please stop tickling me

In which we laugh and laugh and laugh. And love. And drink.

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Location: Portland, Oregon

Otium cum Dignitatae

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Meetings with Remarkable People

The listomania bug is upon me again, and when it is, I think of Dre. I once lived with this crazy girl. She was one of the Illinoisians I lived with (and was in a band with) at the time. She was awful; self-absorbed, all facade, a liability. My girl at the time summed it up pretty well when she said, "The drunker she gets, the further out those lips of her's get." Yup: she had a pout that could stop a semi. In any case, as worthless as I thought she was (and how shameful it was that Portland's hip inner circles seemed to give her nothing but respect and leeway to do further bullshit things), she was an artist, of sorts.
They all think they're artists, by the way, and maybe she didn't realize what her true medium was: the making of lists. I found lists written by her that said things ranging from the deeply mundane to the life-direction sort. Items like "Travel, muthafuckah!" would sit alongside items like "James Bond Girl?" and "Fondue?". One of the best items I ever saw simply said, "Make Impossible Lists!" I wish I'd saved a couple.
One time that band and I played a show in someone's basement, where a party was going on. We were the only band there that really wasn't familiar to the partiers. First off, a white rap act, of all things.
I thought to myself: I really don't need this. I don't want to stand here and watch this, trying to prevent myself from making nasty comments, and...Oh. Three songs into the set, the biggest of the three guys had jumped up, cracked his head open on a low beam. "I gotta go to the hospital!" he said, and they left.
The followup was a single hippie male playing exceedingly boring tunes on his acoustic guitar. He was a friend of the house though, and everybody listened intently, and applauded on cue. Then we went on, and everybody went upstairs to smoke pot and listen to hip hop.
Sigh. Whatever. We played to an interested audience of three, and later, when I was trying to hassle a drum kit through a very crowded party ("Here I come! Don't wanna hit you! Gonna hit you! Hitting you! Told ya!"), I noticed that the white hip hop act had returned.
The injured party now had a bloody bandage (or was that someone's shirt?) on his head. He looked pretty happy. This was my friend the Reverend O'Hare, who I would not actually officially meet for another year. The thing I had not understood at the time was that they weren't being serious, which would have changed how I viewed them entirely.
I learned later that he indeed had not gone to the hospital.
I first met Bobby Massage during the brief period that I worked for the Death Star, a large wireless phone company, about to be swallowed by another. The two weeks paid training included learning how to use three seperate computer programs, one of which was entirely obsolete, updated every two weeks, etc.
We had been told to give a Power Point presentation about this system and how to use it. My group did one that was pretty straight forward, boring a subject as it was. But when Bobby's did theirs, it quickly became clear that he had hijacked the entire thing with his wicked sense of humor.
In a deadpan voice, he narrarated the steps for using the system, accompanied by lists projected on the screen. The reason that everybody was either laughing hysterically or making noises of disgust or terror was this: the mundane details were paired with these images culled from the Internet of crying babies, vicious-looking crocodiles, people panicking, fires, etc.
I couldn't stop laughing, and soon afterward remembered that I hate working in offices anyway, and got a job washing dishes. We continue to talk about making a soap opera called "...And Then...", in which I play an independently wealthy playboy named Rich Bachelor.
Any other great meeting stories? Gotta be. Just can't think of any at the moment.
Well, the abovementioned girl I used to date, The Bleach Blonde Intergalactic Amazon, I met her when I was baking bread at a small cafe. I was covered with flour and dough, looking bad. She had wandered on in, looking for espresso.
No one else was helping her, so I volunteered. As I was pulling the shot and making the foam, I was grinding my hips a bit to the tune on the stereo. Then I was pretty much dancing in place. I wasn't paying attention to her, as I figured someone as smokin' goddamn hot as her would have no use for my dough-covered ass at all.
When I turned back around, I noticed she was looking at me that way. "What's your name, blonde boy?", she asked.
That night, we got together, and spent every largely misery-filled night after with each other, for the next four months.
See? Meeting Cute is something the movies tell you is a good sign, but I don't buy it. Seems to me that every time I've Met Cute with someone, it leads to disaster. I met another girl when we first shared a crossword puzzle, and she asked me if I wanted to go gather chestnuts with her. Of course I did, and that didn't change the fact that she was just plain awful. I met Gringa Alta Segunda in a bowling alley when she noticed that I was reciting the Litany Against Fear from "Dune", and cute as that was, she fucked me over worse than any of them.
So-to those of my friends who don't have an amazing story about how we met, don't feel bad about it: it's probably why we're still friends.



