The red number on the clock has been flashing for over a month. But the clock is facing the wall is doesn't matter. One time he thought about unplugging it to save on electricity, but then he figured he wasn't going to pay it anyway so why bother. The dog hair covered couch he's laying on has a massive droop in the center from standing on it to turn on the ceiling fan. He pulled the chain too hard once and now it's broken. Behind the kitchen stove the roaches are bathed in a mixture of grease, cheerios, and macaroni. There are about 10 out in the open, but the majority live in the wall.
Just as a dark cloud drifts by the phone rings.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Monday, December 06, 2004
Times Beach
Back in the 80s I had the idea to start a band that played all originals. I put an ad in the paper and people called. Nobody seemed too impressed when I said I wanted to mix rock, reggae, soul and jazz and punk into one big mish mash. We tried it anyway. I think we got a gig at a dump called the Bufont Daddy in south county. It fell apart after the drummer quit. Later on, I heard the Bufont Daddy burned down and it could have been arson. I even forget what we called ourselves.
But I do remember meeting an interesting guy named Bob Shea. I was working full time and had a family, but Bob was the real deal living the life. At first he lived in Maplewood with his girlfriend Kim. I think later on Kim moved out to LA and Bob moved above Cicero's in the U City loop. Bob had been in a punk band called Times Beach. I thought the name was hilarious because I had actually worked in Times Beach just as it was declared a toxic waste area and evacuated by the feds. Bob wasn't the lead in Times Beach, but he had a bunch of songs of his own and we played a few. He was into Kung Fu and had some ideas that seemed strange to me and we really didn't hit it off on a personal level. But his his songs were good. I remember he had a tune called Romeo Rocks that I liked. His voice had a good punky scratchy style to it. About 10 years later I ran into him and he was living in an apartment and we decided to get together. He called to set a time once and then I never heard from him again.
So many times music is a shared interest between people, but it just doesn't mesh for some reason. The differences can slight, but the result is that projects don't last. I wonder if Bob ever found a good band to play his stuff. I'm sure he probably did and they got so far and ran out of gas. Just like everbody elses project. We're all just like moths crashing into a porch light to a certain extent. But the music makes us feel right so we never stop. Same in the 80s as now.
But I do remember meeting an interesting guy named Bob Shea. I was working full time and had a family, but Bob was the real deal living the life. At first he lived in Maplewood with his girlfriend Kim. I think later on Kim moved out to LA and Bob moved above Cicero's in the U City loop. Bob had been in a punk band called Times Beach. I thought the name was hilarious because I had actually worked in Times Beach just as it was declared a toxic waste area and evacuated by the feds. Bob wasn't the lead in Times Beach, but he had a bunch of songs of his own and we played a few. He was into Kung Fu and had some ideas that seemed strange to me and we really didn't hit it off on a personal level. But his his songs were good. I remember he had a tune called Romeo Rocks that I liked. His voice had a good punky scratchy style to it. About 10 years later I ran into him and he was living in an apartment and we decided to get together. He called to set a time once and then I never heard from him again.
So many times music is a shared interest between people, but it just doesn't mesh for some reason. The differences can slight, but the result is that projects don't last. I wonder if Bob ever found a good band to play his stuff. I'm sure he probably did and they got so far and ran out of gas. Just like everbody elses project. We're all just like moths crashing into a porch light to a certain extent. But the music makes us feel right so we never stop. Same in the 80s as now.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Drama in Real Life, bike carnage 2004
Scenes I seen from the year...
Doing about 30 mph, Larry is in front of me shoot down a winding hill near High Ridge, Mo. A couple guys are off the front and he's pretty fearless so I'm not trying to keep up. We're doing the 75 mile covered bridge ride. So anyway, we hit a sweeping left and Larry goes down and starts sliding. He finally runs off the road and sprays into the shoulder through all the leaves and sticks. I shoot by just as he stops. He just missed whacking into a tree as far as I can tell. I turn around and see how he's doing. His skin is gone on many parts of his leg and arm, but no broken bones. He gets back up and rides another 60 miles or so.
