Saturday, November 27, 2010

Mongolian Beef Juice Spider Football Attack….aka Candycane Pie…aka Football Rules to Live By…aka Homeless Fashion Tips…aka Ramblings of Nothingness…aka TCB LIGHTENING BOLT REMEMBERED…aka “Alfred F. Larcher 2 runs down Alfred F. Larcher 3 with car, no word from Alfred F. Larcher the original.”

"Read, read, read. Read everything -- trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it.
Then write. If it's good, you'll find out. If it's not, throw it out of the window."
— William Faulkner

It’s the kind of morning only Kris Kristofferson could write about poetically. I’m sitting in my chair listening to Louis Prima who is trying to swing my soul back into a solid place while the incense burns trying to cover up the stench of the Mongolian Beef juice I spilled all over my Snuggie last night in a lost moment of self decency.  It happens.  More so now than ever but at this point I’ll take any upward trend regardless of how negative it is.

I never knew how fucking terrible Chinese food smelled when not in the context of eating it.  The worst part is the juice got everywhere, so I don’t know where the smell really is coming from, and I really don’t have the energy to investigate; nor do I really I care, even if it is making me nauseous.

My life has become very dull and regular.  I wake up, go to work, go home go to sleep. I get out on the weekends, because I know I can’t trust myself alone with that much free time.  In about a half hour I’ll be at Bakersquare eating breakfast while reading the news on my phone just as I do every Saturday.  It used to be a newspaper in which I would rip out the articles I wanted to write about later.  It worked perfectly, because if I didn’t get to them, the ink would start to run, and the paper would fall apart and the story would be lost.  It sort of was the motivation I needed to get the fire burning.  A dead line.  Now I just hit ‘save’ and the story gets placed somewhere I guess I could get back to later, but never do.  Ain’t it funny how the easier it gets the less important it becomes.  That’s usually a good thing – but not when it comes to news. 

I don’t know if it’s a lack of motivation, a realization that I’m not a very compelling writer, or just indifference to the world around me that his stricken me with this, ‘spiritual constipation’ as Kinky Friedman once put it.  I’ve always preached the death of society is indifference to the running of the world around you. Voluntary slavery.  This happens when things are either too miserable to care about anybody but yourself or to comfortable to want to care about anything because it all seems so good.  Right now I feel like we’re all a little too comfortable with our technology, and distractions -- while so miserable and hurting in the fiscal reality of the world around us.  Limited resources, increased demand, increased population, and enough knowledge for everybody to understand where we are, and the fight that is ahead of all of us. 

It hasn’t all been dwellk


About an hour and a half ago when I was typing that sentence an angry and malicious spider attacked me in a vigilant terrorist strike -- apparently to stop me from completing this work.  I don’t know what the spiders have at stake in all this, and why a dangerous looking yellow spider about the size of a nickel would risk his life to attack me in mind sentence.   Perhaps it was the way I used to catch them as a kid and squash’em.   I now don’t have the heart to kill a spider, unless in the act of war -- but to them perhaps I’ll always be a evil and vile figure in their history.  Or perhaps the repugnant smell of spilled Mongolian beef juice is an orgasmic experience worth the risk just to smell once in the spiders life time.  Perhaps he was a lone spider crazed on confusion and drugs just trying to end it all.  When you can’t communicate you can’t understand and resolution is never found so we will never know the motives for the attack and really outside of these few words the history of it will be forgotten.

I have an electric recliner that takes a moment to reclaine, back to standard operating chair position. You have to hold the down button and just wait for it to get back down so you can stand up.  Normally it isn’t an issue but in certain causes like a fire, a  Chinese food delivery door bell, loose bowels,  or spiders landing in your lap on top of a keyboard, the short delay feels like a life time.  So the spider landed in my lap, I screamed like a girl, threw the wireless keyboard up to heaven along with the snuggie and the spider who looked to be as panicked as I was all landing on the floor while I did everything I could to get my legs to the floor to get out of the room. 

After this belligerent attack I knew I needed to clear out of the house for a moment, and started to look for something to cover up my fat ass.   I left the window in my room open which reminded me it was fucking cold outside.  The only downside to the summer is you forget how cold the cold really is.  Friday was the first time I felt it, as I headed to work without warming up my car Addison, causing my teeth to shiver the entire way as I begged the heater to get its ass in gear. 

