The Big Green House

Wednesday, April 30, 2003

 

My little nest of vipers

When I was a kid, I had difficulty watching TV sometimes. Not because of any vision deficiency; up until recently, I�ve always had really good eyesight. No, my problem was one of empathy. I would feel mortified for characters if they did or said anything even potentially embarrassing, to the point where I sometimes had to leave the room until the scene in question was over. It didn�t matter if it was comedy or drama. If I identified with the character at all (a boy near my age, say) it would be that much worse, but it would also occasionally crop up in regard to a character with which I felt no other affinity. I just felt bad for them, and wanted to spare them any further embarrassment.

I mention this not to show what a sensitive guy I am. I�ve certainly had my share of laughs at the expense of others. Rather, it�s because I had another attack of too much empathy last night.

We had a collection of episodes of Fawlty Towers arrive from Netflix yesterday. I�ve always loved the show, and since Science Girl is still over at Science Manor this week I thought I�d have a few laughs before I went to bed. I popped the disc in the player, sat back on the couch and waited for John Cleese to bring the funny. Instead, through this same bizarre personality kink, I found myself identifying with Basil Fawlty. I had to turn the DVD off before the first episode had ended.

I�m not sure what that was all about. I don�t think I�ve got much Basil in me. I certainly hope not, anyway. If any character in the history of Western Art has ever deserved to be met with howls of derisive laughter, it is certainly he. And that�s usually what I get from watching the show. Perhaps I was having a retail flashback; toward the end of my pimping of consumer goods retail career, I often found myself being as nasty as Mr. Fawlty to the general public. I didn�t have the class-consciousness of Basil, though � I was shitty to everybody, across the board. (Probably a good thing that I moved on when I did, eh?)

Anyway, I�m going to give it another shot tonight. I�m going to be very disappointed if I can�t enjoy the show anymore.

bmarkey 4/30/2003 10:23:00 PM

Tuesday, April 29, 2003

 

Release the bats

I�ve started making a mix tape for my eventually-to-be mother-in-law, AKA Science Mom. This is a very new experience for me, and not a little bit daunting. After all, this is the woman who, in 1983, turned her daughter on to The Birthday Party by blasting them through Science Girl�s bedroom door in an attempt to wake her up. SG says it became a happy morning routine & something of a mother/daughter bonding ritual.

Ma Markey, bless her heart, has never heard of Nick Cave, and would probably think herself lucky on that count. Mind you, when I played The Ramones for Mom, back in the day, she liked �em � said they reminded her of Little Richard. (I don�t see it myself, but then again music is a subjective experience.) If the shoe were on the other foot, so to speak, and I were to make a tape for my folks, I�d be at a complete loss. Mom listens to bagpipe music now, and Dad�s gone polka-crazy. (No, I�m not making that up.) Science Mom, on the other hand, gave me a Syd Barrett CD for Xmas this year and knows who he is.

I�ve got side A of the tape just about sketched out, but I must admit that it�s a bit of a challenge. What do you put on such a tape that will A) appeal to the target audience, yet B) won�t leave my future Mum-in-law with a scary impression of her only daughter�s beau? By request, it must also have been released within the last ten years.(That's the one that's really throwing me for a loop, as I like to mix in a few older things here and there for variety's sake.) It�ll be a good test of my compilation skills, such as they are.

Update 4/30/03: Last night I dreamt that Science Girl was pregnant and about to give birth. All well and good, except for the fact that her OB/GYN was Nick Cave. That creeped me out on so many levels that I lost count.

bmarkey 4/29/2003 10:49:00 PM

Monday, April 28, 2003

 

I regret that I have but one liver to give for my universe

Hung-over and mowing the lawn is no way to go through a Saturday, but that�s exactly what I did. I didn�t really have much choice. About the mowing, I mean. Of course I could have avoided the hangover, easily. Then again, these things happen for a reason. Perhaps I was destined to mow hung-over. Who am I to say? There are those who maintain that Larger Forces than you and I are at play in the universe; perhaps it was a vital part of the Unknowable Plan for me to be pushing that mower around the yard with a pulsing, throbbing brain. I�ve watched enough syndicated science fiction TV to know that you don�t mess with the Unknowable Plan without dire consequences � rifts in the very fabric of space-time leading to chaos, confusion, and (usually) the death of a guest star in an heroic yet vain attempt to repair the damage just before the last commercial break, thereby showing the regular cast the correct procedure to save the universe when they come back from station break. Given all that, can it be mere coincidence that I found that bottle of Bushmill�s Friday night, in the cabinet where we keep the dishware? The very same bottle which I would have sworn I�d finished off last week?

