Today Asia opened a massage parlor. At five cents a pop, (a bargain in these uncertain economic times!) her clients were treated to a three part massage. First she measured the width of her client’s back with a “Fat Max” tape measure. Second, a terrycloth bag filled with rotten hard rice was microwaved and placed on her client’s neck/shoulders. Once her client had fully relaxed, she relentlessly jabbed their back with an orange spiky ball.
Her first client reacts negatively to the smell of hot rotten rice. This type of massage is not for everyone.
Her second, and final client gets measured.
Nothing beats a spiky-ball massage. It’s almost as much fun as mowing the lawn.
Two weeks til real food and real cheese. Anyone in Paris need a massage?
On December 31, 1999, with 30 minutes left in the millennium, I found myself frantically crazy-gluing my glasses. They had broken moments earlier when I had been hit by a newspaper ball held together with masking tape. My $700 Sarah Palin frameless/rimless glasses had been purchased a year earlier for $35 at a Taiwan night market. The glue-job worked as advertised, and within minutes I rejoined the dodgeball game in my backyard/courtyard. Down to their last player, my team had suffered badly in my absence. My return, however, turned the raging tide. With unstoppable force I triumphantly picked off six opposing players to win the game, ending perhaps the greatest night of my life. Indeed I have lived a full life.
One year later, I stood by my window, surveying the historic battlefield. I could not help but notice that there were two teenage girls in my backyard/courtyard smoking a fat J. One of the two girls, Sarah, I recognized as a student in my Math class. The next day in class, Sarah announced in a whisper, “Mr. Neill, I peeeeeeeed on your lawn”. So there’s that.
Years of toiling in Pittsburgh have retarded my sartorial sensibilities. This is ill-timed in light of my “move” to Paris. I don’t want to look like a bumbling American, ya know. Not to worry. Bored with learning French, I’ve redirected my energy toward absorbing Parisian fashion. It has come to my attention that Parisian men dress real gay. This is problematic. Not only am I not gay, gaydars tend to clock me in the hopeless/clueless range. So…what to do, what to do. Here’s what: Last week I saw the gayest looking sneakers I’d ever seen. So I bought them! Paris here I come! And yesterday I went to the mall! The mall! I haven’t shopped at a mall in 20 years. I bought Lucky and BKE (Buckle) jeans. Weeeeeee! I mean Ouiiiiiiiiiiii!
In other “news”, I’m not sure what to do about my afro. I know we don’t talk much anymore, but just so you know, I’m three months into a year-long haircut strike. Unfortunately, follicle results appear to be sabotaging my anti-bumbling scheme. So there’s that.
Nothing a little Murray's Pomade can't fix!
I’ve often thought about moving to a shiny preassembled boom-town - Charlotte, NC, Anytown, AZ, but most of all, Austin, TX. What would make me want to live in an oven for 7 months/year? Free babysitting via Zach/Asia’s Aunt and Grandfather! All that changed on January 1, 2009. Here’s how it went down:
Have you ever watched the Dog Whisperer? None of that dog psychology amounts to much in my book, but I do love when that dog dude “walks” his dogs by taking them on a bike-ride. Those mutts get one exhausting workout! And so, Zach and I took our canine for a celebratory New Year’s bike-ride in Austin, TX. Zach, having never experienced the joys of riding bikes on a flat landscape was quick to ditch me. No biggie. The rendezvous point was a park at the end of the trail. It’s not like I wouldn’t be able to find him. Thus I took a longer, alternate route, in hopes of surprising the boy. As the park came into view, I was forced to slow down in order to cross a stream. Scanning the horizon, Zach was nowhere to be seen. In a mild panic, I began to call for him. Just then, fool dog spotted a potential mate, and was off to the races. This caused the leash and my bike chain to have a bad mix-up. Down I went. As I called for Zach while untangling the chain/leash, doggie upped the ante by shitting several feet from a white-trash family frolicking in the stream. Out for a holiday stroll, another family appeared. As they walked by, the dad looked at me, shook his head, and said to his kids, “Humph. Too much going on.” It was at that moment that I decided to live out the remainder of my days in Pittsburgh.
Unrelated, but this song makes me want to bake and eat a fluffy pink cake.
Well, there goes another weekend. Here’s what I have to show for my efforts:
- I taught Zach how to play Texas hold ‘em. The old lady wanted in on the action, so the three of us gambled the night away. Zach won.
- I ate vegan sausages. It’s not a product I can endorse, worse perhaps than turkey bacon. How does one make turkey bacon taste less awful? Cook it in bacon grease.
- I attended my first dance. Ever. Check out my date:
February 25th,2009 |
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People always be asking me if I’m gonna load up on Parisian museums. As the Puerto Rican kids used to say, hells no. Museums bore me and make my legs achy. Sort of like when your girlfriend/wife shops for clothes while you mindlessly trudge forward, guiding the cart like a broken ox. Not that I would know.
Worthy of achy legs:
- The blurry impressionist stuff at Chicago’s Art Institute.
- The shrunken heads at Chicago’s Field Museum. I hadn’t seen them since I was a boy, so a few years back I dropped in on them. No luck. I was informed that the heads have been in storage for 20+ years because “they’re not very PC”. Nice job with that.
Today, for no good reason I dragged Shut-in to the Andy Warhol Museum. *Yawn*. Stripped of his aura and hype, little of Andy’s work warranted attention. The highlight of the trip was a Cuban sandwich from the basement cafe. Yumzies!
