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.
Ok, Mother Nature, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll be more diligent with my recycling than I already am, I won’t litter and make anyone cry in 70’s commercials, I will conserve as best I can, I will stop urinating in the neighbor’s flower garden ruining their Daylilies, I will use and tout eco-friendly products whenever possible (as long as there are no religious concerns/objections, because there always are, with everything and anything, hell, I’m sure someone is feeling persecuted in their beliefs right now just by the mere availability of the Right to Shower Joy Shampoo Bar in honeysuckle ($7.99 at Amazon)
“What Hank?! Give me a few minutes will ya!! … actually a little longer … I’m in the shower!”
And I will even unmute my TV from my usual stream commercial break mute for ads for electric or hybrid cars.
You in turn just give me more weather like this in the evening that makes for such beautiful pictures when I get home, maybe just a scootch warmer if you could though, just a few degrees, nothing drastic, and then let it stay for a bit huh?
Ok, well, you just let me know Momma N, I’ll keep checking open windows and in the meantime I’ll start on my end of the bargain.
Probably best that I do anyway, I heard the neighbors just installed cameras.
A Crazy cat lady guy’s cat guide: Tip #342 (the other 341 just inferred) … well shit, you have obviously stopped in the Attic here right?? There are/have been cats and a lot of unintentional tips. Surely at least 341 before this … give or take … just a catucated guess.
Tip #342: When at all possible, color coordinate a cat with your jammies while watching the new season’s latest episode of Magnum P.I. while also trying not to disturb said cat when things get a little edge of your seat dicey. “C’mon Thomas! You and Higgins and Rick and T.C. … you all got this!”
Know that your cat will be enthralled.
A Crazy cat lady guy’s cat guide: Tip #343? … it’s coming … hold your little cat horses … gotta see how this Magnum thing plays out …
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A Crazy cat lady guy’s cat guide: Tip #343 (I said it would be coming after Magnum – Thomas, Higgins, Rick and T.C. were fine by the way – I know, a load off there for you I’m sure).
Tip #343: Watch “Puss and Boots: The Last Wish” … because of course.
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A Crazy cat lady guy’s cat guide: Tip #344
When shopping for a new box for your cat (possibly a blind one) replete with a bedding of only the finest of catly tissue paper know that new boxes with only the finest of catly tissue paper can be rather expensive these days, upwards of 60 to 70 dollars in some cases, so just be sure this new box you buy for said cat with a bedding of only the finest of catly tissue paper comes with a pair of sneakers as well.
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A Crazy cat lady guy’s cat guide: Tip #345
If, when waking in the middle of the night, peeing being in order, you grab a flashlight to guide you on your way you notice, before you stand, at the end of the bed on the floor a cat paying you no mind but instead, staring head down intently, intensely at the carpet with a possible paw at the ready? Ignore it. Peeing is your one and only priority, especially if you are old. Just walk fast.
But, if, when you return you notice said cat still paying you no mind and still staring head down intently, intensely at the carpet with that possible paw still at the ready? Worry … and make sure you sleep with your mouth closed.
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A Crazy cat lady guy’s cat guide: Tip #346
Indoor cats can sometimes go AWOL, or at least it seems, as you check all of their usual cat lay spots and cat haunts (that one cat house in the red light district from so many years ago that no one is proud of), closets, open drawers, top of the fridge, that cabinet underneath the sink you left open after grabbing some cleaner for the latest cat puke spot, one really expensive cat bed that was poo-poo’d from the second you layed it down with disappointment, but you still come up empty until what was your initial “no worries, he or she is surely here somewhere” turns into “wow, holy crap! did I leave a door or a window or that other dimension wormhole I only use on occasion open accidentally?”
Back to “no worries”.
Just lay down some freshly dried laundry or, if you don’t have any freshly dried laundry readily available, just lay down your stinky soon eventual freshly dried laundry – it can have the same result – while also reminding said cat, and you, that freshly dried laundry needs to happen, like NOW – “Dude you stink, and I poop in an open air box and have you smelled my food? I know stink.”
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A Crazy cat lady guy’s cat guide: Tip #347
Know that when you are of the crazy cat lady ilk you may occasionally receive a T-Shirt in the mail that you don’t remember ordering. You might rack your brain as to how this came about.
“Was is it I that ordered this?” you will say to yourself or did maybe some anonymous person gift me this and have you then looking over your shoulder and peeking round corners ‘cause that would be kinda weird (even weirder than crazy cat lady guy cat tips).
Are cats really the Gods they may have been thought to be once and are now just rewarding me for my deference after figuring out the web and maybe how to steal someone’s credit card information?
