Someone get this kid a leash!

i have been blessed with a remarkable memory. sometimes, when talking to my mom, i'll bring up someone i remember holding me when i was little and usually it's someone who only held me before i was a year old. one of those memories was that of my great-grandpa winker.

i told her i remembered him holding me on the front porch of the house. i remember reaching out to touch his wrinkles because at the time he was the oldest thing i'd ever seen. though i didn't really comprehend what that meant. so he was actually the wrinkliest person i knew. which is impressive since i mostly knew babies. and they all look like crying balls.

since a very early age i've been a toucher. i feel the need to touch, or pick something off of, everything i walk past. walls, fences, leaves, flowers...cheek wrinkles. i remember being so fascinated by his face. needless to say, had to touch it. and he let me. i just remember him being gentle and kind looking. i remember his voice as something almost tangible. rattly and rather high pitched from age. not unlike marbles rolling down a corrugated metal tube. that was my first interaction with him. i know there were more in the few years following but my world was getting bigger and there were more things to touch and i could get to them unaided now so i'm sure some people contact was forgotten in the toddler to pre-k blur.

but i remember clearly going to visit him in the hospital shortly before he died. i went with my mom and dad. great-grandpa winker was in a hospital bed. i remember being puzzled as i had a clear idea of what he was supposed to look like. and this wasn't it. i remember the smells. sterility and flowers. that's how i remember it now. though, i wouldn't have been able to put it to words then. it probably would have smelled like my finger because i could often be found with it knuckle deep in nostrile land. THERE'S GOLD IN THEM THERE HOLES! but i digest. anyhoo. my mom was sitting next to him and i was standing next to my dad. i couldn't stop staring. he caught my eye and held out his hand and i walked over to him. i remember him saying things to me but i couldn't remember what the words were. maybe he didn't say anything. who knows. i just stared at his hands. i had never seen hands like that before. i had never seen hands that translucent before. so boney. i remember softly pinching a little of his skin. and looking at my own hands and at that point wondering how many thousands of years it would take my hands to look like that. at that age the future was measured in millenia. and parsecs (as i'd just seen star wars for the first time.)

well, we eventually left the nursing home/hospital and i instanly tried to distract myself from the experience with literally anything else at all. it wasn't that i was afraid. i was just in sensory overload. probably ran around my grandparent's house for a while. buried, broke and set afire my inheritance aka star wars figures that could have probably netted me at least a couple semester's tuition.

. oh, yeah. funeral. here we go. so, shortly after that he died of a stroke. and his funeral was at the catholic church in carroll iowa. where my mom grew up. where her parents both grew up. blocks away from the house where her dad would later die in the exact same room he was born in. it was that kind of town. i had never been around that many old people in my life. i remember on the way into the church they have, which i was soon to find out were little wall basins with wet sponges in them and everyone that walked in touched the sponge and crossed themselves for the virgin mary. me? shit. i thought it was just some weird catholic drinking fountain. so, what did i do? well, i walked right up to that sumbitch and grabbed that sponge of "holy water", put it in my mouth and sucked some of that water out. i remember thinking that i hated catholic water fountains. that thought lasted only long a second as my mother's fingernails dug into my arm and my grandmother, looking half amused and half horrified quickly put the sponge back in the sacred basin or whatever. and i was ushered, by the collar, into the church for the viewing.

as i walked up to the casket i remember never having been around so many old people in my life. and, as my eyes were about waste high, or hung knuckle high, if you prefer, i noticed that all of their hands were like my great grandfather's. i jammed my hands in my pockets as hard as i could to try and curb my temptation to touch all of them. i figured that might be a good move, considering the whole sponge of god debacle from just minutes/hours? before. who could tell at that point? i got to the casket before my parents did but couldn't see in so i waited for them to reach me and lift me up for a view. i looked down at him in there and it was so surreal. his wrinkles were pretty much gone and his hands looked like regular hands. i was dumbfounded. i was about to reach out but then, presumably for the first time in my life, exercised restraint. i actually asked if i could touch his hands. permission was granted and a-touchin' i went.


the reason i thought about any of this is because a girl i dated a few years ago one day, exasperatedly asked me if i must touch EVERYTHING?! of course i did, i replied. been a toucher/destroyer since a very early age. to which she mockingly yelled out to no one in particular. "someone get this kid a leash!"

