Saturday, November 24, 2012

Not Whipped, No, Not at All. Illumination, A Redux.

Last year, Guy Friend had Black Friday in his house, sans the noise and busting of his grown children and the missus. Why he would decide to go shopping--DOWNTOWN on Black Friday this year, remains a completely foreign concept to both the sane and the insane. The daughters are all pretty busy, and while they might have drizzled along for the thrill of downtown, (I'd sooner die) somebody should've given Guy the day off and at least get the testosterone balance adjusted in the house.

Wal-Mart isn't of a high enough class order for Guy Friend to go shopping, and Jesus, who would deliberately go there for the sake of a few bargains just to get trampled? Um, these people. For those of you old enough to remember the Stones at Altamont or The Who in Cincinnati, yeah, it was kind of like that:

I posed a question to Guy on Black Friday asking if all the women had gone shopping. His exclamation point after "I'm on Michigan Ave!" could've been out of exuberance or despair, hard to tell.  I'm glad to hear he had a rollicking time after playing cards with his neighbors, who invited he and the missus over for Thanksgiving. I hope they were at least playing poker or blackjack, not Uno or Go-Fish.  Give Guy a couple of beers or 2 glasses of fine red wine, or a Scotch and he's a helluva lot of fun.. For me, regarding playing cards, Luke insists on showing me a new card trick or other puzzling magic several times an hour, interrupting my trains of thought, and my damaged brain takes a while to recover and re-process. I've sort of had it playing cards, as of late, but let Luke showcase his talents no matter how much they interfere with what I'm trying to do. Luke, dude, you gotta know when hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run.

I had texted GF yesterday, that all he has to do now is plug in the outdoor lights his family leaves up outdoors every year, provided they're not all weather-ruined. Remember my poem, "Illumination?" It's that time of the year, so I will post it here once more. EVERYONE except Guy Friend can tell what it's about (him), why, what the characters represent; well exeryone except Guy, who simply said it was "nice" when I asked him about having read it. Facepalm!

In cleaning up my paperwork at 2am the other night, I found my original handwritten notes of the poem, laden with grammatical marks that only I understand. Should he replace the outdoor bulbs, if they're white, with brightly colored, vibrant lights that he finds more attractive? The poem is unclear, deliberately and metaphorically. I want Guy to have the handwritten work in progress--tangible creative writing. I think he's still wondering why someone would write him a poem. I'd like to give the handwritten version to Guy in the future, so he can appreciate the effort it took and the emotion behind it.  A refresher:


I swear you once mentioned
Your Christmas lights are left outdoors
Lit only on occasions proper,
Unaware of the changes in season.

A seemingly irreplaceable decoration
That surely must be
Tinkered with, twiddled
Untangled and adjusted from time to time.

So you blow the snow away
Perhaps by their twinkle in winter.
You cut grass
As the light bulbs start to crack, weathered.
You grow flowers underneath
In the same beds, warmly
And they blossom, unfailingly.

While the wind and the rain
And the leaves and the twigs
Bundle your gutters;
Storms threaten to tear the roof
Off an otherwise solid structure.

To-do lists.

Eventually, the lights outside
Will have to dismantle; worn, irrepairable.
Your house, your fortress…
Unfamiliar, unsettled.

You dutifully drive off to replace them.
Out of contentment or out of demand?

The advent returns.
Requisite ornamentation, memories, keepsakes
To unpack and adorn once again.

The new lights are vivid, not pearly flushed.
And not what you were supposed to buy.
Now distracted by demented beauty,
Your steadiness on the ladder askew.


Building a fire to admire them by,
You choose solitude. Reflection.
A hardy pit and perspiring Glenfiddich
Glow your dimpled yet hesitant smile.

Cast loose, you’d undoubtedly flail.
Vacated involuntary, though,
The distinct safeguard
Of the wind you deem “friend”
Would never howl forcefully enough
To waver your fortress away.

(Andrea Miklasz, c 2012, copyrighted, do not use without permission or I'll totally kill you.)

BMF and I assume Guy thew away his copy, without predication, along with every card I've given in the last 3 years. Creative and original energy and raw emotion didn't even work to win his affections. Big sigh. He'll regret it when I'm famous and he's one of the little people I thank for helping to shape and redefine "Rhythms From the Offbeat Drummer: The Book." (Which'll have a far more provocative title eventually, I'm sure. I have several titles in the works.)

Just get me through New Year's. I'm just not up for it all this year.  I don't have Luke for NYE, which gives me plenty of time to do further filing and get shit done (unless the mania goes away. Then I'll just be my normal, biting, insane but and offbeat self. I don't know--if he Lips are playing a NYE concert in OKC, I might just jump on a plane. Who are we kidding? I don't think my mom has plans, so she'll be home. If she makes plans, which'd be awesome, I'll be by myself. I'll be in my room, at my desk and penning witticisms that no one understands and trying not to think about how great it would be to get drunk. I'm sure SuperJuls is busy. Kate, at least, I can always reach by phone. Instead of hanging out with friends and going wild, I'll be over here typing something...anything. Betcha can't wait! I know Guy Friend is on call or has to work during the holidays, and it's like, "Stay at the hospital until midnight and kiss me instead of rushing home."

Anyway, the extent to which I shopped on Black Friday? I went to Ace Hardware at 8pm last night, with my busted bass drum pedal in-hand. The screw fell out of the chain mechanism that allows the tension in the pedal to hit the drum when the pedal is kicked. I was kicking away for all I was worth, and suddenly had no thud.  Pastor told me I should tell the Ace Hardware guys that I need "a screw that was about 1/4 inch longer," which naturally made me crack up. Dave, realizing that I am a total pervert, thought twice about that statement, laughed, and said "You know what I mean!"

Going into a hardware store as a woman holding drum equipment is THE PRIMO way to meet seedy old men. They're endlessly fascinated by a woman who plays the drums, even when she comes in wearing a hat in the shape of a chimpanzee's head, with ears. I needed the same gauge screw but at least 1/4" longer, so my pedal was fitted with one, I got a matching screwdriver, and 5 extra screws just in case, which is as much screwing as I've encountered in like 2 years. In any event, my pedal's fixed and life can go on as blandly as it always does. Hardware stores, in general, are a premier place for women to feel like damsels in distress because everything in there is confusing and foreign, especially when you require something as specific as a certain tiny gauged screw. Yeah, practice was great last night, trying to keep time and play the songs on the kit with no bass to keep time. I tapped my right foot in the pattern I would play, but it all sounded fucked up anyway. Good times.

The Offbeat Drummer is sinking.

No comments: