Saturday, December 31, 2005

One Good Thing About This Blog

The lovely Bailey
The equally lovely Sugar Baby

Here’s my blog's year in review:

January – Before blog. Doesn’t count.
February – See January

March – Kelli has gastric bypass surgery. The Panic Blog begins. No one reads it. My grandmother goes into the hospital for the first time.

April – Jocelyn at This Surreal Life reviewed my blog because she found it after hitting the “Next Blog” button on Blogger. An e-friendship begins and my readership grows. Soon XTX, Jen, Hotpants, Jaws, John Cowart, Comadose, Lois Lane, KinkyPoe, the Shrinking Wop, and many other favorites come aboard the Panic train.

May – I tell a lot of stories. Apparently nothing really noteworthy happened. I must have joined Blog Explosion at this point because my traffic increases substantially.

June – I start telling stories from and about my lovely wife (with her approval because I respect her and…well… I'm frightened of her wrath). Tales of "The JerkyShooter" et al. continues to keep hits coming.

July – Almost every post has pictures in it. I start winning a couple Battles of the Blogs on Blog Explosion. Readership continues to increase. I stop writing nearly anything about politics and news and focus on telling stories about my past and present. People seem to like the stories. No one complains about the lack of my personal opinions about current affairs. I wrote "Daddy's Sacred Underwear" which I consider my best post of the year.

August – Sherry Dion does a web search on her name and finds "Daddy's Sacred Underwear." A lesson about using real names is learned. Grandma goes back into the hospital briefly. She starts to get her own fan mail. I invent the "Coq Ring." I do not make any money off of this invention.

September – Hurricane Katrina. A depressing time. I visit Homer, Alaska, and love it.

October – I write "Laws of Gravity and Motion" and my youngest brother has still not forgiven me for posting his picture on the internet. I don't understand but then again I do understand. You'll have to take my word for the fact that he's still very pretty. Permanent Fund Dividend checks arrive. Bailey goes into the hospital and the Permanent Fund Dividend checks depart.

November – I expose the Red Hat Society for the wanton hussies they are. I also expose Gigglewood as the home of the wooden phallus.

December – The blog finally starts taking the shape I want it to continue. Stories, stories, stories, including the number one story of the year, written by Kelli about going to a Christmas party and feeling comfortable in her skin for the first time in years. Tears are jerked. Bailey has a rough month with regard to her health. She spends the last week of the month in the animal hospital.

To everyone on my blogroll, special thanks for coming onto my spot on the 'net and hanging out for a while. I have learned much more from you than you have from me and hopefully the relationship can continue.

To everyone reading this now I wish you a happy and peaceful 2006.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

I Want Those Who Get To Know Me To Become Admirers Or My Enemies

Guilty Pleasure: Adam Ant songs.

Not all of them, mind you. “Desperate But Not Serious” is crap.

But I defy you to listen to “Goody Two-Shoes,” “Friend or Foe,” or even “Apollo 9” without tapping your feet and wanting to mimic the African tribal drums with your hands on desktops, car steering wheels, or even a computer keyboard.

And what a great look. This is the 80’s look to me.

And who the heck is this Johnny Cash lookin’ older dude playing guitar? He’s Marco freakin’ Pirroni, that’s who. Look at the picture below and let’s see if you can figure out who is playing drums.

Sid freakin’ Vicious, that’s who, both playing behind Siouxie Sioux at the London's 100 Club Punk Rock Festival on September 20, 1976.

Marco was responsible for a lot of the sound of the Ants and co-wrote those three songs I love. Beyond that, he’s a great guitarist who was instrumental (pardon the pun) in getting The White Stripes published. Hello!

And here's Adam singing for Trent "Nine Inch Nails" Reznor.

There’s a lot of self-loathing that goes along with listening to one’s old record collection but I challenge you to flip back through the oldies. It’s a trip down memory lane, to be sure, but it’s more than just nostalgia; it’s an opportunity to get in touch with the great old songs.

I can see uber-cool kids in Ibiza, hopped up on X and Special-K, dancing around in the foam to “Friend or Foe,” can’t you?

What is your guilty musical pleasure?