Or is it that alcohol may have been involved late night?
Whatever the case may be, just be glad of your newfound cool cat fashion and maybe, just to be safe, leave an extra bowl of Fancy Feast to the side for these Cat Gods (the fish and shrimp one, the stinkier the better for Cat Gods we’re thinkin’).
Wouldn’t wanna piss them off, we mean, again, just to be safe.
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A Crazy cat lady guy’s cat guide: Tip #348
Always crunchy paper, always with the crunchy paper, right Bella? 🙂
So I have this friend from my WVU days, Rob Eldridge, who plays guitar, something I’m most envious of, and back in January he posted a little ditty, as he called it, an instrumental just around a minute long and, at the time, I noted that it was waaaaay too cool. Simple and bluesy, from his lap, nonchalant, a good morning post, as he also said, that made ya wanna sing along even though there were no words, it was just him pluckin’. I kept an idea in my back pocket.
This weekend, as I did my usual, telling the world to F* off, bother me again Monday, I have cats, I thought to maybe find a few words for it.
A friend recently posted to my page of Mark Russell passing away, the great piano playing political satirist who had no qualms of pointing things out when the pointing things out actually got noticed in great halls and maybe even made some folks uncomfortable. Is there anything better? A bit of an uncomfortable squirm for those who deserve such? A Hero he was.
And for five or so years I have been building parody songs of an equal political type here in the Attic (plus others of a different sort – another time there) but they are all so much of a joy to write and sing, parodies where I find a tune’s instrumental and do my best to say things that would also maybe make some folks feel uncomfortable knowing that whoever it is that I’m satirizing deserves the uncomfortable.
Mine though have never had the same import of a Mark Russell but ya keep trying.
But, going back to this friend of mine, Rob, I thought to not make any uncomfortable statements for folks to maybe squirm but instead just add some new writ/sung words to his instrumental, no attempted point to be made.
Cheers Rob.
Step Out (an Eldridge Tune)
I stepped out as I often do step
Grabbed some words to wonder to think just what if
If I could sing out with no attempts at sublime
Sing escape from wary fears of mine of the times
But just for moments small sake
Knowin’ this need be a shouted take
I would try to sing things that just needed be said
—
Rhymes dream dreaming in songs of what ifs
Break them out to maybe lesson the kids
Show them how we can all sing our song
Not hide our heads in sand hoping all is not wrong
No not go along with the dumb of the herd
No stand up say your piece and do your best to be heard
—
Some rhymes have magic as they certainly can
Be response to times help us feel not also ran
Strung together right they just might be a piece strong and together more than …
Went to a ballgame yesterday, a celebration of a dearest of friend of mine’s big 4-0, the Jeremiah Jonhsens’ (JJ) big day with his beloved Mets and his Mom and Dad and a few friends, including his newbie, he and Britney’s newbie, Grant (my first in person meet of the great pride and new hope)
with Britney eventually donning Grant strapped to her chest like readying for some extreme mountain climb just with a cutely breathing winter cap’s “you got me Moms, right?” poking out bump on what would end up being a day bringing a hardy, for a baseball day, cold, a hardy freakin’ cold, as cold as hell, as hell ain’t cold but if it could be, old friend Melissa and I huddlin’ together, shoulder to shoulder, in seats just short of God (the best of seats by the way, hangin’ with the baseball rabble way north – my fondest of baseball memories at Three Rivers with my Pirates way back, back, back were all in the tall “God” seats which I would joyously take to by myself even if my ticket was closer, with a couple of dogs and a couple of beers, no reason to make that 2nd trip that I knew was gonna happen anyway, just stock up now, save the unnecessary extra steps, after my free entrance on some weekends courtesy of my early 90’s radio Press Pass, back when my ankles didn’t crack so much or my knees didn’t remind they were knees) and with a misplaced April icy wind that implored the little one, Grant, for excuse to get us up and out in the 7th if possible.
“Think of the child!” Mel and I remarked with a laugh, being old both of us where you now really feel the cold, though an almost generation apart in our old, wind rushing in from the heavens in the 7th, but he was all nanooked up, a smaller version of a “Christmas Story” turtle, no, we waited until David Roberston’s impressively efficient 9th for a victory for JJ on his day.
Can’t go wrong with a win to cap off a big Year-0 day huh?
There were dogs and brats and sauerkraut heated in a cat’s water bowl (again, like last season and just cause I think it’s funny) and even a choice of cheeses and crackers, in an almost fancy way that Joe searched his phone for cheese descriptors of with names I couldn’t pronounce, well, as fancy as fold out white plastic tables would allow in a tailgate parking lot, under New York City traffic, next to a Marina next to a ballpark.
