I have contracted a staph infection in my left index finger. Typing is actually painful. So, no post for today. Sorry. I’m hoping for something on Wednesday.

Popularity: 4% [?]

Okay, embarrassing admission: I love Ghost Hunters and Ghost Hunters International. Paranormal State is fun too. And honestly, Ghost Adventures: a bunch of histrionic frat boys I wouldn’t let wash my car. But whatever.

Now I have had personal experiences with crazy things I can’t explain, some of which I discussed in earlier posts. My maternal grandfather died when I was a senior in High School. I was unable to attend his funeral and was staying home alone. Several days in a row my dog would, from time to time, sit at the bottom of the stairs looking toward the top without moving for long periods of time.

My father came home before my mother. The night he got home I walked into my room and it was freezing (it was mid-May) and I felt like my heart suddenly weighed twenty pounds. I backed out of the room and asked one of my friends to go in there. They felt the same thing. It turned out my father had left a bunch of his clothes in my room.

I don’t know if there is anything to it, but it sure does make me tingle.

Here is one of my problems with the shows. They never…NEVER show anything I would consider evidence. They call it proof. But it would never convince me on a jury. They talk to these homeowners and caretakers who have seen shadows and mists and body apparitions. They’ve seen doors open and close.

Never have I seen this occur on the shows. All of their “proof” is sketchy at best.

The second thing that really bothers me is all the soundscape that they add to it. I know, I know: it’s entertainment. I probably wouldn’t enjoy the show as much without it, either. But when they talk about hearing a sound and you can’t hear it because their soundscape is whining and screeching over it.

I read this great book called Spook, by Mary Roach. She had a chapter that discussed the possibility of electrical spikes and magnetic fields that trick the human mind into feeling a presence around them. I might go with that.

There is something both comforting and disturbing about the paranormal. But I want proof. Real proof. That’s all I want.

Popularity: 5% [?]

My wife and I are desperately looking for a good Asian takeout restaurant in our town. Actually, we are looking for one that we both like. It’s not easy, and I don’t know why.

There is a little Vietnamese place that I love called Phong Lan that I love. They’ve got these great spring rolls and mint drink, and their pho is really good. But my wife doesn’t like Vietnamese food.

We both love this Japanese restaurant called Sushi House. But it’s not really a take-out place and it’s on the other side of town.

The same problem with a place called Thai Moon. I really have to want Thai food to go there. And for take out? It’s easily a thirty minute trip.

Part of the problem comes from a crushing culinary blow to the east side of town.

By far our favorite restaurant was a Thai place called C.R. Thai Flavors. My wife and I loved it so much we had our wedding rehearsal dinner there. Yes, it’s true.

They had this wall with photos of everyone that ate there. In fact, they sat us in front of the wall that had a photo of my and a previous girlfriend. I shit you not. My wife and I were seated directly in front of that photo. My best man secreted the photo off the wall and into his pocket before anyone else saw it.

The owners were two lovely Thai immigrants. They introduced themselves as Sandy and Steve, their chosen American names. They really treated us like family. I could go in and say, “Sandy, all I know is that I want something with a peanuty sauce,” and she would say, “Ahh, Mr. Handsome, I fix you right. I know the thing. How you lovely wife? How her leg?”

I’m actually getting a little misty thinking about her. I absolutely loved them. And they never disappointed.

But, alas, they moved to California to be with their kids. The place has changed hands and, honestly, it sucks. My wife and I have made three valiant attempts to like even the basic menu and it just doesn’t taste good.

We have, unfortunately, gotten into the rut of, I can’t believe I’m saying this, Hy-Vee Chinese. There was a time we were eating it three times a month. But it is such American, cloying, all-meat, Chinese-like food. They don’t have a single veggie-only item. And it is essentially two basic flavors spread over eight entrees.

Don’t get me wrong, we eat it with gusto, but I always feel a little gross afterward.

And since my new eating habits, I am really only eating one major meal a day. That meal has become a little sacrosanct. If I don’t want to sit back and chew a bite of food forever, savoring the taste and feel of it, then it’s increasingly not worth the space and calories for me.

There are a couple of places on the east side that I do like: China Inn and, mostly, East China. But for some reason my wife doesn’t like them. This is from a person who professes a general indifference to eating out.

She is willing to give them another go, which we will in the near future. But this is our task: find an Asian takeout on our side of town that we like.

