back in piqua for solo christmas

but not han. just working on the shop/house all day, cutting firewood, listening to my stories on the tv, and, of course, playing and singing all my favorite christmas songs on the guitar. e.g., "when i left my home and my family / i was no more than a boy / in the company of strangers / in the quiet of the railway station running scared." and the classic: "toss me a cigarette / i think there's one in my raincoat. / we smoked the last one an hour ago. / so i looked out at the scenery; / she read her magazine. / and the moon rose over an open field." all sober. weird. strong. tough. peaceful (other than "new girl"). 7 months this friday. i think. al misses me, i just know it. and i miss him. and casey dog, of course. or that may be that moonpie misses casey. too close to call. bob evans, christmas eve. even though my well pump exploded and i have not running water, my new stove is threatening to chase me out of the shop it's so hot. not bad for a good for nothing drunk.

the protocols of the elders of zion, the movie: part 1:

the wrath of adamos ben yauchstein the younger or something. -ish.

thanks

6 months tomorrow. 6 months. i can't do this alone. i think i'm most grateful that i don't have to. by the way, i'm the weirdo-esque dude in the corner with that inexplicable danny branch facial expression that's both a confused smile and a maudlin 3.9 mile stare. (screw you, keif!) so, yeah, save me a seat.

the 1st annual dress as your favorite tom robbins character day

having trouble getting any traction on this one. so i'll probably just go as that gal with the giant thumbs, seeing as how i've pummeled mine into huge bruised stumps on account of my insane desire to salvage a bunch of useless crap. again. with a pry bar.

but i've got today. and it was a really good day. rain, which gives moonpie a chance to do her white fang thing.

the 2011th* american music awards!

seriously? does anyone else want lauren hill to swagger out there on the stage and oldschool all these pukes while wiping the floor with them? in their own puke? er... hmm...

anyways, can't find my beasties.

in pickaway (piqua) tonight, brought computer, big day tomorrow. all y'all are on duty! may buy yet another woodstove this week. and a harley. long story.

*this establishment reserves the right to refuse service of leftovers

the most important thing i've learned in a.a.:

humility. and how to make really bad bad coffee. and you know what? it's humbling!?!?!?!?!

sorry. anyways, back to piqua this weekend at some point. mild weather till whenever. it's just that the nights make it hard to sleep when i'm very cold, and hard to make synax agree with itself.

that's deep. you guys?

piqua, yet

still there. spent 3 nights and 4 days on demolition and wood salvage. cold but some sun. moonpie loved it, just the 2 of us. found out al was frantic the whole time i was there; something about it being too soon. i tried to explain to him how i feel spoiled here, with heat and plumbing, and that if i want to drink i will no matter where i am. he was not comforted.

i'm beginning to realize that i wasn't nearly as coddled as i thought everyone thought i was. piqua has so many awesome possibilities, though i know beer is out there doing pushups, waiting for me to slip up. just a bit. well, i won't. but i don't want to jinx it!

also, hey.

"... too much fucking perspective."
-david st. hubbins

as the fog clears, 2

or, with a few months sobriety behind me afer 10 years as a practicing drunk (where practice makes perfect): a.) i'm not as weak or inept as i thought i was/used to be; and b.) i'm not as weak or inept as i thought my family thought/still thinks i was/am.

bright, i'm not sure i get it either; yet. and i'm being, as you know, neither ironic nor sarcastic. but i'm trying like the dickens not to be resentful. it's this brutal honesty thing that has me up at night.

as the fog clears, 1

i continue to be amazed each and every day at how stupid my family (still) thinks i am.

is it intentional?

news organizations (cough) as sophisticated as fox should have the decency to know when they're being made fun of as opposed to being apologized to. what's more dangerous: denial, or willful obtuseness?

but... but...

now they're is them shoulder-powered hand missile firers and stuff! and our president is a non-experienced black negro man nobel-winnering killer who has so much power he's ruining our freedoms.

