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.
Now in January of last year I did a version of Melanie’s “What Have They Done To My Song” from back in 1970 with “Look What They’ve Done To Our Trump” which a good friend of mine commented at the time that she thought was the best parody tune I had done yet which was high praise because one: I had done a ton at that point and was still counting ’em and two: I didn’t really think she liked any of my parody tunes.
Who knew?
But hers is an opinion I value, still do and dearly so, so I took that, as I said, as high praise.
Well, things have changed dramatically since then, as we all know, and not for the better and I thought I’d revisit the song then and update the lyrics and do some liberal “borrowing” from the first one, freakin’ self plagiarist that I am!
Hey!! I said this is just an update!
Well, a slow tap of a foot and bop of a head again and some current thoughts.
Look what Trump’s done to his Trump, Ma
He’s the nightmare now that goes
bump
He finds fascism’s all he wants do just right
So he and despot pals are tight, Ma
Look what Trump’ s done to his Trump
.
Look what Trump’s done to the court, Ma
They’re just bought and paid for cohorts, now
He’s got six of ‘em dismissing precedents
And legislating from the bench, Ma
Look what Trump’s done to the court
.
He just wants a good country for whites to live in, Ma
Says he’s a true proud Ameri-can, Ma
Who just wants dismantle from the inside out
Destroy democracy for autocratic clout
Look what Trump wants for coun-try
.
NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA
NA NA NA NA NA NA NA
Cmon everybody NA NA NA with me
Maybe even LA DE DA
Look what Trump does for his Trump
.
But this’ll surely work for the right, Ma
Who’ll trade our freedoms for their piece of pie
They’ll justify a thuggish po-lice state
If it don’t come for them “well that’d be just great”
Until he finds their loyalty doesn’t rate
.
Now Trump’s just foll-o-wing a simple plan, Ma
Where he’s the Man to all his Stans, Ma
And he revels how easy this all has been
To revisit bleak history’s darkest sins
Look what our vote now calls a win
.
Look what Trump does for his Trump, Ma Ma Ma
He’s found just how to grift us all his chumps, Ma
He dances rooftops once re-vered houses white
While tastelessly gold gilding everything in sight
Broke out XTC’s “Oranges and Lemons” from back in ’89 earlier this week as the weather called for something that wasn’t my latest in the car, the slog of old school Deep Purple, in all their iterations.
Now for reference, I don’t listen to music any longer except in the car, 25 minutes at a time, Lilly, my six speed old man CD playing (ask grandma or grandpa about CD’s) girl. Love ya ol’ bluesy heavy metal but you can only go so far and you can be a bit dull. Are you loud, yes, loud is good, has always been good (sorry Ma, I’ll turn it down) especially with open windows, but are you bright and bouncy and lyrically damning and compelling and biting enough for sunny days? No, that you are not.
I’ve been a music only in the car for the longest time now where I used to be an always in the foreground or at least in the background as a subtle soundtrack of days. Should I worry that things are falling off, that once loves have been so easily discarded like baseball (not my doing) or relationships for instance? (reasons) or more, just altered?
I don’t know and I probably should be a little concerned that I don’t really care I guess. I mean I like to hear new things, usually at work where we sometimes build spots with new music, but at this point in my oldness I have my comforts and going back to Deep Purple or The Rainmakers or The Silencers or Alan Parsons or Bob Mould or XTC works just fine for me. I just don’t really feel the need to invest myself in anything new, I’m pretty full in that old regard, though I do look forward to something new from MonaLisa Twins at some point, the only “new” that has caught my fancy in the longest of time.
No, I’m good, I have words and cats and my sister has cats, they sing well enough at my feet at the crack of stinky can or on a set of stairs, one of them just needs to learn how to play guitar or even bass … not drums though, I don’t wanna have to hit a broomstick on a wall like a cranky old landlady.
Including an Arthur … apologies, I kinda talk pretty loud …
“Really Steve, you don’t say”
“What?”
… something I am always reminded of in videos but then forget when taking a video. But ya gotta love his eventual southern belle-esque turn of disdain here, a “Why my Lord, I neva …” the only thing missing being him holding a dramatic paw up to his face.
Now back to XTC and “Oranges and Lemons” their “Sgt Pepper” or from the artwork their “Yellow Submarine” (every band wants to have their own). I had the hardest time trying to decide which tune from it to present in this post as this album is just perfect, and I have only come across a handful or so that would meet that “perfect” mark for me, filled with so many great choices of tune and so many that even sing to our current times from 36 years ago and with Arthur’s disdain.
(writer’s note to self: This isn’t Facebook numbnuts, you can put more than one video here… Oh, right …)
Ok, so three then.
And close with pictures of cats … there’s always pictures of cats.
Saphira The Diva …
Rikki The Raspy … dude, can ya run down the street and get me a pack of smokes …
Got a call from a friend of mine (Friday) while I was still toiling away in the radio salt mines (yes I know, I can be so dramatic). It had been a been a day of pounding that salt into fine powder, one that had lingered longer than the usual, giving me a right on angry headache, even more headache than the usual Friday where shit always lingers and aches said head, salted, longer than any other day of the week. “production Fridays”.
Yeah, they are a “thing” in my small salt production world, with so much stuff, last minute, that just “HAS” to start on Monday.
