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Archive for September, 2006

|| September 24, 2006 || 1:04 am || Comments (2) ||

I am hyperaware.

Right now, at this very second I am sitting in a chair that could well be The Most Comfortable Chair, Evertm. I have my husband’s laptop busted out and in full effect, and I am wearing a shirt that makes me just so damned happy because it has fuzzy robots with rayguns on it and I got all this teeshirty fabulousness for the mere pittance of five bucks.

My next band (should there be such a thing, and all bets are off at this juncture) will be named Robots With Rayguns and our first album will be entitled : OH NO. That way, Basic Music Consumer would see this


in very, verrrry savvy record stores. SIDENOTE: I refuse to say ‘music stores’, I simply refuse to. Someone has to keep the grassroots alive, ye fabulous Muffinasses. /SIDENOTE If any of you gives one fine damn, the letters will be big and blocky with yellow and red diagonal stripes. Or maybe green and white: I’m uncharacteristically undecisive on the matter. Please don’t think less of me.

I am still reasonably damp, hair in chunky-fine waves in eighty-three directions about my head, even after an hour’s drive. That’s how very wet we got making a go at this
. Damn I love music, and damn I love rain, so it was a win-win situation. At the end of that segment of the evening, I was happily clumping around in a sticky VIVA LA BONADUCE shirt and Docs that were squishing in a suprisingly satisfying way…say that fast five times, please. Wet denim is not as amusing, I’m afraid.

I love sneaking the laptop, because it’s akin to an illicit affair: The machine in the livingroom doesn’t have to know. It’s right at home where it always is, resting, as big and sexy as ever. I and the sleek laptop are cavorting in a comfy bedroom with candles everywhere. And the music, Good Sweet Blessed and Merciful Lord, the MUSIC. Music everywhere. Some of it overlaps, sure, because there are artists that we are both happily ensconced in at times. But we are each passionately devoted to our own bands and performances and memories, so when I climb in his car or borrow his phone or boot up the laptop, there are fresh musicks and even if I don’t listen to them tomorrow or next week, there is the mighty fine and delectable right very now.

Right very now is sometimes so rich and sweet that I can hardly stand it. I am lucky in that, I would imagine.

Today I had such a fabulous time, because I took Sam and Scout and two of their friends with me. Piper, sadly, had to work. They have so much energy, bless them, and I fool myself to think that I am still vibrant and vigorous as I step into middle age. I may be gangbusters for my untimely and advanced years (heh), but I’ve nothing on the thirteen to sixteen (“ALMOST SEVENTEEN!” Christopher kept declaring, along with “I’m going to be in your family one day. I’m going to be your son-in-law.” It seems that he doesn’t care which he gets to wed, but either Piper or Scout will be his one day. I tell him this is fine when they’ve finished college, but if one of my daughters does something ignorant like elope at seventeen or get pregnant prematurely, I would absolutely and positively de-nut him. He took this rather in stride; maybe he is trembling on the inside. You know, as hard as a drunk with DTs. That would be hella terrifico.)

When you travel with a mess of teenagers, every last thing is a distraction and a conversation starter. Damn, I love that, because I think that’s one of the traits of my early youth that I still retain. It’s always nice to be among people that spark a mild bit of insanity and a bushel of laughter, as well.

During the drive we were constantly stopping for a head call, a snack, a drink. These were teenagers I said. They’d no interest in blowing down the highway with band du jour pushing loudly out of the speakers and, dare I say, the car itself.
They want to talk without taking any breaths and they want to Stop And See Things Of Interest. There are near-always Things of Interest at convenience stores. In one-horse towns.

In Alabama.

There was a candy bar that referred to itself as ‘Nut Lovers’ loudly on the label, and of course my blessed Sam picked it up and yelled at Christopher –who had minor trouble choosing a beverage and landed four or five back in line– so as to inform him that “HEY CHRIS. THIS IS FOR NUT LOVERS*, AHHHHhahaha.” The line, being comprised of mostly twenty- to forty-year old males making a late beer run before Saturday rolled to Sunday, was very tickled (I’d even go so far as to say they might have been delighted) at this clever boy and his observant ways.

I have to forgive him these things, because at least four times tonight he kissed me on the top of my head and said, “I love you, mom.” Holy grace, in front of his peers (though, one was his sister) and everything. He was just so very happy to be in the company of his New Best Girl, Amelia, and his best friend and his mom that he wanted people to know it. He shows all the signs of becoming a good man, this Sam, and that is an incredible development, a massive milestone in the life of a boy and his mother.

I was speaking with someone dear today, and they were telling me a poignant memory of their mother, speaking with fluid sweetness about the weight it carries, and I was so very moved that I feared tell them because there was the oh-so-slightest chance that I would begin to cry as I did so. His mother sang to him, and the telling of that overwhelmed me, because I sang to my babies, as well. Sometimes still do, when they are sick or out of sorts. Sometimes I just sing over them in my dreams, and lately that seems to be enough, because they are becoming people that I would choose to associate with were I not fortunate enough to be gifted with them from a maternal standpoint.

