Saturday, February 25, 2017

The Sausage Part 2

However, and for whatever reason, the sausage liberated itself is still unclear. Word came to me that a friend of mine, had upon returning home from the festivities, discovered the sausage in his pocket. Then as anyone who finds a strange sausage upon their person would do, he sliced it up and began to enjoy the last familial connection my father had given me. In fact, another friend who was his roommate saw him eating it and yelled "That's Shin's sausage! It's the only thing his dad ever gave him!" 

Shortly thereafter, I had a conversation about this with my brother, still away at school. He had never received his sausage, one can only imagine the psychological implications of this packaged meat slight. He lamented the loss of mine in empathy. To ease the pain of loss, he gave me a replacement sausage as a gift for the holidays.This is the point at which the sausage began to take on the aspect of "tradition".

If we fast forward a year, we find ourselves in a place where I have met my brother's girlfriend for the first time. As an offer of welcome into the family, I re-gifted the sausage to her explaining the gravity of the meat. 

She understood, for 3 years later, as I unwrapped her gift to me, tears of joy rolled down my face as I gazed upon the coveted sausage of bonding.

The Sausage Part 1

Years ago, when I was still able to see youth if I turned around fast enough, I found myself at my parents house for reasons long washed bare by memory. The relationship between my father and I could best be described as granite rubbing against rocks, crumbling loose detritus about us. They were the clenched years. I had been away at school learning about bureaucracy and disappointment.


My allergies, at the time, ravaged me and would often leave my eyes so swollen I would skip classes.  For whatever reason, I chose to tell Dad about this.  Which led to our inevitable clash. "Why aren't you getting allergy shots then?!" "Are you kidding me? I've been bugging you guys to get me allergy shots since I was 12 and your response has always been 'You'll get used to it'!"


I've always found my guitar to be a salve for moments like this and I made use of the Charvette I had left up there. Several hard riffs later my father returned, perhaps realizing he might be in the wrong in this. In each hand he held a peculiar peace offering in the shape of smoked sausages. "Pick one," he suggested. And I did. Turning around he muttered that he would mail the other to my brother, also away at school. (Just to keep this from lingering in your mind, he never did receive a sausage in the mail.)


So I cautiously took the sausage home with me. Home at this point was a big ugly yellow haunted house perched around a bend on Route 1 in East Brunswick. Shared with a chunk of my band and 4 or 5 other people at different times as well as a basset hound that was immune to death. Now, being in a band, and living in a haunted house, the obvious line of thinking is there needed to be a Halloween party. And so it happened.


We didn't really have an understanding of how big this party was going to be until a week before when several housemates called a cab to take them to the bars in New Brunswick. The driver had turned around and said "Hey, aren't you guys having a party next week?" Our response was to put the cab companies phone number on every door in the house.


To give you an idea of how big it was, There were people there from all over New Jersey, and some from New York and even one from Georgia. There were 3 live bands that played til 4-5 in the morning. Bloodmobile, 3 To 6 Inches and Boss Jim Gettys. Some estimates had 300 people inside the house throughout the night, but there was also a party outside that never made it in. Noone was allowed in without a costume. 2 people came dressed as me.We kicked 8 barrels of beer, there was pumpkin punching in the kitchen. There were 23 cars parked on our lawn and down the street. Faces I didn't know thanked me for weeks. I remember one guy falling down a flight of stairs dressed as a zombie....twice. Each time all he had to say was "Brains....brains...". Unfortunately, I have photographic evidence of the cesspool that was our kitchen the following day.


And throughout all this debauchery, the house remained essentially unscathed. The only thing that went missing, was the sausage.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Bete Noire

Recently I dreamed of vampires. It's rare for the undead to visit in my dreams. In fact, it's only been within the past few years that the macabre actually moved from my waking fantasy life to the sleeping one. I use my subconscious zombie apocalypse scenarios to see who I should throw under the bus. It's a nice little crib sheet to have in case of doom. It's no surprise, though, that the majority of people I see on a day to day basis are apparently expendable.

The thing about the few zombie dreams I've had, they are so matter of fact. It's something I don't question, rather it's a puzzle I need to solve. So and so has just become infected, what can I do to keep their lumbering, festering self from infecting me and others around me? Should I build an enclosure from pieces of cubicle wall?

