Bloody Mary Morning

Christmas night - Its over in 4 hours and 45 minutes. I've made it through the worst part of the holiday season, and although I spent a couple of hours looking at old pictures from Costa Rica, Louisiana, float trips and off shore I didn't dwell on too much misery. In fact, I realized that I created all of those memories. I might not have been alone but there was only one constant in all of those photographs: me! Dogs, friends, girls and memories have all come and gone and the only thing that is really left standing, besides possibly my family, is me. Sometimes lately it feels like its nothing more than what is left of me. I don't even know why I worry after looking at some of those pictures, pictures of Utah, Florida, Missouri, Arkansas, and New Orleans, Louisiana.

But its Christmas night and I have Willie Nelson in the headphones. Willie makes sad songs seem happy somehow. "I won't make reason to why I miss her so... To make a long story short, she's gone." He needs more songs about dogs, at least one really good song about a dog.

Summer time coat

I look rather large and unamused. Funny face has the Boulevard Wheat. The trees are green and summer time rocks, working for DHL, sitting on my ass, driving around, eating gas station food and drinking beers every night.
The Bar will be named - Hopefully the Brass Monkey, or Feng Shui Cafe, on the loan app it had to be called Ferenzi's... Shane and Noah in the back ground. Get to work slackers! Terrance

Gogol Bordello

I can't think today - more specifically, medicine head. Selffulfilling prophecy - talk about medicine head, become medicine head. Hopefully mentioning New Orleans doesn't scare up the ghosts I left in that sweet sweet city! Wholly crap that would be bad! Especially during the holiday season... Those ghosts were bad and they're names are better left unmentioned. I've talked about them too long, now they will destory me! hahahaha...

I did remember one thing really cool about New Orleans that I would like to share. I lived two blocks away from the house John Kennedy Toole lived in with his family. He also taught ESL in Puerto Rico! Fuckign Wikipedia is all you will ever need... I wish I would have visited his grave. Maybe one day.

Since I will be leaving for Christamas Vacation, the second biggest time of year at any elementary school, I thought I would try to write as much as possible in this blog today and tomorrow. I don't know how much time I am going to have to write while I'm on break. I'm planning on being pretty hung over for as much of the break as possible and there's the bar and the band and Ankur coming to visit, and, oh yeah, I have a son to take care of... God that makes vacation sound like more work than work.

I don't think I've mentioned the bar or the band here. My brother just bought a bar, an empty building, and I am so into putting a deli in the front, with the big windows and cozy little space, with coffee, bagels, ham sandwichs, avacados, bean sprouts, no fryer or grill... three blocks from the university - and live music in the back, with a full bar. I don't see how the picture I have in my head could possibly fail, unless we are just lazy about the whole thing.

The band, much sorer subject, fucking dorks and primadonnas and I am a little of both. I love them, especially Nathan the drummer, because I haven't gotten to know him as well as I would like. After three years he still doesn't come out just to party down - which is cool with me. Shane and I have been partying like clowns since we were sophmores in high school. Is that sad or what? We really are like brothers, I know because I have two real ones, but we still ENJOY doing the same crap sometimes, with way less frequency. We haven't been out on a week night in years. Maybe we will over our break. Our new CD, our new bass player, my brother, our old bass player, Billy Beale, it is so much goddamn drama I just want to scream.

I'll go on a ledge and say how I feel about each one of them: Steve, piano, sax, trumpet, singing, he's a dork and a primmadonna just like me! We get along great and he is fun to joke with. Mike - percussion, trumpet. He's cool and I don't see enough of him lately. That usually changes around Christmas time. Dr. Taylor too... I have a feeling those ghosts will reappear in the next 12 days! (12 days of Christmas! hilarious) Shane - yeah, three bands, known each other since 10th grade, best man in his wedding, 'nuff said. Nathan - see above. Ben - he's my gd brother so I have to like him. Sterotypical brother relationship... We get into a fist fight about once a year. So everything sounds good - I just really wish we wouldn't have kicked Billy Beale out! I said it. Shit, we'd still be playing regular, we wouldn't have to teach Ben all this new shit. Who gives a shit if Billy drinks way way to much Crown Royal and acts like a fool in front of a couple hunderd people? I think that is ROCK and ROLL people -

Off of my chest demon - the night that broke the camel's back Shane was wasted, I was wasted, we maintained on stage, Billy didn't, que sera sear...