After Sam was born, it took me a good three months to get over the feeling of aloneness that his leaving my womb startlingly created. I took Scout home from the hospital on Mother’s Day. Mathias had a horrible high fever I sweated through with him when he was two weeks of age. My babies, what I hope are the purest and best distillation of myself and their fathers. In a fucked-up world, they are my legacy, and I hope that the world won’t feel let down by my efforts.

I really don’t think it will be.

*There are also the very slutty- cheeky-sounding ‘Twosomes‘. Sheez.

Also, I wonder if that Mike-guy really ate all those candybars. Is he not fearful of the consequences of such behavior?

|| September 21, 2006 || 12:32 pm || Comments (0) ||

nuggets of tasty

This week’s diversions have included defunktion and wonderfulgraffiti.

Also, I am delighted by the Yellow Bird Project, and most especially by Joseph Arthur’s contribution. We here at Superior Industries heart Mister Arthur in a major, major, hot-in-the-pants way. Overall, though, I’d have to say that Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s design is the killerest of them all.

Damn, I want to quit my job and write pretty things on the interwebnets all day. And catch the laundry up. And finish painting all the goldang trim and hang all the art and make new, pretty things out of old, discarded things that so that people will fall in love with them and buy them and be happy. That way I can afford my internet connection. And paint. And glue. And a Pepsi here and there.

Maybe God will make a way in my life for that to happen. Until then, I’ll keep trying to figure it out myself.

|| September 18, 2006 || 6:00 pm || Comments (1) ||


It is massively nuts that it is taking the equivalent of three mortgage payments to fix my fucking vehicle. CURRRRSESSSS!

|| September 14, 2006 || 12:17 pm || Comments (2) ||

Sounds from a road trip: Volume Two

Dumbass, you make it sound like THE VODKA HAS THE VITAMIN DEE AND CALCIUM.”

|| September 12, 2006 || 11:23 pm || Comments (5) ||

Sounds from a road trip: Volume One

They’re not all this tedious. For reals.

|| September 10, 2006 || 11:01 pm || Comments (0) ||


In tandem with policemen and paramedics and various stout-hearted civilians, they rescued an estimated twenty-five thousand people on 11 September, 2001. I found no definitive information on how many New York City firefighters deployed to Ground Zero that day, but there is a concrete number of those that sacrificed their lives:


Among those three-hundred and forty-three was a man by the name of Patrick Waters. Known as Pat by his friends and loved ones, he was an eighteen-year veteran of FDNY. At the time of his death, he held the rank of Captain in the Special Ops Division and commanded Queens Haz Mat Co. 1 (the company was based out of the Maspeth firehouse that subsequently suffered the greatest loss of any firehouse in New York City when the Twin Towers collapsed). He was forty-four years old, married with two children.

Patrick Waters wasn’t always a firefighter; he was a businessman with a lucrative position as an insurance auditor when his number came up on the FDNY test he had taken some years earlier; Pat passed on the offer at first, but couldn’t shake the pull of a firefighting career. He finally signed on with FDNY in 1983. He worked for Engine Co. 217 in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Ladder Co. 108 in Williamsburg, Ladder Co. 106, as well as several other houses. In 1997 Pat won a citation for his role in rescuing seven people after Greenpoint’s India Street Pier collapse; he jumped into a wintertime East River to do so. Pat made Captain in 2000 and was assigned to the company he commanded at the time of his death.

Captain Waters was off duty on September 11th, 2001. At seven-thirty that morning, he left his home and headed for Brooklyn, where the Fire Department’s medical office was located, for a check-up. Upon hearing of planes ramming into the Twin Towers, Pat made his way to the nearest fire station, where he suited up in borrowed gear and caught the first truck he could find heading to Ground Zero.

Once there, Captain Waters hurried to the north tower command post. He checked in, got his assignment and entered the south tower. Moments later, it collapsed. Before it did, however, Pat was caught on film by a French documentary crew. His last moments were shared with his wife, Janice, and included in the CBS TV documentary “9/11.”

Everything I read about Patrick Waters says that he was a man of decisiveness, of friendship, of compassion, of action, of honor, of humor. He was gregarious and gentle and personable. He lived life with great dedication and zeal. He loved coffee, the Yankees, God, firefighting, coaching and his family.

Today, on what is likely the fifth anniversary of his death, I honor his memory and his sacrifice.

Pat, we never met here on Earth, but I hope to make your acquaintance in Heaven. You were by all accounts a very great blessing while you were here and I am thankful for men like you who make this world bearable for others.

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

Patrick J. Waters, Captain

FDNY, Special Operations Command

Disappeared on a Tuesday, found on a Monday, buried on a Friday.

Survived by his wife, Janice and two sons, Christopher and Daniel.

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

A Fireman’s Prayer

When I am called to duty, God

wherever flames may rage

give me strength to save a life

whatever be its age

Help me to embrace a little child

before it is too late

or save an older person from

the horror of that fate

Enable me to be alert

to hear the weakest shout

and quickly and efficiently

to put the fire out

I want to fill my calling and

to give the best in me

to guard my neighbor and

protect his property

And if according to your will

I have to lose my life

bless with your protecting hand

my loving family from strife

one / two / three

UPDATE: The 2,996 site is down for exceeding their bandwidth (shame on the hosting company for not exercising a little leniency today, psh). You can find a Google cache, with a list of active links to participants, here.