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Because Nothing Says Fun Like Religion

2005-02-21 - 11:04 a.m.

Favorite Apostle: Zebedee, no contest! Sorry Bartholomew

Listening To: Pixies, Ben Folds, Jackson Browne, Cream

Quote:"Sometimes, you just have to say, 'Shamrock for a friend?'" - Monique, wanting free shakes

So I don't feel so hot. I don't know if it's the rattling in my lungs, the soreness of my throat, or the pulsating star in my brain. But the doctor* says that I'm sick. And I believe him. And what says antidote like 100 feet of snow?! Ugh.

* - "Doctor" = Me yelling at the television screen while ER was on this morning and being satisfied as soon as I heard Luka say, "sick".

Wow - you kids just ate up that guest entry from Kate, huh? I haven't seen the comment board light up like that since Coty's guest entry. I try to spice things up from time to time for you ree-dars and your stony indifference is always much appreciated. I just want you to know that. That said, this is my 196th entry - so if any of you good voles have any suggestions on how we should ring in the 200th, please - you know where the comment section is - feel free to share.

So work is work. Too many Chiefs and not enough Indians - as my dad is known to say. You'd think that as a Sachem I'd have a bit more authority. But nay. Everyone thinks their department is the most important and that I should be focusing on that. And I get really consistent advice, such as: "You're going to want to stay behind the counter constantly. You never really want it to be vacant behind the register" and "As soon it as it slows down a bit you should really roam around the store and clean up, straighten, dust, you know - take stock of the place." Oh. Ok. And I'll try to run while I'm swimming too. And I actually think I've finally learned all of the names of the 47 employees that work there. I'm almost there on how they're all related, but it'll probably take me several more weeks to fine tune the important things - like who to tell what, who hates who, who the secret pariah is, who can score the best heroin, etc. You know, important things. And if Sgt. Jameson is reading this, sir, the only horse I've ever taken part in is riding the pony at the county fair. (Between you and me though, "riding the pony at the county fair" is slang for "free-basing adrenochrome"! Don't worry, Sgt. Jameson doesn't know how to read parentheticals! I hope.)

So yeah - went home last Thursday for Rudy's funeral. (Isn't that weird that I still refer to Laconia as "home"? No? Yeah, I guess that's not so weird) I picked Monique up at Lakeshore and we met Rick in the parking lot behind the post office. I was already thinking this part was surreal so I suppose there was no saving me at this point. We walked over to the church - mere feet away from all the wacky hi-jinx we had laid down in the Holy Trinity gym all those summers before. We sat alone in an aisle, with Rick sitting in between us - hoping this would help stem the tide of Monique or I doing something grossly inappropriate like putting a Tweety Bird pez on the other's knee. All those hopes were dashed though when Nicole (Cote) Flanders and Mrs. Cote arrived on the scene and sat next to me. It was nice to see them though, as we hadn't in more than a year. It was a High Catholic Mass, so like the "Paris Original" number from H2$, it's probably still going on to this day - although there was more Communion in this funeral than I recall being in "Paris Original". McKeen was at the funeral. I'll write that again for people who stopped paying attention as soon as I wrote, "Paris Original": McKeen was at the funeral. Which I can't make pretend was a total shock, as I had spoken with him a few days before and he said he was going to try to make it. But still, despite many a close call, I was one of the only peeps that had not actually run across his weasley path lo these last 4 or 5 years. And now that can no longer be said. He looks a couple years older than I remember. Which, you know, is logical. As I imagine I look more goateed than he remembers. And Lynn Morency sat behind us at the funeral! Did I mention that?! Lynn! Man, that was a blast from the LMH/LHM past. It was a very nice service, but also quite emotional. It's always nice to see people from your past - but it's too bad you have to see them under such circumstances. Larry Johnston gave a touching and humorous eulogy, which certainly helped to take the sting out of what the Catholic Church usually strives for in its funerals and weddings: Impersonality. It often feels like a sales pitch with more attention paid to rote phrases and gestures than it is a celebration of a new beginning or of a sad ending. But Larry succeeded in making us cry and laugh when thinking back about Rudy. I'm very glad I was able to attend the service.

