Last night I was walking out the door with my dogs for a walk. I step out and there is a strange looking cat that I have never seen before, sitting on my door mat. So instead of my 3 boxers tearing it to pieces, I stomped next to the cat to get it to leave. After it was gone, our walk was rather uneventful. I watched a flick and fell asleep.
Then today, the fam wakes up, dogs go for a walk, breakfast, shopping blah blah blah. After getting all the groceries inside I go back out to close the trunk and that damn cat is sitting in my driveway. I went in and got the wife because she's a sucker for a furry animal (in more ways than one), so she sees it and immediately feels the urge to feed it. I suggested plenty of other activities we could partake in, such as, Knitting or slamming our faces together and see who's tougher. She insisted that it was hungry and went back out to deliver some food and water. "Where's the kitty? I can hear it but I don't see it."
The shitty kitty climbed into the engine compartment of her Blazer! I slammed the doors, honked the horn and even tried rocking the damn thing but that cat wouldn't budge. Finally I opened the hood and found it hiding under the idler pulley. In my best little girls voice I got that sucker to come out and snatched it up. Then, much like the Grinch, my heart grew 3 sizes as it buried its head in the crook of my arm and began trembling. "Ah hell! Amber, go lock the dogs up, this cat needs to get warm."
Amber, with a need to name every animal she encounters, dubs thee, Kwanzaa Kitty. We had nothing that would resemble cat food in the house so I cut up a cold hot dog and Amber fed Kwanzy in the bathroom. Turns out none of the organizations that are suppose to handle this situation worked the day after Christmas. Animal Control wanted me to keep the cat until they called me the next day. I said that I had 3 dogs who would Houdini that pussy in a heart beat and that an over-nighter was not an option. You know what that cold hearted bitch said? "Well you're going to have to put it back outside then." Getting frustrated, I paused and chose my words carefully, sweet talking my way into another option. She told me that I could take it to the P.D. and they would hold it until the next day. SOUNDS A WHOLE LOT BETTER THAN LEAVING THE POOR CAT OUTSIDE IN FREEZING TEMPERATURES!
I wrapped up Kwanzy and set her down shotgun in the truck and started the engine. Then the unexpected happened. Kwanzy climbs up on to my lap and puts both paws on the steering wheel. When I asked if it knew where the Police Dept. was, it hopped down and curled up for the duration.
So, Kwanzaa Kitty is in the slammer for the night. Booked on driving without a license and attempted murder. I honestly hope someone is looking for this cat. It was pretty rad for a feline. I might even miss the little fucker.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Sugar Free
It all started with Doug. He would fire his bike up across the street and I could feel something inside me get all sorts of anxious. I step outside just in time for him to take off. I wouldn't think too much of it until a few years later. I got the itch. "Doug, I want to ride." fell out of my mouth one day and it felt good. Real good. Without hesitation he said, "Let's do it." So I went on a hunt to find the type of bike I wanted. At first, a brat style bike was calling my name. The lines, the wheels, but most of all the freedom.
When Doug would get back from a run, he looked like a new man every time. Weather he broke down, dumped it or had smooth ride, he always came back with a sense of clarity that would show through. I wanted that. I needed it.
After about 4 or 5 months of looking for a 750, Doug called me up and said his buddy had a 68 sportster for sale. I didn't think it was a good idea at all. With a need to get out of the house for awhile, We headed up to Milwaukee to see Cody Davidson. As I stepped into the shop I saw a rusty pile of motorcycle and felt the need to sit on it. "Can we make it run?" "We can make it run." It wasn't until we stopped for some food that I looked back at my truck and saw that ironhead shinning under the street lights in Culver's parking lot that I knew this was my bike and come Hell or high water, I'd be riding this bitch in the spring.
First step, get her running. After checking everything that we had eyes for, Doug honed in on the mag. He decided on a rebuild and we called it a day.
With a rebuilt mag and a whole lot of anticipation, we started kicking, and kicking, and kicking. Nothing. I know Doug wanted to hear her fire up as much as I did. With sweat dripping like tears from a born again, we had to pack it in. Before he left my garage, Doug said he would call the man and see if he had time to lend some advice.
That man would be Warren Heir Sr. First words out of his mouth, "Not another chopper!" After giving me and Doug some shit for this ugly bike, it was up on the lift and getting timed. Warren told us what to do and without any questions me and Doug were spinning wrenches. By noon we were ready to kick. Combustion, back fire and FLAMES! I was buzzing. So, I'm holding the throttle wide open and Doug is kicking for what seemed to be hours and all of a sudden, Two feet of flames shoot out of the carb and hit me in the dick. Ok. Cool. Warren suggest we dive into the top end next time.
