31 October 2004

A mind is a terrible thing to lose.

My cousin Jimmy is a paramedic/fire captain. He was summoned to an address is a Jerry Springerish part of town. After the injured party was patched up, the resulting paperwork was addressed. The victim's son provided answers until one of the questions left him utterly confused. The resulting dialogue went something like this:

Paramedic: What's her first name?

Clueless son: "Uh....Mama, what's yer name?"

I swear to God I'm not making this up. At least he didn't say "Mama".

15 October 2004

Youthful indiscretion(s) and midlife consequences.

My high school was bearable due to the fact that it didn't have a lot of cliques. This was primarily the case because most everyone at the time was buzzed out of their minds on weed. Details on whether or not someone has the most fashionable clothes or drives the nicest ride are lost when you can't remember your own name. Added to the fact that all this took place at the end of Disco Era, it all combined to demonstrate that for brief snatches of time, "we all really can get along." (But we did have to party in the car beforehand--just to mellow out a little).

One of my classmates (who should go nameless, but everybody already knows him) had what began as a small gathering in his parents home, while they were out of town, of course. I remember sitting on the couch in the living room, in the dark, with only the faint glow from the fluorescent light of the kitchen as backlight. With me were two or three others (of course, I can't remember who), and we were having this deep-yet-meaningless conversation about something or other, when this kid comes crashing through the front screen door glass, head first. He didn't seem to bleed much. I do remember him dusting himself off in time to go back outdoors to finish fighting. At the time, I didn't know who's house I was at, but that wouldn't be the first, nor would it be the last time that would happen.

I attended the senior awards banquet, largely forgetting who was awarded what. My prime motivation for attending was a free meal. I do recall friends getting awards, but the only one that remains clear was the award for "Senior Boy With the Most Children," and "Senior Boy with the Most Children by the Most Girls." This honour was bestowed by the athletic department, with various team members compiling the stats. And as virility would have it, the same guy won both awards.

Aside from making it sound like I graduated from the most drug-infested, out-of-control, ghettofied high shool in the world, I mention these stories because of my 25th year high school reunion, which was held this past summer. Although I've kept in touch with several of my former schoolmates (whether they be in or out of correctional facilities, 12-step programs, and the like), I elected not to return and attend. It's nice to know that those who organized the event were kind enough to tape the obligatory "class picnic," and have posted it online for the entire world to see and no doubt, laugh at hysterically. One of the men in the video just happens to be the same guy who threw the party, and impregnated so much of the female student body (present company excluded). See if you can guess which one it is!

It's a miracle any of us can remember anyone else, all considered...

- D.

P.S. No prizes will be awarded to those who guess correctly. So don't get too worked up or anything.

11 October 2004

The Perils of Tree Hugging

or "A Case for Epilation."

I'm not sure if it's a true story or not, but it is different. I'm thinking either this guy is the filthiest person ever, or more likely it got wedged up in there after it got snagged on his sweater. Or he's just lying in the hope that he can get his "fiht-ayne" minutes.

Some people got no shame, baby--no shame.

I used to sing...

I used to sing a lot. In fact, I sang so much, I gave in and minored in vocal performance at University. (It was easier than piano, if only because I didn't feel like getting off my arse at say 23h and go all the way downtown to practice). You see, I've always been a Night Person, so that's when my synapses were firing best, etc., etc. So what if I've studied piano since I was five? (You'd think I'd have learned it by now...) I figured the voice thing can't be that hard, so I gave it a shot. And lo and behold, it worked out. Who knew?

Among my many claims to fame, were the performances I gave in my final year, which included a Christmas Concert in which I wheezed through with an asthma attack (then drove myself to the hospital for the second time that day), and the spring concert performed with a mass choir and symphony orchestra. I was recovering from a hellish case of food poisoning and warbled my way through Bach's Magnificat before easing off stage to resume my activities as human cuisinart.

I think it was karma, because I was notorious for attending recitals of others and doing my best to distract them, and thus, ruin their performance. But hell, it was fun. Crazy kids, and all that. You get the deal.

Since that time, my singing has curtailed considerably. But by chance, I happened to hear a song I sang for an audition many, many, (many) years ago, and it got me thinking about it all. It was Laschia Ch'io Pianga from the opera Rinaldo by Handel. Not the easiest piece of music to sing, but I have a thing for baroque and singing in Italian (which helped).

