Rainy Days & Mondays

Growing up in Aloha, OR, the Fall (along with every other time of year) would usually bring copious amounts of rain. Yes, it rains all the time, which "makes everything so beautiful". Don't get me wrong, I happen to like the rain infinitely more than the sunshine. When I'm home in Aloha, I'll see it's raining outside, and immediately give myself a reason to go out, usually to go to one of the 4 amazing coffee shops in my area.

Usually, I would settle on walking up to "Coffee". The little coffee cart, much the size of a trailer on set, was right in the middle of the Safeway (now Big Lots) parking, lot kiddie corner to The Aloha Theatre (now a Vacuum Store).

The cart itself had an awning with a few chairs underneath it and that's where I would usually sit and wonder why places like the theatre had to close. The vacuum store was owned by the father of my grade school bully, Danny Nichols. This made me believe even more that life in my hometown was painfully unfair. I mean, sure the son is not the father, but still, if you have a kid who is an asshole, I think you should have to fix that before you're allowed to sell Hoovers and air filters in the place where I first saw Batman (5 times) and Dick Tracy (7 times).

I'm not really sure how I feel about Big Lots either. I mean, it's kind of a crappy store. It seems to sell stuff that no one needs but makes them think "but it's SO cheap" as they put the ceramic gnome ashtray into the cart and went on their merry way. The same thing happened over at Thiftway, another grocery store by my house. It closed down and it turned into some sort of novelty furniture store. I say novelty because I think the idea was that you buy the furniture, and then paint it or stain it yourself. Apparently this saved money while creating many fun afternoons for dads to yell at their sons because they're "doing it all wrong, just let me do it!" Lucky for me, my dad only made me stain the furniture he built himself. Nevertheless, I'd find a way to not do it quite right. Sure, I was lazy at it, and yes, probably not very good. But then again I had two things going for me, first, I was a kid, second, I truly had NO IDEA what I was doing. I mean really, what kind of work could you expect from a weak kid with a 5th grade education?

Every time I go home, something I love has been taken away from me. "Dad B's Hot Dogs" became "All American Hot Dogs (and Chinese food)" which inevitably became "USA Liquor". I guess in a way, these places grew up with me. Back in the day, I'd eat hot dogs, later I'd acquire a taste for Chinese food, and finally I'd end up realizing the necessity of alcohol to cope with all the changes. I guess I should be thankful that they were just looking out for my best interests, but still, I'm skeptical to say the least.

All the good places would eventually transform into crappy places and all the crappy places would remain untouched. I guess that's capitalism at it's finest. Whichever company makes the most money, and kills off the most nostalgic value, wins.

As I walked back from the coffee cart to my parents house, past the Ace Hardware and the new fancy apartment complexes (FYI around $700 for a 2bd/2bth with free T1 internet access), across Johnson St. where my friend Dimitri lived with his mom. I would have a renewed sense of hope that things would get better for Aloha, that the place I grew up in would not be torn down and annexed by the neighboring towns of Beaverton and Hillsboro. I felt like with Nike and Intel and other technology corporations existing in the area that jobs would be abundant and people could have families and buy houses and raise their kids the same way I was able to be brought up. It made me happy to think about the prospect of things to come.

But mostly, I was just happy it was raining.

Guitars & Sunflowers...a wishlist...

Here's the thing...

On December 12th, 1986, I was in second grade at Beaver Acres Elementary School in Aloha, Oregon. It was a good time, far as I can remember. I was a normal 2nd grader. Days were spent going to school, coming home, making pb&j and watching the Dick Tracy cartoon and the Disney afternoon line-up until my parents got home from work, pretty standard stuff. I didn't have any talent, musically, nor did I have many other interests save for my undying love for Jamie Leslie (my never girlfriend that I loved from 2nd to 6th grade.)

But I was happy, or so I thought...

I brought a big stack of my old papers from grade school back to LA with me from my last trip to Portland. Turns out my writing tells a different tale. One of a young, mediocre horticulturist/rock star wannabe who lived under the roof of a tyrant with a brother and mother who were teetering on the edge of insanity due to boredom. Apparently, even as a youngster, I had a hero complex. I needed to save everyone... including myself.

So, it's December 12th, 1986... a cold Tuesday morning in Aloha, OR. I walk into class, my save-my-family wish list scrawled onto a piece of 6mm Vertical paper.