It was a good day/night, a really good one as we hung and dogged and brat’d and burgered and fancied with special cheeses and even too many potato chip choices almost forgetting why we were there, for a ballgame.
Jeremiah asked me at the end how I enjoyed the game and to be truthful I told him a bit of a white lie, saying I enjoyed it very much when in reality I didn’t really pay that much attention as I’m not a Mets fan or a Marlins fan, today’s opponent, I have nothing vested in either. But I do have something vested in Jeremiah, an 18 year friendship with lots of games and other events over the years, innocuous “checking in” phone calls where nothing but everything comes up in 30 minute clips and even talking each other off ledges at times. He always being my first call if the shouts of “jump” from down below get a little too loud. Though I wasn’t completely fibbing when I said I did enjoy the game, just not the one between the lines, but definitely the one outside of them with Moms & Dads and new Moms & Dads and friends in tow.
Now, I have celebrated a few Year-0’s “big days” over my time but none to rival a day at the ballpark, and even with my issues of a game now changed, #’s to be asterisked, new eras to be marked, delineated from past ones, I was envious in the best of ways.
I could do a day like this in my next big Year-0 which ain’t that far away now Steve, old man.
I texted Jeremiah when I got home just to repeat to myself of what a joy of a day it was “Cheers to a good day again my friend and happy birthday you somewhat old dude … you still have some Year-0’s to go by the way. Take your time if and whenever you can.”
Thought I would take to doing a read of this one from early March and have a little fun with it while I was at it.
Downstairs at the station earlier this week was a recent package for Tom, one of our radio engineer guys, possibly the tallest radio engineer guy on the East Coast which means absolutely nothing here, he’s just pretty tall, thought I’d mention it.
It was a big box, with lots of smaller boxes of surely important and expensive radio equipment stuff, smaller boxes of radio thingy’s and whatchamacallits that Tom would recognize in an engineer way that would eventually be replacements for old thingy’s and whatchamacallits or be completely new additions, or maybe even be part of the controls on the bridge of a spaceship Tom was building on the station’s dime on the down low to get him the hell out of here, but conduits to buttons that I would probably at some point push (or not push – depending on the yellow post-its with pointed arrows that say “Frankenberry, Don’t Push This”).
Noted I thought, but I just used the word “eventually” earlier as to installation of all this so I was good for the moment to not concern myself with personal yellow post-it notes just yet, but notice instead the more important aspect of what was also in this big box, with the lots of smaller boxes of surely important radio equipment stuff, the smaller boxes of thingy’s, and whatchamacallits that Tom would recognize and come with soon post-it warnings for me (though I might try to stow away on his spaceship to get the hell out of here as well – hopefully he brings post-its, I mean, it’s a spaceship … waaaay more important to note buttons I shouldn’t push out there … in space … ya know, where spaceships go … wouldn’t want to accidentally send us hurtling into a sun or something because that particular “send you hurtling into a sun” button didn’t have a simple post-it note telling me NOT to push it).
But also in the big box? Brown packing paper, lots of brown packing paper, or more famously, for me and my Bella, “crunchy paper”.
I was excited! Crazy cat lady guy excited! Been a while since I had refreshed the crunchy paper, the old paper rolled around on and slept on scratched on and cat puked on and cat toy played on so much by my little Bella that it was now nothing more than cloth soft paper tatters.
I asked Tom if he thought he might need any of this “crunchy paper” for possible returns and if not, could I have it … for my cat.
He looked quizzically, annoyedly and in his usual “why are you bothering me Frankenberry?” kinda way, the way he often does when looking at me (he most probably being the one most understandably responsible for those yellow post-it notes in the first place) and said “Sure?” hoping I would just leave his office as quickly as possible.
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I thanked Tom earlier today for my Bella, told him Bella said I must, and even showed him pictures, like any crazy cat lady guy worth their catnip would, that he feigned interest in like a real trooper instead of just looking at me again quizzically, again annoyedly and again in his usual “why are you bothering me Frankenberry?” kinda way and said “You’re welcome?” hoping, once more, that I would just leave his office as quickly as possible (got a spaceship to work on here Frankenberry!! And don’t you dare try to stowaway, don’t know if post-its stick so well in space!).
Here we go Girlfriend. New crunchy paper Bella. And maybe even a space adventure or two.