So, if you are in the area and have tried one of the following restaurants, please do put your cents in with a comment. Please do note that the strikeouts have been tried and rejected.

Thanks for your help.

East Side Asian Restaurants

Hy-Vee Chinese
China Café
China Incorporated
East China
Egg Roll House
Great Dragon Buffet
Ting’s Red Lantern
Wok-n-Roll
Siamville
Beijing Chinese Restaurant
Pei’s China Bistro
China Inn

Popularity: 6% [?]

Only one of three alive
in stillness lay
broken,
burnt,
ripped from the short ride home
on her crisp orange autumn day
at the corner
where my high school stands,
and the powder green pines grow—
at the corner
where the flag whips the air
from the platinum pole,
bright contrasts to pools of red
and metal wrung like wet rags
against the asphalt gray
they were.

All blood and blond,
their beauty stripped
by a quick-ran red,
an auto-ram impacted sides
with screams and squeals
and sweet-burnt rubber
and shimmering glass like
a giant’s shaken salt
on the gray road-plate—
their flesh offered
raw
for his consuming.

Popularity: 6% [?]

Scrap 1

Some of you may know that I’m a member of a writer’s stable for local professional theatre company called SPT Theatre. I’m part of a series they call the Writers’ Room, which is essentially a season of thematically linked shows that contain music (both original and covers), sketches, and monologues.

We have six shows between September and June, and each of us write between three and six sketches or monologues for each show. Naturally, not all of what we write is used for the show. Not all of the rejected sketches suck. Some do, but not all.

So I thought it might be fun to load up, from time to time, one of the sketches that has met the cutting room floor.

Here is one that was inspired by a story one of my writing partners told me. We were working on a show called “Pain in the Neck” and he told us a story about his grandparents — this story pans out in this sketch.

I couldn’t figure out how to work the sketch with two or three people, so I went to the tried-and-true one-man bit perfected by Bob Newhart: the phone call. Here it is.

_____________________________________________________

On Call

Man on stage in doctor’s coat with clipboard. He’s writing notes. He gets a cell phone call. He answers his phone.

Doctor Fingerman

This is Dr. Fingerman.

Ah, yes, hello Mr. Feeney. How are you today?

Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Is this concerning your …

Yes.

Yes.

Well, which one do you like better, the Viagra or the Cialis?

Well, no. No. Mr. Feeney, you’re not supposed to take them both at the same time.

No, I don’t care what you’ve seen on the Internet — you’re 67 years old, it’s just not…

Yes.

Yes, I understand how you might feel that way, but….

Oh, she does.

Yes, I can understand why you might be sore. Oh not there.

Ah, I see. Well, I’m sure it’s a long drop to the floor. Yes, I … Yes, I know I suggested a higher mattress. Yes. Easier to get in and out of. I know those were my words.

I thought you said your elbow felt better. Yes, I’m sorry. Good I’m glad it …

Yes, the Ben Gay. No. That wasn’t a prescription. It was over the counter. Yes, I know the stuff.

Can I ask why you’re call… Yes. Sorry.

Yes, Mr. Feeney. I’m a doctor. I fully understand the aging process.

Yes, I know how the body dries out with age.

Of course, I remember the Viagra, Mr. Feeney.

Look, I’m making rounds. Could you please get to the …

Yes, I know your wife is “of an age” as you say. I…

Oh, goodness. Well, that’s … that’s quite a metaphor Mr. Feeney. I’ve never really thought about it that way. No I’ve never experienced that.

Mr. Feeney, I …

Yes, I am familiar with KY Jelly. Yes, now that you say so, it does resemble Ben Gay — Oh goodness. Mr. Feeney…

Yes, I understand it was dark, but you should really…

Well, I can imagine that she’s angry, did you…

Yes, yes, I can hear her in the background. She sounds very upset. Mr. Feeney you really should…

No. No. Mr. Feeney. Mr. Feeney. Please!

Mr. Feeney, you should both go to the emergency clinic immediately.

Oh, you are there.

Well, then why are you calling me Mr. Feeney?

Oh, well, yes, three times today is … is quite impressive.

No … well, good job.

Yes, I would imagine “en fuego” would be an applicable phrase for it.