About 10 laps in to a crit I see Larry's (different Larry) back wheel start to slide around going about 35 mph down a hill. As he trys to regain control and almost makes it, but he hits another guy and goes down real hard. His helmet gets crunched real good. Broke bones in his back. Larry is wanting to cuss, but he doesn't let himself because, well, he doesn't cuss. He moans "fiddlesticks" and other such expletives until the ambulance comes. The race gets cancelled.
On the Marquette ride (35 hilly miles), I'm in the lead group and coming down a hill and see a lady in a minivan waiting to turn left across our path into a gravel parking lot where there are some ball fields. She sees us and stops, so nobody slows down. Then at the last second she starts to go and pulls right out in front the lead rider. He rams into the side of the minivan and slides along the length of it as a couple of the riders go down. A bunch of us stand around until the ambulance comes. The we keep on going.
It's raining on the Dogfish (32 miles) ride and I make a right on to Mason off of Ladue road. Sean is right behind me. When I hit the smooth pavement and start heading downhill I go down on my right side and slide along. Luckily no cars are coming. Sean waits while I get right back on and eventually we catch the group after a few miles. I wind up with a major ass bruise and a hole in my shorts. Afterword, I just keep riding with the hole.
Out past Waterloo we are bombing down a hill and heading for Bluff Road. There is a steep right turn. Mark and Little Luke get into a ditch on the left and both of them flip over. Luke winds up on the other side of the electric fence. The neighbors come out to see what is going on, but everbody can still ride so we keep on going. For some reason I think the electric fence thing is funny.
We're out at Columbia bottoms and riding on some chip seal road. I don't realize Sean is drafting off of me and when I slow down and turn around he clips my wheel and goes down, slicing his knee. It looks pretty nasty so he head back to the car. Later he said it didn't need stiches, but it looked like it did at the time.
Moab 1: Bombing down Klondike Bluffs Trail on the slick rock Todd hucks down on a section of gravel, flattens his tire, and whacks into a either a bush or a tree. He shakes it off and we keep messing around on the slick rock, which is a blast. At the end we loaded four mountain bikes and four guys into a Ford Escape. You should try it, it was a bit tight.
Moab 2: At 1:30 in the morning in the 24 Hours of Moab I'm surfing around on the sand heading for a 15 foot drop. I shoot off the edge and lose it to the right and endo. My light keep working, so I slog on. Sometime around then one of the course marshalls get bit by a rattlesnake she's playing with.
Thankgiving ride out at Marquette. We are just getting started and I see a rider slip and fall hard on his side. We catch up to him and see if he's going to be able to keep going. He's in pretty much pain -- but it doesn't seem that bad. Later on I heard he broke his pelvis in three places.
Well, that's about it. See you on the next ride!
Doing about 30 mph, Larry is in front of me shoot down a winding hill near High Ridge, Mo. A couple guys are off the front and he's pretty fearless so I'm not trying to keep up. We're doing the 75 mile covered bridge ride. So anyway, we hit a sweeping left and Larry goes down and starts sliding. He finally runs off the road and sprays into the shoulder through all the leaves and sticks. I shoot by just as he stops. He just missed whacking into a tree as far as I can tell. I turn around and see how he's doing. His skin is gone on many parts of his leg and arm, but no broken bones. He gets back up and rides another 60 miles or so.
About 10 laps in to a crit I see Larry's (different Larry) back wheel start to slide around going about 35 mph down a hill. As he trys to regain control and almost makes it, but he hits another guy and goes down real hard. His helmet gets crunched real good. Broke bones in his back. Larry is wanting to cuss, but he doesn't let himself because, well, he doesn't cuss. He moans "fiddlesticks" and other such expletives until the ambulance comes. The race gets cancelled.
On the Marquette ride (35 hilly miles), I'm in the lead group and coming down a hill and see a lady in a minivan waiting to turn left across our path into a gravel parking lot where there are some ball fields. She sees us and stops, so nobody slows down. Then at the last second she starts to go and pulls right out in front the lead rider. He rams into the side of the minivan and slides along the length of it as a couple of the riders go down. A bunch of us stand around until the ambulance comes. The we keep on going.