Every now and then I’ll do a random dive in the Attic, pick a month in the scroll down and then read whatever that month had to say “back in the day”, see just where I was at when I wasn’t old or at least when standing back up from a sit down with Bella now and a cat toy or crumpled paper ball or two wasn’t such a grunty, breathy production.
Today?
October of 2009.
(Sadly it seems I have regressed again, back to pre-relationship days, as the underwear I’m currently sporting are about ready to give up the ghost … again).
Apologies from Guyville
October 8, 2009
This entry in the “Attic” is really nothing more than a self observation and a note to my Maria because, as write this, I’m noticing that I’m very much in Guyville. I realize it’s stereotypical and it’s been written of and performed about in comedy so much so that it’s become boringly cliché’ but I’m in desperate need of a shave, I’m wearing a ratty t-shirt from, I think, my college days, old flannel pajamas that have holes that show glimpses of me that don’t need to be seen, not even by myself, and the underwear I have on are one thread away from not just falling off, but from simply ceasing to exist.
Shoes (the cat) is licking the condensation off the beer can and I’ve got on two socks that don’t match (they don’t just “not match,” by the way, one of them I don’t even think was designed for the human foot but seemed at least clean this morning). I’m definitely in Guyville but the problem is, of course, that I’m not the sole inhabitant of this mismatched sock shanty town. No, there is a better half now as well.
When I think about it the women in our lives certainly deserve way more credit than we give them because they continue to be the women in our lives despite us, as we roam around the house in just such outfits. When my Maria is in and just “around the house” she still looks quite fetching while I, as I’ve just described, look like a schlub. So a thank you is in order first and then, second, a plea is also in order to not toss the stuff (in Guyville NOTHING ever gets thrown away) if I promise to not answer the door in them, bible holders nothwithstanding, though that can be some fun if allowed.
I guess there is a comfort in these clothes that goes back to the genuine days of Guyville when I was by myself and just looked forward to being done with the day. Schlubbing at the end of it was always in order even if I didn’t wear anything all that nice during said day in the first place. There is also laziness but I won’t go there as that’ll just open up a whole new can of schlubness worms when Maria reads this.
There is too the comfort of being together with someone but that can lead to complacency and I’m doing my best to not take that for granted and instead remember, as I said earlier, that I don’t exist as the sole inhabitant of my world now. I haven’t been reading any relationship self help books or sappy novels, sorry Oprah, but I can safely assume that looking like a schlub during most of the time that is spent together isn’t all that great in fostering togetherness.
So what I’m going to do now is be proactive and finally let my underwear no longer exist and instead find a pair that I didn’t buy, like 200 years ago in a super K-Mart while also picking up steaks, beer, lawn chairs and a leaf blower. I think it’s also high time that I retire some of the said ratty t-shirts (well except that one … and hold on … ok let me keep just one more …) and jammies (“jammies”, yes, I’m still a child at heart) and instead find a nice three piece outfit of new t-shirt, new pajamas and new socks that weren’t worn by an animal at some point to keep it from chewing off its’ own foot. Then I will finish my attic thoughts, find a razor and remind my Maria that she still and always looks quite fetching “around the house.”
Plus Shoes has finally finished licking the condensation off the beer can and instead has decided that something in my overgrown face looks interesting.
It’s time to exit Guyville. Now where’s that razor… “Ouch Shoes! that’s skin!” …
I’ve struck out a couple of times in the last few weeks of trying to build a new musical editorial in the Attic. A couple of song attempts that sounded right sung in my head but in actuality? Not so much.
So a one here then that worked out a bit better.
Oh, and it mocks Jim Jordan, a man worthy of nothing more than a good mock, so there is that.
Another try at creating a song from a production site instrumental that I did back in October. I’ve always really liked this one but I’m not quite sure why.
Flat Earth
I looked out onto the water
To a horizon that’s always just one crest away
It keeps stretching getting further
With every stroke ta-ken
Till soon a-gain
Soon
Just
Another day now
To leave me wonder
Do I even know what I want there
—
If I swim out
To the edge now
Skirting sea demons
But still fall off of this flat earth
Into space
What would I hope to find
—
Maybe a lover
From my immor-tal days
One blithely left behind to fend her heart’s ways
Maybe my father and a proper goodbye
Say sorry for not being there not looking to the
Sky
Or maybe Mother have her wake from her daze
And maybe recognize the world once again
Or am I just treading waves hoping they hold
Long enough
To skirt more demons
Before I fall
—
I looked again now
Onto the water
Horizon still always just one crest away
It keeps stretching getting further
With every stroke ta-ken
Till soon a-gain
Soon
—
Maybe there’s still more air to gasp
Grasp and flail swim up from beneath the heavy waves
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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