BUSH WAS SO MUCH MORE BETTER AND I AM MISSING HIM YET!!!

cartoons of cartoons

i mean, how many bad guys does barry have to grease before he gets a little lovin' from the right? aren't they supposed to be the torturing bloodthirsty lunatics?

you, youth,

with your moving picture boxes and your electric books and your cordless phones. and your rabid sense of entitlement. YOUR [sic] RUINING EVERYTHING FOR THE X GENERATION, TOOL BAGS!!!

doing well here. trying to stay ahead of winter. trying to let myself be content. riding the motorcylce a lot when it's not too foggy. and practicing the guitar. again.

are we all going through transitions now? and why does it always seem to coincide with the npr pledge drives that i like so much?!

gonna try posting/writing everyday because, frankly, i need you people. but now, it would seem, for all the right reasons, mostly. WON'T YOU JOIN ME?!?!?!

spelling don't count but grammer do.

"Gee I hope I'm not too late to cast...

my vote."

so. how do you tell your brother that his son is kind of a dick? it would seem that my alleged honesty with myself on account of my "DRINKING PROBLEM!!!" has made me more sensitive to the dishonesty and emotional ugliness of others. just spitballing here, repeating myself a tad. but, damn, could this disease have made me a better person? answer: yes.

i need a drink. NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

keif, tis the prickly heat methinks. i.e., awful humid down there in iberia. -ish. huh?

R

[7 weeks today. doing well, for the most part. stupid stupid stupid blogspot. rome, internal strife, army spread thin, religeous lunatics in charge... hmmm... watching sunrises and making tomato cages. still getting used to sobriety, but i kind of like it, most of the time. miss you guys horribly. also, spelling doesn't count, obviously. again.]

tropic thunder
armageddon
mean girls
[forrest gump?]
zoolander
the daily show: indecision 2004 special
the hangover
saturday night live weekend update

(included tds and snl on account of the geniouses seth meyers and rob corrdry, er, cordrry, cordry... or... right.)

more? i'd like quotes and the characters' names. and serenity more often than not.

previews

Jerry Potter And The Deadly Jellos Part IXV: The Redemption Of Pliny The Elder Part I.IV, Love In The The Ruins Of Trinity Rising -- A Movie Review
-er, there's another one?! what, does the fonz water ski jump over a tank of sharks while setting a car on fire, exploding? seriously? WRAP IT UP!!!

28 Days Or So Later: An Essay Based On A True Story Based On Actual True Events That May Or May Not Have Actually Happened... At Some Point
"... you know, one of those hospital robe shirts that only comes to just below the navel..."

Letter To TOTGA: Has She Really GA?

Bridesmaids Revisited: Rise Of The Vomit -- A Movie Review

How Fox News Radio Is Not-So-Slowly Turning My Brain Into Gramma's Apple Sauce. Again

Essay: Why We Need More Yelling On NPR

Why My Worst Day Sober Is So Much Better Than My Best Day Drunk

The World Would Be A Gentler Place Were All The Roads Paved With Dirt Or Gravel

Blogging My Ohio Driver's License Written Testimonial
"... never under any circumstances use your turn signal; it will only confuse your fellow automotive operators as such..."

and so much more, god willing.

funny

you're sitting there in your gutted farmhouse, wasted at 10:15 in the morning watching hoda and kathy lee. in fact, you've been wasted for the last 4 months. and your 2 brothers and a sister-in-law show up and ask you politely to get in the trunck. you beg your oldest brother please don't make me do this, please, i beg you, please don't make me do this. al, your other brother, says, hey, i'm missing my golf game. get in the truck. your sis-in-law says you need to do this. please, no, please. i can't. just leave me alone, i'll be fine. get in the truck. come on, let's get in the truck. you put your shoes on and get in the truck. you get to the hospital and your brothers have to prop you up because you can't walk on your own. you're admitted. they hook you up to an i.v. because you're dehydrated. you're shaking and the nurse has trouble hitting her mark, but she does, with a smile. the admitting doctor comes in and says they're going to make you better. your brothers and sis say that they're very proud of you. you're shaking, you can't breath right. they take you to your new room for the week, a nurse comes in and puts something in the i.v. it's anti-anxiety medecine. it works almost immediately. you relax. al makes jokes and you laugh as does jess and lisa. they don't leave your side for 5 hours. you get sleepy. they give you more meds and take your blood pressure and check your blood every 3 hours. all the nurses know why you're there, but there's no funny looks, no pity, no... judging; just sympathy and a sincere desire to make you better. your family finally leaves and you fall asleep only to be awakened every 3 hours for vitals. you're humiliated, ashamed, glad your mom and dad are gone so they don't have to see you like this.

