Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything … 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs … damned humans.
Author: Stephen J Frankenberry
Just some guy in a Pirates hat, couple'o cats and this spot
I got a bit melancholy tonight as I thought of younger days in my made excuse to hit the pharmacy on my way home for a third time in three days claiming old and having forgotten something the first two times around. The melancholy? The pretty girl at the Walgreens pharmacy. An unintentional intentional forgetting I guess.
I had been there twice in two days, for legitimate reason, the first to the refill of the relatively recent prescription I have of the smallest of pills that are now old man necessary in the largest of ways to keep the blood pressure on keel and then the second, the next day (after I had forgotten to get it all done in one) to a refill of the other pills that I am life tied to now after having discovered an adrenal deficiency that landed me in some hospital shuffling nine days sock footed sliding slippers shimmy swipe dance with nurses and visiting doctors and pudding (or jello) seven years ago.
But the melancholy came from this third day where I told myself I had to, with ulterior motive, go back and grab some Pepto that I had forgotten to pick up on either day to try and hold off the eventual nights where my heartburn or something of the sort keeps sleep at bay and has become quite a bother. I also thought to maybe pick up anything else for appearances sake in case my obviousness of a single item was noticed, paper towels would work I said to myself, yeah, maybe even some TP and Tums and …
I stepped up to the pharmacy counter, sorta fake purchase in hand, hoping to finally have a sec after the first two trips netted only her coworker and his remarkable beard and perfect quaff of hair above it.
She (a day three reason) immediately recognized and checked the alphabet drawer boxes under “F” for a bag around all the others in an overstuffed pharmacy library (so many people, so many ailments) without me asking.
She gave me a “???” look.
“Ok, sorry, nothing to check for me there right now, I’m all medicined reminded old dude good” I said “I just thought I could pretend that I am checking on prescriptions so I could ring my things up here instead of that line up front that is about a dozen people long, including at least two older women maybe getting ready to pay with a check.”
“Sure, only for you” she said with a laugh and a fetching smile.
I suddenly found myself being young again and talking to a pretty girl and remembering when I would have done such or do such now, usually pretty awkwardly after a maybe initial burst of confidence.
I let her know that her new dark color wave of whispy long flowing shoulder falling hair was a great look and sans glasses too, working even better simply for the change of it, which it did, does.
“You noticed?”
Any guy who has missed this is an idiot.
“Well yeah, of course” I said “been meaning to point it out (been dying to) but I just haven’t had chance to be at the counter with you to tell you so”
She smiled a million dollars.
Now, I have long ago given up such things, appealing to pretty girls like I were young again knowing that I have really nothing to offer now, I am broken, old, have suitcases of shit, history under my eyes, have very particular single habits, I have vices, I have broken myself almost intentionally after too many reasons to break, my breath is hard fought these days, I am out of shape, I am a single dude with two cats (formerly so many missed more) and whatever sad cliché that might imply my care of such worries put to the wayside for times to write of things just like this, but she smiled those million dollars and for just that one moment I was not my aged age any longer and I was reminded that she would have been just the one who I would have awkwardly tried to grab the attention of back when. The pretty girl who would have caught my eye and maybe a me hers if I were so lucky.
And that was it, though I will have to refill my stay alives in another month or maybe even go through paper towels and TP waaaay faster than any single guy should.
As I made my way onto Route 9 the other morning heading into work I hit my right turn signal to change lanes to the inside one. 6 miles later, readying to make a right OFF of Route 9 I looked down and said to myself “Wow, my turn signal’s already on, how convenient is that?”
Yep, another check in the “old man” column of the Steve ledger.
Driving for 6 miles with your turn signal on – check!
The only thing I was missing was a Tom Landry looking fedora and Midwest plates.
Now I realize this isn’t as bad as, say, being on an interstate with a blinker on for dozens and dozens of miles or more while your wife reminds you that the next rest stop isn’t going to be for another 47 miles if you don’t stop at this one and then repeats such for all the rest stops still to come just with different distances to the next but still, it starts somewhere.
And it seems that this side of the ledger is filling with checks a little faster than the other, the “almost 60 is the new whatever lesser age ain’t almost 60” column.
I noted, not too long ago, in a post here that for some reason I have these two bits that keep popping up having been recently viewed. A one from back in October of 2019, “A Nonexistent Trickle and Snake Oil For Sale in Aisle Six” a little non descript though cool thing that has just short of 30 views, but views that are stretched over 4 years now and “Angel of Death: End Of Days, Route 9, Poughkeepsie???” a better post that is one of my most viewed from April of last year about seeing the Angel of Death in the middle route 9 Poughkeepsie (some dude dressed as the Grim Reaper holding an hourglass).
No idea how these two particular posts have come to be a sort of “go to” but hell, I ain’t complainin’ on things being noticed.
Anyway I did me a read of the ‘Angel of Death” post a few months later.
So now a So Then Sunday.
(and a guy dressed as the Grim Reaper holding an hourglass in the middle of route 9 led to this …)
So I saw the Angel of Death tonight … on Route 9 in Poughkeepsie standing on the median between the North and South triple lanes, at a traffic light, near a T.G.I. Friday’s and a Mattress Firm and across from a new specialty soap shop, a new Sleep Number Bed place and a convenience store among a number of other spots.