Fun fact #1: In college I tried to switch my major to Art. I was told that my grades were too low, and that I’d have to stick with Math. Fun fact #2: Shut-in has an Art degree, and he agreed that Mr. Warhol was a lame.
In other “news”, yesterday Zach and I danced to this song. Afterwards we listened/sang along 6 more times while clearing furniture and playing living room hockey. Aside from the potential “losing teeth” aspect of the game, living room hockey is maximum father/son fun.
February 14th,2009 |
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This was the last photo taken before it all went wrong. While we may have colored outside the lines from time to time, we were essentially a happy family.
At 2:35 pm yesterday, disaster hit. I turned into one of “those” parents. You’ve seen them, monsters who coach scream at their kids while their children try to have fun playing sports. Sure, Zach may have been grossly out of position (right wing) on every play, but seriously, who cares? Tonight I am filled with shame, and my vocal chords are ripped to shreds. I vow to return to my old ways.
February 13th,2009 |
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I am plagued by loose ends, things that don’t “add up”. In my spare time I could be bettering myself. Instead I daydream about confusing events. I have perhaps hundreds in my brain queue. Some take years to resolve. Here’s an oldie that continues to drain grey matter:
My 8th grade English teacher gave our class a public speaking assignment. In this class sat Ron Friedman, a tall, lanky, Jewish boy. He was reported to have had an IQ in the stratosphere, a “gifted” child. When his turn rolled around, Ron enthusiastically delivered a speech entitled Why marijuana should be legalized. At the close of his speech, Ron passed around a pipe and a sizeable bag of pot. Making their way around the room, the goods eventually came to rest on Mr. Clancy’s desk. Old man Clancy opened the bag, took a whiff, and called security. Ron received a two week suspension.
I’ve thought about this for 26 years. What was Ron Friedman thinking? What was he trying to pull? The story fails to add up.
February 10th,2009 |
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I’m not too cool for this sort of thing. Mr. Neill’s Facebook list of 25 random facts:
- In 9th grade I had a paper route. Each morning I’d wake up several minutes later. This drove my mom nuts, causing her to wake up several minutes earlier to “help out”. Eventually she was doing the entire route. This ended early one winter morning when she slipped on a patch of ice and broke her wrist.
- It took me 7 1/2 years to finish my undergraduate degree. Never at any point did I doubt I would finish.
- If I knew how to put my feelings into words, I would blog every day.
- I always wanted to be a teacher. I’m excited about teaching again this Fall.
- I averaged 2-3 drinks a year up until I was 30.
- For all my beer snobbery, I still only drink 2-3 beers a week.
- I have a nephew 6 months older than me. We’ve met just twice. He’s a better looking, more confidant version of me. We’re both 6′6″.
- I used to collect stamps, autographs, and baseball cards. I regret having disposed of them. All three were amazing collections.
- I was the youngest of 7 kids. There is a 10 year gap between #6 and myself. I was raised kind of like a grandchild.
- I’ve played in two bands. In each band I was the weakest link. But I can (still) write catchy pop hooks.
- I’ve grown to love Pittsburgh. I wish my mom knew I lived here. She spent the first 18 years of her life in Pittsburgh, and loved this city. She died a year before I moved here.
- During college, my best friend and I would race our Datsun 240Z’s 100-140 mph on Chicago’s highways, on a daily basis.
- Because of the wear and tear, I would replace the alternator and/or water pump every month.
- I once spent a month riding a train around the U.S. The following year I spent a month in Europe. A year later I spent a month in the Far East. This summer…well you know what I’m doing this summer!
- I once had my heart broken. I couldn’t eat for weeks.
- A few weeks ago I figured out how to play drums. Nothing beyond the basics, but still…I could probably play that Twisted Sister song!
- By the time I finish cooking and cleaning, I’m too tired to entertain my guests.
- I can juggle four balls while standing on a basketball, I can balance all sorts of things on my chin, and I can ride a unicycle. No, I never wanted to join the circus.
- I can keep a hackeysack from touching the ground for so long, that you would get bored watching me.
- I’ve been knocked out in a boxing match.
- I once quit my job and spent a year studying the bible.
- I once scored a 3% on a Physics test. One day I’m going to retake that class…that stuff seems simple now. Not everything makes sense when you’re 19.
- Twenty years ago, my girlfriend and I were thinking about getting married and moving to Nashville. We drove down and began to wilt. I asked a stranger if it was usually that hot. “No”, he said, “It’s usually hotter”. On the drive home, we called it quits. Unfortunately so did my Datsun 240Z. That was the last time I saw either the girl or the car.
- I once accidentally started a riot. A real one, with dozens of arrests.
- My ex-band once played at a basement party on Chicago’s deep south side. We were told, “If people start fighting, keep playing. If they start shooting, stop.” Seconds after we finished our set, 30 cops with guns drawn kicked down the door.
Four things.
- I lost my temper today. It happens every few years. I was repeating French gibberish while washing dishes and listening to my language CDs. Those CDs foul my mood. A plastic mixing bowl tried to get funny by repeatedly falling off the clean rack into the dirty muck. After three falls I grabbed the bowl and slammed it down. Not to be outdone, the bowl jumped into the air and landed on my head. So there’s that.
- Utility pole climber. Add that to a growing list of viable career options for Asia.
- Yesterday I took the kids roller skating. Weak pop music sounds totally badass in a roller rink.
- I booked the Paris flights and apartment. We’ll stay here for 4 1/2 weeks. See, I’m not all talk.