Shit, I've written too much, no one will ever make it this far. if you do, post the secret code and I will send you a free CD! Hot off the press. The Bovine Arrival - My Big Dead Cow! fuckin funny. Okay, the code is m42thcSp-A-8

We actually haven't come to a consense on My Big Dead Cow either - so if you have an opinon on the name of the Album we always listen. My Big Dead Fucking Cow sounds good to me

Wednesday

How long did it take me to learn how to spell "Wednesday"? Years, my friend, years.

Its Wednesday and nothings happening so I'm not going to pretend. I'm not going to pretend that there is something so important I need to write it down and other people need to read about it. I'm tired of re-living New Orelans, I told myself I was going to let all of that go, and I haven't. I'm not going to pretend like I am any type of writer, artist, musician, or interesting human being, because apparently I'm not. I'm happy with being bi-polar, at least its dynamic. I'll write about New Orleans when I feel about it, and I'll write about

The good thing is that I am in a fine mood today and I don't care if I feel interesting or insightful or if anybody gives a fuck. I feel the best when I feel nothing at all. There's nothing wrong with that. That's what peace is all about. Getting rid of that pesky ego, being...

One night at a time in New Orleans

All I can remember about the night I'm about to recall is that I found my truck parked legally in front of the police station three days after I thought, or more specifically, I knew, it had been stolen. I remember the evening and drinking at a bar and I can remember riding my bike around the quarter for hours on end searching my lost truck, but I cannot recall where I drank that night. Seven hours are missing from my life and I don't think I regret blacking out. How can I ever know?

For three days I dedicated a couple of hours before my 8pm to 6am shift at Molly's to tooling around the French Quarter looking for a sign of my 1979 Izuzu Pup. I had convinced myself that it was not going to be where I parked it because it had surely been stolen, but I dedicated myself more specifically to finding the place where I had parked it, and not actually finding the truck itself.

The keys were in the ingnition and it was parked in the French Quarter. In New Orleans that means it has been stolen.

That evening I went drinking with a beautiful English girl whose name I cannot remember and her boyfriend or her husband, something like that. They were friends of my roommates whose name I chose not to remember in fear of waking the dead. (Something I should surely get into one of these posts.)

The art gallery where my roommate and the gorgeous English girl worked was having an open house and there was free wine and beer. The exhibit had something to do with birds and I love birds so I drank a shit load of free wine. Then we left.

I remember driving to the Quarter with people in the truck.

I remember parking.

I remember drinking.

I remember taking the street car home.

I remember racking my brain trying to remember where my truck had been parked.

I remember how lovely the city and weather were when I would search for my vehicle and laugh, "How the fuck did this happen?" Then I would lay by the river and watch the ships pass by, sleep and eat before work and wonder what my truck was up to.

I found her on the third day, parked in front of the frist bar I had visited which happened to be across from the police station. Being parked in front of the police station doesn't mean you won't get your car stolen in New Orleans, but it must have seemed obvious...

Pissy!

I haven't gotten anything done, I spent the weekend with family, which can be quite stressful, its the holiday season, I'm lonely and my job can go to hell! Teachers are so lucky to get two weeks off for Christmas, my ass. I am so sick of kids right now. If I didn't have two weeks off at Christmas and three months off in the summer I don't think I could do this job. People with children should understand that sometimes having one child can be a lot to handle. So, you people with one or two or three kids, try having 15 at a time. And then try to teach them something.

Like I said, I am pissy. Pissy pissy pissy... Maybe I will write more when I feel better. Peace

Editor(s) Wanted

I am taking the ideas from my previous post about New Orleans and writing a book, or novella, about the size of Junky by Bourroughs, 110 pages, full fast paced New Orleans action. Instead of being ashamed of what I have written I am going to ask everyone I know and whom I do not know for advice. Yesterday's post was the referrence guide. It can grounded in reality but I would rather that it be fiction. It has to happen quickly, maybe over the X-Mas vacation to keep it fresh. That's what Jack Kerouac did with on the road, supposedly on one long sheet of paper.