Tall guy dressed as you might expect of an Angel of Death/Grim Reaper type. Long black robe, oversized hood and he was pointing at things, menacingly, possibly specialty soaps and he seemed like he might even have been yelling though I couldn’t really hear as I passed him amid that damned rock n roll I was playing too loudly on a nice sunny almost Spring evening, finally, one you surely wouldn’t expect the end of days to arrive on, at least you’d hope not, though I’m afraid my Mom might feel vindicated now all these years later of her worries of, when I was younger, while I was playing that damned rock and roll too loudly back then as well and cutting up perfectly good heavy metal band concert T-shirts to have her sew them on the back of denim jackets, that some might think the end of days would sneak up on me because I wouldn’t hear it/them coming.
The only thing out of the ordinary for this particular Angel of Death though was that he was carrying an hourglass. Not that Angels of Death don’t sometimes carry hourglasses, they do, I’ve seen artist renderings, some pretty cool artist renderings as a matter of fact, but this was in lieu of the tall, sharp, pointy, violent looking scythe’s we’ve more come to expect in a clichéd Angel of Death kinda way which, truth be told, is probably for the best in this day and age that that wasn’t what he was carrying.
Tall, sharp, pointy violent looking clichéd scythe’s? Yeah, that’ll getcha noticed, and not in a good way, and possibly even get ya tased or worse. Hourglass? Much less threatening.
I did though think, if I could have, that I would have politely pointed out that this hourglass of his was a little small, not really of a size befitting his stature or one to really get him noticed in the middle of a busy roadway here in Poughkeepsie, and right at the height of an evening rush hour with people being lost in thoughts of get homes and dinners and dog walkings and sweatpants and checkings in on that show that you’re pretty sure your better half cheated on and watched the next episode of without you, again, and conversations/angers left open ended the night before.
I would have pointed out that he needed something a bit more dramatic, more theatrical, something oversized to really catch that thought lost eye. The hourglass he had was, well, a little on the Spinal Tappy Stonehenge side but with him being the Angel of Death an all, I would have been as deferential and as delicate as I could with this observation (plus, he most probably still had that clichéd scythe somewhere in reserve – and that shit looks like it would hurt … a lot, like in a death kind of way).
Now was there any reason, I thought, any significance to this specific spot of his as I drove past? I don’t know. Was this where the thunders and the lightnings, the great fires or floods, or great fires followed by floods to drown out great fires making people tread water in floaties the only thing they had on hand, damn the children, the pestilences and rivers of blood were newly ordained to happen, or was he just waiting on a pick up order from that T.G.I. Friday’s and doing what Angels of Death do to pass the time, what little time may be left?
Had he been maybe having some trouble sleeping recently (certainly possible as carrying the weight of his message has gotta be a heavy sleepless nights kinda burden) thus reason to be in between a Mattress Firm and a Sleep Number Bed store or was he really pointing menacingly at specialty soaps, a could be 21st century haven of witchcraft with all the witch-like curatives some of the soaps and maybe oils and creams inside can surely promise … plus Hell, you know there’s gotta be a crystal or two hanging in there somewhere right? Or maybe he was just waiting to cross the highway way to get to the convenience store for a pack of smokes thinking to his Death self, well, if I’m bringing word of the end of the world to the peoples, I might as well smoke up while I can.
I don’t know. Whatever the reason was for that location or whatever the reason wasn’t, all I really thought on my way home after passing this Angel of Death fella with his too small hourglass (you just need a big black sports hearse car to compensate my not friend) was “listen, if this is it tonight big guy, if this is the end of days, after you’ve possibly picked up your order at T.G.I. Friday’s could you …
“Hi, can I help you sir?”
“I’m here for a pick-up”
“Your name?”
“Angel”
“Angel? Hold on … hmmm, hmmm, hold on a sec, I’m sorry I’m not seeing that here for our pick-up orders right now”
“You sure … nothing under the name Angel? With an A?”
“I can spell Angel sir, thank you, and sorry, but no … could you have ordered under a different name?”
“Oh wait, you know what, I may have. Do you have one under the name Death?”
“Death … Death … Death … sorry busy night … hold on … oh, here we go … Death … burger, blood rare, locusts, frogs, extra cheese, fries and the apple cobbler dessert special?”
“Yep, that’s me. Sorry, I don’t usually use my last name, way too formal and can be a little off-putting”
“No worries Sir. Let me get that for you, Oh, and by the way? Cool hood”
“Oh, well thank you so very much”
“I would say though, if you don’t mind a little constructive criticism, that you get a slightly larger hourglass”
… and could you, after you’ve put a deposit down on a new bed …
“You’ll be so happy you chose our little slice of sleep heaven … (stop short silent stare) … sorry, my bad … probably not the best of selling points for you I’m thinking now … you’ll be so happy you chose our bed Mr. Death instead of something that feels like a bed of nails like from those sleep hacks across the street …”
“They have something that feels like a bed of nails?”
“What?”
“Bed of nails, those sleep hacks across the street have something that feels like a bed of nails?”
“Ummm, well yeah, that’s what we say … Ok, but hold on, I got ya. If you’d like, Jimmy, one of our delivery drivers, works at a small local hardware store and I’m sure we could throw in a bag of nails, support small business right, that you can toss on the bed, like scattering rose petals for you and the Missus …”
“There’s no Missus … I’m Death. It would make holiday family get togethers very uncomfortable.”