A few weeks later, with everything removed but the engine we roll it back into Sr. In 4 hours The entire engine is on a shelf, in a hundred pieces. Full rebuild.
When Doug would get back from a run, he looked like a new man every time. Weather he broke down, dumped it or had smooth ride, he always came back with a sense of clarity that would show through. I wanted that. I needed it.
 | |
| Doug lookin' Grizzly |
After about 4 or 5 months of looking for a 750, Doug called me up and said his buddy had a 68 sportster for sale. I didn't think it was a good idea at all. With a need to get out of the house for awhile, We headed up to Milwaukee to see Cody Davidson. As I stepped into the shop I saw a rusty pile of motorcycle and felt the need to sit on it. "Can we make it run?" "We can make it run." It wasn't until we stopped for some food that I looked back at my truck and saw that ironhead shinning under the street lights in Culver's parking lot that I knew this was my bike and come Hell or high water, I'd be riding this bitch in the spring.
First step, get her running. After checking everything that we had eyes for, Doug honed in on the mag. He decided on a rebuild and we called it a day.
With a rebuilt mag and a whole lot of anticipation, we started kicking, and kicking, and kicking. Nothing. I know Doug wanted to hear her fire up as much as I did. With sweat dripping like tears from a born again, we had to pack it in. Before he left my garage, Doug said he would call the man and see if he had time to lend some advice.
That man would be Warren Heir Sr. First words out of his mouth, "Not another chopper!" After giving me and Doug some shit for this ugly bike, it was up on the lift and getting timed. Warren told us what to do and without any questions me and Doug were spinning wrenches. By noon we were ready to kick. Combustion, back fire and FLAMES! I was buzzing. So, I'm holding the throttle wide open and Doug is kicking for what seemed to be hours and all of a sudden, Two feet of flames shoot out of the carb and hit me in the dick. Ok. Cool. Warren suggest we dive into the top end next time.
A few weeks later, with everything removed but the engine we roll it back into Sr. In 4 hours The entire engine is on a shelf, in a hundred pieces. Full rebuild.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Drunk on Religion
Dr. Williams prescribed me the numbing agent to calm my calamity.
Taken orally as needed when necessary. Repeating momentarily.
The ice cracks and begins the dilution.
Drink like a Mexican, viva revolution.
State of mind bending as the brown starts to fade.
Thicker than the last, this next one will be made.
I'm a pepper, you're a pepper mixed with sour mash.
Create a chapter, preach a rapture, see how long you last.
Alcohol is similar to the pages in your bible.
Exercise to frequently, wrapped around a light pole.
So listen to your doctor, or practice what you preach.
The choice is yours but please be warned; me, you will not teach.
A punk ass kid once exclaimed, "It's people just like you!"
Then out the door my brother came and through the air punk flew.
On the ground began to pound his bible thumping head.
Not everyone believes the bullshit that you all have read.
The ice has slid and hit my teeth, the sound was quit upsetting.
The bottom of this broken glass is great for the bloodletting.
It seems as though the poison flows too deep to stop the slashing.
I scrapped the bone, now no one's home to hear this author laughing.
Taken orally as needed when necessary. Repeating momentarily.
The ice cracks and begins the dilution.
Drink like a Mexican, viva revolution.
State of mind bending as the brown starts to fade.
Thicker than the last, this next one will be made.
I'm a pepper, you're a pepper mixed with sour mash.
Create a chapter, preach a rapture, see how long you last.
Alcohol is similar to the pages in your bible.
Exercise to frequently, wrapped around a light pole.
So listen to your doctor, or practice what you preach.
The choice is yours but please be warned; me, you will not teach.
A punk ass kid once exclaimed, "It's people just like you!"
Then out the door my brother came and through the air punk flew.
On the ground began to pound his bible thumping head.
Not everyone believes the bullshit that you all have read.
The ice has slid and hit my teeth, the sound was quit upsetting.
The bottom of this broken glass is great for the bloodletting.
It seems as though the poison flows too deep to stop the slashing.
