tragically hip.

UPDATE: Video removed by the user. Fuck your mother, Eddie Vedder. Her flappy pussy lips probably sound better than every album you put out after VS.

I posted a few pictures from last Fall. They’re here. Enjoy. Or don’t. Whatever.