“Ok, well, bag of nails just for you it is then”
… and then after checking in on potential modern day witches …
“Do you have a soap or some oils that can just ease some tension, possibly transport me away to a better place? I think I’ve seen a commercial like that … a place like … HELL!”
“ummmm, Ok then, well?”
“Gotcha! I saw ya glancing over at that crystal … witch”…
… and after you’ve a grabbed a smoke outside the Exxon while you’re getting yelled at for your loitering could you at least let me feed the cats and have my dinner and maybe clean a litter box or two? I would SO hate to have to face the end of days, you know, the rapture or something, even if you all do the rapture, I’m not sure, or some sort of reckoning, with messy litter boxes and on an empty stomach.
“Will do”
Thanks.
Alright Bella, alright Ms Cricket … Last Fancy Feast “Savory Centers”
Eat up quickly girls, I don’t know what kind of deadline he might be facin’.
I got a phone call last night from my old boss at Spectrum Sports, a reminder of our past Friday Night High School football games, a dear friend and the director of those games. He was feeling a bit melancholy for the old days where a Friday night at this time of year was me walking the sidelines with a parabolic mic and he directing a crew’s live broadcast of whoever was our game of the week. I won’t go into the why why’s that that is no longer the case as it would just piss me off but I suddenly felt the same melancholy.
Now, I don’t get out of the house much, intentionally, I don’t really see the lure, not even on a Friday, the penultimate day right? I got cats and this Attic blog spot for company with plenty to say in it but I do miss those games, miss having an actual reason to go and hang out with the coolest of crews, and especially to just enjoy Fall as nothing speaks “Fall” more than High School Football Fridays.
So a re-post then of something of mine from back in the Fall of 2019, one of my favorite posts about those Football Fridays.
Cheers Greg.
September 23, 2019
I know it’s only Saturday evening but I’m calling it, calling it a weekend. I mean unless something extraordinary happens to me in my apartment between now and tomorrow night like one of my gang suddenly starting to speak and threatening to expose the shit that “only the cat saw”, aliens finally deciding that I should come along for the ride (please, no probing, at least not there) or the radiation from a meteor that lands in the backyard transforming me into a superhero with probably suspect abilities then this weekend’s story is done.
Now you can have the Cliffs Notes version or the extended one (But hey? Aren’t you aiming for us to read both? … shut up smart ass).
Cliffs Notes:
– Did another High School Football game last night, this time in Guilderland (upstate NY), a place that sounds almost mythical until you drive by about 300 strip malls and shopping plaza’s in the 4 miles from the Thruway exit.
– Ask the question of how far would you drive for free pizza and notice, while you’re eating it, a crapload of trails in the sky. Note that chemtrail conspiracy theorists were probably peeing themselves at the sight.
– Enjoy the hell out of the latest football game and the ref who seemed a bit Will Ferrell in his seriousness leaving you to wonder where he kept his cowbell.
– Also enjoy the hell out of the group of kids from Guilderland who form the plugged in pep band in tune with the student “Red Wave” section of the crowd. Mention to the really nice woman in charge of the band, who you remember from last year’s game and remembers you, how it would be fun if the student section changed up some of the typical football crowd chants.
– Try not to make eye contact with the three kids at your McDonald’s stop, before your ride home with BB, who are starting to animatedly grouse loudly about the wait time knowing that it’s just not a conversation you want to get into with Mama Bear and the flamboyants.
– Tell Celie to “shussshh” when she says don’t worry about folding her stuff that’s in the dryer letting her know that, as domestic chores goes, you don’t mind doing laundry, you just don’t do socks or the flimsies. No, they just get lumped in a pile on top.
– Get knocked out of a fantasy basketball draft right before your 5th and 6th round picks because Mimi the Quirky fell off her cat window seat right onto the the power strip and restarted your PC.
– Talk to Bella like she were human about how nice it would be if today’s weather were the year round norm.
– Get that errant tan cow back in the fold.
– Accidentally have two extra cats slip by you and decide that they like the “new” of Uncle Steve’s apartment and proceed to eat all of the Bella, Cricket the Blind and Mimi the Quirky food. Apologize to Bella.
– Fight off the onslaught of stink bugs who’s lease on their summer digs has expired and are now converging on the house.
– Find something new on Amazon Prime or Netflix after finally finishing season one of the fantastic “Carnival Row” on Wednesday night and then season two of the mesmerizing “Dark” on Thursday knowing that whatever you find probably won’t rate.
– Wake up tomorrow for like 5 minutes and then say “fuck it” and go back to bed till Monday.
////////////////////////
Not Cliffs Notes:
Well another High School football game is in the books, me and BB making the trek again, this time to Guilderland (upstate NY), a place that sounds almost mythical as you wonder of it’s origins on the ride. Is it maybe a place of Middle Earth, as the name might imply, where all guilds originate and thrive but must stay hidden from Middle Earth’s evils for fear of them discovering their magic? In this possible Middle Earth is Frodo the must see attraction as the latest barefooted kicker to take the football world by storm or does Sean Astin maybe summer here in a quaint little cottage named “Samwise”? Not sure. Just know that whatever mythology the name might sound to possess will quickly fade as you pass 300 or so strip malls and shopping plazas in a just 4 mile stretch from exit 24 of the NY State Thruway to your first left hand turn toward your destination.
Sigh …
So much for possible magic.