But when I got that phone call I realized I wasn’t on my way home, and that was my cue to be done. damn the torpedoes Tom and the Mondays, as when these phone calls happen we are usually on our ways. Just some talk while we have our quiet time through some short time drives. There is something to be said of our time in cars.
But I adjusted, just paced instead into a studio where I could talk loudly outside the morgue quiet of my digs on a Friday night (I talk loudly, like wake the dead loudly, so I try to be respectful if I can even if no one may be around)
These calls are check-ins, have always been check-ins, sometimes more for one side than the other, depending, make sures of still breathing (with the hopeful picked up phone for confirmation) make sures of things that friends check in on for a bit of normalcy like how are the cats, what about that game and the latest gimmick that pisses you off or how is the better half or the newbie and his ever growing feet and newfound baseball fascination and new working, ever evolving mind and new singular habits doing?
I have been lax lately on new stuff in the Attic, other than my latest “poem” (poem in quotes as I am not quite sure of it), but I just haven’t “felt it”, haven’t felt need to anything new, I just haven’t for reasons, reasons I couldn’t tell ya of as I don’t know them.
But this friend was checking in with me, this time, really, for just that.
You see, he’d actually listened to me when I have said, to him and to others in the past, you don’t need worry or to call, you don’t need to concern. If you are for some reason curious as to a me, just check the Attic in the dust and musk and piled things in newly uncovered cardboard boxes, piled things of still breathing thoughts in an upstairs this is where I’ll be.
He listened, he’d noticed. Shit, I didn’t think anyone would actually listen to my entreats.
What a wonderful discovery … that someone would actually check in with me via the Attic, that they would notice my recent ebb.
It was a good phone call, there are still cats, there are always cats and stories of dogs now in his case, and there are better wives and growing feet and Happy Meals and growing minds and new baseball fascinations (no, I won’t be a dick as to my current opinion of the game in the new rules era) and there are lives to catch up on even in small talk windows.
In studios instead of cars? No matter.
Just a blip JJ. Just an ebb. Still breathing my friend.
Well the fourth … hold on … no, fuck you ad (freakin’ calendar phone apps) keep holding … you know what, let me just turn this over old school instead on a wall with a tack, oh hello July, you look like a younger Grayson (he was a cat, a very special cat) …
… the fourth is supposed to be this Friday if these annoying ad inundated apps and cat calendars have anything to say about it and that is the deadline Trump has imposed on his Big, Ugly Ass Evil Bill reconciliation package so he can take a victory lap right before the holiday while grilling immigrants and hot dogs and passing out brown shirts and small flags on small sticks made in China while laying claim to yet another amazingly destructive measure that he seems to gain so much pleasure from, he’s probably even considering subtly implying necessary kickbacks from his oligarchs and thinking of hugging another poor unsuspecting flag again for emphasis … I know, who would do that right?
But, well, I’m going to try my best to not lose any more sleep over it for the moment (though that’s probably an empty desire) and instead just enjoy a short week for my birthday as I have taken it, the 1st and then the 2nd off, back in on Thursday and then off on Friday and into the weekend.
Now I have no plans for this, don’t wish to have any plans for it other than doing what I’m doing right now, keyboard scribbling and hanging out with the girls (Bella & Cricket) for a little extra time. And, well “no plans” is still a plan, at least in my book and I am REALLY good at such.
Hey? You need someone to assist you in planning no plans? I’m your guy. And it’s pretty simple really, I just tell people NOT to ask for my help and then just do nothing. I don’t know if they take this advice that I don’t give on helping to plan no plans but it works for me and I’m happily left in the dark as to their successes or failures.
But with my birthday rolling around for yet another year, timely precise bastard that it is (you know, you could miss a year or two, I’d be alright with that) but with it returning with reminders of more gray hair and shorter breath and larger waistlines and creakier, cracking backs I am reminded, as with a conversation with Beck earlier, that well, I, we still got ones, these birthdays and not ones that someone else is remembering for us with flowers and maybe a knelt tear or two.
No, we’re still kicking it, Beck and I reminded ourselves, while she practiced some guitar and I caught up with her on her recent past weekend away to the Burgh (Pittsburgh) with her guy, Buck.
She went out that way with him this past Thursday, something she and he do every summer, maybe a couple of times, to take the Burgh back in and catch a Bucco game on a Saturday.
And in their yinzing they visited the Iron City Beer Brewery for a tour and eventually the gift shop and picked me up a couple of things … much appreciated.
Now while she was gone I was the cattaker, as always, as I mentioned in my 5:39am post from last week, and others as well making sure to take care of her three along with my two of course, keep everyone in good furry sorts of stinky food and company, including Arthur, who I think broke a little earlier this morning at 5am in his missing of Mom (Monday the 30th) as I heard him at the top of the stairs, meowing his pained, lonely cries down into my basement room (a nice one by the way, this basement room, not some dark and dank place with only food and water provided by someone throwing it down the stairs just within reach of the chains, but a really comfortable spot with a bed and pillows and litter boxes and stuff collected and a TV and an air fryer and a fridge and a microwave and bookcases with clothes to read on the shelves.
But he was just looking for company and, as I have done in other recent posts, a couple of quick videos then, simply because they are always Arthur cute and endearing.