Don’t drink, don’t smoke, what do you do?
Subtle innuendos follow, there must be something inside…

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Overdue on posting

I haven’t posted in a while, sorry guys it’s been a long week.

I was sick last night and this morning with gastrointestinal stuff – stress related I’m sure. I’ll mend but all I did today was sleep. Well, sleep and worry.

Bailey is in the hospital again. It’s either a diabetic complication or some kind of adhesion or something in her stomach or colon. A sonogram is scheduled for tomorrow but she’s resting comfortably in the hospital. In the meantime Kelli and I can do nothing but wait and worry and pet Sugar Baby.

I’ll soon tell you all about Christmas at the Mental Hospital. I did a good deed this year. I had a lot of help but it did take a lot of work on my part so I think, now that it’s done, I can brag a little.

Work has been very busy. People just can’t get along.

I met Kelli’s step-brother and he laid some serious words of wisdom on me that I’ll share later too. I’m just tired right now.

I’m halfway through the novel “Hot Plastic” on audio ( and it’s pretty good. I’ll probably curl up next to Kelli while she reads in analog and I listen in digital to different books, Sugar between us begging for more belly rubs and behind-the-ear scritches.

I have resolutions too, but I guess they are for later in the week.

Hopefully Bailey will be home tomorrow or the next day spinning with enthusiasm whenever she things she gets to go outside and in all the other ways being her usual huggable self.

Take Care, dear reader.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

He Sees You When You're Sleeping

This is Pope Benedict XVI wearing the stylish Camauro, a traditional red velvet hat with white ermine trim. No pope has worn this type of hat since 1963.

This is not really “news.”

Yet I will never sleep again.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

6 Egg McMuffins? That will be $1600.00

This has been in the news already so now I can blog about it.

Los Anchorage has had it’s first X-Jacking.

The local Best Buy recently received a shipment of the much sought after Xbox 360 game consoles. Six juveniles, the youngest 14 years old, waited in line for 9 hours to assure they would get these magic machines.

Fifteen minutes after the store opened, these guys had themselves 6 Xboxes, each costing them $399.99. They then trolled the parking lot with the intention of unloading two of the machines for $600 each. I admire their entrepreneurship but they were unsuccessful.

After a couple of minutes they had received no takers so decided to end their nightlong vigil with a stop at a nearby McDonalds for breakfast.

The five eldest members of the Xbox posse strolled from their van of XBooty into the restaurant, leaving the youngest inside the van.

Soon a man approached the van and encouraged, through the production of a handgun, the 14 year old to open the van and point to where the Xboxes were stored. He then loaded four of the boxes into his getaway car, driven by another man, and they sped away into the early morning.

Fifteen minutes later, the kids called the police. Why the time lapse? One might think these kids made up the story but I tend to believe that they were so completely gobsmacked that they argued what to do for a bit before dialing 911. Oh, and the 14 year old probably had to clean the bacon strips from his underoos.

The lessons in all of this:

a) if you buy a lot of expensive, portable, and extremely popular items DO NOT drive around a public place showing them off to bad guys who then might follow you several blocks to someplace you might do something stupid, like stop for breakfast before going home

b) if you have a gun pointed at you for any reason at any time by anyone who does not have a badge and the word “POLICE” prominently displayed DO NOT wait around for a while before calling the actual police

c) pack a meal, or even go home and persuade mom to make you something

The cartoon is mine, derived from Xbox game screenshots and a very, very old joke.

Monday, December 19, 2005

…With a Knickknack Paddywack, Give My Dog An Enema…

Bailey, Bailey, Bailey…

Last week we were in the vet’s office three days in a row, followed by a trip to the animal hospital on Saturday (which happened to be a day I stayed home from work physically ill, likely from stress at work and worry for my sick dog).

Bailey got constipated, dehydrated, nauseous, and her cholesterol was very high. She was constantly seeking water, then constantly urinating the water she had earlier sought. We thought it was due to her diabetes but it might be an indicator of Cushing’s Disease.

Cushing’s (and humans can get it too) is a benign growth in the Pituitary gland which then causes the adrenal glands to produce too many steroids. Too many steroids can cause damage to the liver. Damage to the liver can be very very bad.