I did though, answer a question you may have asked at some point of just how far will you drive for free pizza. For me? Two hours and about 100 miles, though 400 miles short of being the man who would fall down at your door (plus some work and stuff after ya clean your hands and wipe your mouth). I also found out the answer to a question I never even thought to ask. How much will a pizza place try to charge your boss for paper plates and napkins on top of the price of six really large pies and five two liter bottles of soda, including, somehow, Royal Crown Cola? 50 bucks in case you’re curious. Two bucks a person they said. Gotta give ’em credit for the chutzpah and adherence to shameless capitalism. 50 freakin’ dollars, for paper plates they would probably just send Billy, the delivery driver, hoping he doesn’t get lost again, to grab at the Dollar Store next door in the one of 300 plus strip malls/shopping plazas they’re located in.
PS … strip mall pizza place. If you’re gonna try an rook someone on the cost of paper plates and napkins you best at least make that cola a fucking Coke, not a dusted off Royal Crown.
But, to their credit, it was really good pizza, messy-finger square pies again like last week, and while I was eating that messy-finger square pie pizza and drinking the nostalgia of Royal Crown Cola I noted, in the skies above, an abundance of airplane trails, a crapload of them criss crossing every which way above my head and my only thought was that if there were any Chemtrail nutters in this here neck of the woods they were probably peeing themselves, after rushing to their bunkers, at the sight.
Once the game got started and I was in my usual spot with my usual parabolic I enjoyed myself again, as I always do on these Friday nights and my enjoyment was enhanced by the kids of the pep band, so in tune with the “Red Wave” student fan section. I was reminded of how much I enjoyed last year’s game here when I ran into their director, who I remembered, and she me, and helped her again find a place on the truck to plug in their little amp for the guitar.
I also remembered her happy. Her joy at what she does with these kids, who fit right in on home game Friday nights where they might not otherwise and how she just couldn’t stop smiling. I felt like the big guy at the table by just being able to help them find an outlet for that amp. She’s exactly the reason teachers need to be paid more. About a dozen kids sitting cross legged in front of some upside down buckets, also all smiling, drum sticks in hand and at the ready, each sporting their own statement of themselves when it comes to hair or adornment but still playing for team, fronting a band that belted out classics coordinated with the student section.
My only thought to her, at the end of the game, was that maybe the student section should change up the standard “THIS IS OUR HOUSE” or “YOU CAN’T DO THAT” kind of thing with something a bit more fun and left field like “MY MOM LOVES APPLE PIE” or “MY NEPHEW IS AFRAID OF SNAKES” or “THIS IS OUR HOUSE…TAKE YOUR SHOES OFF WE JUST HAD THE CARPETS DONE” … Yeah, Ok … but still, it’s an idea.
There was also the ref who was always with me in my spot, or I should say, I was always with him, almost stalker-like, who was ultra serious but in a Will Farrell kind of way. I just kept waiting for him to go for cowbell instead of his whistle held so coolly tight in his left hand.
Then it was game done, a goodnight to the cool kids in the band (you’re in a band, you ARE the cool kids) who were happy to have aided Guilderland in their victory, a goodnight to their director and her smile and a breakdown of our stuff.
After my stop at the whatever McDonald’s that was there in Guilderland before my and BB’s ride home, a stand alone by the way, not one in any of the 300 plus strip malls or shopping plazas and a trying not to make eye contact with the three kids who were starting to animatedly grouse loudly about the wait time, hoping to be heard and seen in an “it’s all about us” kind of way, I gladly grabbed my large coke (Not RC) and large fries and headed toward the door, quickly, before getting into a conversation I didn’t want to get into with Mama Bear and the flamboyants.
Eventually, after gettin’ home about 1, hittin’ the rack around 4 and then being up again at 7 it was back to my regular Saturday. The usual routine, just lacking a bit on the sleep side. I do so like getting back to routine even if it is with a lack of sleep.
Pop my one weekly hamper of laundry in, run to Stop N Shop for the feeding of cats and a Steve, come back and tell Celie to “oh, shussshh” when she says don’t worry about folding her stuff that’s in the dryer, just put it in a pile in a basket, she says, while letting her know, as I always do, that I just can’t do that and that, as domestic chores go, I’m Ok with laundry, I just don’t do/fold socks or the flimsies (I also always make it a point to mention that I look away at the flimsies…with a dramatic southern belle-esque head tossed, hand fanning “Oh My!” Don’t want anyone to get to thinkin’ there’s a creepy goin’ on here). No, that’s the only thing that gets lumped in a pile, on top of the, of course, have to be folded.
Then it was a fantasy basketball draft at 10 as, even though I don’t know basketball all that well, I need something to get me past the fact that all of my all season long first or second place fantasy Baseball teams got knocked out in the first round of the playoffs…again, leaving me to, at best, come in 7th or 6th or maybe 5th. Then Mimi the Quirky fell off her cat window seat right onto the power strip and restarted my PC…two picks before my 5th and 6th round choices. I was drafting blind. Cricket understands. But Mimi was Ok, maybe just a little cat embarrassed. I reassured her of course while trying not to laugh, or at least not letting her see my slight laughter.
I cowboyed up and wrangled one errant tan cow back into the fold with much cajoling, patience and a bucket full of cow feed bribery while making friends with one slobbery big guy who wasn’t wary like the rest and was more than happy to be the stand-in for his errant pal when it came to handfuls from the bucket of bribery.
