I love how the human mind works...or at least how my human mind works.
After coming in from the rain, I was walking up the stairs to my apartment when I thought about the song "I Love A Rainy Night" by Eddie Rabbit. I have put a lot of intoxicants in my body over the years in the hope that this song would be erased from my consciousness...but alas, it is still there.
No big surprise in coming out of the rain and thinking about that particularly titled song...but after I was reminded of Mr. Rabbit's existence I instantaneously flashbacked to a seemingly insignificant memory from my youth.
When I was probably 12 years old I was riding in the backseat of a Ford Mustang with my friend Kyle. His wicked step-mother Val was driving and "I Love A Rainy Night" was on the radio. On this evening she was driving us home from a Lincoln Northeast football game. She was perpetually trying to catch Kyle doing something wrong in the hopes that his father would punish him.
This time she was claiming that Kyle and I were on drugs that we apparently picked up at the football game. Unfortunately nothing could be further from the truth...and fact that my brain still acknowledges Mr. Rabbit is a sad testament to my sobriety.
She dropped us at their home, then Kyle walked the four blocks to my house. On the way there he devised a scheme to be executed following the football game next week that was to have us passing a baggie full off baby powder to one another, be caught accidentally on purpose by Val, then have a laugh at her expense at having caught us with "coke"...
Thankfully wiser heads prevailed (mine) and the plan was aborted. God knows what punishment would have been meted out if we had demonstrated what an idiot bitch Val was...enrollment at a military school was a distinct possibility...I would have had to take drastic measures if anything on that scale happened. I can trace about 72% of my current sexual fetishes to my relationship with Kyle...needless to say that kind of source would not have been given up without an apocalyptic fight.
...All that from a stupid '70's country-pop song.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Enjoy The Silence
On Saturday night I took the 6 train to the Upper East Side to go to Jazz's party. When I got off the train at 77th street, there was a group of 20-30 teenagers who were exiting the station ahead of me. My quick assessment was that they had to be tourists, judging by the way they were walking spread out on the subway platform...oblivious to the fact that others (i.e. Me) would want to pass them in order to get out of the station.
I noticed that about 5 or 6 of the kids were wearing identical yellow t-shirts. In my glance of the t-shirt I saw some text reading "Together In Christ" or something along those lines. I hardly believe Jesus would approve of preventing people from a swift egress from a subway station...but I will admit it has been a while since I've read the bible.
Making my way THROUGH this entourage I read the fine print on one of the yellow t-shirts. It noted that the group was from Westminster Presbyterian - Lincoln Nebraska. What were the odds?
My immediate thought was that I should channel my Mom and point out the fact that I was from Lincoln to someone in the group. I tried to think of an appropriate/funny way to bring up the subject to the group who, a moment previous, had been subject to my patented eyeball roll/sigh combination.
Rapidly going over scripts in my head, I tried to think of a way make these impressionable teens aware that it was possible to get out of Lincoln and move to the Big City...Hell I was living breathing walking proof.
My window of opportunity was passing. Every comment running through my head seemed forced, seemed designed to pat myself on the back for being an EX-Lincolnite.
En masse we climbed the stairs to the street. Outside I turned on to Lexington Ave. and walked away saying absolutely nothing. I don't know why I said nothing, but that's what I did, for some reason it made sense.
As I walked away I felt a wierd sense of accomplishment/fulfillment, not that it is an unheard of feat to move away from your hometown to New York, but that I had "passed" as a New Yorker. There was no tell-tale sign on my person that pointed out that I was from the midwest. My years in Lincoln were fact known only to me. It was my secret to tell and I could choose to release that information or not. I savored the fact that I chose not to...I was the person I was choosing to be. The Matthew Buell that I had created.
I noticed that about 5 or 6 of the kids were wearing identical yellow t-shirts. In my glance of the t-shirt I saw some text reading "Together In Christ" or something along those lines. I hardly believe Jesus would approve of preventing people from a swift egress from a subway station...but I will admit it has been a while since I've read the bible.
Making my way THROUGH this entourage I read the fine print on one of the yellow t-shirts. It noted that the group was from Westminster Presbyterian - Lincoln Nebraska. What were the odds?
My immediate thought was that I should channel my Mom and point out the fact that I was from Lincoln to someone in the group. I tried to think of an appropriate/funny way to bring up the subject to the group who, a moment previous, had been subject to my patented eyeball roll/sigh combination.
Rapidly going over scripts in my head, I tried to think of a way make these impressionable teens aware that it was possible to get out of Lincoln and move to the Big City...Hell I was living breathing walking proof.
My window of opportunity was passing. Every comment running through my head seemed forced, seemed designed to pat myself on the back for being an EX-Lincolnite.