[Side Note: And despite the fact that I didn't get free cookies and wine and didn't know all the base stealing moves I was supposed to do to my chest and face every time the priest mentioned pretty much any word containing a vowel, I still respected the faith and the church while I was sitting in the pew. Which is weird ya know, seeing as I've been viewed as such a blanket "religion hater" these days. Which is not the case - sure, I hate Jehovah Witnesses, and with few exceptions, I wish all Mormons would jump off a cliff in Moab, but I don't HATE Catholics. I'd say more than 50% of my friends are Catholic - or at least recovering Catholics who have seen their specific religion to be more hypocritical, dividing, and phobic than they had once thought. But as much as it's my choice to eat pizza for breakfast, it's anyone's choice to be any religion they want to be (except for Jehovah's Witness - that's just stupid). I don't always believe in God. Sometimes I do. Right now I happen to. But I might not tomorrow. That's my choice. But I did go to eight years of "church camp" - despite the fact that it more resembled "Wet Hot" then it did "Church", and I went to Sunday School for nine years. So just because I don't wear a fucking cross around my neck and can be heard to often say things like, "Where's the God damned bottle opener?" or "I think the Book of Judges sucks ass" doesn't mean I'm not allowed to have religion too. And people are more than welcome to have an opinion on how I see religion - just as I am more than welcome to have an opinion on them. And Hayley, don't take this as an apology - because I assure you, it ain't]

Well, I'm sure that'll do a load of good. I apologize if that results in more inflammatory e-mails to any of the Y's. Boy, I need to change the subject. So yeah, went back up to LA this weekend after work on Saturday. I was sick then too. But it was just the beginning. I think it incubated into my cloaca after dinner with Kate, Andrea, Phil, Todd and Rex on Friday night at Marco's. And my tumultuous sleeping patterns on Friday night certainly couldn't have helped. I picked up Monique in the Ironest of the Gilmanton Works, and we met up at the Gilbert's house. Because, you know, going to Laconia Village Bakery with Rick, Monique and McKeen after the funeral on Thursday hadn't been surreal ENOUGH. Monique and I had stopped at Vista (formerly Butson's, formerly Farmfare, formerly IGA FarmFare, formerly IGA) to pick up some Kool-Aid to bring to Elizabeth Terrace - because nothing completes time travel like paying attention to the little details. It was just Margie, Tommy, Ryan & Jeffrey when we got there. Margie even served up the cherry Kool-Aid in the old pitcher that we drank out of almost every summer night of 1996. I haven't mentioned the part about any of this being surreal right? Joy showed up later which made things very . . . you know, the "s" word. My cousin Allyson had called and started what would only come to be such a string of misunderstandings and misinformation about future plans that somehow by the end of the evening the following had taken place: Tommy casing Braden's old house on Elm Street and banging on the windows, Monique successfully hitting up Brian Livingston for THREE double cheeseburgers, (which, as Jeffrey stated to Monique, who didn't bat an eye, is SIX BURGER PATTIES, and as Ryan stated to me, "He got you with the up sell."), Monique UNsuccessfully hitting Brian up for a shamrock shake, drivers license snafus going down at the Black Cat - all under the sketch filled eye of Stephanie's brother Paul, attending the King Sketchy of parties at some rando house on Elm Street across from the iced-in rink at Leavitt Park that Greg convinced us to come to where everyone was either really old or a Wilson brother or both, and having everyone dressed in Mexican clothes with streamers and piñatas hanging from the ceiling (I am SO not making this up), getting in a huge pseudo-fight with Ricky that still isn't resolved and that I'm still not entirely sure the details of, playing rummy with Monique, her brother and her mother, and getting to Sanbornton at 2 in the morning. It really all did wonders for my sickness. And I wonder why I'm still sick. You know, I just tried googling an image of a Shamrock Shake and came up empty. But it did send me to this very, very strange website. Don't worry, it's work-safe. But it's just very odd. Not as odd as TC's personal website, but still strange.