then you wake up and hope you've hit bottom.

just back from rehab/detox.

fun week. currently staying with al and lisa on their small cattle farm in mount gilead. moonpie is here. will be here indefinitely. i'm on anti-anxiety anti-depressants. very weak.

i have a great family but would appreciate some good vibes.

your friend.

well crud.

thought i could do this on my own. don't think i can. jess and jane came by today and mowed. and mr. hill got his corn planted. hot, but a great breeze.

sarah, sarah, a storm is brewing in your eyes

please run. please please please run. the debates alone would be worth their weight in salmon. also, during your "take back america bus tour" (or whatever), can't wait to see you ring the liberty bell in boston. the chinese revere retards. you would be worshipped there. also, they're more in line with your notions of civil rights. and dumbassness.

drives a man to drink.

glee season finale

in new york? could be good. also, is it just me, or is newt kind of a giant douche head shit bag? just me. again. may 17 and i have a fire in the stove. seriously. oh, and well said miss palin. sure your bastard grandkid won't need therapy of any kind, and that gosh you're stupid. must be nice not to be aware of it. common speaks english. still not sure what you speak.

addiction

"alcoholism is not a disease; it's a choice." that's what dad would say. i miss that man. moving forward is hard enough when demons are holding you by the... heels. may 5, 34 degrees? really?

the office

i have my bad days, and worse nights. then there's a tv show. i'll take it.

the royal wedding

i watched in 19... 80... 81? i'll watch this one too. alarm set. i'm a sucker for romance. and a retard.

predictions

npr will lose its federal funding, and thrive. planned parenthood will invade libya, exploding. lutherans will unite with methodists (and catholics?) tearing through tea partiers like it's dawn of the dead all over again. and people will actually watch two and a half men, realizing it really sucks, and is not funny. and i'll quit the booze.

chilly tonight.

burning furniture.

anyways, spring will tease you, but she does arrive. and she's the most beautiful creature on earth, whether or not she brings rain and wind and tornadoes and frost and mud and flood. but she shows up eventually. maybe not always looking her best, but she's prettiest when she just wakes up.

npr

and to think that i get my news from these commie faggots. i blame the car talk retards. that's right, i said it, retards.
[crying]
(idol open thread?)

"are midwesterners inherently funny?"

"yes. but only when we go elsewhere."

natalie portman versus bristol palin?

natalie portman. biggest loser would then be mike huckabee(?).

protecting the right to hate

"god hates obama. thank god for dead soldiers. gays are destroying america." so they go to these funerals to protest... er... something. then they go back to their homes with central air and running water having hurt the families of those that volunteered to protect their right to hate, and store the signs in the garage next to the wetvac.

man, democracy is real tricky.

let's split some wood and try to keep our eyes on the prize.

augie

it's an autumn day, sunny, but crisp enough to remind lutherans not to get used to it. it's 1994, i'm my nephew's nanny because for some crazy reason my sister-in-law trusted me. we read, we play in the leaves, i change him trying not to gag too much. he wakes up from his nap, smiling up at me, pure innocence, beautiful, perfect.

then, one by one, they all come home: his mom, his grandma, his dad, my dad. mom makes porkchops and boiled potatoes, dad and i do the dishes. then we all go down to the basement to watch tv, to be together, to laugh. and cry during the hallmark commercials.

and all's well.

i'm so very proud of you, august allen marlow.

those zany oscars show!

i love the movies. though i've not seen any of them, i love them. all of them. the movies! the hosts are 2 of my favorites. i've made no secret of my crush on anne, but i have made a secret of my crush on jim. smooch!

anyways, i love the movies. love them.