I think not.

Y�all are damn lucky I was thirsty, or else maybe we�d all be, like, erased by now.

bmarkey 4/28/2003 10:08:00 PM

Thursday, April 24, 2003

 

Thanks for asking (I guess)

Why are so many strangers so obsessed with the size of my penis? Every time I open my email, somebody else is either asking impertinent (at best) questions about the magnitude of my unit or insinuating that things in that department are not entirely ship-shape, if you follow me. One even went so far as to ask if I could �handle a massive cock�. Well, I like to think I�ve done OK so far. I asked Science Girl how she thought I was doing, but she was too busy laughing hysterically to answer.

bmarkey 4/24/2003 05:29:00 PM

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

 

Too much information

1) I was a member of the Cub Scouts and 4-H, but not at the same time. 4-H was much more fun.
2) I know the lyrics to the Underdog theme song, and will sing them at the drop of a hat. Also, I am very glad that no one has attempted to make a live action Underdog movie, but I suppose it�s only a matter of time.
3) The first record I can remember buying was Snoopy and His Friends (tracks 13 through 24 on this two-fer) by The Royal Guardsmen.
4) The first movie I saw in a theater was Mary Poppins, in its original release.
5) The telephone in our house makes me jump every time it rings, without fail.
6) The law of pizza: no fish, no fruit.
7) I once sold blank tape to Michael Nesmith. He did not seem pleased that I recognized him. Perhaps he was just having a bad day.
8) In the late sixties � early seventies, people often mistook my father for Oakland Raiders defensive end Ben Davidson. Now, he kinda looks like Wilford Brimley, but with more hair.
9) The last time I was mistaken for anyone famous was in 1988. I was driving down the freeway, on my way to rehearsal, when a car pulled up next to me. The passenger leaned out the window and yelled, �Hey! Are you Neil Diamond?�, which threw me for a moment. I had shoulder-length hair and a moustache at the time (for the play I was rehearsing) and was wearing a hot pink aloha shirt and a straw hat that had seen better days, I was driving a beat-up 1967 Volvo (it looked a lot like this one), and we were in Rancho Cordova.
10) My stated goal in life at age six: to become Governor of the State of California.
11) My goal in life now: to own an electric goat. Failing that, a steam-powered goat would be acceptable.


bmarkey 4/23/2003 10:45:00 PM

Tuesday, April 22, 2003

 

Cattle call

It occurred to me today that I had promised y�all pictures of the calves down at my parents� place. Here ya go! One of these calves belongs to Science Girl and yours truly, although I really couldn�t tell you which one is ours. Let�s say it�s the best-looking one, because that would only be appropriate.

As I recall, they�re about 5-6 weeks old in these pictures. By now they�ve probably doubled in size, at the very least. I don�t think they�re old enough to rope yet; I believe the horns come in when they�re about a year old, but I don�t know for sure.

Right now, they�re not at my folks� place. They�ve been moved across town to some land my parents are leasing, since the pasture there gets irrigated & the homestead is strictly dry farmed (except for my mom�s garden). Why I think you care about all this is something of a mystery, but stranger things have happened.

bmarkey 4/22/2003 05:44:00 PM

Monday, April 21, 2003

 

I bow down and pray to every woman I see

OK. Last week was Cranky Week, aka �What the hell�s wrong with him?� week.
This week, I promise to be much more fun. No, really. I mean it, this time.