I took a moment or three to sit in a window with my Bella and talk with her, pal to pal, about how nice it would be if today’s weather were the year round norm before heading downstairs only to, accidentally, have two extra cats (Penny and Cujo) slip by and decide that they like the “new” of Uncle Steve’s apartment and proceed to eat all of the Bella, Cricket the Blind and Mimi the Quirky food. I apologized to Bella as she gave me that disapproving look I know all too well.
I also took measures to fight off the onslaught of stink bugs who’s lease on their summer digs has apparently expired and are now converging on the house. Mostly it involved me just flicking the window screens…but I did it with an angry raised fist “damn you stink bugs!” drama and authority.
Finally, I’m done, after realizing, again, that I’m a little old to be doing what was easy in my college years when it comes to sleep, or the lack thereof. Time to find something new on Amazon Prime or Netflix after finishing season one of the absolutely fantastic “Carnival Row” on Wednesday night and then season two of the complex and mesmerizing “Dark” on Thursday though I know that whatever I find probably won’t rate.
So even though I may be calling it a weekend early on a Saturday night I think I’m good. It’s been full. It’s had moments and they are moments that I’ll remember which is all we can really ask for. I’ll wake up tomorrow for like 5 minutes, check my fantasy football teams and then say “fuck it” and go back to bed till Monday.
Trump a couple of days ago went to a non-union shop to try to appeal to striking auto union workers (told you the comedy just writes itself) in a stance that is anathema to the union hating Trump and he went with a couple of old stand by’s while there, the extortion-lite and childish “Your leadership (again a non-union shop) should endorse me and I will not say a bad thing about them again” and I also won’t really say anything at all in support of you and your issues while I’m here, and the completely made up by, not surprisingly, a rather large Trump amount, the size of the crowd (I know, this dude and imaginary crowd sizes) “When you look at the thousands of people outside, why couldn’t you get a bigger plant?” said Trump to a crowd that numbered in the low 100’s at best but claiming the number of folks outside to be 10,000.
No, check him if you’d like, he just doesn’t fucking care.
He pledged support for gas-powered vehicles not EV’s “We will drill baby drill and it will have zero environmental difference” promised the grammatically challenged scientist Don flashing us back to the esteemed Doctor Don who said drinking bleach or shooting up disinfectants while sticking an ultraviolet heat lamp up your ass might just do the trick in helping cure the Corona which, by the way, wouldn’t be that bad he said, wouldn’t have as many cases of if they would just stop testing for it.
He also said “Under a Trump presidency, gasoline engines will be allowed and sex changes for children will be banned. Is that OK?”
Well shit yeah! Of course it’s OK since the two are so inextricably linked in an obvious cause and effect kinda way. I mean its a scientific fact that electric vehicles cause children to have sex change “mutilization” (his own new word) operations, sheesh, who doesn’t know that? I mean, there have even been a few extreme cases, where there wasn’t even an operation involved. Kid got in an EV a boy and stepped out a girl.
And yet there were still supporters of the anti-union Trump on hand including a Debbie who said “We need Trump back! Do you remember how wonderful things were three years ago?”
No, Debbie, we don’t, and we didn’t really need to think that hard on it either, unless of course that was that time period where you decided to stop taking your meds and eating pudding in your slippers. A time that apparently is still current. You really need to start eating your pudding again Debbie by the way, your family misses you. We’ll even put in the request for vanilla only and fetch your slippers.
And a Chris who apparently hasn’t really been paying attention underneath his red hat and tinfoil for quite some time now “Trump supports the workers, Biden supports the leaders.” Not quite sure what “leaders” Chris is referring to. The union leaders? The car manufacturer leaders? Maybe the leaders of an alien world in a Joe Biden Marjorie Taylor Greene Q-worthy-esque conspiracy where they want to take over our planet with Biden’s assistance, suppress conservatives and drive electric cars, but “Trump supports the workers”? Now that is some funny shit Chris. Have you tried stand-up?
Trump even criticized Biden joining a picket line and speaking to striking union workers as being nothing more than “a photo-op” while having his picture taken repeatedly for a photo-op of him word salading about union issues to non-union workers, well except for a couple of fake ones with stage prop signs.
So Then Sunday: A bit from back in November of 2021 that I’ve always been a big fan of.
Habits:
On my way to another Friday night football game with Spectrum Sports in and about the Albany (the 2nd to last of the season for us) I kept to habit and pulled off half way there into the last Parking Area on the Taconic State Parkway North before it ends to randomly grab a Coke or seltzer from my little cooler along with half a sandwich for the rest of the drive, which is usually about 50 minutes miles at this point, and to ask my Google Lady for directions the rest of the way.
I also kept to recent habit and stepped out of BB, my car, to take some pictures of Fall as the weather has been perfect in that regard the last few weeks with sunny skies and lazy, sleepy, meandering clouds white peppering a pretty blue and a trees splash of colors that are the indicate of Fall we all rave about right about now, though mostly, I think, as just a way to ease and justify ourselves into the why’s it’s ok to live here before the impending doom of Winter, which in nighttime doesn’t feel that far away.
When I pulled into this Parking Area there was only one other car there and I drove past it to sit for my moment in front of the “Historic Hudson Valley – Columbia County” marker right at its end, as I always do, before getting back on the road with Google Lady hitting me with the re-start merge onto the Taconic in 800 feet … yeah, yeah, yeah, gotcha Google Lady … just get me through the minutia of lefts and rights and the millions of strip malls to my final destination where I’m going to freeze my ass off tonight, I got this 800 foot re-start.