You know, because nothing says, "Say Cheese!" like being home for a family member's funeral. But still, brave faces were affixed, and this was taken during our visit to the Black Cat, which I'm sure Ryan would appreciate me telling you all - was NOT accessed by the "Neighborhood Entrance"

Sunday was mostly filled up with me going grocery shopping with Nanny. And as Brad can attest, this truly is a day's worth of work. Oh, speaking of work-safe sites, Brad's is NOT. So I don't suggest clicking that link you Boston, San Diego, and New York peeps. Just warnin' is all. I came back to R'ford, and like a good dealer, went and saw one of my loyal customers (Aaron) who I took some goods back from (Ex Machina) in exchange for some compensation (the occasional hair cut, belt fixings, beer, etc.) and then dropped off said goods plus more (Ex Mach. and some Sopranos tapes) to other customers (Aly & Alex) while I was on my way to some of my newest customers (Shan-Y and BC) to grab some different goods (Alias S3 DVDs) before I went to make the ultimate score (Smiley's Subs) to bring home to the original junkie (Kate) who was keeping the big boss (Kenichi) company back in R'Ford. Damn, I'm so bad ass. Also, I noticed Ben had done some slight rearranging at ol' 482 in the less than 24 hours that I'd been gone.
Exhibit A:

Bedroom on 2nd Floor

Exhibit B:

Bedroom in Basement


And now it's Monday. My glorious day off. My glorious cold snow-filled day off. And I need to go dig out a Boston Globe that's buried somewhere at the end of the driveway snow pile. Ben slept at Fafu's last night, so the boobs that are Peter and I haven't even attempted to snow blow with Bump's ancient snowblower that requires candle wax, a cylinder of fresh honey, twine, and the DiRegno Heart to operate. I tried to make Kenichi go outside in the snow. You know, since that went over like gangbusters last time. We didn't even get as far as OUTSIDE this time. First, being the dead bolt that he is, Kenichi reacted to snow like he does every time - with complete and utter amazement - the little guy has a the memory of a goldfish or an Andrea (which is to say none at all) and instantly forgets about it when he wakes each morning. So first I open the door for him.


I know this isn't the best angle to tell, but the snow is actually as high as Kenichi's ears. And this was this morning - it's actually much higher now. He absolutely cannot figure out a.) what this white stuff is and b.) how to get out. So first he does the obvious and logical thing. He sticks his face in it. And hoo boy(!) does he not like that. He flips around, bolts back into the house and takes for the stairs


And then does the NEXT obvious and logical thing. He jumps up into one of the last things Ben hasn't transported to the basement. The chiffarobe. And stands watch, terrified that the snow will follow him inside and upstairs.

Isn't he a little trooper? I checked on him a while after that only to find that he has passed out in the drawer. Awww. So retarded. And now I suppose I should go shovel. Since these Curtis cookies I just devoured have given me an extra dose of energy. God damn those cookies are fucking good. Oh, and don't worry about Kenichi, I just took a picture of him as he lay next to me as I write this:


Again I say thee, 'retarded'

It's been real,

Black Thorine

ps - Perhaps my sly mention of "adrenachrome" above is too sly a tribute, but I'd just like to dedicate this entry to the life and times of Hunter S. Thompson. He was a genius before, during and after his time. At least Zevon has some good company now.

pps - Our Valentine's poll, appropriately titled, "Who's Your Valentine?" is already being retired, as it is a very ephemeral subject matter. So there weren't a lot of total votes this time, but you could still feel the passion. Just barely squeaking out a 1st place victory is your favorite WNYX employee and mine, "Lisa Miller" with 4 votes which constituted as 24% of the votes. Jack Bristow received 3 votes/18% - so those that voted for him can be confident that they won't be killed by him - yet. The rest of us are screwed. There was a four way(!) tie for third place with Dave Foley, Molly Ringwald, Buster Bluth and George Glass all getting 2 votes and 12% a piece. At least Kim Deal and Harper Lee got 1 vote each - but clearly you all hate Mormons like me as Brigham Young got shut out and poor Clara Bow certainly isn't the It Girl of 2005 as no one showed her any love either. Have fun with the new poll!

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