I had the opportunity to pick up some dirt-cheap CDs this weekend, which always improves my attitude. Among the booty was No Other Love by Chuck Prophet. I�d read all sorts of good reviews of this album, but I�ve been burned often enough by glowing reviews of, uh, less-than-stellar music that I put off buying it until now. I�ve only had the chance to listen to it twice, but I�m liking it very much so far. Subtle guitar stuff (which you might expect from the former Green On Red guitarist) with some R&B undertones, and a few drum loops & odd instrumentation here and there. Not to mention the long-awaited return of the mighty Farfisa organ! Hell yes. As I say, I�m still finding my way around the album, but my preliminary take on it is very good. You could do much, much worse.

bmarkey 4/21/2003 09:00:00 PM

Thursday, April 17, 2003

 
Wouldn't it be quicker to just saw my head off?
bmarkey 4/17/2003 09:16:00 PM

 

In a bunch

Why is it that when people request things from me, and they have more than one request to make, they ask for each thing individually rather than all at once? Is it me? Do I give off an �unable to cope with more than one thought in my head at a time� type of vibe? Just give it to me all at once and go away. It will be much easier on everyone that way, and I won�t have to beat* anyone sensible.**

Also, nominating one person to negotiate your needs would be preferable to having six different people communicating the same problem to me, one after the other, thereby cracking the oh-so-thin veneer of civility I maintain while on the job.

I swear, it�s the Death Of A Thousand Cuts tonight.


* Yeah, right.
** �Cause, see, they�re already senseless.

bmarkey 4/17/2003 07:49:00 PM

Wednesday, April 16, 2003

 

New hope for the wretched

I�ve been feeling somewhat melancholy lately. There�s no specific reason for it (that I can see, anyway), just sort of a cumulative effect from about five years of working with people who are either very old, sick, actively dying, or a combination thereof. It catches up with me every now and again. That, and some other stuff (war, the apparent rightward list of our country, etc.). Nothing major, no reason to hide the sharp instruments from me, jes� dem ol� cozmic blues agin baby. It happens.

So, how to get over it? I mean, it�s all well and good to wallow in one�s darker moments, if one is so inclined, but I�ve got stuff to do. No time for mopery here, thank you very much. The dishes aren�t going to wash themselves, or they would have done so by now. (God knows they�ve had ample opportunity.)

Here is where my theater studies finally paid off: the ancient Greeks had, among other things, the concept of catharsis. (For those too lazy to click the link, �a : purification or purgation of the emotions � primarily through art; b : a purification or purgation that brings about spiritual renewal or release from tension.� For all I know, the current Greeks have the same concept. We didn�t have to study them.) That�s JUST what I needed, so I made myself a cathartic mix tape.

It didn�t start out that way. I just started putting a mix tape together Monday morning, with no theme in mind. (Inspired by this well-thought-out post by eyeballkid. I broke a few rules, but then they�re not my rules to begin with.) I noticed the potential for an over-arching topic about two or three songs in and decided to wail with it. Now, usually that�s the kiss of death for one of my mixes. I�ve made some really interesting theme tapes, but it�s always been a subconscious process. As soon as I realize what�s going on, my brain clenches up and the whole thing goes straight into the crapper. Not this time.

What I came up with is a tape dealing with, in no particular order: faith; betrayal; the existence (or otherwise) of the divine; paranoia; rock & roll; drugs; the absurdity of life; selling out vs. buying in; friendship; death (natural and self-inflicted); aging; terrorism; doubt; self-loathing. Angst on parade, with a few glimmers of redemption and beauty here and there. Plus a few songs that I threw in because they fit sonically, although if you pressed me I could probably make an argument for their inclusion based solely on content. The title of the tape, How To Think About Weird Stuff, is actually the title of a book I saw in the display window of a used bookstore as I was on my way to work yesterday; sadly, I didn�t have time to take a look at the book itself.

It probably all sounds stupid and pretentious, and it may even be so. It also rocks like a motherfucker. All-out nasty ugliness and pure transcendent beauty, all on one 110-minute tape. And, I actually feel better. Bonus.

The track list is in the comments, for those interested.

bmarkey 4/16/2003 10:06:00 PM

Tuesday, April 15, 2003

 

More words about buildings and food

Science Girl has been spending a lot of time during the week over at Stately Science Manor, presiding over the Seemingly Endless Parade of Contractors (this year�s theme is �No, it�s not alright to step on the neighbor�s flowers�), so the only time I get to cook for her is on the weekend. Since we usually either go out or order out on Saturdays, this leaves Sunday night, which is also the night that the leftover odds and ends from the week get used up. Perfect for improvisation.