I scrapped the bone, now no one's home to hear this author laughing.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Back from Bama
Over all it was a great trip for the family. A change of scenery for my wife and a ton of fresh air for our daughter. For me, an emotional roller coaster with more twists and turns than the back country roads. The car ride down was great. Despite the ridiculous back pain that made me stop every two hours. Not a whole lot of scenery, that's for damn sure. We arrived in time for the sunset that bled through the deep woods surrounding Kitty's house. The air was warm and still rich from the summer flowers. The setting was wonderful and seeing Aunt Kitty smiling at her door as we pulled in was enough to light up our faces.
As I expected, she bear hugged us all until we saw stars. It was good to be back in Bama. Our daughter usually takes a few hours sometimes to warm up to a new face. It only took a split second to know that she was in the company of someone who loves her as if she was there from the start. Before I could get the car unpacked, Kitty was playing blocks and Candy Land at the kitchen table. It was amazing to see the two ends of life sharing the same moment with complete happiness. As the games came to an end we decided to call it a night and turn in.
The next morning was the same as any morning in Kitty's house. "Good mornings" were delivered with smiles and breakfast was sizzling on the stove. We ate and began to plan out our day in the south. Amber and I knew that we need to get little D outside to burn off the crazy amount of energy pent up from the drive down, so that was our first mission. Three dogs with as much life as Danica came blazing through the back yard to greet us. It was a little scary for D but with three Boxers at home it didn't take long to make friends. Before long they were giggling and barking all over the place! It was a blast. I thought I would throw my daughter head first in to the great outdoors with a ride on a John Deer Gator through the woods. We drove up an old logging road, past the tree that my grandparents use to park my father and three daughters under while they worked the fields and fed the farm animals. With evidence of life all around, Danica was taking it all in as the southern breeze flowed through her hair. Deer tracks and red clay mixed with ribbons of iron covered the terrain. We took in as much as we could, then headed back to the house.
The smell of Thanksgiving dinner made everyone feel at home as we walked through the door. My Aunt Kitty can lay out a spread that would put all other meals to shame. We ate more than we could hold, and then went back out to explore the other aspects of a new world for a three year old.
Later that night, after we all wound down is when the absence of Bruce took hold of me. The silence was the greatest reminder of all. Bruce always filled those gaps in conversation with something off the wall and delightful. So, I took a chance and asked my Aunt Kitty what Uncle Bruce was like in his prime. Kitty smiled and closed her eyes for a minute. I could feel the happiness flood her mind as she thought about her husband when the two were young. Bruce was a hard working man. This much I already knew. He also loved his wife more than anything else in the world. To Kitty, he was a strong and determined man. Sometimes he could get hard headed and downright mean when he was frustrated with something. (Amber would say the same of me at times.) But Bruce always put his wife and her needs first and foremost, all of the time. Anything Kitty would want or need, Bruce would find a way to deliver.
It seemed as though a light switch were turned off halfway through our conversation. Kitty's face grew dim and her voice lowered. She began to talk about the night Bruce died. She began to weep. His death was still too much for her and I reassured her that we didn't need to talk any more about it, but she went on. The same way a photographer captures an image or a poet defines an emotion, Kitty told me how Bruce died. I cried with her that night. My tears did not seem worthy of her presence. I almost felt foolish that I was sharing this kind of pain with her. We held each other as we thought about his impact on out lives. Then she told me that he always thought so much of my brother and I. He considered us his family, his own children. I was speechless.
The next morning Kitty asked me if I would do her a favor by starting up Bruce's old Ford and take her for a ride. This is the same pick up that he drove me and my little brother around in while we were down south for summers. My brother Will, loved this truck and everything about our Uncle Bruce. So, Bruce gave it to my brother. With no place to keep it up north, Will was forced to keep it in Alabama. Every time he comes down he puts some miles on it. With Will up north, there was only one other person to fulfill Kitty's request. I gladly agreed and with a little love and patience got that old Ford started and loaded everyone up for a drive. First stop, the cemetery. It is only three or four miles away so I didn't have much time to prepare myself. Kitty and I got out and walked over to Bruce's headstone. My Aunt immediately held me close and began to tell me how hard it still is to visit him at his grave.
When we arrived back at the house, Kitty started preparing lunch as Amber and I took D outside for another adventure through the woods. The rest of the evening was nice, peaceful and relaxing. When it was time for Danica to go to sleep, Kitty picked her up onto her lap and held her. I could see the pain still embedded in my Aunt's eyes, there was something else too. She held my daughter as if she was her own flesh and blood. Kitty knew it was our last night in Bama. She soothed Danica, and told her that "it would all be okay". I think she may have been telling herself that at the same time.