Luckily (sort of) the first test for Cushing’s is inconclusive so maybe she doesn’t have it. If she does then it presents a problem because the combination of Cushings and diabetes is… difficult.

So right now she’s truckin’ right along; little sluggish and a little more attention-seeking than her usual self but happy go lucky.

And Sugar is DJF, as per usual.

We’re extremely grateful and crossing our fingers for increasing and continuing canine health.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

I’ll See Your Milky Cocoa Puff and Raise You a Badonkadonk

I’ve never considered myself a country music fan, but living with and driving with my wife has afforded me the opportunity to expand my musical horizons.

The day before yesterday we discovered a song which is as irresistible as “My Humps” but has a better riff and much, much worse lyrics.

This song is Trace Adkins’ grindy, crunchy, driving “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk”

First we didn’t know the hell he was saying and then it became clear: badonkadonk.

What in the name of sweet Jesus is a badonkadonk?

It turns out the internet has an answer to this question like so many others.

According to Zillapedia!, a badonkadonk is either
a skinny girl/women with a big butt
butt, bottom, rear-end, buttocks

So here’s a small taste of the lyrics:

“… Now Honey, you can't blame her
For what her mama gave her
You ain't gotta hate her
For workin' that money-maker
Band shuts down at two
But we're hangin' out till three
We hate to see her go
But love to watch her leave
With that honky tonk badonkadonk
Keepin' perfect rhythm
Make ya wanna swing along
Got it goin' on
Like Donkey Kong
And whoo-wee
Shut my mouth, slap your grandma
There outta be a law
Get the Sheriff on the phone
Lord have mercy, how's she even get them britches on
With that honky tonk badonkadonk…”

Okay, this guy went to the same lyric writing school as Lenny Kravitz.

Witness a snippet from “Are You Gonna Go My Way”

“…I don't know why we always cry
This we must leave and get undone
We must engage and rearrange
And turn this planet back to one
So tell me why we got to die
And kill each other one by one
We've got to hug and rub-a-dub
We've got to dance and be in love

But what I really want to know is
Are you gonna go my way?
And I got to got to know…”

Two things:

1) If the girl with the big butt in Adkins’ masterpiece has got it goin’ on, well that’s just fine. But I’ve never considered Donkey Kong all that attractive or sexually arousing. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never lived in the south.

2) I agree with Mr. Kravitz, Helen Willis’ son, that we shouldn’t be killing each other and that the energies spent in violence would better be directed toward love. That being said, “rub-a-dub” in my mind leads to the inevitable “three men in a tub,” which (although there’s nothing wrong with that) is not my personal idea of sexually arousing either.

What these songs have done, and I wouldn’t have guessed it, is increase my interest in Karaoke.

No, I don’t want to hear amateur singers belt out these craptacular lyrics, rather I wish to hear the songs WITHOUT lyrics.

Oh and if Trace tries to slap my grandma, I think he might have difficulty getting his own britches on with my boot up his badonkadonk.

But that’s just me.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

'Tis the Season

This holiday season in my hometown has been particularly violent. I don’t know why this year is any different from all the others but it has been unusual.

But while some things are noticeably different, other things never change.

Today I personally took two separate calls from families in two separate hotels who were here from the Bush to shop for Christmas presents (because we’re the big city).

The first left a whole bunch of meat and the family’s entire stash of Christmas presents in the back of their SUV. The second had no meat but left all of their Christmas gifts in the back of their pickup under a solid canopy.

Both families woke up today and walked out to find their windows smashed and all of their stuff gone. The stolen presents is a sad holiday story but it's the stolen meat that is really going to hurt this winter.

Sometimes I think people are just no damn good.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

More Kelli Pics

I asked Kelli if I could post a couple more pictures of her on the blog.

Kelli said "people are probably tired of seeing that."

I said "I'm not tired of seeing it and it's MY blog, right?"

Kelli said "I guess, but people like your stories better than just pictures of me. It's not my blog."

I said "Lately I'm out of stories, what with all this NAMI stuff and the mental hospital not returning my calls."

Kelli said "You are not out of stories. You have plenty of stories you have told me that you haven't told on the blog yet. And you can always just make something up."

I said "What, like this conversation?"