Cranial Bondo

last spring, while living in the SOMA district of san francisco, i took advantage of the twice weekly civic center farmers market. stealthily dodging the fresh fruits to make my way to some recently picked opposite-of-vegetables. too soon? anyhoo. on one particular morning i'm making my way across market street at the corner of 7th, when the man seen in the picture walked past me. he was black dude, i would venture to guess, in his late 50's/early 60's. with gray tufts of afro-curled hair jutting out of a hair piece that looks like he scalped a migrant worker. so, naturally, i about face in the middle of the street and get my follow on. i stand next to him at the crosswalk and act like i'm about to make a call, wait for him to turn, and GOTCHA!

now, while that may be kinda hilarious, it really kind of got me thinking about the things we do to compensate for things that we're insecure about. how, a lot of the time, the methods by which we distract others from our imperfections actually draw way more attention to those things than we ever thought. i look at this picture from time to time and wonder what brought this man to where he is today. where it seems his only possessions are the clothes on his back, the dirt on permanent vacation in the wrinkles on his weathered face, and some asshole with a camera chasing him across the street to take a picture to show the world.

honestly, who the fuck am i?! ya wanna know? well, here's my shitty wig. i'm a shy, scatter-brained, insecure, self-medicating, hopeful but pragmatic, self-effacing turd. and i make up for this by being loud and trying to make people laugh because it's honestly the only thing i think i'm good at sometimes.

but, seriously. did you see the shit outta that dude's hairpiece? HA!

something to look forward to

have you ever been in that situation when someone says that they saw someone who reminded them of you and then when you finally see who they are talking about you just don't see it? of course you have. everyone has. and you usually want to punch them in the face for the comparison. "i do NOT look like soupy sales, you confounding jack hole!" or the like.

cut to---san francisco. this past march. so, i'm working with a couple of russian dudes, repairing payment devices for public buses. at the little workbench next to me is where andriy works. most of the time andriy has his iphone on (because who wouldn't?) and watches ukrainian hip-hop videos. and most of his conversations are about souped up audi's and hilariously accented "that's what she said" jokes. anyway, one particular day he was playing that hilarious "tro lo lo lo" video that was so popular last year. some old eastern european guy singing a song that had no real words. and when you watch videos on youtube it has related videos that play right after yours is done. and, well. this was the video...







i happened to peer over his shoulder when i heard the silly intro music. now, i'm a sucker for some old fashioned eastern european folk music. but, man. once the chorus hit i was completely unprepared for it. out of nowhere comes this dude with a beard in a snappy brown suit who not only looks like me in say, 20 years or so, but holy shit, dances just.like.me. i'm not even joking. that dance is my catch all dance. the "hurry up, i'm bored" dance. the "wahoo! this is great dance" and e'er the tween shall meet. i mean, i've never in my life experienced something like this. it was like looking into my future by looking backwards...and to the left. i think. my navigational skills aren't what they used to be. as soon as i got home that day i sent the link to my mom. SHE even freaked out. "jacob! it's so uncanny!"

i mean, it's not a bad thing. at least i know i can pull off a brown suit and tie if'ns i want to.
and just to prove i ain't jokin'.


after posting it online and getting pretty much unanimous feedback as to the similarities i decided that upon my next trip to atlanta, i would commemorate it with a tattoo.


one of my best friends and favorite tattoo artists, loki shane defriece, rocked this bad boy out in a little over an hour.