Lately I�ve been winging it more often in the kitchen. I used to never stray from the printed recipe, mostly because I didn�t really trust my instincts � something I�m often guilty of away from the stove as well. I�m finding my way dish by dish, and it seems to be getting better each time. (It�s always a pleasant surprise when a meal comes out more or less the way I planned it. So far it�s never been less than palatable, but that doesn�t mean that dreadful cooking is beyond me.) What I come up with is generally nothing fancy, and usually ends up somewhat Italianesque in nature. (Although Marcella Hazan probably wouldn�t agree. Fortunately, I�m only cooking for Science Girl and myself.) You go with what you know, and that�s the style in which I feel most comfortable.

It helps to remember to add salt. For some reason it seems to slip my mind fairly often, resulting in OK but sorta bland chow. I now keep a huge box of kosher salt on the counter while I�m cooking, so it�s in my way and I won�t forget. Seriously, it's the size of a small two-bedroom cottage. So far it�s made a vast improvement, and if I ever empty the box we�ll have a vacation home.

I tend to rely on a lot of the same herbs over and over. (Oregano, basil, and rosemary are the big three.) They�re what I�m comfortable using since I know them pretty well, but I�m afraid I�m gonna end up boring SG�s palate. By the same token, I don�t wanna just start throwing weird herbs into my cooking just for the sake of variety, because you can end up with some really nasty-tasting stuff that way. If I vary some of the other ingredients I should be able to work around my workhorse herbs. For example, I found a ten-year-old bottle of balsamic vinegar in the back of the cabinet on Sunday; adding a little to a chicken-tomato dish I was making really brightened the flavor. (To be truthful, I probably saw somebody do something similar on one of the cooking shows I watch, because I don�t think I would have come up with the phrase �brightened the flavor� on my own.)

Using a recipe is a fun way to try new dishes and techniques, but I�m also having a blast making it up as I go along.

(Not lunch per se, Jon, but it worked.)

bmarkey 4/15/2003 10:22:00 PM

Monday, April 14, 2003

 
I�m finding that I don�t have as much to say as I once thought I did. (Yay! Four �I�s in one sentence! Solipsism, thy name is bmarkey.) I don�t want to post just for the sake of posting; I like to at least pretend that I actually have something to say. Even though this thing is ostensibly about �wasting my time and yours, too�, it�s kind of a drag to realize how accurate that flip little description can be, sometimes. So, for the foreseeable future there will probably be fewer posts, �cause five per week doesn�t seem to be working anymore.

This is all subject to change, of course. I have found that it�s best if I don�t carve such things in stone; molded in jell-o is about as permanent as I need to get.

bmarkey 4/14/2003 09:02:00 PM

Friday, April 11, 2003

 

Cranky pants are ON

I had to go downtown this morning, in order to get some paperwork squared away so that we can get Science Girl covered by my insurance. (By the way, the bullshit hoops they�re making us jump through in order to prove that we are indeed �domestic partners� are not to be believed. Most married couples I know couldn�t satisfy all the requirements.) Now I remember why I don�t go downtown more often: too goddamn many humans! Butt ugly ones, too. I know most people are stupid, I expect that, but when did the ugly start?

I seriously wanted to throw myself in front of a passing bus just to stop the assault on my senses, but traffic was so backed up that none of the busses were going more than 5 mph. The best I could have hoped for would have been a bruise, and who needs more of those? Instead, I had lunch & a pint (shhh!) at the Pike Place Pub. It, too, was crammed to the rafters with the creepy peoples, but at least I was able to get me some decent food and, most importantly, life-sustaining alcohol. Were it not for our friend Mr. Booze you would surely be seeing me on the news tonight, and not in a happy context.

Sadly, I had to stop at one pint, since I still had to go to work. This left me woefully unprepared for the herd of 8-year-olds, all of whom had apparently lost the use of their �indoors voice�, returning from a fieldtrip on the bus that went by my place of employment. Now, don�t get me wrong; I really like kids, individually. It�s when you get large groups of them in confined spaces that I have trouble. Their tiny, piercing voices were like so many red-hot knitting needles shoved into my poor, over-taxed brain. Oddly enough, they got off at the same stop I did. I had a brief moment of unbearable panic when I thought they were actually going to follow me in to work (which would have made absolutely no sense, but I was rattled enough by this point to succumb to any fear that popped into my head, no matter how groundless � had someone suggested that we were about to be attacked by newts the size of ponies, I would have run off in search of newt-repellant), but fortunately they continued on their (noisy) way past the front door.