No. Mr. Feeney, no. No. No Mr. Feeney, I will not tell Nurse Goodlove about the three …

Fine. Fine. Yes, You have a good day too. Good luck. Yes. Yes. Yes, yipee kay yay to you too, sir.

Popularity: 5% [?]

Crazy has gotten to be big media these days. It seems that if you’re crazy you might have the chance to get your own show or at least be on a show. I guess if you’re terrified of pickles there is a spot for you on an afternoon talk show. If you think the president is a Kenyan lord of the zombie dead, you can actually get your own show.

I was at a meeting the other day when the talk turned to Keith Olbermann, the liberals crazy answer to Glen Beck crazy, their rage answer to O’Reilly rage. Look, as far as I’m concerned crazy is crazy, and I don’t care whether your socks are red or blue, or pink for that matter.

Anyway, at this meeting, one of my friends said, “The thing about crazy people is that in the Middle Ages, they were sitting on the edge of the village and no one paid attention to them. Today they get their own shows.”

It seems to be true. Our reality TV shows seem to aggrandize melodrama and crazy outbursts, dysfunction and bad behavior. I would hate for Jersey Shore to be a snap shot of our society. But it seems to be the case that we are pulled inexorably toward viewing shows like these. You can see in the halls of high schools the same behavior spilling out as it if were normal.

And honestly, I don’t think there is a way for us to pull back. We can only go forward to crazier, raunchier, more violent and obscene media. I count Beck, O’Reilly, and Olbermann as obscene media, by the way.

Last week I watched two very different shows. Both shows I like. One was Bones, a silly little forensics thriller, and the other was An Idiot Abroad, a sad and humorous look at a closed-minded westerner traveling the world. In An Idiot Abroad, Karl was in India at a religious festival. There were several guys there who were naked. The show not only blocked out the men’s genitalia, it also blocked their butt-cracks. On Bones we got to see a head explode. I mean actually see it explode: bone fragments, brain matter, bits of scalp and hair, big burgeoning blood pool.

We can’t see some guy’s junk, but it’s okay to watch a violent murder. That’s simply fucked up. I just don’t get it. I think it’s a Rubicon we have crossed and cannot return from. And I think it’s just one of many things that will lead to us becoming an irrelevant nation.

And get this … I’m not even a Conservative.

Popularity: 5% [?]

WARNING: I will spill the sex of our impending new child. If you do not wish to know, do not read further.

Okay, so we are finally starting the discussion of baby names. This is a tedious thing for both of us. For many reasons. The first is that, no matter what we choose, our families will probably not like it.

Both sides of our family hated the name of our first-born. And they told us. They said things like, “Are you serious?” and “But what are you really going to call him?” Oddly enough, most of our friends said, “Wow, that’s really cool. I would have never thought of that. I love it!”

The second thing that makes it tedious is that, both of us, having been teachers, have long lists of names that are verboten, either because we so loved the student that we couldn’t imagine using the name, or because the student was such a … challenge … that we still have tremors when we hear that name. So, no Codys, Ryans, Mikes, Coltons, Brians, Bradys, Jacobs, Ethans, Jameses, Johns, Tylers, and a whole, whole, whole raft of others.

Also, not so big into the Biblicals. So no Thomases, Joshuas, Matthews, Nocodemuses, Gabriels, Jedahdias, or Zedekais.

Not big into the hipster names. No Aidens, Braydens, Jaydens, or Kaydens.

Then, no friends’ kid’s names: No Harrys, Jacksons, Kais.

Family names are a bit dodgy too. My wife’s are all too normal: Bobby, Steve, Jim. Mine are too … well … Aubrey, Otho, Dude (yes, Dude was a given name).

So …

Oh, I forgot. We rarely agree.

So, we’ve come up with a system. It worked really well for our first-born.

I cull through stacks of names and put it into an Excel document. My wife adds her names. Then we blind vote: 1-3 with three being the highest score. She has a column, I have a column.

Then we add them together. The names that score 4 and 6 become our new list.

Then we each have veto power from that list. Perhaps she has something against Gaylord, a name I may have given a 3! But I’ll let that go.

Then we discuss the names. Which is, of course, the fun part.

Let the fun begin!

Popularity: 5% [?]

Okay, so two Mondays ago I started a detox cleansing.

Homemade juices for most of the day. Lots of tea. Brown rice. That’s it.

I wanted to feel like I was reborn, like my body had been detailed by the finest cleaners in Detroit, like I had been baptized from the inside.