(pretty much pulling for firth. would love to look like him at my age.)

dear shannon hoon, please don't od.

oh. well, crud.

the bachelor, wrath of balthazar: part 3

in order of appearance: very sweet, overly sweet, crazy sweet, bitter sweet. 'nuff said.

al came over this afternoon. he brought me a chuck roast from a cattle farmer he knows in morrow county. yes, grass fed. goes in the crockpot first thing in the morning. we talked, made plans, played guitars, sang, split a bit of wood. made plans. he knows i'm struggling: with grief, alcohol, depression, regret, guilt. he brought me a chuck roast from a farmer he knows. he's a great brother.

i'm not lonely. but i do feel very much alone most of the time. but i didn't for an afternoon.

letter to my nephew on the day of his wedding

[my sister and brothers decided that when the kids got married we'd give them a dinner table as a gift. i know it doesn't sound like a glamorous gift, but we're not glamorous.]

Well, Noah, you couldn't have been more than 10 or 11, it was around 1992. You and your brother and sisters were staying with grandma and grandpa for an extended period while your mom and dad were out of town. I don't know if it was just for a few days or a week, but it seemed more like a month by the time it was all said and done. Your uncle Al and Lisa and Augie were living there along with me. By the time we got to that last night, you can imagine our patience had been well tested and thoroughly exhausted. We weren't used to having a bunch of toe-headed butterballs staying there for any extended period of time. I'm pretty sure it was august, because there was sweet corn, burgers, and green beans, green onions and tomatoes fresh from the garden.

I think it started with Noel, who at the time was no fan of green beans. She started whining about something or other, Hope was well off in her own world chattering about horses and such, and all poor little Joy wanted was an ear of sweet corn. So while the only other sounds were the rest of us eating, the girls started this fugue of gibberish that rose to a crescendo that was a little dramatic and to this day makes me smile.

"But I don't want green beans! No!"
"Would you please pass the corn... would you please pass the corn... would you please..."
"I think I will take my horse out tonight later."

"No green beans! No!"
"Would you please pass the corn..."
"I love my horse."

"No!"
"... corn..."
"Horsey."

And on and on and on until grandpa couldn't take it anymore. None of us could.

The next evening your mom and dad came over for dinner and to take you guys home. During dinner, Al did a spot on recap of the last night's cacophony, playing all the parts simultaneously. Your mom couldn't breath because she was laughing so hard, as were grandma and granpa, and Lisa, and Levi, and me. And you, laughing only the way a 10 year boy can.

That's the table for me, Noah. Family, conversation, a lot of food, and even more laughter. A paradise. That was my church, my sacred place that I'll never ever forget. Your laughing, Al's carrying on, your grandma and grandpa. The most precious memories anyone could possibly imagine. It's a kind of spiritual currency that both breaks my heart and helps me through the more difficult moments of life, especially these short days of winter.

It's not just a table; it's a holy place that you're always welcome at and which you always seem to come back to, like a religious pilgrimage. People never really leave, as long as you never forget them. Oh sure, they've moved on from life, but they continue to live in the margins of the stories we remember and tell, as long as we keep telling the stories. Now you've got your own stories to make and tell and cherish. Just don't forget the ones you loved long gone. Keep them alive, especially at your table.

borders books

oh well. i'm going to take jesse's kindle and break it over my knee. not really. crap. al has grandpa's bible, with all the dates of baptism and confirmation of kin long dead.

lady gaga

ignorant, talentless, dangerous. almost as dangerous as that bieber punk. a poor man's prince. a rich man's elton, who hasn't written a decent song since '74. i'll take the real deal: janelle monae.

white fang

"does the dog die?" asked noah, the oldest grandkid. couldn't have been older than 6 or 7. mom and i had already watched the movie, but dad hadn't yet seen it. so, while noah kept turning around from his seat on the bean bag to ask his grandpa, "does the dog die?", his grandpa didn't know either, and was just as nervous about white fang dying as his grandson was. finally, after hearing, "does the dog die?" for the 59th time, dad said, "just watch the movie!" in a tone noah wasn't used to, noah, and dad, got quiet.

i've told you guys about my dad. pretty stoic. except when it came to his dogs.

the next morning, noah and mom and i and dad laughed about "does the dog die?" at the dinner table. noah still laughs at that story. he'll be married in a week. he's a captain in the air force. he flies giant planes carrying giant pieces of death machines. he has mixed feelings about what he delivers. he was a good boy; he's a great young man. when his grandma died, the base he was stationed at flew a flag in her honor for a month. a month.

it's a terrible movie. and i love it.

noah, the dog doesn't die. the dog never dies. no one ever dies. as long as you don't forget.