I didn't sleep well that night. Feeling all of those emotions in one day and knowing that I was leaving in the morning was too much to sleep on.
Biscuits and sausage gave us all enough fuel to get moving in the morning. Our embraces were not the same as when we arrived. They were weighed down with sadness and an unwillingness to depart. Our time together was coming to an end and neither one of us knew when we might see each other again. Like every visit, it is always hard to leave, but I know I'll be back again soon. I will have new member of the family to introduce to Aunt Kitty. This is what I look forward to as I head back home.
 |
| The house my Dad was born in. |
As I expected, she bear hugged us all until we saw stars. It was good to be back in Bama. Our daughter usually takes a few hours sometimes to warm up to a new face. It only took a split second to know that she was in the company of someone who loves her as if she was there from the start. Before I could get the car unpacked, Kitty was playing blocks and Candy Land at the kitchen table. It was amazing to see the two ends of life sharing the same moment with complete happiness. As the games came to an end we decided to call it a night and turn in.
The smell of Thanksgiving dinner made everyone feel at home as we walked through the door. My Aunt Kitty can lay out a spread that would put all other meals to shame. We ate more than we could hold, and then went back out to explore the other aspects of a new world for a three year old.
Later that night, after we all wound down is when the absence of Bruce took hold of me. The silence was the greatest reminder of all. Bruce always filled those gaps in conversation with something off the wall and delightful. So, I took a chance and asked my Aunt Kitty what Uncle Bruce was like in his prime. Kitty smiled and closed her eyes for a minute. I could feel the happiness flood her mind as she thought about her husband when the two were young. Bruce was a hard working man. This much I already knew. He also loved his wife more than anything else in the world. To Kitty, he was a strong and determined man. Sometimes he could get hard headed and downright mean when he was frustrated with something. (Amber would say the same of me at times.) But Bruce always put his wife and her needs first and foremost, all of the time. Anything Kitty would want or need, Bruce would find a way to deliver.
It seemed as though a light switch were turned off halfway through our conversation. Kitty's face grew dim and her voice lowered. She began to talk about the night Bruce died. She began to weep. His death was still too much for her and I reassured her that we didn't need to talk any more about it, but she went on. The same way a photographer captures an image or a poet defines an emotion, Kitty told me how Bruce died. I cried with her that night. My tears did not seem worthy of her presence. I almost felt foolish that I was sharing this kind of pain with her. We held each other as we thought about his impact on out lives. Then she told me that he always thought so much of my brother and I. He considered us his family, his own children. I was speechless.
 |
| Bruce's Ford 100 |
When we arrived back at the house, Kitty started preparing lunch as Amber and I took D outside for another adventure through the woods. The rest of the evening was nice, peaceful and relaxing. When it was time for Danica to go to sleep, Kitty picked her up onto her lap and held her. I could see the pain still embedded in my Aunt's eyes, there was something else too. She held my daughter as if she was her own flesh and blood. Kitty knew it was our last night in Bama. She soothed Danica, and told her that "it would all be okay". I think she may have been telling herself that at the same time.I didn't sleep well that night. Feeling all of those emotions in one day and knowing that I was leaving in the morning was too much to sleep on.
Biscuits and sausage gave us all enough fuel to get moving in the morning. Our embraces were not the same as when we arrived. They were weighed down with sadness and an unwillingness to depart. Our time together was coming to an end and neither one of us knew when we might see each other again. Like every visit, it is always hard to leave, but I know I'll be back again soon. I will have new member of the family to introduce to Aunt Kitty. This is what I look forward to as I head back home.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Preparing For Bama
I couldn't tell you the last time I was in Alabama. It's been too long and I have forgotten the sweet smells of the south. With my dads side of the family thinning out, there are not very many family members left down there. My wife and daughter are heading south this coming Wednesday before Thanksgiving to see my old man's sister; my Aunt Kitty. She has to be the kindest women I have ever gotten to know. Her and her husband Bruce have been a part of my life for as long as I've been alive. The only thing I can remember about my last visit was the absence of my grandmother and how strange it was to be down there after she died. This coming visit will be as strange if not worse, now that Bruce has died.
Uncle Bruce was a man that could talk for hours on end about the most absurd shit and still leave you wanting more. He was a hard working, self-made man with a road map of lines on his face. His hands alone would tell you where he has been and how hard they've been worked. As a kid I would shake his hand every chance I got. I felt important and grown up even though his hand made mine disappear within his clasp. To this day, every hand shake comes up short. Every story, unimportant. Every face not as intriguing as Bruce's.