Kelli said "Exactly."

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Guest Blogger: Kelli Anderson - About last night...(rambling)

I went to my department Christmas party last night.

We are all friends and we went to see a local Christmas show. It's in a bar, but they have singers and dancers and they pretty much make fun of local politics and whatever is currently in the news. It's great.

We went last year to the show and I was so miserable. I was 124 pounds heavier and they have the chairs with the back that curves around you into the arms. I was literally stuffed into the seat. The chair was wobbly so I was terrified to move because I was afraid the darn thing would collapse. I had a few laughs.

Yesterday I dreaded all day going to this function because I didn't want to be stuffed into the chair and miserable again. Never did it occur to me that I wouldn't have that trouble this year. So reluctantly I drug myself in and sat down and didn't even touch the sides of the seat.

Oh my goodness. I felt like I was swimming in the chair.

Then I got up to go to the bathroom and ran into a friend I worked with about 7 years ago. I was talking and laughing and talking to her friends and smiling and catching up. I looked over at my husband and he was just looking at me smiling.

So finally their dinner came so I decided I'd let them eat and I'd go to the restroom. After that I went back to our table and slipped back into the seat and my husband said who are you and what did you do with my wife?

I looked at him confused and he said you were talking to people and smiling and laughing and so animated. He said you usually don't talk to people.

I was on top of the world.

He said he was so proud of me and that I just looked so beautiful. I have been dreading going to his Christmas party, but now I'm looking forward to it. I have a pretty dress and I'm going to go and have fun. This surgery has changed my life. It just keeps getting better and better. OK I'll stop rambling now.

I just wanted to share a little.


Originally written for Kelli's Bariatric Surgery board, I asked her if I could steal, er, share it here. I'm so proud of her! - E

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Guitars 2

Still don't know how to play more than three very simple chords.
Still own two other guitars.
Still want each and every one of these.
It's a sickness.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

I Can’t Believe It’s Just Butter

Kelli threw her camera in her purse as we did our normal Wednesday errands (it’s the only day off we have in common) because apparently I often mention “I wish I had a camera because no one is going to believe this.”

Thank you Kelli because now I have photographic evidence of the amazing things available to Americans in their local grocery store while a lot of the world is starving. We should be so proud.

Butter. Just Butter.

Okay, so there’s this juvenile origami one can do with the Land O’ Lakes if you carefully cut out the butter she’s holding and fold her knees upwards. Fold A up into B.

You’ll get this:

Boobs, get it? Ah, the good old days before internet porn.

But Land O’ Lakes boobies is not what this is about. I want you to notice the price of the butter. Land O’ Lakes is $5.19 per pound. If you bought the store brand you could probably get butter for a lot cheaper.

Then I stroll down the aisle and see this:

It’s not just butter. It’s butter in the shape of a Christmas tree. How festive. How positively radiant with holiday joy.

How positively $ 25.96 per pound. That’s FIVE TIMES the cost of the regular butter. And no boobie origami.

Jesus wept.

Paranoia Strikes Deep / Milky Milky Cocoa Puff

Okay it’s a weird night. I have a post in my head about songs and lyrics vs. instrumental parts, etc. But this isn’t that post. This is just a little thing about what’s on my current playlist while I let my thoughts drift and played Tumblebees on Pogo for much too long. Don’t read to much into it.

The Playlist looks like this:

1. This Little Light by Neko Case. Is it spiritual? Is it just fun? Is it gospel? Is it country? Is it bluegrass? Dunno. I just like it. It’s shit-kickin’ fast too.

2. For What It’s Worth – Buffalo Springfield. What a great song. Eerie. It was brought to mind by listening to Crosby, Stills, and Nash’s “Helplessly Hoping” from Jocelyn’s Summer Melancholia in my car for the last week nearly exclusively. Sometimes I get hung up on one song for a while. In my teens I was a devoted fan of the Encyclopedia of Rock. It had all these great family trees of various groups done by Pete Frame. If anyone wants to get me a great gift, I think there’s a whole book of Pete Frame’s Rock Family Trees. Anyway one great CSN song, penned by Stephen Stills, lead me back to Buffalo Springfield. I could do a whole “family tree” about how I found my way to Stephen Stills but when it all comes down to it I can thank my mom and my Uncle Jon.

