The band was on fire last night. We were either a) filled with the Holy Spirit, or b) we're getting our shit together, even given we only have a lead guitarist, a drummer (me) and 4 (3 last night) singers. I decided to disassemble the 2 stupid rubber cymbals from my stupid electronic kit, which I never use anyway (I use my real cymbals) and always seem to get in the way of me hitting the upper toms. The pads on the electronic kit are so much smaller than the heads of a real drum, and if you misfire, no sound comes out of them at all. As a result, my speed picked up doing improvised fills, which came out of nowhere but were far more complex than the ones I typically employ. Glory be and holy shit! Jake, our guitarist, and I blended together like cake batter in a speed mixer. That, with a sermon on friendship, capped off what was a great service.
I gave Pastor Dave an enthusiastic thumbs-up Friday night when the sleeve of his t-shirt edged up and revealed that he has a big tattoo on his arm. It's of an open-mouth bass fish, that he got in the Army. (His last name is Bass, so he thought it befitting at the time.) A minister with a tattoo. Boss. His niece, Chloe, who sings in our band, came up to me after church and asked me where I got my tattoos. I told her, and she described to me the 3 tattoos she plans on getting, all of which are innocuous enough (she's studying to be a DCE, Director of Christian Education) and they have to be easy to cover up (silly rule) and approved by her collegiate superiors (how un-punk!). I told her we could go together, with Dave, while Pastor's 4-year old daughter told me she wants a tattoo of Curious George. I told her I thought that was a fabulous idea. Annabug (her nickname) then held up her fingers and exclaimed "I'm FOUR!" I held up 4 of my fingers and made a zero with my other hand and exclaimed "I'm FORTY!" and she was like "Whoa!" and then wanted to see my tattoos. Saving up, both Chloe and I, the tentative plan is to have Dave take us both to the Tattoo Factory (unless Tatus and I go sooner) later this summer. Woot! Tattoos for everybody!
Couldn't help but notice that a Superhero had visited and signed our church's guest register, on an undisclosed date and from a mysterious city, not Gotham, which was odd and cracked me up:
At first, I thought this bucket full of dank, dirty church roof seepage said "GOD USED LIGHT BULBS," which like WOW! There are lamps in Heaven? Or was this a political statement? In any event, this also seemed humorous to me:
Luke and I headed to Subway for some takeout after church, both feeling silly, having laughed about God knows what en route. We passed the usual shoe repair shop next to Subway, whereupon we came to peer in the windows. (This is the one from many blogs ago where it looked like they were having an intense 3-way Bible study the last time I went to Subway.) Luke was shooting video for his YouTube channel (Bechteloffices, you should really subscribe and watch his videos--it's easy to join YouTube as a user, and simple to subscribe. 1,500,000 viewers can't be wrong with Luke!) and I took a picture of a Bibleish book in what language I couldn't decipher at the time:
At first I thought it was in Greek. Then I posted it to Facebook where my intelligent friend, Heidi, was quick to point out that it was, in fact, in Russian, and meant "What is actually taught in the Bible." Gee, I'd love to hear their version of it. I wonder if they buy that whole Noah and the Ark story, or that the Earth is only 4,000 years old and God created the Heavens and the Earth in only 6, 24-hour days.
Here's where Luke and I are both neurotic and simpatico, attached at the soul: The potato chip holder on our side of the counter was crooked. Luke first tried straightening it out, and couldn't. He waited until he noticed it bothered me as our sandwiches were being prepared. I finally noticed and couldn't move it. "Isn't that driving you nuts?" I asked Luke. He agreed. His sandwich artist was putting roast beef on Luke's sandwich as he was laughing. I said, what I thought was under my breath but was wrong, "Man, that'd drive me crazy. Trying to get the meat off in slices and placing them on the sandwich." Luke wholeheartedly agreed, knowing my anxious nature. "Yeah," Luke said. The sandwich artist interrupted and said, in a deadpan monotone, "The meat is very fragile. It is delicate." He then took the pile of roast beef and literally threw it back into the Roast Beef Meat Holder without abandon. "Uh, it can't be THAT fragile!" I told Luke. We laughed the whole time our sandwiches were being made, which probably unnerved the Subway guy. Luke asked for extra pickles and got about 37 placed on his sandwich. And extra black olives, also of which he got a plethora.
Meanwhile, an assistant came to finish my sandwich. I had my usual: a 6" turkey w/spinach, tomato, cucumber, pepper jack cheese (I was mysteriously given 3 slices instead of 2), oil & vinegar, oregano and parmesan, and EXTRA black olives. Whereas Luke got about 42, I got 6. During the oiling and vinegaring stage, Luke asked for the same thing and his sandwich was carefully squirted upon. His sandwich artist then squeezed some on my sandwich, which would've sufficed, until my guy took the stuff and squeezed another like cup and a half of oil and vinegar onto my sandwich, soaking it literally. I interrupted with a "Whoa! That's enough!"