Confederacy of Dunces

The book I haven't read in three years: Confederacy of Dunces. The city I haven't lived in for three years: New Orleans. Oh my God, it has been too long since I've drank beer after beer after Jameson after beer in New Orleans. I guess I try not to think about it since returning to Kansas City. My memories aren't good or bad anymore, they're just places I've been, people I've met, things I've done. I guess that's why I have such a hard time telling a story, writing a poem or a song, functioning, these days...ha ha! Its true, haven't functioned for a while. I thought Louisiana would offer a lifetime of good memories but every time I think about it I just want to scream and cry like a spoiled little kid. I wish I was there now. That's something to work on, either deal with it here or go back to her, New Orleans.

There is a story here, an easy story to tell, it tells itself. I worked at Molly's at the Market as a bartender for about eight months from 8pm to 6am. After work, as the sun came up, we would start to drink for real, not like the tourists, but for real. I loved the job but had to quit when they promoted me to daytime bartender. Being a real bartender and not just some dude that hands out beers and collects money between drinks made me nervous. Honestly, I would have got sucked into that scene/trap and looking back, it would have been worse than teaching elementary school. Hindsight isn't always a bitch.

Then I started as a bicycle messenger. My body went from one extreme to another, quickly. From bar tending at Molly's all night to riding a bike all day... dynamic to say the least. It would have been more dynamic if all the bike messengers in the city weren't complete lushes. So we drank...

Delgado Community College - boring.

Mr. Denny's Voyageur Swamp Tours. What can I say? My body was doing okay at the time. I caught a load of shit from friends and family for literally sleeping in Mr. Denny's closet. (It was a total shit hole!) My brother stopped by on his way from Florida and said, "Don't you think you've been sleeping in Mr. Denny's closet for long enough?" Two days later I was gone. It was the true bayou experience. On the bayou all day, eating fresh crayfish and gumbo, and everything, ettoufee, alligators, catfish, going to New Orleans for the weekend, getting ripped, Slidell, Louisiana and the West Pearl River are meant to be. I don't have the words right now.

I haven't back been since Katrina, Mr. Denny had a brain tumor, that's probably why I don't think about it anymore.


Ignatius the unacceptable, Toole the martyr, working outside of the system. Teaching school, my dream, screaming kids, how could I have not known? I guess I was supposed to go overseas immediately after getting my MA. Whoops! Now I have the experience. I'm like the Bionic Man, except I'm an English teacher, not quite as exciting.

I've done a lot for my kids, I've taught them a lot about how to properly disrespect teachers, how teachers can be as cruel as kids, how teachers teach because they are still kids, how they gossip at the lunch table, how they dislike each other behind the curtain, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. I've taught them by example and that doesn't necessarily mean I've always set a good example, I've just tried to be myself. Kids appreciate that. Their parents work at a factory. They are Mexican kids living seven to a three bedroom house. All they know is the reality of hardship and I try to make their lives a little easier or better or safer... safer... and the system comes down on my head. I'm not like the rest of these teachers, that's why I'll be taking another chance, doing something else again, refusing to settle and paying a heavy cost for it as usual.

That brings me to a recent conclusion: If these students acted like the teachers or did any of the things the teachers did we would have to call social services. If the kids did the things teachers did they would be considered total fuck ups. Teachers have sex, smoke and drink and set that example for their students. Mostly they hide it from the kids. Me? We'll I don't keep a bottle of Chivas in my desk, but I would if I could. Its hard not to be a hypocrite around here. It would be impossible if it wasn't for the tea totalers; they keep this place pure, which is actually a good thing, its just not the way the real world works. I guess that means I will be a hypocrite until I quit teaching or quit drinking...Any ideas on which may come first?

First Day on the Job

I now have a blog where I can bitch about stuff. Like a dictionary for my thoughts, a public journal of the things I want, a representative to the people about me... Is this how it works? If you read this let me know if I am doing it right.

There is so much blah blah blah blah out there. So blah blah blah...

Alvin the Insecure Chipmunk