In some of my ensemble work, I recall the people who I sang with, and wonder what's happened to them. Rob McCartney is the evening news anchor on KETV. He had this girlfriend who was always with him. I believe she's still with him, because they married and have three kids. And while I normally find that type of thing annoying as hell, with her it was cool, because she was quite nice. Another (who you can read about by following this link) is currently serving a hella long sentence in prison for 2nd degree murder of her boyfriend. I guess he got on her nerves in a serious way, because she stabbed him to death with a knife from the kitchen, then poured gasoline around his bed as he lay there bleeding to death. I don't know that she lit it up, however. I forget. Anyway, it was all very tragic. And she was extraordinarily talented. She had an amazing voice, and was studying art. Her tastes were a tad gaudy, but she had a good eye for colour. That much I recall.

My voice teachers ranged from angry and obese (some cow named Eileen), to tiny and neurotic, with an overactive bladder (that would be Connie). It's amazing I learned f*ck all. Then again, that's what I get for going to Dear Ol' Nebraska U.

By the way, I'm a mezzo. I used to be a coloratura soprano, but as the sands of time poured through the hourglass that is my life, my voice changed. It happens. And if anyone's interested, I'm available for weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs, birthdays, retirement parties, and any event involving large quanties of curried foods. Drop me an e-mail and maybe we can work something out.

- D.

10 October 2004

A word to the wise (you know who you are).

“Patience is the key, those who didn't have any for Frank had darned well better have it for Bill C., because the road to ruin is paved with the contracts of former coaches.”
- Mike Nolan

Patience emphasizes calmness, self-control, and the willingness or ability to tolerate delay

Calmness emphasizes patience, self-control, and the willingness or ability to tolerate delay.

Self-control emphasizes patience, calmness, and the willingness or ability to tolerate delay.

- Steve Gomez

07 October 2004

"Retro-Chic Crush Groove"

I'm having a midlife crisis. Those of you who know me, realize that much of my life has been lived in a state of crisis, but this one is different. It involves hormones. No, really!

Instead of triggering migraines, acne, and fluid retention, this one has me thinking lascivious thoughts and making cow eyes at a certain person who writes for a certain newspaper, and has had his own byline for a quite some time. (Okay, not that long. We're not talking 'Methuselah" here. He is a little older, but damn. I'm not into the geriatric set, y'know).

To protect the guilty (and most of all, myself), I will not be naming names. But I love the way he styles. The only thing he's missing is a fedora with one of those little press cards sticking out of the band. And no, dammit. It's not Matt Drudge. Blecccch!

Enough of this daydreaming (for now). I have to go renew my auto insurance. Life can be such a buzzkill at times...

- D.

05 October 2004

L'autumn c'est merveilleux!

As many of you may know, autumn is my favorite time of year. It affects me hormonally in ways most people feel springtime. It's a very sensuous time of year. When I go outdoors, I smell fireplaces and wet leaves, and the drunks on the bus don 't seem nearly as putrid. I feel warmth and furry things against my skin, enveloping me like a coccoon. It's a nice feeling. If I dwell upon it, I can even conjure up a smellucination of a deep dish apple pie being served in a cozy inn off the beaten path. The colours are brilliant and ubiquitous. When I sleep at night, I dream of flying through the Laurentians with an abundant carpet of colour and texture. It's lovely.

If I may, I wish to offer a 'cyber novena' for some friends and their relatives. Vijay's grandma is in hospital with heart trouble. The medical experts aren't sure what to do. I will say a prayer for her to make a speedy and full recovery. Jacques father, Docteur Pierre-Paul, is having hip replacement surgery today. I will pray for him to get back to health soon, too. My dear friend Susan's mother-in-law is recovering from a stroke. I will continue to pray for Susan and her family, because they've been through so very much in the last year.

Today the veterinarian told me that I have a very healthy guinea pig. He weighs 2.7 lbs. and hates getting shampooed. That's a pity, because he has a long and flowing mullet of fur from his ass that requires regular maintenance. It doesn't bother him, but as a mother, I worry. No doubt all you other mothers out there are feeling me completely, right about now.

I really ought to put the trash out. I've been putting it off all day, and I'll be damned if I let it sit in the vestibule until Friday!

- D.

P.S. Today is Patrick Roy's birthday.

03 October 2004

Oy...more kvetching! Enough Already!!

These so-called sports fans are getting to be a bit much. They raise a fuss, because they didn't like Frank Solich (formerly, hand-picked head coach of the Nebraska Cornhuskers football team).

Then they got all worked up because they couldn't find anyone to replace him that the megaputz athletic director was willing to hire. Or even make an offer, then deny he did so. Finally, Crazy Al Davis kicks Bill Callahan to the curb, and he magically becomes available to fill the void which grows more and more immense by the moment...fast forward to today, and now these same cry babies are disgusted that he wasn't able to immediately produce a juggernaut of old, à la Tom Osborne.

Is there no satisfying these deluded farmers?

Never mind. I know the answer to that question. We all do.