Deadpan Subway Guy gave Luke his choice of the 2 cookies of the day that were left, as Luke contemplated Flaming Hot Cheetos over his Garden Veggie Sun Chips. I poo pooed the Cheetos and we were rung up. (I don't get chips. Luke said, "That's all you're going to eat is that little sandwich? I said, "I'm a little person." He shook his head and agreed.) We were still laughing at our sandwich artists when we were rung up, when Luke said, "I have OCD's." "Oh yeah, about what?" I don't recall off hand what Luke said, but I remember diagnosing it as a neurosis and not a true OCD. I said "The chip holder being crooked? THAT'S an OCD."
We left, drove home laughing, ate laughing and went back about our business at home laughing, probably annoying my mom, but we didn't care. There's literally nowhere Luke and I go together that doesn't turn into a slapstick, juvenile humor-fest. God, I love that kid.
After being carded at the gas station for cigarettes on my birthday, I had no choice but to settle for a carton of short Camels as opposed to the 100's (tall) ones I usually smoke.
I took up the issue with Steven, who is on tour in Japan.
Me: "Fill me in. Are short cigs chemically different than talls? Had to buy shorts & they're like crack cocaine. I want one every 15 minutes. Talls? I'm cool for like an hour."
Steven: "I thought they were the same?"
Me: "One would think. They cut my smoking pleasure by about 4 minutes...maybe it's that & I crave another too quickly. But dude! I got carded buying them on my 40th bday! Clerk said I didn't pass for 30, so yay me!"
Steven: "That's always nice!"
He felt bad about going into a tirade on Twitter and asked if Twitter rage and real rage are the same thing, because he felt they were.
Me: "Twitter rage can be deleted in one click. Life rage sticks in your craw and decays your gravity."
Steven: "Yes. I like 'decays your gravity.'"
Me: "It's all relative. If you spew rage, chances are someone harbors rage against you, which upsets everyone's balance. I'm guilty of it like we all are. 'Isn't it a Pity' is a good song that helps explain my philosophy, though the decay of gravity just popped into my head!"
I thought about all the bickering I'd been spewing back at my friend for forgetting my birthday. He apologized and Kate told me he is trying really hard and I should be more patient and understanding with him, and she's right. He finally called, after I'd texted him more George Harrison song stuff, Saturday afternoon. He wished me a Happy Mother's Day, and RSVP'd to my birthday party next Saturday night. I said, "You're not coming, are you?" and he said, "No, I AM coming!" which surprised and elated me. His unique ability to change my mood immediately from sullen to happy is one of the best things about our friendship.
If the head count is right, he should be among 3 males at the party in total, depending when he decides to come, so the testosterone/estrogen playing field is evening out. Id' hate to have him be the sole male exposed to all of my girlfriends, all of whom know about our friendship. I'd been thinking pizza and pop, but now I'm considering appetizers, dips & whatnot, and pop. Since it's an open house, come & go as you please, I'm hesitant to have food that has to be kept hot (pizza). And instead of a cake, I'm thinking a large fruit/custard tart and a batch of brownies. I should be entertaining approximately 15 people coming and going, which is a load for my house, but I'm looking most forward to it.
Here's how I thought I'd point guests towards my house, if they're unfamiliar with where I live:
Truer words were never spoken! Sri Christ! Sri Krishna!
I gave Pastor Dave an enthusiastic thumbs-up Friday night when the sleeve of his t-shirt edged up and revealed that he has a big tattoo on his arm. It's of an open-mouth bass fish, that he got in the Army. (His last name is Bass, so he thought it befitting at the time.) A minister with a tattoo. Boss. His niece, Chloe, who sings in our band, came up to me after church and asked me where I got my tattoos. I told her, and she described to me the 3 tattoos she plans on getting, all of which are innocuous enough (she's studying to be a DCE, Director of Christian Education) and they have to be easy to cover up (silly rule) and approved by her collegiate superiors (how un-punk!). I told her we could go together, with Dave, while Pastor's 4-year old daughter told me she wants a tattoo of Curious George. I told her I thought that was a fabulous idea. Annabug (her nickname) then held up her fingers and exclaimed "I'm FOUR!" I held up 4 of my fingers and made a zero with my other hand and exclaimed "I'm FORTY!" and she was like "Whoa!" and then wanted to see my tattoos. Saving up, both Chloe and I, the tentative plan is to have Dave take us both to the Tattoo Factory (unless Tatus and I go sooner) later this summer. Woot! Tattoos for everybody!