and now, if anyone here still thinks i'm cool, you've not been paying attention. go read a book or something.

honestly, it doesn't get any easier.

i saw this kid doing this. for a really long time. in front of a bunch of people. who laughed quietly as to not disturb him. he just kept rocking back and forth on top of his skateboard...on top of a chain. it was kind of hypnotic. like a fat kid on top of his skateboard. on top of a chain. i'm guessing "confused kid boner". it's a horrible age to be a boy. new and strange things are happening to your body and you don't know why. you only know it feels better when you mash it up against something firm. you have no idea what to do with it or how to make it go away. it's completely maddening. if only he knew it was just going to lead him straight into more confusion. some days you just kinda give up. which is my theory here.

after a while the kid's dad noticed he kind of had an audience of lot-sauced a-holes, and promptly scooped him up. i must make clear that i didn't actually think about this theory until today. that particular day i just happened to act like i was throwing something in the trash can near this kid and snapped the picture with my phone. hi, i'm a dickhead. anyhoo, that's that. catch you on the flippity floppity.

My Friend Shawn Was A Real Pain In The Ass

so, for those of you who don't know, in november of last year i lost a dear friend to suicide. shawn murphy was cool. a friend to all. a mad genius in the art of hooch. a damn gold mine of cinematic knowledge. and just a funny, cranky old bastard.
he was an asshole. but he was our asshole.

i had just left atlanta for florida for work when i got the news. devastated doesn't begin to describe that feeling. especially when you're so far away from all your friends who knew and loved him, too. to be alone when that kind of news is dropped on you is really a strange feeling. just a sick to your stomach feeling, trying to fight back tears in a bar where no one knows you enough to really give a shit that you're hurting. and knowing that i couldn't be there for my friends who were dealing with the same grief. which leads me to this particular picture.

shawn's memorial service was scheduled for roughly a month after his death. at which point i was home in iowa visiting my folks for a brief stint before i headed back on the road for work.
it was held at the historic plaza theater in atlanta where many of us who were close to shawn had spent many a night watching movies after hours, attending all the spook shows and splatter cinema nights. and the service was being broadcast via streaming video on the internet. that way i could attend from the privacy of my parent's basement. pretty neat.

so, the morning of the memorial arrived. and, up to that point i had not shed a tear over his death. not because i wasn't sad. far from it. i think i was just numb. i've lost well over a dozen people close to me in my life just to suicide. anyhoo, i woke up that sunday morning with the intention of heading straight to the grocery store to pick up a bottle of whiskey to drink while i watched the event. lord knows i wouldn't be the only one. but when i woke up something felt wrong. literally. wouldn't you know it, out of nowhere, yep. i got hemorrhoids. "are you fucking KIDDING ME?!" i yelled out. of course. why wouldn't the day i have to officially say goodbye to someone, who so prided himself with being a pain in the ass, be the day my insides decide to try and make balloon animals out of my blood vessels. FML. as i slipped on my slippers and put on my hoodie to make my whiskey run i began to laugh, thinking about how much shawn would have loved this story. by the time i got to my car the laughter had turned to tears. this was going to be one of the things i missed most about shawn. the cackling laughter at the stories of pure and unadulterated misfortune. i could almost hear it.

so i walked into the hy-vee store in ames, iowa, wiping away tears every 10 seconds or so. greeted by casually concerned stares. i made my way first to the liquor department and got my bottle of jim beam. yes, on a sunday. thank you, iowa. then on to the pharmacy section for my prep H. by that time i wasn't trying to hide the tears anymore. or the laughter. i had to look like a bonafide crazy person. a pajama wearing, laugh/crying, bearded yahoo buying liquor and hemorrhoid cream. the cashier tried saying something cute like, "whoa, rough night?" to which i just replied, "fuck you, kid." and promptly threw a 2o dollar bill at him and promptly walked out with my purchase. change be damned. got back in my car and just sat there and had my first cathartic full-on sob fest for the loss of my friend.