3. My Humps – Black Eyed Peas. Okay, at first I hated it. Even before I had ever heard it I had looked up the words because several of my coworkers were talking about how bad, yet catchy, the song was. So I did a little lounge-lizard Richard Cheese version for several days, not knowing anything about the actual arrangement. It’s actually not a bad little song. It’s no Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young, or even close, and it’s got lyrics which could be good if not for the whole silly “lady lumps” thing. There are a couple of clever lyrical tricks actually. “Milky milky cocoa puff,” isn’t one of them. I don’t want no drama though.

4. Time Has Come Today – The Chambers Brothers. The nice thing about rock songs going into nearly every commercial on TV these days is that once in a while a commercial will lead you back to the original song. Definitely dated, but still fun.

5. What Sarah Said – Death Cab For Cutie. Two words: Belle and Sebastian. Not bad, in fact it’s pretty good. I’ll keep it in the rotation.

6. Flashes and Cables – Centro-Matic. Oh yes. Very nice indeed. I know nothing about the band but the lyrics are great and the music is right up my alley.

7. I Wish I Was The Moon – Neko Case. Okay, so I heard an interview with Neko Case and a clip of this song and hand to buy it too. It’s pretty great but kind of sad. Or not. I guess we all bring our own luggage on this little ride.

8. Christmas Card From a Hooker in Minneapolis – Neko Case. Find the Tom Waits version. Neko does a good job singing and captures some of the feel of the original. She’s also female, which makes more sense than Tom Wait’s gravely Cookie Monster voice. Yet, his rendition has the whole feel right. It’s wonderfully written, a grimy little joke. I love the original so.

So that’s it. Eight songs. Played probably six times each while Kelli sleeps and I cannot. Oh well. Perhaps I should try again.

Good night all.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Kelli pre surgery / Kelli Today
Damn she's beautiful. Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

This land is your land, this land is my land

Continuing with the Guthrie family theme, here’s a couple of stories related to public property.


December 12, 2004 (coincidentally Chris Achilles’ birthday): A citizen (who happened to be an off-duty employee from another municipal agency) called reporting a man had cut down a tree from a municipal park, loaded it up into his vehicle, and then drove off. The caller noted the plate number and description of the suspect vehicle and the description of the suspect driver. *

An officer (whom I like and admire for several reasons) arrived at the suspect residence later to discover the tree already up, decorated, and sitting in front of the front window.

The officer, feeling embarrassed for the kids at the house, asked the man about the tree. He said the tree had “already been knocked down” and he had “just cut it loose.” The officer gave him a stern lecture (well, not really all that stern, she felt bad for the kids) and told the man she had to write up the report. As far as I know he was never prosecuted.

It’s one thing to go out to the boonies to cut down a tree for Christmas but it’s quite another to go into a local park, in full view of other citizens, and stealing yourself a tree. Sheesh. "Public" does not mean "free for the taking."


On a similar note, Anchorage has a Community Garden program. There are two gardens in town but it’s the same set-up for both: For the fee of $30 for the growing season (pretty darn short in Alaska) one gets a 20 by 10 foot plot of land and water. The idea is that you can grow vegetables and fruit on your plot to eat and thereby a) lower your food cost and b) provide you all the joys of gardening. The plots are particularly attractive to the Hmong immigrants in the densely populated, land-poor Mountain View neighborhood. The Salvation Army picks up most of the cost of the plots for some families and the plot-renters visit their little piece of garden every day or two.

Pretty cool really.

Unfortunately once in a while we get calls from irate gardeners reporting cabbage theft and the like. I vividly remember one guy nearly raving mad because this woman was going from plot to plot and picking herself enough of everything for a salad. When confronted, the woman said “the sign says ‘Community Garden’ and I’m a member of the community” and kept on picking.


The trick is that once the vegetables are picked, what are we going to do? The damage has been done. I suppose you could put everything back in the ground and hope it continues to grow but if I had been tending a crop of asparagus and some chick came along and pulled them up, I would be nearly raving mad myself. Plus there might not be time to plant another crop.

Imagine all of your hard work ending up under Italian dressing at some anonymous ig'nant's dinner table.