It's raining on the Dogfish (32 miles) ride and I make a right on to Mason off of Ladue road. Sean is right behind me. When I hit the smooth pavement and start heading downhill I go down on my right side and slide along. Luckily no cars are coming. Sean waits while I get right back on and eventually we catch the group after a few miles. I wind up with a major ass bruise and a hole in my shorts. Afterword, I just keep riding with the hole.
Out past Waterloo we are bombing down a hill and heading for Bluff Road. There is a steep right turn. Mark and Little Luke get into a ditch on the left and both of them flip over. Luke winds up on the other side of the electric fence. The neighbors come out to see what is going on, but everbody can still ride so we keep on going. For some reason I think the electric fence thing is funny.
We're out at Columbia bottoms and riding on some chip seal road. I don't realize Sean is drafting off of me and when I slow down and turn around he clips my wheel and goes down, slicing his knee. It looks pretty nasty so he head back to the car. Later he said it didn't need stiches, but it looked like it did at the time.
Moab 1: Bombing down Klondike Bluffs Trail on the slick rock Todd hucks down on a section of gravel, flattens his tire, and whacks into a either a bush or a tree. He shakes it off and we keep messing around on the slick rock, which is a blast. At the end we loaded four mountain bikes and four guys into a Ford Escape. You should try it, it was a bit tight.
Moab 2: At 1:30 in the morning in the 24 Hours of Moab I'm surfing around on the sand heading for a 15 foot drop. I shoot off the edge and lose it to the right and endo. My light keep working, so I slog on. Sometime around then one of the course marshalls get bit by a rattlesnake she's playing with.
Thankgiving ride out at Marquette. We are just getting started and I see a rider slip and fall hard on his side. We catch up to him and see if he's going to be able to keep going. He's in pretty much pain -- but it doesn't seem that bad. Later on I heard he broke his pelvis in three places.
Well, that's about it. See you on the next ride!
Friday, December 03, 2004
hoosier 101 part 1
He slowly wakes up on the couch. It's 11:02 in the morning and the grey sky shows though the dusty miniblinds and cracked filmy window. His pit bull tried to be let out around 9, but it didn't happen so "Flair" (named after the nature boy) gave it up on the kitchen floor by the door. The roaches have plenty of crumbs to work on so they just leave the pile alone.
The coffee table has 14 empty Milwaukee's Best cans, 21 cigarette butts, two uneaten Lee's chicken wings, a three year old copy of Hustler magazine, and a two week old letter from the court he hasn't bothered to read yet. The kerosene heater is making a noise, but he can't hear it because the Price is Right is drowning it out.
Out on the street in front is his Pontiac Sunbird. The duct tape that holds the cardboard on where the sunroof used to be is faded through in spots. The dash is barely visible under piles of trash. The junk in the back seat is hidden under a sleeping bag he threw over it the day he went to his mom's house and he wanted it to look nice.
The smell can best be described as a cross between an ashtray and a small neighorhood gas station bathroom. You know, the kind that says Out of Order on the door -- but if you ask they will give you a key with a two foot piece of PVC pipe hooked to it, it's got cloth handwashing towels, one side of the sink works, and one 25 watt light bulb. Ah, that smell that he loves after a long night of rocking out at the Shenandoah with Chuck and Robbie. Actually, he doesn't really remember going home and making it to the couch, but he did like the smell at the time, trust me on this one.
to be continued...
The coffee table has 14 empty Milwaukee's Best cans, 21 cigarette butts, two uneaten Lee's chicken wings, a three year old copy of Hustler magazine, and a two week old letter from the court he hasn't bothered to read yet. The kerosene heater is making a noise, but he can't hear it because the Price is Right is drowning it out.
Out on the street in front is his Pontiac Sunbird. The duct tape that holds the cardboard on where the sunroof used to be is faded through in spots. The dash is barely visible under piles of trash. The junk in the back seat is hidden under a sleeping bag he threw over it the day he went to his mom's house and he wanted it to look nice.