dammit, professor. i miss you, brother. atlanta won't be the same without you. but i know somewhere you were laughin' heartily at my horrible day. i would have been, too.
but you're a dickhead for leaving us the way you did. thanks for reminding me that you were a pain in the ass. jerk.

so, this little blog is for all of my friends and family in atlanta who knew and loved shawn "the professor" murphy. hope this brightens your day a little bit. it's worth the discomfort if it makes any of y'all smile a little about this whole mess.

i love you guys.

destination: not kansas

It was january 2007 and all my friends were a bustle to pull off a rad surprise party for our friend jim stacy. for those of you who don't know him, jim is damn national treasure. a wealth of knowledge on just about any subject you can conjure up. and a gentle giant, standing damn near 6'8" with a giant red beard. and if you're half way worth a shit in the city of atlanta you know and love this man. so the story goes that he's had a recurring dream for years that on his birthday a monkey, wearing a diaper, greets him at the door and holds onto his pinky and leads him over to a throne and sits in his lap. so we had a real life monkey all lined up for this momentous occasion. it was gonna be the best damn birthday he ever had. like the make a wish foundation with a serious twitch. anyhoo, the night before the big day we got some bad news. the monkey's sibling, whom it had never been apart from, had taken ill. thus, our monkey was forced to cancel its appearance. here's where shit gets rad. that night i get a phone call explaining the situation. as they conclude with the explanation there's a pause and i hear, "so, i guess i was wondering if we could dress you up like a monkey and have you greet jim at the door and lead him to his throne by his pinky." i, in turn, congratulated them on asking me the stupidest question i'd ever heard. the next day i showed up to the gallery where the party was goin' down and a friend, who does professional movie make-up, dress me up like a monkey of sorts. he even brought a fez and a shriner's jacket. i wound up looking like a one of the flying monkeys from wizard of oz but with a pituitary disorder. so, 5:00pm rolls around and the door opens and i jump out and run around like a monkey and lead jim to his throne as everyone sings happy birthday. we may not have pulled off the real monkey, but damn was i proud to be able to be a part of that day. it was worth the cold i got from runnin' around in a diaper in the middle of january.

until next time, kiddos.

i got a fever...

this past summer i went home to visit my folks in ames, iowa. while i was there we were hit by major flooding. without clean water for several days. which, in the grand scheme of things, ain't shit. but there was massive flood damage to businesses and homes and many people were displaced. during this time i decided to get a temp job doing flood clean up. the place where i was assigned was the unfortunately located and lazily named, riverside nursing home. the water had come up so fast that it blasted out a nearly foot thick wall and filled the basement with a vile river sludge five feet high. it was insane. luckily i have a beard. i say this because i was one of the only goons not assigned to shovel the basement, as my respirator couldn't seal tight to my face and therefor i would have been breathing in some inhuman stench. anyhoot. my assignment was various cleaning on the residential level. one particular day (of the entire month we all spent there) i was disinfecting a room and noticed something hanging off the side of one of the hospital beds that made me laugh. dangling from a rubber cord was a silver cowbell. so i snapped a picture and sent it to a bunch of friends via text message with the following phrase "you know what this bed needs? more cowbell. fever: cured" a la the old "more cowbell" saturday night live blue oyster cult sketch. which brings up a funny side note. back in the summer of 2006 i happened to see blue oyster cult in atlanta. and, as you might have guessed, people brought cowbells. but did they wait until "don't fear the reaper"? hell no. it was probably only about 10 or 15 that actually showed up with them but it sounded like 3/4 of the audience had them at the time. every song. the entire song. 500 assholes with cowbells. donk! donk! donk! donk! donk! there was nothing not hilarious about it. oh well, they seemed to be good sports about it. i mean, i'm pretty sure they had a spike in album sales due to the sketch anyway. no such thing as bad publicity, i suppose. DONK!