Timeline:
5am: Arthur plaintively meowing at the top of the basement stairs
8am: Groggily make my way upstairs for a shower
830am: In the final moments of getting dressed for the day
845am: Make my way back upstairs with Arthur following to feed he and Saphira and Rikki, who, raspily reminds me that I’m fucking late for her breakfast, that she has been simply wasting away waiting for me at this late time and where she just glares at me in her chunkiness when I say that she should really start an exercise routine and eat a bit of lettuce or something.
Well, another birthday, one that has me turning 61 and officially being in my 60’s now (yes, can’t fudge this shit any longer when I could still say that I was in my 50’s last year) and my first one at Beck’s place, in a nice basement like its own apartment, with she and Matt and extra cats.
Still kickin’ it we are Beck, and happily and thankfully so.
Holding off on flowers and tears from others just yet …
Oh, and a favorite birthday post from a few years ago where it was all about Victor stories and gifts of fancy hot dogs and ice cream cakes (he is a number of years older now and would surely hate me for this re-post)
Now this is kinda exciting, not really but kinda, like hearing that “winner” sound at the Deli when Sandy runs your lottery ticket and you realize you’ve maybe gained 20 bucks back on the hundreds you’ve spent over the last 3 or 4 months trying to grab a dream (you know it isn’t more than that as Sandy ain’t dancin’ or calling a lawyer) but still kinda exciting ‘cause my new headphones are here! My new headphones are here! while Steve Martin bounces in spirit with a phonebook and I literally just ordered them last night.
5:39 am “delivered” email.
Yay and wow and cheers to you Amazon driver person! I hope at least you can go home early and have something of a Sunday.
And yay and wow and cheers to you Jeff Bezos … for like five seconds. You’ve still got a lot of ‘splainin’ to do for your acquiescing knee bent protection money spending sitting privileged in the back bleachers all proudly for coronation photos and your hatred of unions like some sweat shop boss and holding back WaPo opinions and just general Jeff Bezos questions as you aren’t what you seemed.
Shit, I’m guessing 5:39am driver guy or gal might be thinking a question or two as well, just not out loud.
But you get a temporary mulligan, a one I will rescind though and mark that ”gift” 8 on your card in a heartbeat (you really need to work on your putting game. I would have killed you in mini golf … Oh, I know how to play this windmill … and this creepy generic clown with the hole in it’s nose?)
But it is still a little exciting anyway as the duct tape on my old ones was really starting to scratch my ears more annoyingly than it already did. Duct tape can work for a lot of things, as we all know, back car bumpers, corners of cell phones, gas lines you accidentally dug up without notifying anyone you would be digging, small parts of bridges, even relationships if you are into that sort of thing, but headphones? Not so much.
So 5:39am driver gal or guy? Thank you. Now clock out little early if you can. It’s a Sunday.
It’s also kinda exciting as I don’t really do “purchases” other than trips to the grocery store but that’s just a necessity to keep me and my Bella and my Cricket alive, I just don’t do big things and anything over 75 bucks is a big thing for me so a hundred bucks for these new Sony MDR 7506’s is a big thing (I am only name brand on two things, Hellmans and headphones). But my Mom in her infinite Mom’d wisdom left me and my Sis and my Brother a few dollars, certainly not some huge windfall inheritance that the three of us would fight over like in a Lifetime movie or a cage match but enough to have me feeling a little flush for the first time in … well I couldn’t tell ya as I have never felt flush. I love what I do, have loved what I do for too many years now but it ain’t affording me any Rockefeller status so having a couple of extra bucks is new and welcome.
Now Beck (my Sis and housemate and dearest friend and landlady who only asks for a few dollars and be subject to her and her “circle’s” weird blood letting rituals on Monday nights (I think they speak Welsh in them if only to confuse me and Tuesdays can be a bit of a slog) and to be a backup guy for her Saphira, Arthur & Rikki cats if she is out of town down the state at Buck’s place, tells me, knowing me, that it is alright to treat myself to a few things now especially as that is what Mom would have wanted. Hell, I’ve just been happy enough to not have to worry over grabbing lunch “out” and not brown bag it courtesy of Mom without having to crunch numbers so Beck’s assurances and Mom’s extra Momness has been a small bonus and with it? Well, a necessary new computer (a few months ago) and a new pair of headphones to plug into it.
Also a new computer chair that will be here, I hope, just before my birthday in a couple of weeks which is a big one, no, not the chair (though it does have “executive” in it’s descriptor and will allow me, more comfortably, to fall asleep in it like any old man worth his salt, I mean, that’s what old men do right, fall asleep in chairs?) but a first birthday beyond the milestone of a new zero from a year ago.
You see when you have milestone birthdays, besides being able to exhale a sigh of relief that somehow the universe hasn’t been paying too much attention to the stupid shit that you’ve done for the last ten years, like the blood results for a feared checkup that show Ok counts of what blood does when it’s being counted and not of what you did last Wednesday, but you realize that for whatever this milestone is you could at least say, for a year, that last year I was still in my 20’s or 30’s or 40’s or 50’s.
Why is this a big one coming up? Because I am going to officially be in my 60’s and I can’t get the fuck out now, I’ll have to wait another ten years to say last year I was in my 60’s.
Well, here’s to 5:39 am drivers, duct tape not duct taped to my ear for sound, comfortable eventual chairs and Moms still doing Momness even from the great beyond.
While Thomas Went Mad (part one: Smoothing Stones)
Thomas thought of madness quite often or at least what madness would allow. I mean it’s madness after all, he thought, would I, me, he or that beleaguered soul in a muddied street below seen from a high window who could be me even know?