nbc's "harry's law"

now nobody i know is a bigger sucker for family schlock crap about lawyers trying to do good lawyering, and i think the verdict is unanymous (sp?) that "harry's law" is just that. but dang it, with shows like "skin" and "jersey shore", it might just be the sort of thing we need. though i've seen neither mtv efforts, i've watched all 3 episodes of "harry". pretty ideal cast: oscar winner, comic genius rob corrdry (sp?)'s younger brother, brittany snow's perfect smile, and many black people. it's ratings gold.

i grew up where watching tv was something you did as a family. you already knew that. but i find myself as i get older falling for these shows reminding me of my parents' collective horrible taste in tv, with significant though few exceptions.

i'll just chalk it up to cold saturday nights with baying coyotes taunting my dog.

(is there any chance they're foxes? they're pretty big.)

fear

you guys may recall that i used to drive a shuttle bus at night in winter park colorado. our dispatcher was lori, a catholic girl who got pregnant with triplets. the father, who loved her, worked on the grounds crew grooming the slopes. they were not married when lori got pregnant. shotgun wedding. but they managed, and thrived. well, one of the triplets i just found out came home from school, set down his books, picked up a gun, and blew his head off. dead. he would have been about 17 years old as i do the math.

oh well, i'll just be glad when i can run out of things to sob about.

rest in peace, kyle.

chris medina

hope it's real, hope he's real, hope steve was real. pretty moving, though.

the bachelor week 79

something something something... whore.

i hope it's a good speech. he's got it in him. heck, he's already delivered it. we turned a deaf ear. i hope it's a great speech.

seating arrangements will be funny. boner and pillozi swapping pills. and can tans. er...

i hope it's a great speech. i hope this 2 term prez goes down as one of the greatest prez's of all time. because, well, he already is. he's already given that speech.

he's a good man. a good husband, father, mentor. a great prez?

i hope he gives a great speech, one that the forefathers perhaps intended to give but refrained from because james madison hadn't invented facebook yet.

he's a good man. so what if his elegant, beautiful wife is smarter than he is. we already knew that. but here's the thing: he's smart enough to know that too. he's a good man. doing his job. let him do his job.

let this speech be great. so that he can be.

my dad was a great man; almost as great a person as my mom. let barry be quietly great, like they were. seriously.

and jesus wept.

something something something... prick.

abc's what would you do

i miss not getting abc.

dang it's cold. funny, i forgot, but you burn a lot of wood real quick. i think i'm good for a few days, but the pile really is getting skimpy.

that the networks have given up on friday night viewers means i no longer matter to advertisers.

thank you, christ jesus. i'll just watch waterworld. again.

idol sans simon

one of the things i miss most about church are the lutheran hymns. many of them, ironically, are based on irish folk songs. few people remember that the lutheran congregation was celebrated for its ability to sing the 4 different parts. when it works, when it happens, that's church. that's redemption. i may have to find a lutheran church here in piqua, just for that sound. though it won't be the same.

i had given up on idol when simon left. but, watching the premier, i'm not so sure it's dead. on respiration, sure. but dead?

i had forgotten how smart jlo is. randy redeemed himself with his bass playing. and steve tyler knows by heart every rock song ever recorded.

fixing to be a nasty weekend here. cold, snow. 3 coyotes in the east field eyeing moonpie dog this evening. i hope she's as smart as she thinks she is. my truck is flashing 2 warning lights, but i need to get into town for supplies.

rush is kind of a butt hole. that's a compliment.

Bachelor: Week 3

"I see dead people."

death, grief, isn't emotional currency. it's a savings account, a nest egg you can fall back on. it's private, not a game piece. not leverage.

now that i've tricked keifus into watching "biggest loser", i can safely retreat into the loving arms of a false bachelor's schadenfruede; he asked for it.

moonpie is currently hogging the bed. perfect fire in stove.

do we want these people to be real? no. i want them to be not real. because if people are actually like this, we're doomed.

mich-restraining order-elle. nice lilt.