This vampire dream I had, phew, the horror surprised me. Vampires are always such pansies, with their romantic aspirations and questionable existential struggles. In fact, within my dreamscape there was a romance brewing. Not with me, I was an obstacle. I don't know how, but I knew I was in the way. What does that say about the way I view myself? Now for some reason the vampires were British. Not a John Statham British, more of an Eric Idle brit. Just thinking about it now, I can't imagine why I was so filled with potential terror. I don't think it ever really reached actual terror, just that adrenalized frustration of pursuit, knowing that physically I was just no match against the pair of blood suckers. They weren't after my blood. My blood's probably tainted at this point any way. They were after a ring I was wearing. I haven't worn a ring since, well, ever. So what this claptrap was doing wrapped around my finger is a mystery. Also a mystery is why I didn't just toss the damned thing. So there was a girl, who had nothing to do with me, she was merely the intended recipient of my ring, the one ring. To rule them all. Needless to say, I was caught eventually and instead of taking the ring from me, they just ripped my finger off. Boy that was interesting. Somewhere in there, my mind couldn't translate what it must feel like to have a finger just torn right off so I left my body. That's when I realized that for some reason I was British too.

And there you have it. My one nightly encounter with Nosferatu.

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Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Egads! Comcast eats my nuts!

My cherished beloved nuts. Just 13 months ago, I was paying just under $45 a month for Comcast. I was paying $55 for just internet service (which was well worth it since I was paying more than that for shoddy DSL service before that. what a crap.) But they called me (whilst I was over in the Vegas way) and told me they would lower my monthly bills, all I had to do was get basic cable. Wait, says I, you want to give me more service and lower my bills? I thought it had the smell of Scam about it but was assured that if I discovered I didn't want to keep it my service would revert back at no cost. There was no cancellation fee or anything. Balls out! I gave the go ahead. So there I was blissfully immersing myself back into american pop culture. Ten years, sans tv. Boy did I forget how much I hate commercials.

Here, my views of Comcast were highly elevated. I was pleased, nay, elated by the gifts bestowed upon me by the very gods of media......until I had to move. When the day came for me to part ways with the ramshackle hut I previously called a home I called Comcast to move my service. After all they advertised all sorts ease and convenience in my move. I was then told that the service I had up to this point was not Comcast. So even though my checks were made out to Comcast and cashed by Comcast, it wasn't really Comcast at all. In fact to get Comcast, I had to call Comcast up to cancel and then call Comcast (the real Comcast) to get new service. When I asked about the cost, explaining how much I was paying, she literally laughed at me. The best she could do, to match what I was paying is to give me the starter package at $68 a month. So, to switch from Comcast to Comcast, I had to pay an additional $23 a month. Ok, I caved, at this point I was addicted to the damned boob tube already. It wasn't that much and I was fairly certain what I was paying before was a little on the low side. (Skeptically low, if you recall from just a paragraph ago)

It was around this time I learned the awful joys of Comcast service. Each step of the way was a torturous experience. Setting up this fiasco I called Comcast, they in turn transferred me to Comcast, who then transferred me to Comcast, after which I was transferred to Comcast, who sent me back to the original Comcast. I believe this exchange took me 2 hrs of holding, just to set up a date to have someone come over. Seriously, a 15 second conversation that took me hours.

A week before the scheduled date, I come home from work to find a note on my door complaining that I wasn't there for the appointment. I assumed it was a mistake. The next day I found another note stating the same thing and advising me they weren't going to come again until I called. Back to the phones I go....

Once this was fixed, the cable guy came to install my cable. He finished the job within minutes. But then....he had to call it in. They kept him on hold for over an hour. 1/2 an hour in he was flipping out. He explained to me how crappy it was to do work for Comcast because this kind of shit was constant. That doesn't bode well thinks I.

The first thing I noticed was that all 100's of channels did not correspond to the guide that was given me. Add to that, the fact it takes up to 5 seconds to switch from channel to channel made channel surfing an impossibility. I was assured that this would be corrected. (It was, it just took 6 months, at which point I had memorized the wrong pattern already)

In the past year, I had to call for service once, as nothing on my television resembled anything other than little blocks of epileptic colors. This was also not a pleasant experience. And took multiple visits.

Not that long ago, Verizon FIOS came by trying to hawk their wares. I turned them away solely based on my horrid previous experience of transition. But today I got my bill. Apparently my previous monthly bill was an introductory rate. I am now to pay $119 a month for the same damned thing I was paying $45 for 13 months ago. To the same damned company.

In summation, Comcast eats my nuts!! And they will eat yours as well, those squirrely bastards!!

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

damned

the binary gods hate me.

01000110 01010101 binary gods!

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

The Rick

the thing about vanity plates is that i'm not interested in whatever you feel there is about you that you feel you must share with the general public. at least not while i'm stuck behind you in traffic during a sudden snowstorm in october. be it how solid your relationship is by putting both your initials on there, or your occupation, or you ego like "THE RICK", or you sense of humor. but today i was behind a plate that said "RAMRODN" driven by a man that was about 345 yrs old. what's he telling me?