So, here I am, at my workplace, down to my last nerve. And only seven hours to go!

bmarkey 4/11/2003 04:59:00 PM

Wednesday, April 09, 2003

 

The spirit of radio

This is a picture of me at 18. Yes, I was a teenage DJ. I had to take two busses and a BART train to get to the radio station, which was at a high school in another town, but I was happy to do it.

I had the Friday 3PM � 6PM shift. That�s right, baby: drivetime. The 6-9 shifts were actually more desirable, since they were unformatted. I was required to play those singles you see stacked in front of me on the console; I believe the order was DJ�s choice, red dot, yellow dot, DJ�s choice, green dot, red dot, DJ�s choice, and then start over again. Something like that, anyway. I was just pleased to be on the air. I had what fun I could within the format, although I did get a talking-to from management for following Olivia Newton-John�s �A Little More Love� with �Anarchy in the UK�. In general, though, I had a fair amount of leeway in what I could play.

Most of the albums visible I brought from home. Starting at 11 o�clock and working counter-clockwise we have: Bursting Out, a live album, now apparently out of print, by Jethro Tull; Queen�s News of the World; Obsession by UFO; Neil Young�s After the Gold Rush; and the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack. I believe the album directly on top of RHPS is AC/DC�s Powerage, although I can�t be certain.

Now that I�ve killed whatever credibility I might ever have had, let me remind you that I was 18 and living in the suburbs. Also, I believe I was the first at the station to play The Ramones, The Clash, and The B-52�s. Not that it really matters at this late date.

The studio itself was not much bigger than what you can see in the picture. There was a chair on the other side of the console for visitors. Those cartridges you see to my right were PSAs (Public Service Announcements) and promo spots for the various shows. (Those were a lot of fun to record; I got to destroy a copy of "Le Freak" on mine.) Behind the photographer (probably my girlfriend at the time, who was also chief engineer) was the record library � three seven-foot high racks of vinyl, if I recall correctly. I usually kept the lights pretty low during my shift (atmosphere, don�cha know), but I guess we turned them up for the picture.

It was all a great deal of fun. I really thought I�d found my niche in life, that I�d go on from there to some sleazy little commercial station that would let me spin what I wanted to. You have to remember that this was at the very tail end of the free-form radio era, long before the Clear Channels of the world completed the destruction of commercial radio. Of course stations had formats back then, but many DJ�s were still allowed to program their own music. You actually got a sense of the people spinning the tunes; what the morning guy (or gal � Marla in the Morning on KZAP was a personal fave) played was not going to be repeated on the evening show. In fact, most stations wouldn�t play a song more than once a day. Imagine that! You kids today are gettin� screwed in that respect.

So here�s to KZAP, KSAN, KSFM, and all the other stations whose call letters I can�t remember now. And here�s to KVHS, The Voice of Clayton Valley. Well, I guess they�re calling themselves The Edge these days. Whatever. More power to �em.

bmarkey 4/09/2003 09:26:00 PM

Tuesday, April 08, 2003

 

Since when is skepticism un-American?

Anybody else find this to be ever so slightly chilling? (via The Long Letter)

Please correct me if I�m wrong, but didn�t we fight a war against fascism? When did we switch to the other side? I must have been absent that day at school.

It seems to me a grave disservice to the memory of those who gave their lives in the service of the ideals of liberty and free speech for their descendants to simultaneously talk about bringing freedom to one group of people and endeavor to stifle it among themselves. Dissent is America at its best; the attempted intimidation of those who do not blindly follow the government line could not possibly be more un-American.

We have a saying in my family, which we use in situations like this: fuck that noise. Don�t let the brownshirts steal our country.

bmarkey 4/08/2003 08:56:00 PM

 

My lame claim to fame

Hey, I know a Pulitzer Prize winner! Well, I�m acquainted with him, anyway� OK, I�ve met him. A couple of times.

He seems nice.

bmarkey 4/08/2003 04:34:00 PM

Monday, April 07, 2003

 

Almost as exciting as televised golf

Yet another reason why basketball is a dull sport: there are six games left in the season, the Sonics have just now reached the .500 mark, and there is still a good chance that they will make the playoffs. Let�s face it - if you bother to show up for most of your games, there�s a good chance you�ll make the playoffs. Why reward mediocrity?