"i've wanted talk to you so badly." you just did. not even counting grammnar.

in other words, let's just all get it over with, go nuts, and join a cult. we did already?

sorry. i get blue this time of year. being up north helps, but also doesn't.

and i messed up my back chopping wood.

who gave my nieces permission to grow up and get engaged?

mlkj, rest in everlasting peace. moonpie, you just rest, m'girl. big rainy day tomorrow.

ricky was good last night.

golden globes

say what you will, but you just have to admire ricky's fearlessness. i know i do.

They weren't crosshairs. They were surveyors' symbols.

Like on maps.

Well that certainly clears up all the confusion. It's not like they were burning crosses. Yet. Are we absolutely sure that Trig (short for Trigger?) is the only retard in that house? Don't get me wrong. I love retards. Some of my best friends are retards. The Chinese people revere retards because they always look happy. I wish I were a retard. Maybe I am. But I don't look happy much of the time. Hmm...

Anyways. Watched Bachelor last night (sorry topazz) with the sound down so I could listen to the Auburn game on the internets. Funny. For better or worse, the show doesn't need audio. I wonder what that says about me and the show.

He exstablished his toolness very early on -- what, the first 38 seconds on Regis? The ladies are exstablishing their phychotic tendencies considerably slower -- minute and a half. Now nobody hates women more than I do, which has been well exstablished and documented by people without spines; but these gals really do take the proverbial wedding cake. They all seem successful, confident, intelligent, devoid of dignity and self-respect. You know, the real keepers.

There's one that really stands out. I think her name is Michelle, a cutter of hair from Salt Lake City. Beautiful, tall, buxom, outspoken, and crazy as putting bullseyes on a map near areas of the country whose representatives are being targeted for elimination. Maybe not that crazy.

This is the cruelest, most depraved reality show out there, until Snooki wrote a novel. And I won't miss one minute, no matter how good The Event is. Is that over or is it still on?

9 years old. We should all weep for what we lost this weekend, if only we were smart enough to notice that we had it in the first place. I think we just crucified Christ all over again; it's just that this time that are no take-backs.

Blogging The Bachelor, Season 35

God help me. Now for the record, I've not gotten ABC for the last 13 years, so my exposure [cough] to Der Bach has been limited at best. But a dear friend named skitch swore by "The Rose Ceremony". Well Dan Brown he ain't.

Episode 1: Cattle Call. Every rose has it's psychotic. Man, it's like Schindler's List over there by the pool. I thought I had low self-esteem. I kept waiting for Snookie to burst out of a shrub and do a half-gainer into the hot tub just to lighten the mood.

The guy's a major league skeezoid. He's been through 3 years of extensive therapy to prove that he can go on national television and fall in love with someone he's known for about 42.5 minutes who's known him for 42.4 minutes, who's insanely crazy. For heaven's sake, where have all the Mary Dashwood's gone?

"I just want to find that... that... crazy love, ya know?!" I do, and I've got some pretty good news.

To Do List: check wood fuel supply, take down tree in east pasture for 2011 winter, cook down last night's roast chicken for stock and lard, projectile vomit for 2 hours while ABC documents humanity's slow decline into a soul-less generational self-absorbed narcistic vapidity.

(still getting used to the keyboard on this piece 'o crap mini-pc with no spellcheck. oops!)

I.e., yeah, I'm hooked. Rats.

Miles To Go I Know

The dog and I seem to have settled into a kind of winter routine: get up early, check wood inventory, check food supplies (beer, cigarettes), chain smoke. So the first order of the day's business is to make sure there's enough fuel for the morning, afternoon, evening and over night. (Recall there's no central heat.)

Demolition has slowed if not stopped; still picking away at the floor boards upstairs. But not really.

The-one-that-got-away left a message the other afternoon; at the risk of royally pissing off tia, I do miss her. I take comfort in the fact that she would totally (her word) hate it up here.

I had forgotten the difference between an axe and a maul. (Sp?) The hedge apple in Mr. Hill's northeast swale sent me almost immediately to Home Depot.

I'll end this not surprisingly boring post with the notion, again, that my days seem more meaningful than they have been in 20 years.

Oh, Moonpie killed something I can't identify, it's way cold here, more snow, Terry Gross is the best interviewer working today, pulling for Auburn monday night, tractor needs a new battery, missing mom and dad, will probably return t-o-t-g-a's call though I shouldn't, and watch a lot of PBS sunday.

Reading a lot, but mostly stuff I've read already.