Couldn't help but notice that a Superhero had visited and signed our church's guest register, on an undisclosed date and from a mysterious city, not Gotham, which was odd and cracked me up:
At first, I thought this bucket full of dank, dirty church roof seepage said "GOD USED LIGHT BULBS," which like WOW! There are lamps in Heaven? Or was this a political statement? In any event, this also seemed humorous to me:
Luke and I headed to Subway for some takeout after church, both feeling silly, having laughed about God knows what en route. We passed the usual shoe repair shop next to Subway, whereupon we came to peer in the windows. (This is the one from many blogs ago where it looked like they were having an intense 3-way Bible study the last time I went to Subway.) Luke was shooting video for his YouTube channel (Bechteloffices, you should really subscribe and watch his videos--it's easy to join YouTube as a user, and simple to subscribe. 1,500,000 viewers can't be wrong with Luke!) and I took a picture of a Bibleish book in what language I couldn't decipher at the time:
Here's where Luke and I are both neurotic and simpatico, attached at the soul: The potato chip holder on our side of the counter was crooked. Luke first tried straightening it out, and couldn't. He waited until he noticed it bothered me as our sandwiches were being prepared. I finally noticed and couldn't move it. "Isn't that driving you nuts?" I asked Luke. He agreed. His sandwich artist was putting roast beef on Luke's sandwich as he was laughing. I said, what I thought was under my breath but was wrong, "Man, that'd drive me crazy. Trying to get the meat off in slices and placing them on the sandwich." Luke wholeheartedly agreed, knowing my anxious nature. "Yeah," Luke said. The sandwich artist interrupted and said, in a deadpan monotone, "The meat is very fragile. It is delicate." He then took the pile of roast beef and literally threw it back into the Roast Beef Meat Holder without abandon. "Uh, it can't be THAT fragile!" I told Luke. We laughed the whole time our sandwiches were being made, which probably unnerved the Subway guy. Luke asked for extra pickles and got about 37 placed on his sandwich. And extra black olives, also of which he got a plethora.
Meanwhile, an assistant came to finish my sandwich. I had my usual: a 6" turkey w/spinach, tomato, cucumber, pepper jack cheese (I was mysteriously given 3 slices instead of 2), oil & vinegar, oregano and parmesan, and EXTRA black olives. Whereas Luke got about 42, I got 6. During the oiling and vinegaring stage, Luke asked for the same thing and his sandwich was carefully squirted upon. His sandwich artist then squeezed some on my sandwich, which would've sufficed, until my guy took the stuff and squeezed another like cup and a half of oil and vinegar onto my sandwich, soaking it literally. I interrupted with a "Whoa! That's enough!"
Deadpan Subway Guy gave Luke his choice of the 2 cookies of the day that were left, as Luke contemplated Flaming Hot Cheetos over his Garden Veggie Sun Chips. I poo pooed the Cheetos and we were rung up. (I don't get chips. Luke said, "That's all you're going to eat is that little sandwich? I said, "I'm a little person." He shook his head and agreed.) We were still laughing at our sandwich artists when we were rung up, when Luke said, "I have OCD's." "Oh yeah, about what?" I don't recall off hand what Luke said, but I remember diagnosing it as a neurosis and not a true OCD. I said "The chip holder being crooked? THAT'S an OCD."
We left, drove home laughing, ate laughing and went back about our business at home laughing, probably annoying my mom, but we didn't care. There's literally nowhere Luke and I go together that doesn't turn into a slapstick, juvenile humor-fest. God, I love that kid.
After being carded at the gas station for cigarettes on my birthday, I had no choice but to settle for a carton of short Camels as opposed to the 100's (tall) ones I usually smoke.
I took up the issue with Steven, who is on tour in Japan.
Me: "Fill me in. Are short cigs chemically different than talls? Had to buy shorts & they're like crack cocaine. I want one every 15 minutes. Talls? I'm cool for like an hour."
Steven: "I thought they were the same?"
Me: "One would think. They cut my smoking pleasure by about 4 minutes...maybe it's that & I crave another too quickly. But dude! I got carded buying them on my 40th bday! Clerk said I didn't pass for 30, so yay me!"
Steven: "That's always nice!"
He felt bad about going into a tirade on Twitter and asked if Twitter rage and real rage are the same thing, because he felt they were.
Me: "Twitter rage can be deleted in one click. Life rage sticks in your craw and decays your gravity."
Steven: "Yes. I like 'decays your gravity.'"
Me: "It's all relative. If you spew rage, chances are someone harbors rage against you, which upsets everyone's balance. I'm guilty of it like we all are. 'Isn't it a Pity' is a good song that helps explain my philosophy, though the decay of gravity just popped into my head!"
I thought about all the bickering I'd been spewing back at my friend for forgetting my birthday. He apologized and Kate told me he is trying really hard and I should be more patient and understanding with him, and she's right. He finally called, after I'd texted him more George Harrison song stuff, Saturday afternoon. He wished me a Happy Mother's Day, and RSVP'd to my birthday party next Saturday night. I said, "You're not coming, are you?" and he said, "No, I AM coming!" which surprised and elated me. His unique ability to change my mood immediately from sullen to happy is one of the best things about our friendship.
If the head count is right, he should be among 3 males at the party in total, depending when he decides to come, so the testosterone/estrogen playing field is evening out. Id' hate to have him be the sole male exposed to all of my girlfriends, all of whom know about our friendship. I'd been thinking pizza and pop, but now I'm considering appetizers, dips & whatnot, and pop. Since it's an open house, come & go as you please, I'm hesitant to have food that has to be kept hot (pizza). And instead of a cake, I'm thinking a large fruit/custard tart and a batch of brownies. I should be entertaining approximately 15 people coming and going, which is a load for my house, but I'm looking most forward to it.
Here's how I thought I'd point guests towards my house, if they're unfamiliar with where I live:
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