No, he walked the halls leaning, for balance, sliding his left palm on those ancient and smoothed stone walls over words not quite worn, though he knew that would take more time, well beyond his, well beyond his imagined, words he only partially understood (were they of Master Pembroke, of his stories of devout guidance or were they of Saint – he so wished to meet Saint someday) but only the good parts of the words of course, he hoped, assumed, thought, wished through his unrelenting stark dark visions, or dreams, instead, as he was more inclined to call some of them, the kinder ones, the simpler ones, yes, that was a bit easier to couch, much more benign but what if he were backwards in thought, a pretzeled logic instead where that what which was are would could seemed stitched together with a thread of hope, that reality wasn’t the walls but the dreams, or … are actually not that at all, instead meant only to distract from the harsher ones and the mundane walls and the awful, nonsensical wanderings of his head?
Thomas thought hard on this, as hard as he could, as hard as his fractious mind would allow in shoulds and woulds and coulds and maybe’s though, he was sure, as absolutely sure as he could be expected to be in his me’s, I’s, he’s that still existed somewhere in that me, I, he, he knew, primally at the base of the hairs on the back of his neck, the ones on his arms, the ones on his legs even in the shorter ones below that just confused him as they made no curling sense, especially when they gave way to tall, that this wasn’t actually madness after all as right side up becomes wrong side down while sliding his left palm, for balance, along smoothinged walls, with words inscribed that he was erasing over time, he just knew … but I can’t be expected to have madness make sense now can I he thought? I must just treat it, address it in simple maddened minded maddening terms. Maybe even embrace it.
And Thomas waited this madness and walked and leaned for balance, and smoothed those words over time with his left palm of he or a his or a mine and he waited as there would be a time … that was all he knew … for what he couldn’t say but there would be a time.
//////////////////////////////////////////
Master Pembroke watched his halting, hiccupping screen, tapping it like that would help “What do you think?” he said to Minor Pembroke “can we proceed?”
“I don’t think so, not just yet sir. He is still smoothing the walls”
“Oh, the walls Minor, it’s always with the walls”
“But he needs to see, or feel that he is rubbing them smooth, alter his perception of time, let him know that this is the only real”
“Ok, I will defer to you then, but when does it just become, you know, cruel?”
“Have you your sash Sir?”
“No, I don’t … have you seen it?
“It’s right under your chin sir”
Fumbling his neck “Oh it is, it is right here, thank you Minor … such a funny thing … it was always right here wasn’t it?”
“You are always welcome Master. Now time to rest”
“Indeed Minor. I am a bit tired”
“How about we let Missive Pembroke here get you to bed?
“That would be nice”
//////////////////////////////////////////
Thomas had dreamt again, no darkened vision, all of his Thomas’s, the he’s and me’s and I’s and even the them’s, the one of the house, no, cottage, yes cottage with painted window flats, shutters, is that what they were called, of the one where it got closer, again, though seemingly imperceptible if anyone else were to witness or even join his dreams and go mad with him, all of the him’s, but they knew, he knew, that the grass was just a little taller, he could actually count the spokes on the cart now and the former blur in the window now had spots that could be eyes and even blue, no brown hair?
//////////////////////////////////////////
“C’mon Thomas time to wake and take you for your walk”
This Missive Pembroke was different from the others, the ones that beat him and made him make promises he didn’t understand, even signed in blood sometimes on paper they wouldn’t allow him of his own, and she was taller too, tall enough that she wouldn’t need a ladder or even a simple stool in the orchard for an apple. He found himself, all of his selves liking her, though he realized it was most probably that she just didn’t beat him or ask of him things. She just put him to bed and then, lifetimes later, would wake him for his walk.
“Take your time Thomas” she said with genuine patience and an even seeming care, this is where the bruises and even blood would come with the others if he wasn’t spry enough. He didn’t know what he had done, or hadn’t done, to deserve this new Missive Pembroke but it, she, was most welcome.
“Thank you”
“Did you sleep well?”
“You know we did not”
“Sorry Thomas”
“What? What? WHAT?!! Apologies, the others are demanding me to ask if you have a name?”
“Yes, it’s Missive Pembroke of course”
“No, What? WHAT!!?? I’m getting to it … sshussh … no, an actual name. You surely had a mother? A one who called you something, even just in the fleeting early moment, something coy and cute, just between she and you?”
“I don’t know what you mean Thomas”
“(Sigh) it’s just that you call us Thomas, and so sweetly, but all I can call you is Missive. It just seems so … we don’t know … so distant, so impersonal”
“But I am not distant Thomas, I am right here, is my name really a matter?”
“No, you’re right Missive Pembroke, you are right here and that’s all that matters and blah, blah, blah (all the while all his selves went to the cottage in search) blah, blah, blah, blah …”
“Wow, you are quite chatty this morning Thomas”
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah (then, suddenly, one of his me’s, his him’s, found a two-wheel in the ever talling grass, a one they knew for some reason, a one that had a name scratched name on it’s body, like with a nail or a sharp sprig) Ok … Lily?”
The Missive stopped short, taken aback, she hackled suddenly “what did you say!?”