En masse we climbed the stairs to the street. Outside I turned on to Lexington Ave. and walked away saying absolutely nothing. I don't know why I said nothing, but that's what I did, for some reason it made sense.
As I walked away I felt a wierd sense of accomplishment/fulfillment, not that it is an unheard of feat to move away from your hometown to New York, but that I had "passed" as a New Yorker. There was no tell-tale sign on my person that pointed out that I was from the midwest. My years in Lincoln were fact known only to me. It was my secret to tell and I could choose to release that information or not. I savored the fact that I chose not to...I was the person I was choosing to be. The Matthew Buell that I had created.
Together Again For The First Time
Spent Friday and Saturday night with my friend Joyce Loc and her boyfriend Jazz who were in town from Chicago by way of Japan (long story).
Joyce is one of those people who puts up with/understands my erratic behavior...especially in the area of communication. Sometimes months pass between our conversations, but there is an underlying sense that we are "on the same page" as far as life goes.
I am lucky to have her in my life.
Joyce is one of those people who puts up with/understands my erratic behavior...especially in the area of communication. Sometimes months pass between our conversations, but there is an underlying sense that we are "on the same page" as far as life goes.
I am lucky to have her in my life.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Out Of Leftfield And Hilarious
Lately I have been in the unfortunate habit of not having a real meal most of the day...just snacking throughout the day. By early evening I am famished and must devour a ton of food.
Today I decided my gorging would be a couple of delicious veggie hot dogs at Crif Dogs. The place is usually pretty loud, crowded and rockin'. Today, however, the restaurant was near empty and as I entered one song on the sound system was ending and there was a split-second pause before the next song began. Immediately after the new song began and I approached the counter, the woman behind the counter glanced up at me and without missing a beat exclaimed "Hey, it's YOUR song!"
The song that had just began was "Legs" by ZZ Top. I was almost in tears from laughing at the gorgeous absurdity of her completely off the cuff remark. It takes massive cojones to make a joke at the expense of a complete stranger and the subtle style with which she made her comment blew me away...trust me you don't get this sort of interaction at Wal-mart.
Today I decided my gorging would be a couple of delicious veggie hot dogs at Crif Dogs. The place is usually pretty loud, crowded and rockin'. Today, however, the restaurant was near empty and as I entered one song on the sound system was ending and there was a split-second pause before the next song began. Immediately after the new song began and I approached the counter, the woman behind the counter glanced up at me and without missing a beat exclaimed "Hey, it's YOUR song!"
The song that had just began was "Legs" by ZZ Top. I was almost in tears from laughing at the gorgeous absurdity of her completely off the cuff remark. It takes massive cojones to make a joke at the expense of a complete stranger and the subtle style with which she made her comment blew me away...trust me you don't get this sort of interaction at Wal-mart.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Beautifulness
Went shopping for a gift for Uma at Kid O today....I am pretty sure this is the first time I have ever been in a kid's store with a sound system playing "Cemetary Gates" by the Smiths.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Another Social Theory
My latest crackpot theory asserts:
Some adults act out because they were beaten during childhood. Other adults act out because they were not beaten ENOUGH during childhood.
Some adults act out because they were beaten during childhood. Other adults act out because they were not beaten ENOUGH during childhood.
Friday, June 03, 2005
"You Can't Handle The Truth..."
This is absolutely amazing. I love the quote from government lawyer Lane saying that publishing the photos would violate the prisoner's Geneva Convention privileges.
So let me get this straight...It is fine to actually torture the prisoner, but showing evidence of the torture violates the rights that our Attorney General and President contend that they do not have...
So let me get this straight...It is fine to actually torture the prisoner, but showing evidence of the torture violates the rights that our Attorney General and President contend that they do not have...
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Some Great Reward
When I was a sophmore in high school my friend Zach invited me to go to a weekend church retreat in Grand Island, Nebraska. Honestly, I have no idea why I agreed.
At the tender age of 15 I was already "over" christianity. My parents subtly pressured me to attend every Sunday with them...and I politely obliged, but I am sure that they could read the writing on the wall. Not too long before, my bedroom walls were covered with images of Adam Ant. Surely they realized at that point that their messiah had a long way to go in order to compete with a pop star who mixed indian and pirate imagery in his stage persona.
Based on the fact that this function was church-related, my parents agreed to allow me to travel half-way across the state with a newly-licensed driver.
Unlike the liberal Disciples of Christ church that I was raised in, Zach's family attended an Assemblies of God church. Let's just say that on the spectrum of christian beliefs, the Assemblies of God inched a little closer to the "snake-handling" edge of christianity than my experiences.
