Wednesday, November 19

Actually Spoken During the Course of My Evening

    "Who are you kidding? I'd make a great lesbian!"

Tuesday, November 18

Damn You, Pittsburgh Steelers!

So the monday night football game last night totally sucked, which created an opening for the remote control to be taken out of my hands. The TV roulette wheel spun around for a while and then eventually stopped on

       Dr Phil

Apparently the good doctor has been running some sort of survivor-ish reality show thing for fat people in an effort to sell more copies of his new book. 2 teams of overweight individuals live in a house together and do various weight loss "challenges" against each other while they follow Dr. Phil's diet plan and then scheme and backstab each other in private interviews.

       ...Strangely compelling, in a fat car wreck sort of way.

To be honest, I think the thing that made it watchable was Dr. Phils apparent fetish for making really obese people run track. The ripples, they were a'ripplin' - if you know what I mean.

The thing about it though was that Kim was TOTALLY into it. She knew the peoples names, their backstories, all the secret plans and character flaws. It was like..

       Well, it was kinda like when I watch football.

Monday, November 17

The Judas Slinky

During the course of running errands and shopping today, I came across a Magic 8-Ball. I asked it a series of important questions, hoping for some real advice.

          Signs Point to Yes
          Without a Doubt


Sunday, November 16

Whatever Happened to my Transylvania Twist?

Saturday night -- Jack Rabbits. A packed house for the kickoff of a new indie/hardcore package show called "The Girls Gone Wild Tour" featuring local punkers Glasseater, Calico System, and Evergreen Terrace.

I worked my way to a point in the middle of the crowd during the third band's set, sliding and pushing until the sea of strangers in front of me was simply too thick to navigate. On one side of me was a skinny guy drenched in sweat from the first two acts, and on my right were two girls who's arms were already in front of their bodies in preparation for pushing back the rush.

     Clearly, I was in a good spot.

What I didn't notice though, was that about two people ahead of me was an incredibly well fed young man in a black hoodie. I know he was wearing it because once the band kicked in and the pit got going, that hoodie started falling towards me like that scene in 2001 where the astronaut flies into the monolith, except this time all I could say was, "My god, it's full of cholesterol."

There we were -- right in the middle of an overpacked sardine can of a club, with the fattest punk on the First Coast flat on his back. Pit instincts kicked in immediately, and everyone around started reaching down to help him up.

        But try as we might, we
        were no match for Shamu.

There were like four of us yanking on his arms and yelling obscenities at him, but all Star Jones could manage was to flail his legs like a turtle on his back. Eventually we got him upright, but by that time two songs had run by. The thing that struck me though was the fact that even though the kid took up an acre of floor, nothing even nearing stompage happened to him.

Curious to see what the deal was -- I started moving closer to the stage. A circle had carved itself out in the middle of the crowd, but people seemed to stay out of it's way. In fact, the closer I got to the pit the more clear it became that there wasn't really anyone in it at all.

Instead of the melee I was expecting I found this weird pecking order going on. One kid would jump into the middle of the open space and then start swinging his arms and kicking his legs like a martial arts display. Then, once he was done with his intro, he'd slam into the edge of the circle with fists flying, almost like he was looking to catch someone not looking and clock them in the head.

Even stranger, once the first kid's exit was complete, ANOTHER kid would jump into the opening and do his own version of the same thing. Sometimes two or three people would go in at once and there would be a little pushing and shoving to establish priority, but in the end, it was all setup for the midair combo punches. It was like a breakdancing circle where everyone waited their turn.

        It's Punk Rock -- Since when do you have to take a number?

I actually said to the person next to me, "What the hell is this?" - but the complaint didn't seem to register.

The one good thing was that whenever someone hit the floor, everyone around hustled to get them back up to safety. Or at least that's what I thought until I helped one dude up off the ground who immediately started throwing blind elbows as soon as he was on his feet again. He caught me in the lip with one shot, and then moved on to some other part of the crowd, punching blindly at strangers with both fists.

It all seemed kinda wrong. Too violent, too personal. At the same time, I couldn't help feeling like the problem might be me. Like I was being shown that I didn't necessarily belong in this particular pit at all, even if I did like the music. I still managed to find my way in there and get a couple of licks in, but it didn't really feel right, you know?

I made my way back to the bar, and tried to cool off with a fresh drink. Pretty soon, some of the people I'd met before the show started talking to me and sharing old stories. And that's when it hit me. This is what I want. That sorta 'temporary best friend' syndrome. That bonding that happens with strangers in the crowd, the kinship that lasts until the last encore is played. The kind of thing you can't get from listening to a demo CD. The kind of feeling you can't express with a t-shirt or patch.

   That feeling that says, "We were there -- together."

                     .. God, I sound like a hippie. Somebody slam me.

Saturday, November 15

If You Hear Any Noise, It's Just Me and the Boys

          This might just be the most amazing thing
             man has ever created since time began.

High Karate

Check me out, I'm a Pheromone!You are a Pheromone.

You are seductive and you know what you want. There is something about you that permeates the air and draws people to you. You can get what you want almost without fail, including some of the sexiest moths out there.

                         Which Biological Molecule Are You?

Friday, November 14

That Anxious, Hunting Mood

How much is a plane ticket to San Diego? I mean, one that I try to buy right now. I think it’s totally unfair that the longer you wait to book a flight, the more it should cost. There should be a special rate for “impulse travelers.” Special frequent flyer points for those of us who are sitting at work at 11am on a Friday saying to themselves,

            “Why the fuck not?”

I mean, what do I really have to do this weekend anyway? I’ve got to grade some papers, and I was thinking of doing some more house cleaning or whatever, but that can all wait, can’t it? The only real tragedy of jumping on a jet plane for SoCal would be missing the Evergreen Terrace show Saturday night – but I think I’d definitely trade that for some facetime with good friends far away.