Thomas flinched, scrunched “What? I am sorry” and hemmed and hawed while all his Me’s ducked their heads and scrambled for unified thought “I just thought we could go into the garden one of these days … to maybe … maybe there are … Roses … yes Roses there, or Lilies, Daffodils maybe too, something to smell, to admire, something more than walls in halls”
The Missive shrunk the hackles “Yes, Thomas, that would be nice and is a fine idea, there are Roses there and Daffodils and even Petunias, so pretty right about now, but all the year round. Yes that is something we should do soon”.
All of the Thomas’s noted that she didn’t say Lilies.
Well, my PTO has finally rolled over (Paid Time Off by the way, not Paul Tried Origami or Patty’s Trusted Oncologist (hey that’s important) or Palantir’s Takeover Onesies and an owned from your get go cute baby t-shirt (which are all understandable mistakes … I’m with ya) … I’m only pointing/spelling out these possibilities as when as when I was first introduced to the acronym I worried that I was going to have to go to meetings in the town hall basement community room with Parents and Teachers and bad coffee and day old donuts and fold chairs into that long contraption that collects chairs at the end after listening to Madge drone on and on about whatever Madge drones on and on about.
I mean, I feel bad for the loss of Mr Sniffems Smarty Pants, who was like 98 in human years and walked with 3 canes (don’t ask), but somebody really needs to start a fund to get her another cat, and it’s even tacked on three extra days now as I have hit the ten year mark at the stations (Oh, you shouldn’t have, that was waaaaaay too kind and they were really nice, even the “Happy New Year!” “It’s Her Birthday!” and “You Finally Graduated Now Go Get A Job And Get The Hell Out Of The House I Have Plans For Your Room” ones you got in a bundled discount and I didn’t even know they had “So Sorry For Your Loss” balloons as well, but it’s the thought right?) so I figgr’d to add Tuesday to this already extended weekend and take my first renewed day.
A bit of a vacay if you will or staycay as I’ve heard it phrased by those in the witty cool know (and which is more my old man speed anyway) as I don’t go out, I don’t travel or have any need to, I don’t go to events, I’d even avoid my own funeral if I could get out of it, though that’s a question of the Devil, and a one that would probably be my last anti-social hurrah, I have even conditioned my friends to not trying to bother to ask their “Hey, what are you doing this weekend” questions and before I belabor this some more and repeat myself from an old post that explains it (it is here below) that explains more in full of how I don’t do, or care to, or give a shit to … plus it also comes with a really fun re-play of my version of the Oompa Loompa song by the way, if you haven’t already heard it, so don’t just dismiss me out of hand.
I have though noticed, over the last few years, that if use up my PTO time too early, like by a couple of months, as I always do, I spend those last couple of months being overly tired, on edge and noticeably scatterbrained.
“Well how about you dole them out with more of a plan then, so you don’t waste them too early”
‘Yeah, fuck you Captain Obvious, but you’re right”
“I told you”
Note: Never admit ANYTHING to Captain Obvious and give him a win. He’s a nice fella an all, well meaning surely, but he can be a bit of a dick in his judgements and condescension so that all you’re gonna wanna do is slap him upside the head or knee cap him if you know the right people but that shit takes time, so many layers there, including paying off your uncle’s debts (he’s always loved the ponies, they’ve just never loved him back) plus, violence is never the answer, at least not on an extra Tuesday.
Wednesday? Well, that’s up in the air.
This one extra day though? A Tuesday? More than welcome.
//////////////////////////////////////////
April 2, 2024
So a friend, Drew, recently posted to the Facebook this meme …
… and I thought well, what if the Oompa’s showed up at the funeral of this meme guy, a fella named Bob maybe, whose ‘last mistake’ was actually his LAST mistake.
Now, if anyone was wondering why it’s been so long since I’ve had a girlfriend, probably not, well, this is the kind of thing that I think about and do for fun which goes a long way to explaining said singleness.
I don’t date, don’t go to movies, or dinner, or events, or play pickleball, or go “clubbin'” and whatever that might entail (sounds expensive and I ain’t got the wardrobe for it as I’m sure sweatpants aren’t gettin’ me past the bouncer) I don’t nature hike, I’m not a regular at any monthly game nights with friends, I don’t Church, I don’t Astrology (seriously? the phases and prickliness at holiday get togethers of Mars or Venus? Be more concerned with the “aura” of that rogue planet we pissed off in the late 40’s, I don’t go to family get togethers with anyone new and pretty in tow to make Aunt’s happy (Oh, “finally” they would say in small Aunt klatches quieting any busybody speculation), I don’t gym or bike or jog or even walk briskly, not that some exercise wouldn’t hurt, I don’t do anything in groups though the one’s I am not in might sometimes remark unfairly of such, no, I just do this sort of stuff and other writing things silly and not silly, oh, and I have full blown conversations with cats.
It’s amazing what you can learn about a cat’s daily by the way, if you just take the time to listen.
“Really? You meditated in a window in the sun (napped) while contemplating the mysteries of the universe (still napping) and then woke up and went to the litter box?!”
Yeah, that ‘single’ status ain’t changing anytime soon I don’t think.
Anyway, for the dearly departed Bob, who took one final unintended bus ride to the sky.