We went shopping today to buy all the things that would prepare us for the trip. Food and drinks for the 16 hour drive, some toys and things for my daughter. I couldn't find anything at the store that will prepare me for the void I'll face without Bruce's hand awaiting mine. I will instead look forward to the vise grip embrace that Kitty will give me. If she wasn't so warm and welcoming she would draw the life out of me along with my breath every time we would hug. This time I don't know if I will let go of her. We would be standing in her doorway with our arms bound to each other until I had to leave if I had my way.
So, here's to Bruce! I'm sure I will be hearing more of your stories while I am sitting on your porch, listening to birds and trees tell them for you.
Uncle Bruce was a man that could talk for hours on end about the most absurd shit and still leave you wanting more. He was a hard working, self-made man with a road map of lines on his face. His hands alone would tell you where he has been and how hard they've been worked. As a kid I would shake his hand every chance I got. I felt important and grown up even though his hand made mine disappear within his clasp. To this day, every hand shake comes up short. Every story, unimportant. Every face not as intriguing as Bruce's.
We went shopping today to buy all the things that would prepare us for the trip. Food and drinks for the 16 hour drive, some toys and things for my daughter. I couldn't find anything at the store that will prepare me for the void I'll face without Bruce's hand awaiting mine. I will instead look forward to the vise grip embrace that Kitty will give me. If she wasn't so warm and welcoming she would draw the life out of me along with my breath every time we would hug. This time I don't know if I will let go of her. We would be standing in her doorway with our arms bound to each other until I had to leave if I had my way.
So, here's to Bruce! I'm sure I will be hearing more of your stories while I am sitting on your porch, listening to birds and trees tell them for you.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Books
The page forward button on my Kindle is getting its ass kicked. Christopher Hitchens' God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything is what I've been reading for the past few days. The subject matter is pretty well summed up in the title. This e book is a must read for anyone who is questioning their faith or is an Atheist who enjoys adding to his arsenal of logical thinking as I do. I also just finished Daniel Quinn's The Holy. Which is a completely different premise but still an amazing story that will open your mind by an amazing author. I have read every piece of published and unpublished work of his that is available and have not been disappointed thus far. So, give him a whirl.
Most of what I like reading is loosely based on religion one way or another. I always have found it fascinating for some reason. If you are looking for a thriller of sorts check out House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. His writing style is unique and intriguing. Most of his books are not available on any e book that I know of. House of Leaves would be almost impossible to convert for numerous reasons.
markzdanielewski.info/index.html
If you are into poetry... There is only one man who will ever be recommended from me, well, the only one published that I know of, the amazing and somewhat handsome, DERRICK BROWN! He is also on iTunes if you would like to hear it from the horses mouth.
www.brownpoetry.com
Have at it.
Most of what I like reading is loosely based on religion one way or another. I always have found it fascinating for some reason. If you are looking for a thriller of sorts check out House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. His writing style is unique and intriguing. Most of his books are not available on any e book that I know of. House of Leaves would be almost impossible to convert for numerous reasons.
markzdanielewski.info/index.html
If you are into poetry... There is only one man who will ever be recommended from me, well, the only one published that I know of, the amazing and somewhat handsome, DERRICK BROWN! He is also on iTunes if you would like to hear it from the horses mouth.
www.brownpoetry.com
Have at it.
No idea what I'm doing
So, here is my introduction to my first blog, first post, first anything public on the internet besides of course, everyone's favorite social network: Facebook. I do a little of everything. That means I can fix your car a little, go to school a little, read a little and write a little. Not well by any means but I can put up a good fight or at least look like I know what I'm doing some of the time. I have a beautiful family and a few close friends that I surround myself with. My wife and daughter are navigating my ship right now. I would be rowing in circles right now without them. Hands on deck includes two and half Boxers, one is a Boxer/Dalmatian. They're nuncking futs.
Interests include all sorts of music and poetry. I recently bought a 1968 ironhead that you will be seeing pics of later. A progress report of all the wrenching and customizing my buddy Doug and I are doing. I quit smoking today and started dipping Copenhagen. Kinda weird but it's working for me currently. When I am not spitting into a coffee mug you can find me playing with dolls and having tea parties with my daughter.
Work blows and your job probably sucks as well so there is no reason for me to complain about it. I am employed at a machine shop where I manage a shipping and receiving department. We make all sorts of shit for construction equipment and big rigs down to frames for x-ray machines for the food industry.
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