So maybe this holiday season the lesson is to leave as few tracks in the snow as you can, so that others can enjoy the public lands as they were meant to be enjoyed: by everyone and as fresh today as they were yesterday.

* Here's a trick for all of you trained observers out there: If you get a license plate of any suspect vehicle it's great but you need two more things. First you need a description of the vehicle bearing that plate. A lot of folks tend to transpose numbers or cannot remember them for a very long time (we're talking seconds here). If you come close on the plate but note the type, color, and any unique characteristics of the vehicle then you are a good witness. Second you need to get a look at the driver. The registered owner of a vehicle can easily claim to not have been the driver during the criminal rampage you witnessed. The better look you get, the better chance you'll have to place them behind the wheel when asked to point them out of a photo line-up.

Woody Guthrie
Christmas Tree Close-Up
Hmong Woman in her Mountain View Garden by Marc Lester, Anchorage Daily News

Saturday, November 26, 2005

You Can Get Anything You Want

Yesterday I heard a Fresh Air interview with Arlo Guthrie celebrating the 40th anniversary of the Alice’s Restaurant.

First let me say that Fresh Air’s Terry Gross is fantastic. She has a low-key style (which SNL mocked) but she doesn’t ask those softball Larry King questions. She conducts a smooth interview (unless you are Bill O’Reilly or Gene Simmons) but isn’t afraid to ask the difficult questions and get interesting answers. I hated her style at first but now I much prefer it to all the shouting on some other “infotainment” shows. Let’s hear it for TG! Give it up, Philly!!!!

Ahh.. Arlo Guthrie. The world changed but he never did.

Which is good because the world has changed right back to where we need him: we are involved in an unpopular war, the country is divided between conservatives and liberals, and we all need a little reminder that we are all just folks trying to get along in the world.

The first time I heard Alice’s Restaurant was in the back seat of Chris Achilles’s dad’s car on the way to an arcade or a movie or some such adventure. He introduced us kids (maybe 9 or 10 years old) to both Alice (and her restaurant) and to the Motorcycle Song.

One of my best friends at work comes from Oregon and she grew up pronouncing the two-wheeled motorized menace as “motorsickle.” The first time she said that on the radio as a dispatcher she received nothing but mocking feedback. She still says “motorsickle” when she’s not on the radio but it’s with bitterness in her voice. And you don’t pronounce the non-motorized vehicle as a bye-sigh-kle. Think about it.

Which is what Alice’s Restaurant did for me: made me think. First, it was a great song for the 10 year old kid who soaks up complicated lyrics like a sponge. Chris and I and probably Sherry Dion’s brother Chris could all recite most of Alice’s Restaurant. Probably still can.

We used to make up different lyrics to all kinds of songs back then. This was back when Chris Dion’s “Pong” was the state of the art gaming technology. Being deprived (nostalgically so in my memories now – see “poetic license”) meant that a tape recorder and a tape of one of Chris Achilles’ novelty records (“Flying Purple People Eater” et al) could lead us to singing along and changing lyrics to all the popular songs of the day and generally being creative without the requirement of being “artistic.” Chris had natural musical ability which he later focused on the drums but I certainly had no musical inclination (see “guitars”) yet I remember a lot of making crap up and juvenile improvisation.

Doctor Demento tunes could transition into Beatles tunes could transition into Officer Obie’s twenty seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph on the back of each one telling what each one was, as sung by Arlo. Remember Arlo? This is a post about Arlo.

Alice’s Restaurant has great timing. It has lush imagery. It has humor that appeals to the young and the old, those knowledgeable in the ways of the time it was written and those who never lived through that time.

It’s so absurd that it has to be mostly true.

And the way he tells the story is so lovely, with the tangents twisting off and then coming back to reconnect. It’s an American classic and Arlo is an American treasure. Sure, his dad was an icon and that’s hard for a son to live up to, but I think Arlo’s done a fine job.

He bought the church. The one where Alice used to live and where they had Thanksgiving dinner back in 1965, after they took out the garbage.

It’s now an interfaith church, welcoming everyone who can bring their own God or just bring themselves.

Drop by his website: or just drop by the church.