Blogger rich bachelor said...

Didja ever notice how AT&T's logo looked like the Death Star?

9:58 PM  
Blogger Jessica said...

Am I right in remembering that the first time I met you was when I was living in Eugene and you came down to visit and made dinner for us? If so, the only crazy thing was that pyrex dish that spontaneously exploded on the stove.

7:02 AM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Or a sign of great things to come, yes.

11:58 AM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

4th of July parade in Warrenton. I spent the whole time bitching that Ameican corporations were enslaving entire populations of third-world countries so we can all buy cans of Dole pineapple for a buck thirty-nine. Pretty boring, guess we are safe.

12:15 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Ah yes: but do you also remember when the parade suddenly included lots and lots of clowns on homemade bikes? Carrier yells, "Run kids, it's clowns!", and they do, laughing and screaming.
Right after that, it's the Wart'n chapter of the Boy Scouts, and I yell, "Run kids, it's Scout Leaders!"
Yup, you n' me are doomed, C.

3:11 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

And the problem, J, was that I was mixing gravy on the stove in a dish that most certainly wasn't Pyrex.
We're all lucky we didn't lose eyes that night.

3:13 PM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

The clowns. I must've blocked them out of my mind. Lord knows I try. Scout leaders, however, one cannot block. They are so insidious, with their Howdy-doody smiles and that Mormonesque goody-two-shoes countenance. I was never a scout, too afraid to find out what lurks beneath.

Well, nice knowin' ya there , Rich. I'm sure I'll catch up with ya again in the next lifetime ( so you'll recognize me, I'll be the one ridin' the wobbly unicycle and wearin' a big, red, squirty flower)

10:36 AM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Nice one.

10:36 PM  
Blogger Jacq said...

I fell in love with an "artist" once. He was a musician. A damn good one, however. We would spend night after night in his bedroom, listening to the tunes of Staind, Incubus and various others, eating whatever takeout we craved and smoking illegal substances. I had never done the smoking thing before. And I haven't since. But to digress, he was the most mellow person I ever met, hardly ever saying a cross word about anyone and always wanting to keep the peace. But alas, he had very little ambition and couldn't keep a job for more than three months at a time. After two years, I had enough and for my own sanity, walked away. After being apart for a few months and then speaking the next summer, we dragged this on yet again for another year and a half. It was excruciating, because I knew he was not good for me at all. I thought I'd never get over that rat bastard.

And still, he has NO ambition. He looked hypnotizing to me playing that guitar though. I always ended up in love with musicians for some reason. There's just something about them...

9:06 AM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

They come in so many varieties, for starters.
Beyond here, I'm just going to start making bass player jokes.

5:15 PM  
Blogger Jacq said...

Base players are SO underestimated. Sad, very sad.

1:57 PM  
Blogger nope said...


I'm sorry for being intrusive in to your blog. But I am Melissa and I am a mother of two that is just trying to get out of an incredible financial debt. See my hubby is away in Iraq trying to protect this great country that we live in, and I am at home with our two kids telling bill collectors please be patiant. When my husband returns from war we will beable to catch up on our payments. We have already had are 2001 Ford repossessed from the bank, and are now down to a 83 buick that is rusted from front to back and the heater don't work, and tire tax is due in November.

I'm not asking for your pitty because we got our ownselfs into this mess but we would love you and thank you in our prayers if you would just keep this link on your blog for others to view.

God Bless You.

Melissa K. W.
To see my family view this page. My Family

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5:51 AM  
Blogger Jacq said...

Hey Melissa...

I think everyone lives above their means at some point, although my debt stems from a college education and credit usage I sought all on my own, so I suppose this type of thing is almost always a "live and learn" experience. I am single, live on my own, have a pretty good job and have been handling the debt situation without filing bankrupcy. I always pay my bills on time and have not touched a credit card since Christmas of last year. That is really the downfall of this country. People have to have want they want right then and there, and that's it. I have no solid advice to give you in your endeavor to become debt-free other than to consult with a professional who could counsel you.

Incidently, my brother-in-law is also deployed for the umpteenth time to the middle east to assist that part of the world with concocting some form of democracy. I think this is a grave error to think that one country (the U.S. of course) can do it all alone and primarily. Another thing is I doubt democracy is ever going to be a reality in the middle east, given the fact that the principle is primarily a western one and they for the most part reject anything that is produced by the west. I don't think our forefathers sought the assistance of other countries in producing this country's democracy. And for the record, I am not a democrat, republican or a liberal. I vote for whomever is the better opponent.

11:00 AM  

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