March 16, 2007

-- What in the wash and wear hell?? There's up to twelve inches of snow coming our way? A day after I raved about the changes of season?! It's unbelievable. Twelve inches! Oh, that might not be a full-blown Milton Berle storm like last time, but it sounds like it could be a Don Johnson, and that's bad enough. A Don Johnson is nothing to dismiss, my friends.

I didn't know anything about any of it, until Toney told me last night. I never turn on the TV during the day (fat people crying on couches), rarely glance at the newspaper (house fires and people bitching about change), or listen to local radio (more bitching about change, only in a real nasally voice), so I'm pretty much cut off from society. The world could be coming to an end, and I'd be sitting in the bunker smiling and listening to Barenaked Ladies.

I do pay close attention to the news during some of those old Jean Shepherd broadcasts, but they're from, you know, 1960, and don't really help me much. I tried to strike up a conversation with a man at the credit union the other day about all the vacation-time Ike has been taking, but it didn't really go anywhere.

I was planning to drive down to Allentown today, for another "seminar," and maybe a cigar and snifter of brandy with my colleagues. But I guess I'd better stay close to home. I don't want to spend the night in the Lehigh Tunnel, sobbing into my airbag and sucking the grease out of old Burger King sacks for sustenance, after another well-managed Governor Rendell "snow event."

Hello?

-- Last night we went to an art show at the oldest Secret's school. It was your standard stuff: watercolor paintings of soccer matches between two teams of men with elephantiasis, or some similar disease that causes one leg to grow real big, papier mache sculptures of striped snakes or what appears to be angry potatoes, and so on. I walked around, scratched my chin, and made the approving noises required of a father in such a setting.

Then I got to the Big Wall of Self Portraits, and everything began to break down. I try hard to be a mature adult, I really do. But it's just so difficult.... Check it out. I have no idea who drew this, or his (her?) story, but I do know it's funny. Real funny. Sweet Maria.

-- Since I suddenly have a lot of free time on my hands, I've been observing our dog Andy (Black Lips Houlihan), and his various pee methods. He has three, in case you're interested, and switches back and forth depending on situation and/or terrain.

If he's in a hurry, if there's an urgency of some sort, he'll just drop down in the back, like a girl dog. I'm not really a fan of this style of canine whizzing, probably because I'm not accustomed to it. I've never owned a female dog, they've all been boys, and this dropping-down technique still feels foreign to me.

I cringe when Andy does it, but, I'm sorry to report, it's probably his most-favored method. Perhaps we should let him out more frequently? I don't know. But he often walks into the middle of the yard, the back-end collapses, he raises his head high in the air and makes his body into a 45-degree angle. Then you hear it slapping the grass.

His second-favorite is the much more acceptable hike-the-leg technique. This happens when he's just out there taking his time, tiptoeing around and snorkeling everything. Like most dogs, he simply cannot walk past a tree or a post or a mound of snow, without raising his rear passenger-side leg and slinging a little piss on it. I'm often amazed at how long he can hold his balance while in this tripod configuration. I guess it's just a natural doggy talent?

Andy's third, and rarest, pee method is the "going statue" variation. It's very similar to dropping-down, but is done standing completely upright. Sometimes he'll be walking and suddenly stop, then let it go without changing his posture whatsoever. I like this one, for some reason. Maybe it's the element of surprise? Or perhaps I envy his ability to seamlessly work peeing into his lifestyle. There's no fuss, no prep work, nothing. He's just walking along, needs to take a leak, and, by God, does. Right where he's standing. ....I'm sorry, I'm getting a little emotional here.

I've seen our dog kick after peeing as well, I call it urination punctuation. But he usually reserves this for post-crapping festivities only. And he doesn't do it every time, just sometimes. I haven't been able to figure this one out yet. What triggers a kicking episode, and what doesn't? Is it weather-related? Does it matter if he's on grass or on gravel? Perhaps it's no more complicated than mood? I just don't know.

But rest assured, I'm working on it.

-- Have you ever heard of a band called the Lyres? They're from Boston and were (are?) led by a maniac who calls himself Mono Man, or somesuch. They sounded like a sixties garage band all cranked-up on, um, coffee, and I really liked 'em back in the day.

The reason I bring this up is because I heard one of their songs yesterday on a Rhino punk compilation, and it brought back a memory that I'm now going to attempt to work into a Question of the Day....

When I lived in Greensboro there was a funky little club in operation called Underground. I used to go there to see Dash Rip Rock and Jason and the Scorchers, and bands like that. One night the Lyres were supposed to perform, and I was highly excited. Their On Fyre album was a favorite, and it didn't seem like the band played outside of New England very often. No way I was going to miss this one.

So, my friend Cam and I went to the club, and there was almost nobody there. It was just the two of us, and maybe ten other people. When you talked there was a slight echo, and you could actually hear other people swallowing their beer. Unbelievable. I felt uncomfortable, and embarrassed for the band.

But to their credit, the Lyres came out and played a full set. Oh, they rocked the place, and all twelve of us had a great time.

Afterwards, this Mono Man character walked off the stage and went to the beer window. We walked over to congratulate him on a great show, and the dude went off. "What's wrong with this town?!" he snarled. "Don't you people support live music here?? I was told this was going to be a show tonight, not a fucking garden party!"

That's exactly the phrase he used, garden party.

Oh man, he was spewing venom. And one of the Faithful Dozen said, "Dude, don't be pissed at us. We're here." Mono Man considered this, accepted it, and apologized. Then he stood there and talked to us while finishing his Budweiser, or whatever. From that point on, he was, well, semi-friendly.

So that's the Question: have you ever been at an event where the crowd was so small you felt uncomfortable? It doesn't have to be a concert, it can be a baseball game, or whatever. Use the comments link to tell us about it, won't you?

And I'm going to go watch it snow.

See ya on Monday.

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Last updated
01/17/12 12:11 PM

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