I noted that that one car was seemingly empty in my rear view while I paused for my kept habit. Maybe that someone one car had their own pause and pushed the seat back to take a quick nap, maybe this was just a place to park and go for a hike, or maybe there was something ominous going on with movie plots and bass heavy soundtracks playing in my head and I shouldn’t linger too long.
Whatever it was I was alone, I thought, and snapped my pics without looking at them, just a snap snap snap in a slight turn turn turn panoramic kind of way with a knowing I’d look forward to seeing how they came out once I finally got myself late home after this most recent long Friday football night, a some picture’s Christmas for me if you will.
I actually did a pretty good job I think, in my snapping this time around, especially as I did it “blindly”, I had left my glasses in my Pirate’s hat on the passenger seat, with some pics eventually proving worthy of an “Oh, isn’t Fall beautiful” … before well, shit, it just ain’t … that impending Winter’s doom thing I mentioned.
Then I noticed in one of my pics a bit of a red dot in the middle, in the distance, at the edge of all these colors of a Fall justification, just a little red dot at a short hill’s tree’s edge overlooking my kept Friday habits, overlooking a me in a last Parking Area of a roadway.
A small red dot that seemed, as I looked closer, a man leaning forward on what looked a bench underneath one of those trees at the edge.
There was a bit of a late night chill at the realization that I had maybe been watched.
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Perspectives:
It’s been a few years, I know, Jen says “Dad, you need to go out” hit the diner with Phil and Bumpy, grab a coffee and maybe an omelet, the one I like with red peppers some swiss and cheddar and a bit of hot sauce that Dottie makes sure Jack does right, bless her, but I don’t have anything to talk about. I could try but the conversation always turns Bet’s way and how she had just the right touch for this omelet, possible omelets, possible everything omelets as she always did in a life that no diner or anything else is ever going to match … no offense Dot, or to you Jack, or to anyone else. You’re just not Betty. I don’t really have anything to talk about.
This view is the most cliché’d picture perfect thing you could ever imagine at just this time of year, at just THAT time of year, though I’m a little out of breath at the trek up the hill these days … again.
It’s always been my spot, or became my always spot after I blew out a tire so many young years ago with thankfully just enough shoulder in just this one place to not have intentional traffic possibly rip my door off. I’ve always hated this roadway for that, no room, not enough space, where it could seem difficult to breathe, an uncomfortable daily years upon years commute, a work’s metaphor, always concerns in your rear view if there were to be an issue but at least I always had a carrot of a come home, a bear with it for that come home and the unexpected unworthy of it, how did I possibly rate such a find and all that it would bring, such a life, and the eventual Jenny’s to implore me to grab an omelet … after fumbling around in a trunk …
“Can I give you a hand?”
It gave me a start, this question, as I was head down in the trunk and said fumbling around for the spare hoping to look like I knew what I was doing to the passing traffic and I didn’t hear the approach.
“Oh … hello” I said, almost bumping my head. (Isn’t that how the best of future’s start in the movies?)
“You have no idea what you’re doing do you?”
For a second I thought to be manly and say that I was fine, chest out, fists pounding my jacket but right there, at that moment? Those eyes?
“No, I don’t”
She laughed a small laugh
“Well, how about we get this done then?”
“Yeah … thanks.”
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I drive up here sometimes for no reason, or for all reason and sit out of breath on a hill with the most perfect of cliche’d views over memories.
I watch a young guy stretch his legs and take some pictures.
“Thankfully for him it’s a not a blown out tire Bet”
Every morning after I put on my sneaks I ask google lady on my phone “what’s the forecast for today?”
Today’s response was “65 and rain” in that lilting static but still computery pretty google lady voice (I wonder if she even knows I exist other than to just answer mundane questions? I’ll work up the courage at some point). Now, it was only just drizzling when I was getting ready to leave but it eventually did some pretty serious raining during the day around here and on my ride home.
But, as I was heading out, I said to myself “Steve, grab a zip up hoodie, just in case, you never know, it could come in handy later, just stuff one into your bag dude, you’ve got plenty of them”
But they are ALL THE WAY in the other room, I thought, in a closet … that’s SOOOOOOOO far, SOOOOOOOO far away from the kitchen here and I’m ready to go!
Had to stop at the grocery store on the way home, HAD TO, cat food priority one, definitely cat food and something for my dinner and also lunch for the rest of the week. I just had to, couldn’t put this off till tomorrow.
That walk into the store in a torrential downpoar? Yeah, I probably could have used a zip up hoodie huh? Holy shit that grocery store was cold in my sopping T and ballcap!
But that closet was SOOOOOO far away this morning!!! Like AAAAAAALLL the way in another room far away!!!
I think I’m starting to sniffle though.
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When I got home just a few nights ago I stopped for a moment to smell the roses as the cliche goes, take stock of life, grab a moment, a breath or, for lack of roses, the lily looking pretties at the front of the house or, for another lack of roses or even lily smelling, just take a picture or two.
Then I noticed in one of the blooms a very busy, very buzzy little bee doing very busy, very buzzy little bee things.
Maybe it really is good to take the time to not smell the roses in this case but just take in a bit of life in a very busy, very buzzy little bee world kind of way.