Oompa Loompa Bob Song
Oompa, Loompa, doompety-do I’ve got a little story for you Oompa, Loompa, doompety-dee it’s about Bob so please listen to me
What do you get when you’re walking a street Lost in your cell “hey, that video’s neat” You don’t pay attention to what’s in your surrounds Including that curb’s last mistake to be found
I don’t like the look of this
Oompa, Loompa, doompety-don’t Step off that curb Bob please tell me you won’t Oompa, Loompa, doompety-please Lift your head, look around at that bus bearing down
So in the header for my blog here I do my best to give you an idea of what to expect if you decide to do some rummaging around some strange man’s attic or scream, after such, for help to anyone who might be listening on the front path three stories below to get you out of the shackles and chains (though, good luck with that – these are new double paned storm windows).
I mean, no site worth its salt doesn’t give you some sort of idea as to who or what is behind it and what to expect of its content right? Even if it’s just a pithy slogan.
News sites are good for that.
Washington Post – “Democracy Dies In Darkness” … or at the end of a slinking, weak willed, million dollar pen for an inauguration fund.
“Fair and Balanced / Most Watched, Most Trusted” … always with the jokes and works in progress for them there folks over at Fox “News” huh?
Voice of America “… choke … gasp … Kari … suicidal thoughts … reels … choke … the devil’s handmaiden … Lake …” Ok, that one’s a little lengthy and ungainly.
“This is CNN” … boring and noncommittal has its place I guess.
MSNBC “Lean Forward” … but not too far, leaning forwards or backwards, either way, can be a concern especially when dependent on the winds.
One America News Network … “The Wheels On The Bus.”
Breitbart … “Fuck You Democracy”
And others …
White House News (Propaganda-R-Us) and Travel Agency … “So Many Possibilities” … (that one can change on the fly though, depending on the legality or Karoline’s light ultra or meta ultra condescending mood).
But mine simply lays out for you to just expect things written of my everyday “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 story-etic or something like that.”
But the important thing of note here is that I’ve been able to come about all of these pieces while wearing the right pair of glasses, my “close” glasses.
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Lilly the Car has been making some unwelcome sounds lately, like she’s carrying a bucket of steel stones under her belly, which, truthfully, she has probably been sounding alarm of for quite a while now, cries for help, I just haven’t heard them from listening to my damned heavy metal return to old school volume Deep Purple for open windows in nice weather. That rumble of Ritchie Blackmore and the boys might have even contributed to it.
But when I finally turned the volume down I realized, shit, there might be an issue here. My apologies Lilly, you and my mother could surely commiserate on Steve, still, after all these years, never listening to those pleas to please turn that crap down.
So, I inquired of a shop, which was a concern of mine since moving up this way. Could I find a place like Lou’s (from many years down in Beacon) that I could trust? Well Beck (my Sis if you didn’t already know) via my nephew and his gear head friends, recommended a place called Hari’s that I immediately liked it as I couldn’t find it under “Harry’s” with any search. Nope, I just liked it.
Then I asked Beck if she could follow me to drop Lilly off and then give me a ride the rest of the way to my day. Her commute mirrors mine, or can mirror mine in times like this as she works just around the corner.
And that was it, thanks Beck with a wave. But when I went inside to my desk, started the process of a day, I realized that things were a bit fuzzy.
First thought? Oh, son of a bitch, my eyes just got really bad, like seemingly overnight, then I looked at my phone, even worse, as that shit is small and now I was going to be checking on the going rate of pencils. I was suddenly Burgess Meredith in that classic Twilight Zone episode “Time Enough At Last” where he finally gets his wish for people to be gone and leave him alone in a huge library, with countless books to read for the rest of his days, only to then break his glasses.
Then? “Oh, son of a bitch twice!” I’m still wearing my “driving” glasses. There was relief for a moment, whew, I don’t have to make phone calls to the eye doc I also haven’t found yet for a checkup and distressing news.
But now I had to take my wave back and call Beck to ask for another favor, a much bigger one. Your idiot brother left his “close” glasses in Lilly and is instead wearing his “driving” glasses which aren’t worth a spit if, ya know, ya ain’t driving and could she circle back to the shop, Hari’s, and save me?
Though I can laugh about it now, stupid unintentional things that can follow me from the moment I wake to the moment I go back to sleep (though a lot stupid happens then too, just nonsensically and with more color) but it was debilitating. It gave me a greater appreciation for what I do still have, two pairs of glasses? That’s a non-starter of an imposition.
And it gave me a greater appreciation of a sister who surely just sighs often but still loves me anyway … for the most part … I hope.
Well it seems now that not only will I have to shell out a few bunch of dollars to fix that bucket of metal stones from under Lilly’s belly (you don’t want to know the estimate, let’s just say the number is equivalent to that of a ton of bricks) but I will also have to shell out some more for some backup glasses to leave in my always places … just in case.
Ok, now I have covered the “thoughts on getting older” (for recent things) part of my header as well, or more realistically “thoughts on BEING older”.
It was a bit of a week in Frankenland, yes, simple radio commercial/podcast producer guys have those too, not that that is a thing you think about for comparison, but it was a bit of a week nonetheless.
All I wanted to do at the end of it was to just sit, as I have mentioned before, just sit. Though I realize there are many things that are better and healthier than just sitting, like anything other than just sitting, maybe line dancing on a Wednesday night with Kacey and the girls, or tennis with unfound friends at that country club back when, when they declined my application for what I don’t know (Hey! that was just once and Mrs Wagaman’s rose bushes grew back just fine the next year thank you! No, I didn’t know her husband was the chairman of the country club board) I did though get a kiss from THE most popular girl in school courtesy of a few rose bushes (I think, memory gets a bit hazy right around then) and in front of people! PEOPLE! (still hazy) and screw you, I didn’t play tennis anyway.