I don’t want to dwell on it but I helped out at a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving.  What I saw were not the usual burnt out or mentally ill suspects but rather the faces of people sinking in the world around them, while trying as hard as they can to swim. I’m about fifteen years and one bad trip from being one of these guys.   The world has a sense of timing we should all admire.  I’m only about one move away from being one of these broken down on the side of the road fellow travelers, and with little to no family left its all becoming too real.  My friends are there for me and I do have my father still, but there is a difference between friends and family and the older you get and more alone you are it all becomes clear.  Love your family, they will always be yours and that’s important when you’re stripped down to nothing.

Anyway the point is I tend to dress like homeless guy in the winter.  I love the feeling of all those layers and never really feeling the cold except when I sleep, which is when I want to feel it the most.  Sure it gets hot inside crowded places, but you simply take off a few layers and you slowly cool down.  Every winter I master the layering but summer somehow wipes the knowledge away and your arsenal of cloths disappears and you have to restock and relearn the whole process again.  It’s why Midwest people are the way we are; tough, crazy, thick skinned, loud, and to the point. 

So I got all my layers on, threw on the Ray Ban’s to hide my red and gray eyes and started to crossing the street.  In a weird twist of fate one car was coming toward me to the East that I needed to stop in order for me to cross Addison Street.   I noticed it was my father who isn’t the best driver.  I was standing by a massive construction garbage bin and wasn’t sure if he could see me so I backed up and had to wait a long set of cars to cross.  I could just imagine the headline and the family embarrassment of, “Alfred F. Larcher 2 runs down Alfred F. Larcher 3 with car, no word from Alfred F. Larcher the original.”

So I went to Bakersquare and had a nice meal of Cranberry juice, coffee, a Cuban sandwich on flat bread, buttersquash soup, and a slice of candycane pie.  I love my country, and I love my pie, and with this many meaningless details I understand why nobody reads this.  I got a few stares as I kept my shades on in the booth as I scribbled madly into my notebook.  It’s been a long time since I’ve written pencil on paper watching as my mind comes to life through weird symbols scribed from the lead to the wood.  If you write long enough in pencil it starts to become like watching a cigarette burn.  It’s such a great feeling.  I used to carry a notepad and pens in my pocket but the damn pen would always leak and destroy jeans and sweat pants.  So I moved to click pencils and love them.  My favorite is a green click pencil at Walgreens with the most perfect eraser and lead size.   Jesus Christ am I rambling about nothing today?  You’ll have to forgive me I need this; and I did survive two assignation attempts today: one by a vigilant spider and the other by my own father. 

Anyway before I was attacked by a spider and thrown off on an hour long rambling I was saying how I haven’t just been dwelling in my own sadness. I went to the circus and want to write about that soon. Also  I have been trying to figure out ways to improve football.  It’s a heavy task but it’s about time we took a few measures to make the game more enjoyable.  You see this is the only sport I love it’s lacking in a few areas. 

Big Al’s Rules to Better Football.

1.       All Bears games should be played on Sunday at noon.  The Bears simply play better at noon, and personally I just like still having my afternoon to get ice cream, or drunk.  

2.       More endzone celebration time.  Give these fuckers a good full three minutes to put on a show in that endzone. Bring a band out if they want.  They have 3:00 minutes to get it done. Why the hell not?  If they want to perform on the field they should have the right to perform for us in the endzone. 

3.       Have a few referee crews who are a bit lacks on the rules.  Maybe keep them for Monday night games.
      NO THURSDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL.  God said very clearly football should be played on Sunday and a few games on Monday night to ease the working man back into the week.  Not Thursday night for God’s sake and it always fucks with football pools and fantasy. 

5.       Temperature control in indoor stadiums.  If you have a stadium it’s your home turf and you should be able to play mind games. Nobody should dictate the thermostat in your own home.  Imagine if the Dolphins of Miami marched into Detroit in mid December and Detroit opened all their windows and turned the air conditioning on.  Miami would never see it coming.  It would be great football an indoor ice bowl. 

6.       Guest commentators of local fans.   If Matt Millins fat ass can still call football after pissing in the face of an NFL franchise destroying their very soul anybody should be able to call a game.  Besides I hear better analysis in barrooms then I ever have on the TV.  I want to hear what real football fans have to say and every American should be given a chance to call a football game in their life.  

7.       It’s 2010 can’t we get a GPS in the ball and have the exact yardage measured out.  Golf is fucking ahead of us here.  

Also Fuck’em if they can’t take a joke.


AFL 2010