“Worky Worky Worky” she hummed.
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A Facebook memory popped up the other day (yes I’m Facebook old, snicker if you will, but believe me, you don’t want me to try to be young and cool, plus if I tried I would probably Tic-Tok throw out a hip and then Instagram selfie myself writhing in out of shape pain in pictures of me splayed out in front of beautiful vistas of orchards or hillsides or ocean views … no, you want me to stick to old man Facebook unless you’re going to be the one to make that phone call to the EMT’s)
It was a picture I came across years ago, one I’m sure many of us have seen before but one that is just too classic to not post again when reminded of it …
After a short lived Death Metal stint it suddenly dawned on “Roo’s Revenge” that Alt Country was probably more their vibe.
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Been listening non-stop in the car recently, BB the car, to MonaLisa Twins, a pair of musical twin sisters I came across back in June courtesy of a Facebook ad in my feed. Ha! Facebook can still be possible not thrown out old man hips cool thank you! BB stands for Blue Box by the way, in case you were curious, which I’m most certainly sure you aren’t, my little Scion XB. He is very boxy and more of a Teal actually but I didn’t think calling him TB would work, definitely not. No, teal is close enough to blue, so BB.
Anyway, been listening non-stop to MonaLisa Twins since my discovery of them and their tune from that Facebook ad “I Bought Myself a Politician”. What a fun witty bit that has me singing along out loud, very poorly mind you, every time it comes around in the two albums I burned, after buying them, to one CD for the car listening (shit, I’m old again. Yes, BB has a CD player and I use it).
Now besides them being button cute pretty in their many fantastically well done videos, that takes a backseat to the sheer talent, the musicianship and the songwriting that has left me in awe. The honesty and the humor and the heartfelt and the subtle snark … and the harmonies, man, the harmonies. I try to harmonize with them while in BB to and from work (again, poorly) but the only ones that might take notice of such are cars that actually have open windows to my volume in stop and go route 9 traffic or dogs somewhere across the river here wondering why I am being so cruel as to make their ears curl and maybe even cause them to lightly moan in their sleep (sorry my dog friends).
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Noticed again in the Attic here a couple of views of two posts of mine that seem to pop up for views on a pretty regular basis. No idea why or how, it’s just these two posts.
“A Nonexistent Trickle and Snake Oil For Sale in Aisle Six” this one from back in October of 2019. It only has about 25 or so total views but that is stretched out over 5 years now, at least a few views every year since. it’s a pretty nondescript thing, a fun post sure but … maybe you can explain to me the lure as I sure can’t …
… and “Angel of Death: End Of Days, Route 9, Poughkeepsie???”, the time I saw the Angel of Death standing on the median between the triple lanes of route 9, Poughkeepsie holding an hourglass, a too small hourglass. Was he waiting to bring the end of days or was he just passing the time doing what Angel’s of Death do while waiting for that to-go order from the T.G.I. Friday’s across the street? Now this one I’m good with popping up and being viewed often as it is one of my better and most viewed posts and was such a fun write and a me read audio post as well which is at the end of it.
Why these two keep popping up though?
Hey Universe? Are you trying to tell me something I am apparently too dim to put together? I mean, I guess, Angel’s of Death might have a working relationship with snake oil salesman, that’s kind of a given but still …
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I slipped the orange street kid a twenty (he laughed) 2 twenties (he laughed again) a C-note and some Temptations Tumbler cat treats to keep an eye on the ride before heading into the club. Then the muscle came to check me out … inside was Mabel. … “Mabel The Dog”. The Boss.
Yeah, they co-exist, and even work together.
Don’t cross them.
“You got treats? You best have treats. You really best have treats.”
Below posts in WordPress there are a few “recommends” if you will, of older posts, similar ones according to a WordPress mind and the click links to get to them. This one was there with my latest thing.
From January of 2021.
I was reminded that this was a pretty good post.
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So, I finally changed my sheets a couple of nights ago, the brown flannel ones that are the definition of comfy and my go to’s. I didn’t want to let them go.
Ok, I realize that “didn’t want to let them go” sounds almost tragic like “let them go” with heavy music and heavier words and tears and dropped flowers from some in veils underneath umbrella’s, but it was just that I had to “let them go” for the moment, nothing overly dramatic, just to the time suck that is laundry.
But this letting go opened me up, again, to a forgotten world of sheets, almost all mismatched but still whole if you’re ok with flowers marrying stripes and pillowcases seemingly from someone else’s closet in someone else’s hallway.
My “hallway” is a dresser slash mini wardrobe with neat doors that click closed above it’s dresser’s drawers in a living room that I never live in other than a walking through it to the bathroom or to belly rubs for Bella on her little circle of carpet that I bought at Ocean State Job Lot for 2 bucks, her circle spot, or her bed that was re-discovered as cats will. This is where I put my collection of single dude mismatched sheets and pillowcases now, like any other place I’ve lived in in my singleness, with drawers, but too cool here on shelves instead in this mini wardrobe and then I forget them until the cool brown flannel sheets finally cry uncle.
But with the changing I actually did find a new bed lay that do match in this dresser mini wardrobe with the neat doors that click when ya close them above the drawers. I said “oh, cool” almost surprised as I always am whenever I change the bed. Then someone, somefur puked on a pillow the next day, the other one, the one I don’t use for any company I’ll never have or keep. Yeah, funny one universe. You’re a card. It’s sitting on the futon now, drying, along with the “new” pillowcase.