While the Assemblies of God were preaching a fundamentalist philosphy, including a good deal of explicit homophobia, it was not enough to prevent Zach from being one of the biggest queens I have ever met. In order to maintain his position as "the good son", he had to live exclusively in the closet. Apparently he was "cool enough" when away from his church that I could forgive him for being associated with his retarded church.
I don't quite know what I was expecting from a church retreat when he invited me, but understandibly I needed to escape the hustle and bustle of Lincoln, and if I had to stay in a Holiday Inn surrounded by other christians so be it.
Travelling to Grand Island was boring, but thanks to Zach's car cassette player, we were surrounded by the lilting melodies of Depeche Mode and Yaz. Time moved quickly.
After arriving at our room at the Holiday Inn, we went to one of the large conference rooms for the Welcoming Rally. I am sure that the expression on my face was one of complete smugness. Enduring bad Praise Rock was a small price to pay for some time away from home.
Later on that evening there was a second service. To someone accustomed to going to church once per week, twice in a single night seemed just a touch excessive.
At the tender age of 15 I was already "over" christianity. My parents subtly pressured me to attend every Sunday with them...and I politely obliged, but I am sure that they could read the writing on the wall. Not too long before, my bedroom walls were covered with images of Adam Ant. Surely they realized at that point that their messiah had a long way to go in order to compete with a pop star who mixed indian and pirate imagery in his stage persona.
Based on the fact that this function was church-related, my parents agreed to allow me to travel half-way across the state with a newly-licensed driver.
Unlike the liberal Disciples of Christ church that I was raised in, Zach's family attended an Assemblies of God church. Let's just say that on the spectrum of christian beliefs, the Assemblies of God inched a little closer to the "snake-handling" edge of christianity than my experiences.
While the Assemblies of God were preaching a fundamentalist philosphy, including a good deal of explicit homophobia, it was not enough to prevent Zach from being one of the biggest queens I have ever met. In order to maintain his position as "the good son", he had to live exclusively in the closet. Apparently he was "cool enough" when away from his church that I could forgive him for being associated with his retarded church.
I don't quite know what I was expecting from a church retreat when he invited me, but understandibly I needed to escape the hustle and bustle of Lincoln, and if I had to stay in a Holiday Inn surrounded by other christians so be it.
Travelling to Grand Island was boring, but thanks to Zach's car cassette player, we were surrounded by the lilting melodies of Depeche Mode and Yaz. Time moved quickly.
After arriving at our room at the Holiday Inn, we went to one of the large conference rooms for the Welcoming Rally. I am sure that the expression on my face was one of complete smugness. Enduring bad Praise Rock was a small price to pay for some time away from home.
Later on that evening there was a second service. To someone accustomed to going to church once per week, twice in a single night seemed just a touch excessive.
Little did I know what I was in for. If the opening ceremony was intended to "welcome" everyone, the second was intended to "welcome" only those-that-accepted-Jesus-Christ-as-their-personal-Lord-and-savior-therefore-renouncing-all-sinful-ways. Needless to say I did not fit into the second category. I guess I shouldn't have been suprised that they were going to push the concept of becoming "born again" but I was.
In a split second the tone went from "Hooray for Everything!" to "If You Are Not 'Saved' You ARE Satan". I tried to maintain the role of social anthropologist, quiet and detached, but after literally 4 hours of hearing people confessing about their Devil-filled lives I knew that this fun-filled evening would not end until every single soul in the crowd of 150 had been saved.
At around two in the morning I was surrounded by a group of fellow teenagers demanding that I accept God into my heart. I relented. Rather than being rebellious I took the easy way out. With my friend Zach suspiciously nowhere in sight, I revealed about 36% of my sins and said I wanted God's forgiveness. Instantly I was welcomed into the community of believers and a burden was lifted from my shoulders.
It was not the burden of my sinful ways as much as the burden of being the only free-thinking hold-out preventing the evening from concluding. After all, everyone needed to head back to their rooms in order to get a good night sleep in anticipation for another full day of praising God's name.
On the way back to our room I had to politely kill Zach's buzz regarding my "saving". While I didn't explicitly state that I was faking my conversion, I did suggest that if our relationship was to continue we had to get the hell away from this scene.
Zach relented and agreed that we would return to Lincoln in the morning. On the way home there was no mention of the events of the previous evening. "Some Great Reward" was in the tape deck and we would be back in Lincoln soon.
In hindsight I believe Zach thought his parents would be less suspicious of me sleeping over at his house if I was a christian...thus explaining his invite to the retreat. And come to think of it he was probably right. They would have rather had a son that was a hypocrite than one that was honest.
Betrayal
I have been so looking forward to Fantastic Man hitting the newstands. You just know that a rag mag from the children at Butt Magazine is going to be fierce....and it is, but $19.99 for a cover price...Are you kidding me? At that price I may have to go all teenager on it and re-begin shoplifting.
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