You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant.

Friday, November 25, 2005

Poetic License

Both my mom and J-bro read my Elvis Log story and thought it was strange that I referred to the flaming log recipient as “the Southern Woman.” Better memories than mine remembered that it was actually a Swedish woman. Mom generously suggested it was my “poetic license” and thought it was intentional. I told both of them that it was really just faulty memory. Blonde + Elvis Lover = Southern Woman. Or not.

Another relative, when hearing my mom suggest it was clever “poetic license,” commented along the lines of “Eric uses a lot of poetic license in telling family stories.”

Movie producer and raconteur Robert Evans

reminds us “There are three sides to every story: yours, mine, and the truth.”

That’s what it’s all about, folks. What I remember is what I remember. Feel free to comment on inaccuracies, grammatical errors, my hairstyle and complexion, and pretty much anything else you want to (except criticizing my wife, which is one thing I’m going to bounce off of here).

This blog is just this blog. It’s not THE TRUTH.

When I find the Truth, I shall spread it to the masses like butter on hot toast. Until then, you get this. Do with it what you will.

Happy Holidays!

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Walking on Scorpions: Grannies gone wild.......

Bill German, without having read my Red Hat Sex Club conspiracy theory, took this picture (click on the title to go to his blog entry).

Truth, they say, is stranger than fiction.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Pavlov’s Syringe

Y’know how some cats and dogs get trained inadvertently to come running to the sound of the electric can opener, thinking it’s dinner time?

Bailey comes a’runnin’ to the sound of my wedding ring clink against the side of the insulin bottle when I roll it to mix the contents before drawing a syringe.

She gets her shots with meals, so it’s a normal enough response, but it’s a little strange. It’s such a distinct sound – metal against glass. Industrial. Techno.

“Mister EA, Mister EA, Mister EA, please draw it up, draw it up, draw it up. Could you draw it up a little more, draw it up like that, please draw it up, draw it up, draw it up draw it up. Say Hallelujah peoples, say Hallelujah, oh yes, oh yes, and it was in my belly bitter but in my mouth it was sweet!"

Or someink.

apologies to BT and M. Doughty. Go find "Never Gonna Come Back Down;" you'll be glad you did

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Stream of Holiday Consciousness

As I have gotten older the memories of the holidays of my youth have begun to blend together.

I remember at least two holidays in the winter when a flaming log rolled out of our fireplace onto the floor. Here is the top of the fireplace and the family in question. I'm the eldest child, J-bro is number two, and rounding out the top three is Drew.

Of these two flaming logs, the one which caused the greatest scar on the floor and the most vivid memory occurred during Elvis Presley’s “Live from Hawaii” concert. The Elvis log landed on the long black wool skirt of the only guest in attendance who was actually watching the concert, someone I will call “The Southern Woman.” None of my immediate family have ever been Elvis fans so I recall (perhaps only in wishful-thinking nostalgia) that it had served her right: I would have much rather watched The Love Boat or The Wonderful World Of Disney or whatever was on one of the three other channels in Anchorage at the time than the sweaty white jump-suited “King .”

On a prior occasion my dad was close by the fallen log and had reacted by simply reaching down and grabbing the log in his bare hands and throwing it back into the fireplace with no damage done. At the time I thought this was heroic. Now I realize that it was probably mostly instinctive and painful. Although that meets a certain definition of heroism I suppose.

The “Elvis Log” rolled out of the fireplace and onto the Southern Woman’s skirt while my dad was in the kitchen, far away from The King’s concert. He raced to the scene of the fire, picked up the log barehanded, and threw it back into the fireplace but by the time he arrived the carpet had begun to smolder. I’m not sure whether he happened to have a Stanley shop knife with him or whether he used some other piece of cutlery to cut a hole in the carpet to expose the underflooring, but soon it was cut and water was poured on the scorched wood.

And ugly green throw-rug sat on top of the ugly multi-colored green and gold 70’s carpet until it was replaced decades later.

During that time if one had folded back the rug and parted the labia of the split carpet, they would discover a dark burn mark that looked a little like this.

I’d like to think The King would have been appreciated it.



Thanksgiving story coming. J-Bro, don't give away the commemorative punch line!