The smell can best be described as a cross between an ashtray and a small neighorhood gas station bathroom. You know, the kind that says Out of Order on the door -- but if you ask they will give you a key with a two foot piece of PVC pipe hooked to it, it's got cloth handwashing towels, one side of the sink works, and one 25 watt light bulb. Ah, that smell that he loves after a long night of rocking out at the Shenandoah with Chuck and Robbie. Actually, he doesn't really remember going home and making it to the couch, but he did like the smell at the time, trust me on this one.
to be continued...
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Me and My Guitar
Guitar has brought me a lot of good things. James Taylor wrote a good tune called Me and My Guitar. It's about getting down in the dumps and having your old bud there to pick you up. He hit the nail on the head. I heard Chet Atkins play it. You can kind of tell you are going into a long term relationship with the old box if when you first pick it up you can't put it down. Before I ever could play a chord I would sit there and play a string, then two together, then put my ear right on the back and see if that sounded different.
I gave lessons for a while. You could tell who didn't pick it up all week. There was one kid I taught named Dan. I really admired the kid. One day his mom called a little worried saying Dan wanted to go to major in guitar in Boston. He did try it, I never heard what happened. He was a good chord man. I don't read music, so all I did was get him started. That kind of passion is what gets you good.
I never got into collecting guitars. I can't believe it when somebody buys Eric Clapton's old guitar for tons of money or whatever. I mean, take EC's hands off of it and it's just a guitar. I'm pretty sentimental about my old Gibson SG though. My brother bought it for me back in the early 70s. Later he told me he traded some you know what for it. The thing got beaten up during the college days. Years later I finally bought a case for it. Now it's been through hundred of blues jobs in every kind of hoosier bar in town and it stays in tune and absolutely screams on lead.
There is so much more about music to tell you about. But the clock is ticking down and I have to go to work.
I gave lessons for a while. You could tell who didn't pick it up all week. There was one kid I taught named Dan. I really admired the kid. One day his mom called a little worried saying Dan wanted to go to major in guitar in Boston. He did try it, I never heard what happened. He was a good chord man. I don't read music, so all I did was get him started. That kind of passion is what gets you good.
I never got into collecting guitars. I can't believe it when somebody buys Eric Clapton's old guitar for tons of money or whatever. I mean, take EC's hands off of it and it's just a guitar. I'm pretty sentimental about my old Gibson SG though. My brother bought it for me back in the early 70s. Later he told me he traded some you know what for it. The thing got beaten up during the college days. Years later I finally bought a case for it. Now it's been through hundred of blues jobs in every kind of hoosier bar in town and it stays in tune and absolutely screams on lead.
There is so much more about music to tell you about. But the clock is ticking down and I have to go to work.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
J Howard Here
Coming to you live from Missouri -- J Howard here. I'm sitting here aching pretty good right now due to the fact that I went over the handlebars on the Chubb. P'ssd me off when it happened. Chubb is a nasty mountain bike trail along the Meramec River in west St. Louis County. I rode it by myself Sunday (which was stupid) and after it rained a lot (which was stupid). So after I stupidly headed out there in the 40 degree cold I made through all the hard parts and I stupidly decided to go slow down this stupid hill (you know, the stupid one) and planted my front wheel on a rock. It was like slow motion as I reached point of no return. I wacked my knee pretty good and tore up the riding tights. So I'm sitting there deciding if I need to puke thinking how stupid I am. Then I realize it's getting dark and nobody is going to come along and I'm thinking, how can I be so freaking stupid. After a little while I limp up the hill to Lewis Road and take a shortcut back to the easy part of a trail. I run into a guy with his two daughters on horses and they go by. The last girl looks over and sees my knee bleeding all over. I made it back -- got yelled at by the wife for being so stupid and went to bed early. Then she comes upstairs and says the sink is blocked up. So I go working on it and can't get it to drain. I even tried two plungers, drano, the whole nine yards. I'm an idiot. Great way to end a four day weekend.
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