(Transcribed below just as it was written.)

"I wish I could play the guitar.
Because I want to be a rock star.
And my dad would be proud of me.
guitar."
___________________________

"I wish my sunflower plant would grow
so my mom would have a plant to put in her garnin.
And my brother, my mom, and my dad
would have something to look at.
Sunflower."

Apparently I spent my days in a Hamlet-like state, brooding and plotting ways to make my father love me and save my mom and brother from losing their minds through the use of the most brilliant sunflowers ever known to man. I imagine I'd sit in my room, my model plane on my desk, my collection of rocks to my right, staring up at the ceiling dreaming of how it would all go down.

My skills in guitar would bring tears to my fathers eyes, causing him to say out loud to the others in the audience, "that's my boy up there, that's my boy flawlessly playing 'Stairway.'" My brother and my mother would wake in the morning, throw on their robes and slippers and race to the window to stare lovingly, for the better part of the afternoon, at the sunflowers provided specifically for them, for their happiness.

Well. As it turned out, all the plants I ever tried to grow as a kid died horrible, probably painful, deaths. Also, I didn't learn how to play guitar until 1997, and even to this day my version of "Stairway To Heaven" is much longer than the original 8 minute cut because I have to play it so slow.

I would however find out later on in life that my dad, in fact, did like/respect me, regardless of my lack of skills on the ax. The man never even tried to get me to play guitar, apparently I just thought it would "win him over", when in fact, I had already won him over by being born. My mom however once signed me up for accordion lessons for no good reason. After the first session, I never went back. To this day, I can't believe an accordion teacher made me cry.

But I digress.

In the end, turns out my brother and my mom were fine with not having sunflowers to look at. I think both of them have always been relatively indifferent to the flower itself.

In fact, I'm quite certain my 31 year old brother would still classify flowers as "gay."

Especially the sunflower.

It's Not The Heat, It's The... SHUT UP....

Here's the thing...

It's 2 kajillion degrees outside today. It was 3 kajillion yesterday. And it's going to be 1 kajillion tomorrow. The numbers are different, but the fact is we are dealing with temperatures in the kajillions. The point being, 3 kajillion is the same as 2 kajillion is the same as 1 kajillion. You get the idea.

It's like this roommate I once had. He used to spend a lot of money on a lot of "stuff". One time, he came home with a new surfboard. Now keep in mind, my friend wasn't working at the time and hadn't had a job for a few months and so he should have been spending his money on food and shelter first and foremost.

I asked him, "So, how much did that set you back?" When he told me he had just dropped $1100 on it, I shook my head. Seeing my disdain for his decision, he quickly chimed in, "BUT!!!! But, it was MARKED DOWN from $1900, so I saved $800!!" When I responded that due to his financial situation the $1100 he spent may have well been $11,000, he didn't quite get the point I was trying to make.

The point is... what was my point... oh yeah... the point is, the whole "it's not the heat it's the humidity" thing is ridiculous and a slap in the face. Ok, I get it, humidity is a bitch. But, a kajillion degrees is as uncomfortable as it sounds, regardless of the humidity. I don't care if it's 1 kajillion, or 27 kajillion.

It's like laying down in a fire pit, burning alive, and then someone walks up and says, "welp, at least you don't have someone stepping on your junk at the same time!" Yeah... I guess that's true. But still, while burning, it wouldn't really make a difference

Things could ALWAYS be worse... I believe that. But the heat and I have never really gotten along... so get off my back, I'm a Pacific Northwest kid, what do you want from me?

So who/what am I upset with?

The sun?

Apollo?

People who say "It's not the heat, it's the humidity?"

The answer is D. All of the Above.

The Question of Cake.

Here's the thing...

I've never quite understood the phrase, "have your cake & eat it too."

I'm pretty sure that the original phrase was "you can't eat your cake & have it too." Meaning, you can't eat the cake you have and then still have it afterwards... because it's gone.

If you're sitting around, with a cake, just having it... well... logic would dictate that you most certainly can eat it. So go ahead. It's right there. Eat the cake.

But the order of words gets lost in translation, and we end up switching things around and then we just commit to these new mutant phrases.

It's messed up... because honestly, what's the point of having a cake at all, if you're not going to eat it?

This is the kind of stuff one writes about when they don't have a 9 to 5 and it's 938ºF outside.

Cheers.