I was mad, for like five seconds at the puking, yelling to the air at whichever of my furry charges might be the pukey culprit, but then I just laughed. You are adorably pathetic Frankenberry in that crazy cat guy kind of way. Hold that pillow and case for the dry on the futon for the moment and then put it back in its spot eventually next to your head for the maybe … or not.
But there was the anticipation, pre-puke, for at least one night and that something about new sheets, especially when you’ve found some that actually match as a bonus, that led to one of the better nights of sleep I’ve had in quite some time and, for how poorly I sleep never really relaxing the action that is my head? That was most welcome.
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The world has been fucked up. Not that that is any real news I know, but just fucked up and, sadly, we’ve been forced to adapt to it. Did I ever imagine years ago, as I so cavalierly went about my daily, being immortal, smoking too much, drinking too much, changing sheets not often enough and not paying as much attention as I should to the world around that we would be where we’ve gotten? No, of course not. Not even the best of by rote angst filled drama as happiness defeatests I knew in those days, and I knew many, myself included, could have imagined where these last four years would have brought us. But, the smoking has stopped, years now, though a vape pen still fills the void on occasion, the drinking has subsided but not without still measuring the cost of a 30 pack at the distributor vs a twelve pack at the convenience store, adding them in my head as I measure what’s necessary to deal with the fucked up and the still denialists and apologists and the make shit uppers out there. I’m not even sure anymore what is more to be concerned with, figuring the relative cost of beers on a limited paycheck too many times or wondering if I should just ignore the number and the cost completely if I’m going to be able to figure out what to do in the hell’s handbasket that some want this world to sit in.
I try to pay attention, where in the past I may not have, but now do with a fervor, as evidenced here in the Attic with plain words or words in song, just a need to be informed and speak them such.
Ya never know, when I’m even older than I am now I could possibly get a chance to talk to the kids of my nephews or the JG, if they will allow the crazy old guy with an overgrown unkempt face his future seconds (as I’m sure that’s all that may be allowed), about the when we fell into disarray … fell hard. Talk to them about the “when” like some campfire fright story.
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I’m still listening to the Alan Parsons Project, exclusively, ten months later as I noted at the start of all this shit. Even found a way to get the Ladyhawke soundtrack again and hear Time Machine for the first time, filling things out, those always elusive or too costly one or two final records in your almost complete collection of whatever band is your fond obsession. Comforts are important.
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Had another Zoom call earlier with three of my bestests from the college days, or any days, who for some reason still find me interesting enough to include on such things. Probably just a phase, an almost 40 year one, yes, but still probably just a phase. If for nothing else a pandemic has allowed the eureka moment of “You mean I can actually talk to my friends and look at them like on my cartooned future Dick Tracy wrist? Holy crap, now there’s a future is now concept huh?” Three hours of our ugly mugs (minus Lori’s of course) laughing and joking and opining and just being us like that dorm room years ago or that spot at Buhl Hall with a couch and chairs people stood around if you weren’t there first or a shared house with tiny bedrooms packed too close where you heard everything or that bar where you could raise an arm for another pitcher without seeming a dick, he or her serving knowing that recognition would be handsomely rewarded. No dickishness involved.
We talked. We laughed. We confirmed an almost lifetime.
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It’s cold, winter months will do that of course, kinda their gig, but not as cold as it used to be though the wind I hear rushing around my windows, even shaking them, seems to be trying to hold it’s place in history, remembering old days.
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Mom sounded good on the phone yesterday. I had called her with the need for a brain break and a step away from my little studio to outside the back of the station here, only so much five aspirin were going to do. A touch of air and a call. Sometimes ya just need a Ma no matter how much she knows of or might remember of your call these days. She had a Razzy growling lightly in dog dreams at her feet and a Ricki meowing that need another cigarette sounding meow of hers at the end of her bed. Mom mistakenly calls her Sixpence, the years ago cat that is always the reminder of cats our family all share and have taken with us. But she sounded good and was so much better than any number of aspirin.
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This past week was long, relatively speaking of course when it comes to your own long weeks, but a long one for me and it kind of beat me down a bit, I guess maybe a subconscious reasoning behind finally changing the sheets, even with them now not actually being the “oh, cool” find of a matching set as there is a new post puke pillowcase on that one unused extra pillow, but it’s alright. Mismatched kind of suits me anyway. Matching always seemed something of a luxury.
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Mimi the Quirky has her spot, after her halting straight legged stick legs walk to under my feet, like struck out of a kid’s bad art project they might discard for another bad arty attempt with her non-committal but please committal pick me up onto a bar towel just above my keyboard. “There ya go Memes, that’s your spot”.
Bella has her little 2 dollar circle of carpet or that newly found always there cat bed and Cricket the Blind is just being annoying, but in an I still love her kind of way, meowling into nothing non-stop while she walks her blind chasing a tail circles with a sound worthy of a grandma wailing at a funeral while she waits to curl up on the edge of my pillow and make sure she is near her Steve on an always too short a night, especially in the comfort of new sheets.
Sometimes she even grabs that never used extra pillow. Well at least it occasionally gets occupied I guess.
Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything ... 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs ... damned humans.
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A personal exploration of autism from a brother’s perspective, including family relationships, philosophy, neuroscience, mental health history and ethics
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