by Brad

May 31, 2007

GET OUT OF MY WAY SON--YOU'RE USING MY OXYGEN

Don't take notice of the rising waters
Don't take notice where rivers run dry
They'll be digging through the landfills
To find evidence of our great demise

A few brief things:

-- I'm listening to Poison's latest contribution, an album of covers, as I pound away on the keyboard. Never been a Poison fan. This album isn't going to change my opinion of the band either. Oh sure, I've threatened to do Elmer Fudd singing Every Rose Has Its Thorn during a karaoke session, but that doesn't mean there's any affection for these jokers.

Listening to this album makes me feel like I'm writing in a bar inhabited by a covers band. Any minute now, some drunken slob is going to sit down beside me, throw his arm around my shoulder and start singing along with the band. He will be spraying the lyrics more than he will be singing them. And if I look over to my right, I'm sure I'll see an even drunker woman, losing a mighty battle to hold back tears as the band pours its heart into a rendition of Can't You See. Yep, some ex-boyfriend is going to get a drunken phone call at 3 a.m.

I would ask for someone to pass the beer nuts, but I suspect my new-found buddy, drunken slob, has drooled into the bowl.

Cutting this travesty by Poison off would be a wise thing to do, but it has a car-wreck quality to it. I don't want to listen, but I can't turn away from it either.

-- On Monday, I accompanied Wendy to the mall that's in this town. It was my first visit to this place since I moved to this spot off of Exit 149 a year and a half ago. Part of the reason I never set foot inside this mall was because I thought the thing was shut down, a vacant relic from days gone by. Even during the Christmas/Holiday shopping season, this mall looked like a place without a pulse.

But I was mistaken. The joint is open. Or rather, there are stores still operating within those sad, gray walls. There are spots to rent if you're considering opening a business. I'm sure you can get a good rate from the mall's manager. It's even possible your business can be on the shady side--organ harvesting, bootleg DVDs, harp seal toupees, etc. You might have to cough up a few months rent in advance, but I suspect a blind eye will be turned.

We needed mini-blinds, and we wanted them on the cheap. Dilsey, Wendy's 112-pound black lab, has this habit of getting tangled in the cord while looking out a window, sending her into a panic, which in turn, causes her to take off running and yanking the blinds out of their brackets. Sometimes the blinds can be saved. Most times, they're giving their last rites and tossed.

So we ended up at the mall, at some discount store where mini-blinds can be purchased for $4.00 (U.S.). Cheap, true, but a price is paid. For one thing, you get thrown into an instant depression the moment you walk into the store. Everyone in there seems to shuffle around in a lifeless state. We saw one old man pushing a shopping cart and he actually looked like some lost soul. There was nothing behind his eyes. Nothing.

I offered Wendy $20 (U.S.) to go up to him and check him for a pulse. She wasn't that brave. I don't blame her. I had this creepy feeling we were dead and we weren't aware of this fact. You know, one of those Twilight Zone-type plot twists. Did we actually get into a fatal car wreck? I'm sure I made that turn in front of the truck with plenty of time to spare, but maybe I didn't, and we were now tossed into this contemporary purgatory.

Exiting the store and leaving that mall was one of the best feelings I ever experienced. For once, I understood why some people, who escape a perilous situation, drop to their knees and kiss the ground. I would have done the same except the pavement outside the mall had some dodgy stains on it. I mean, I was grateful to be out, but not that grateful.

-- An open letter to Poison:

Dear Guys,

The Stones' Dead Flowers? Big-time mistake. On the plus side, I forgot this error the instant I heard your horrible version of The Who's Squeeze Box. I'm guessing you really weren't planning for this album to be your big comeback. Well played, gentlemen.

-- A few weeks back, Wendy accidentally came up with a term to describe the Paris Hiltons, the Lindsay Lohans and the Fergies of this sweet old world of ours. She misread the title of Fergie's song, Glamorous, thinking instead it was "Glammoron."

"At least she's honest," Wendy said.

Of course, she re-read it, and while she was disappointed in the actual title, she liked the fact that she had come up with an apt term for these women. We've been using it since then and we welcome you all to join us. It's our gift to the world. Feel free to spell it however you choose when writing it because it is an awkward-looking word in the written form. I like it best as one word, but if you feel the need to hyphenate, then have at it. If you like it with one m,
instead of two, then proceed with one.

The choice, as always, is yours to make.

On a more serious note, good luck in rehab, Ms. Lohan. We're all pulling for you. The thinking around here is the second time is the
charm.

-- The weather gods are toying with us. This house that we call home is 77-years-old, and we went a good chunk of last summer without turning on the air conditioner. It was mid-July before we broke down and cranked it up. We get great cross-breezes from open windows, thanks to the design of the house. While we never have to run for a sweater or anything, the house does stay moderately comfortable. And it does give our electric bill a break too. I won't deny that fact.

However, the past week or so has been excruciating. It's unseasonably warm and humid, and I suspect the weather gods didn't appreciate us bragging about how long we resisted the lure of the air conditioner last summer. They're hitting us, and hitting us hard. I never went public with this, but I was hoping to hold out until August this season. However, I'm not feeling confident about making it through June. I can feel the rivulets of sweat forming on my back. It won't be long before they're traveling southward, toward the valley of the cheeks. Not a great feeling.

Cards and letters of encouragement are welcome. Cash donations too.

-- Does anyone out there have a copy of Green On Red's song, Sorry
Naomi, on a mp3 file--or whatever is the hot and current format--they could send me? I hate asking, but I'm having no luck coming across it on the Internets. I have the vinyl copy, but I'm almost halfway through another year without a turntable and next year doesn't look great either. My days of owning a turntable might actually be over. Sorry Naomi is a great song, a response of sorts to The Judds' Grandpa (Tell Me 'Bout The Good Old Days), and I miss hearing it.

Your help, and kindness, is appreciated.

-- Last Friday was the 30th anniversary of the release of Star Wars onto an unsuspecting public. To mark the occasion, I wore a gray T-shirt over a black, long-sleeve T-shirt, a nicely weathered pair of blue jeans, a pair of black, hi-top Chuck Taylors (original U.S. vintage, thank you) and gray socks (if you're a completist, I also wore boxer briefs--black). I'm still in the planning stages for my wardrobe to mark the 30th anniversary of The Empire Strikes Back. I'm sure it will be appropriate.

-- Looks like Poison is bringing things to a close with Grand Funk's We're An American Band. Someone remind Mark Farner to spin in his grave when his time finally comes. Anyway, this looks--and sounds--like a good time to bring this to a close.

I'll see you next week, unless I melt into a pile of gooey flesh from the heat.


Write Brad at exit149@gmail.com

                                       <<previous next>>

                                    
                 The West Virginia Surf Report!