I wanted to only do just that, sit, damning the possible healthy of a walk but not damning the computer chair with a cat on a lap.
But one of the things I like to do in this just sitting is to put my headphones on, the one’s only held right ear together now with spit and duct tape (a bit scratchy and sticky and wet but workable) and listen to some of my stuff, my old parodies to see if they still stand, which of course they do, just dated, I mean he hasn’t really changed all that much other than being more empowered in his authoritarian dreams.
Anyway, I also did do some tunes then that weren’t the doom and gloom of an orange.
I figured at the time to branch out and get my head out of the morass (see what I almost did there?)
This was one of my first and and a long time favorite still (also another I did at the time, We Let Billy Drive The Car). Just something to an instrumental I had found and the remembering of old girlfriends.
It is something I have posted and re-posted before but why not again?
Hell, this shit is mine and so is this blog so …
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She Said (Old T-shirt Song)
She said where have you been because ya seem lost
Feel like I’m living a fever dream but at what cost
Where you’re here one day then gone the next is this a test
I’m even wearing that old T-shirt that you liked the best
—
But is it yours or mine I’m not quite sure
Did I even one time even know this band I forget the tour
Found it on the floor newly washed I’m sure I think it’s yours
But you’re somewhere gone I think I must report you lost
—
We used to be on page in the same book
And you would give me looks to make me bend around with you
And send me stars as dots to connect of how you and I were them
Until we reached the moon no lookin’ back just … postcards to send
—
She said we sillied with the best of them
Made others envy green when they couldn’t contend with us they bled
That green and not just in the month of March is what they jigged
You’d make us angry year round if we could only ever be mad at you …
—
But you’re missing now … she said
What’s happened to you … where is your head
But you’re missing now … she said
What place do you go … one that isn’t our stead
You’re missing now … she said
Is it a place where I can bring you back now from the dead
———-
I guess this T-Shirt’s mine now is what she says
I think I might just even have to wear it to bed
But not with thoughts of you if that’s somehow in your head
No I won’t be wearin’ it long … that’s what he said
—
No it’ll hit the floor running as he gives me looks
To bend around with him in writing pages fresh book
And he sends me new stars on new trips to the moon
When we all received our first Covid checks, 12 hundred bucks I think it was, back around the time we started mainlining cleaning products and shining ultra violet lights up our asses according to the expert who knew all the sciency shit we needed to know to try and combat this new scourge of the planet, never even considering that WE might be the scourge in the first place and that maybe mother nature had finally figured out a “Fuck you” that didn’t involve great fires or great floods to put out great fires after great floods I bought a new computer.
I know, sorry, a bit anticlimactic there, but I bought a new computer, while sitting uncomfortably on a hot light bulb and feeling a bit lightheaded with a little blood on my tri-cep, to replace my old girl who was just limping along then, holding on to me only for the cat pictures and the power cord and asking that I please not forget her.
Don’t worry girlfriend, I said to her, I will transfer you into this new device and you will have a new life like some new freaky that is just around the corner. Then all the local wildlife started acting a bit wonky, repeating a lot of things that I sort of recognized from half-finished and half-baked things that I had started to write until I realized I was probably doing something wrong.
I mean, it might have just been me, but I don’t think raccoons spouting partial sentences of stuff I had only just started and almost only just remembered I wrote surely wasn’t quite right. Plus they also started taking breaks from their raccoon shenanigans and instead began hanging outside the convenience store with their right hand feets pressed bent kneed flat against walls with remembered cool cigarette wall leans.
Everything went swimmingly for a short while, for like 5 short minutes, until … well, they didn’t. It was then that I realized that of the 9 out of 10 Dells that are, from some old time’s old slogan, still on the road today, the internet and simple word document road, that mine had driven itself off into a ditch.
I weathered and gray haired and took naps (I’m old after all, so the naps were welcome) and I waited for little Delly to catch up with me.
It didn’t happen.
So now I am kind of back at square one as I have, again, bought a new computer, a one that I’ll figg’r how to pay for on Tuesday with an owed hamburger and a one that I am sure will lead me into the promised land of a new PC or laptop in this case, one that actually works with speed and efficiency and doesn’t have me windexing my internal organs for any reason.
Even now though, I am reticent to preach too loudly of the joys of something new that works as it should but I am still excited, like a little kid, and I even started smoking again against a satisfied propped pillow like in a movie (no I didn’t do that) and texted a couple of best friends of my joy, even sending them a picture of BellCrick (the registering of this new wonder asked me to name it … that’s what I gave … BellCrick though I know that sounds like a stream somewhere in Appalachia that don’t take too kindly to the new fangled of ya’lls and ya best watch yawselves
But I was still excited.
Ok, so a pic from a new computer land, a world of speedy wonder now and no longer a halted mystery as to when shit might actually open and stop having me teach innocent cats human words they should never have to learn.
Ok, heavenly horns you ready?
What?
Jesus … (sigh) … Larry are you ready on the heavenly horns?
For what?
Are you high again Larry?
Ummmmm … we’re in the clouds Bill, yeah I’m high
Fuck you Larry, no the horns of the big reveal?