Am I the only one who gets this feeling? That urge to get up and just go – the pull to take a roadtrip without warning? -- To just up and jump a redeye to Diego, or Denver, or Hawaii, or ‘Zona, or Nola, or Korea, or the Netherlands, or just… wherever?

Maybe the airlines keep their last second fares high to help people like me out. Keep me in check. Almost as if I was calling the airline ticket office, and the lady on the other end of the line says, “Wait, have you paid the light bill yet?”

The problem is that when I get like this, I tend to be a complete a-hole, especially if everyone else is really looking forward to catching up on sleep and hanging out on the couch. It’s like I’m a red sock in a wash full of whites, and all I feel is trapped, trapped, trapped.

I’ve got a good book to read. I’ve got stuff I need to do. There’s a halfway decent punk show coming to town Saturday night. There are people here in town that I’ve lost touch with lately that I really need to call up and hang out with. I mean, the options are there.

But it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it.

            Throw back some sake for me, winky.
            One of these days, I’ll be there with ya.

Thursday, November 13

Paging Doctor Love

I was sitting at a stoplight on the way to work this morning when I caught a glimpse of this incredibly hot blonde in my rear view mirror. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of rimless sunglasses, and her lipstick sparkled around her mouth in a way that made it hard to think of anything that had to do with traffic laws or right of way.

The moment I laid eyes on this creature I knew I would never see her again. But until the light changed colors and we went our separate ways, she was mine to tame. And so, like my father before me (and probably like every guy in the whole world), I said out loud,


Except that the word "hello" seemed to stretch out forever as I attempted to inject every ounce of laviciousness I could into it. Somewhere between Barry White and David Lee Roth on his worst day, my libido had taken form and found a voice.

        Say hello to Dr. Love.

She shook her head to one side, sending golden tresses cascading over her shoulder. Then she looked into her own mirror to check her makeup.

Still watching the girl instead of the road, Dr. Love says,

     "Oh yeah baby - you know you look good."

Then she did something I didn't expect. With her hair still lying over her shoulder, she pushed her tongue into the inside of her cheek and began to move it around slowly.

            ...Dr. Love moved forward in his seat a little.

This continued on for a few seconds, followed by a hand rubbing her face softly up and down. I doubt she even knew I was there, but it was mesmerizing all the same. The light could have changed from red to green a dozen times and I wouldn't have known it at all.

Dr. Love says,

     "Yeah baby, work it for the Doctor. You know what I like."

She flipped her hair again, and rolled her neck slowly to the other side. All the time looking at herself in the mirror, all the time locked into the things she was doing to herself. Like she'd gone to a place in her mind where no one else was, a place where she could let her own inhibitions fall away.

Nervously I ran a hand through my hair, wondering what she might do next.

She pursed her lips, and then opened her mouth slowly. But then she reached one of her hands to her face, and began to dig at something in her teeth, or stuck to her gums, or -- I don't know -- wedged into her jaw like a car wreck or something.

Part of me was sorta taken aback as she proceeded to jam most of her hand into her mouth trying to dislodge whatever it was she had stuck to her teeth. I mean, she was really clawing around in there.

But Dr. Love was already committed to the chase, and in a slightly more hesitant voice than the one I had been using, I heard myself say,

     "Oh yeah baby, Pick that tooth!
     Dig that breakfast out of there for the Doctor!
     You know what I"

Monday, November 10

Hey Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone

I found this anonymous note on my desk the other day:

    Things to Buy For Mr. Luft

        Tic Tacs
        Extra Strength deodorant
        Minty Toothpaste
        Antibacterial Soap
        Clean Clothes
        Washer and Dryer
        Laundry Detergent
        A New Pair of Brand Name Shoes
        Diet Pills
        Anger Management Classes

...Did I mention that midterm grades just came out?

Monday, November 3

They Call Me Mr. Knowitall, I am so Eloquent

The other day a dear friend called me to ask for my advice on something. Well, not so much advice as they were looking for my take on a situation so that they could measure it against their own ideas and maybe find a solution to an issue they were dealing with.

     A trusted confidant
     A reliable source
     A worthwhile opinion

It's always nice to be thought of in that way, you know?

Except that when it finally came down to listening to the situation and offering my thoughts, everything that came out of my mouth sounded totally stupid. In one fleeting, well-intentioned moment I went from being the person someone could trust with a private matter to the friggin' Chicago Cubs of friendly advice.

It went something like this:

    Friend in Need:"I have a big stain on my carpet, what should I do?"
    Motard:"Hmm... Have you considered setting your house on fire?"

I mean, all my friends know me well enough to know that I'm not the guy you leave in the room where they keep the global thermonuclear war buttons - but at the same time I'd like to think that I am at least somewhat competent when it comes to helping others to understand things...

    But there I was, phone receiver against my ear, spouting gibberish.

It's like I've been so wrapped up in my own things lately that I've become sort of disconnected with friends and things that are important to me. Not that my feelings have changed, but that I'm out of the loop, not wired into all the background data like I have been in the past.

…It's frustrating.

I mean, I'm starting to think that I'm sorta getting the hang of dealing with students and administrators, but it's like I'm still at that 'all or nothing' point. In order for me to do this well, I can't seem to be anything else. Yet what I need more than anything is a release, a sanctuary, a balancing force.

       What I need is someone I can confide in.
       What I want is someone to want to confide in me.

But If I keep spitting out this Ms. Cleo garbage when people need advice, the odds of that happening are probably pretty slim, you know?

      "Oh no no chile, ju don' need heem.
       Ju need to leave heem,
       Heeesah noo good!"

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