But I have been sick with some hellspore since I started the thing. I feel like shit, and I have felt like shit for last two weeks.

To top that off — because I am the center of the universe — everyone around me is sick, so I can’t really get any of that man-balm sympathy that I need heal my fragile psyche.

And a topper top-off, my wife and I are planning on going to her best friend’s house in Minnesota this weekend for a city-wide trivia weekend.

And a tippy topper top-off, starting Sunday I have a week of rehearsals ending in shows on Friday and Saturday.

Oh, and birthday is Sunday.

Ah, and Valentine’s Day is Monday.

Waaaaahaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaaugh!

Okay, now a sane person would simply not go to Minnesota this weekend. They would hole up in the house and do nothing, saving their energy for healing. They would also not want to infect anyone with their ick.

Honestly, that is what I want to do. I just want to curl up in bed and moan pathetically at the ceiling.

But, we have been talking about this weekend for a while. We have actually studied for this weekend. It’s that kind of city-wide trivia game. And, although I am interested in the trivia, I am more interested in spending time with our friends and their new baby, Kai. And even more so, I want to see my kid spend time with their baby.

If I don’t go, my wife will be hugely —HUGELY — disappointed with me.

Don’t know what to do.

But whining about it has made feel a little better.

Thanks.

Popularity: 5% [?]

Lieutenant Ruytenburgh’s Glance

on Rembrandt’s The Shooting Company of Captain
Frans Banning Cocq and Lieutenant Ruytenburgh
aka. The Night Watch

You bombastic lout.

You ignorant peacock,
with your “Let me tell you this”
and “I think”s and “To the contrary”s.

You think you’re beloved
as you pontificate,
leading the mob
along the Amstel
shooting.

But they are simply jackals
like your own dog hoping for the fox,
jumping at the scraps you drop.

They love you not.

You will say the wrong thing
someday,
or give the wrong glance
or use the wrong whore,
and the next day
court will silence when you enter,
and you will finally know
what a little man you are.

I shall,
at your fall,
become the captain.

But I?
I
shall shoot
alone.

__________________

This painting has always fascinated me. There is so much odd in it.

For example: did you notice the blazingly bright dwarf lady — I know, little person, sorry — who looks like Banana Grandma? She is just to the left of Cocq. Where is that light coming from? She’s got to be important, right?

Anyway, I’ve been fascinated with this painting for a while. But recently I say this documentary (with acting) called Rembrandt’s J’Acusse. If you like art or mystery or intellectual documentaries, this movie is toto boffo. I highly recommend it. Plus, you can Netflix it.

Popularity: 4% [?]

Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan and Behemoth

I heard about Leviathan from the Writing Excuses Podcast. The podcast was about the integration of visual elements within the pages of a novel. I was particularly interested in this because I am using chapter frontispieces in my Galadahnia Trilogy, illustrated by the wonderful artist Tara Marsh.

I picked up Leviathan, not really thinking of reading the whole thing. Yes, it’s true, I just wanted to look at the pictures.

And the pictures are quite good. Keith Thompson’s illustrations have this strange sort of Asian influence. They really are wonderful additions to the text. However, some of the images do show up before the text event they depict. That was a little off-putting.

Why was it off-putting? Because I devoured these two books. It wasn’t great literature, but Westerfeld really created a fascinating world, some odd amalgam of steampunk and Dr. Frankenstein and H.G. Wells.

Here is the deal. It is the brink of WWI. Europe has essentially broken into two factions. What we know as the Axis — Germany, Austro-Hungary, Ottoman Empire — are known in Westerfeld’s world as Clankers: classic steampunk societies who have embraced the world of steam-run machinery. The Allies — England, France, Russia — are called Dawinists: a culture who uses biodesigned animals as machines.

Now, I hate reviews that essentially run down the plot of the book, or the play for that matter. So I won’t do that.

I will say that the book toggles between its two main characters: Aleksander, the son of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and Deryn/Deryl Sharp a girl pretending to be a boy so she can join the British Air Service.

Of course their paths cross, and one is a Clanker while the other is a Darwinist, and there is the gender deception, so Westerfeld has set himself up pretty well for a page-turner.

And that it is.

The action is pretty good, but it is really the technology that sells it. He has created an absolutely fascinating and well worth this quick read.

Popularity: 5% [?]