Hockey suffers from playoff inflation as well, but at least it�s an enjoyable sport to watch. Basketball is duller than dirt. I�ve tried to enjoy it in the past; I used to live with a woman who played the game at the college level, so she was pretty keen to interest me in her sport*. We watched it on TV, we attended live games� I was never anything but bored. And so it remains today.

Before you get the wrong idea, I�m not one of those anti-sports guys. As I mentioned, I like hockey. I didn�t really discover it until I moved to Seattle � god bless the CBC and Hockey Night in Canada. Every year I keep meaning to go see the Thunderbirds play, as they�re usually pretty good, but I always forget.

I used to really dig baseball, until it became more about rooting for a uniform than a team. The Giants got me through many a hot, sweaty Sacramento summer, and I was a big A�s fan as a kid, back when they had that incredible 70�s dynasty. I lived for baseball season every year, as a fan and as a player. It was a very sad day for me when I realized that I had neither the arm nor the eye to become a professional player. I was ten.

The only thing which obsessed me more than baseball was the Raiders. I lived and died with the team. I watched the famous Heidi game on TV; die-hard that I was, I wasted no time in getting my radio, and so was able to at least listen to the incredible ending of the game. I bled silver and black for a long time. The team lost me, for the most part, when Al Davis started moving the team around.

Basketball, however, remains a mystery. And the fact that I�m short and slow has nothing to do with it.

*We even played one-on-one, once. I tried driving to the hoop; she threw an elbow and blackened my eye. We did not play again after that.
Science Girl, on the other hand, rowed for the crew � a non-contact sport. As long as she doesn�t smack me with an oar, I feel relatively safe.

bmarkey 4/07/2003 10:25:00 PM

 

Tiny time pills, my ass

OK, so I�m back. This latest lapse was due to some really unpleasant sinus difficulties, as well as a lack of anything to say. Having what feels like a head full of wet cement is not conducive to creative thought, or thought of any kind other than �when will I drain?� and/or �kill me now�, for that matter.

Speaking of creative thought, did y�all read cowboy_sally last Friday? The May 4th post is some of the best writing I�ve seen in a long time. (I�d link directly to the post in question, but Blogger won�t let me do that right now. I�ll just link to her front page & you can scroll down, although the rest of her stuff is good, too. Should the archival weirdness go away, I�ll install the proper link.)

bmarkey 4/07/2003 06:17:00 PM

Wednesday, April 02, 2003

 

Tell Bush and Co. to scat!

First up: Mexican war protesters fling feces at US Embassy.

Then: Poop for Peace! (via Cheesedip)

This shit just writes itself.

bmarkey 4/02/2003 10:51:00 PM

 

Short Trib to Ter

I�m finding myself missing Terry Southern tonight. Not that I knew him personally or anything like that, of course. I just suspect that the mind capable of writing �The Blood of a Wig� would find the current situation, here and abroad, a rich smorgasbord upon which to feast.

For those of you out there may who may not have stumbled upon Mr. Southern yet in your travels, I strongly recommend finding a copy of Red Dirt Marijuana (And Other Tastes) ASAP. (The amazon.uk link is because they carry the edition from which Southern�s estate actually receives royalties.)

bmarkey 4/02/2003 10:33:00 PM

Tuesday, April 01, 2003

 

Truth, Justice, and Moral Fabric Softener

I was going to participate in �National Mock The Cheney�s� day today, as proclaimed by Neil Pollack, and had even worked up some mildly amusing slander for the occasion, but I got to thinking:

While Dick Cheney is certainly a reprehensible skidmark in the grubby undershorts of the Bush administration, why single out one shitstain when the entire garment is full of holes and failed elastic? The bleach of satire alone is not enough to wash away the sordid filth deposited by a lifetime of poor (ethical) hygiene. It will also require the detergent of moral indignation, the agitation of public outcry, and, ultimately, the spin cycle of the American electoral system. Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, et al may be soaking in the blood of the Iraqi and American dead, my friends, but rest assured that they will eventually be rinsed from office and diligently tumbled by the ruthless dryer of justice, after which they will surely be consigned to the ragbin of history.

(Note to self: pick up laundry soap on the way home tonight.)

bmarkey 4/01/2003 10:47:00 PM