Oh yeah, right, that … On it. Yo Stephens! Wake up, hit the horns!
What??
Ahhhh, son of a bitch (muttering …sometimes ya just gotta do things yourself) … just go back to sleep Stephens. Here ya go Bill …
HORNS OF AN ANGRY TRAFFIC JAM
SHIT!!! Sorry Bill, wrong horns
Never mind Larry (muttering … don’t listen girls, close your innocent cat ears … useless motherfuckers rasser frasser) …
Bella: Innocent cat ears?! Dude, seriously?! I’ve been living with you for 13 years, word innocence is long, long lost on this cat.
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My sister, Beck, every holiday season, goes to Shutterfly with a boatload of pictures in hand and builds a calendar. She’s been doing this since even before Shutterfly existed, she just waited, patiently, builds a calendar as a “stocking stuffer” Christmas present for all of us, each month of the year replete with family photos, about six or seven or so per month.
It is such a welcome calendar relief as opposed to the last minute calendar gifts you search for at the mall to check off your last minute end of list lazies at the kiosk at the bottom of the escalator “Oh, I’m sure cousin Janine would love this one of puppies or Uncle Frank would like this one of frogs, or maybe long lost cousin Constance who you just discovered wasn’t actually dead and would be a new guest at Christmas dinner, this one of “Fight Clubs from ‘Round the World” would fit her present bill as you had heard rumors.
No, my Sis puts these together every year and to tell ya the truth it is the one gift that I look forward to the most. It is the one that truly just keeps on giving, every month, for a whole year, and I don’t look forward, instead waiting on monthly surprises of the reminders of fun and family and friends and for this year, as you look up to your right at your desk, you find your Overlord, Jillian in the Month of March (a band name there if there ever was one).
Yes Overlord Jillian, I believe in you in Overlord Jillian, can you stop looking at me like that Overlord Jillian please, your mocking, scrunchy lipped scrutiny of this simple man is most unwelcome and unwarranted Overlord Jillian. NO, I did NOT do something stupid … well, not this time.
All hail the Overlord!!!
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Started my day earlier than usual today, around 5am, a Friday, a one where I couldn’t sleep and just said fuck it and peeled a Cricket the Cat off my chest and, after I showered and got set, I grabbed a pair of of cargo shorts from last Spring/Summer. Let’s just say that if I had attempted to wear them for an entire day I would have been singing in a higher pitch by the end of it.
They no longer fit, not by even a mile or a pants size or two or three by even a three mile couple of hundred feet. I really, as per my last post, need to do some walking, at least, just start.
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Went to Ocean State Job Lot for some new shorts then, armed with the realization that my old has caught up with me, that I need to get my fat ass out of the house and do a walking circuit or two around the neighborhood on a regular basis. Maybe even say Hi to people and pet their dogs along my way.
My sister has three cats, one of which is Rikki who I call “Chunky Pants” a furry, wobble wobble walk wobble wobble walk wobble wobble furry bowling ball with the head of a cat who has now said to me, with her upwards look “That Chunky Pants shit ain’t really all that funny anymore now is it Mister? And I am a lady thank you, don’t be talking about my weight!”
Oh, Ocean State also had some sneaks, just past the foreign crackers and foreign fruits and nuts and just before the rugs. And it does some fine rugs by the way, Ocean State does, but never ones large enough to roll a body into so you know they are legitimate, at least I don’t think so, but, to be safe I’m not really gonna check. But the sneaks? They’re London Fog, whodaknew? I mean I could make deals on bridges in WWII or Cold War flicks for state and military secrets not only in a trench coat and but in cool (ugly) kicks as well? Nice!.
I’ll assume that London Fog also sells fedora’s to complete the look. Have to keep my eyes open for that.
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Stopped into Dollar General earlier for some sponges and Tums, industrial lubricant and Heshey’s kisses (hey don’t judge plus I was just kidding, I didn’t buy Tums) and to check the latest in their dollar aisle and remembered that they have pillows, figured I could use some new ones, as who couldn’t use some new pillows, those sleep stains of your sweaty ass head could surely use a pillow upgrade, especially for cats to argue over.
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My breakfast, or dinner or lunch always involves some reading, usually anything just for some words that are strung with meaning and to stay on top of things and are often found in the opinion pieces at the Washington Post, so many good ones there, once anyway, before Jeff Bezos has his plan of acquiescence to the King come to to fruition which just pisses me off but also scares the bejeesus, whatever or whoever the hell bejeeus is, out of me at the same time.
“How have we come this close?” I say while also noting what a self serving and evil prick our extra President is as a side note, though it’s always good to have a backup, I guess, and a one that would present a pretty interesting dynamic should this now actual President suddenly give heart stop way courtesy of those quarter pounders of his from Secret Service runs, in the middle of the night, and leave us with a temporary Christmas-like reprieve come that morning.
Oh, to dream.
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Checked Neatorama, as I always do for a bit of a 10 minute break, a site highly recommended by the way for just such, if you didn’t already know, and came across a band, Analog Society, who it seems are pretty darn good at mashups but who also have this cool ass tune and cool ass video and leave me this perfect cool ass spot to get out of here before I get upset at my last point (and it has horns and a really pretty girl who can just belt it!!)
What Overlord!? I was just noting pretty and cool horns and pipes. Give me a break will ya!?!?
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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