So I've seen all these lists on Facebook and whatnot about answering questions with random songs from your itunes. While interesting, it speaks of a need for comment which many people often forget; I have chose to remedy this situation. What follows is 20 random songs from my itunes and how I feel about the song/album/band. My only rule is if a band comes up more than once in the list, I skip to the next song. Life is short and I don't have time to wax on and on about the benefits of listening to more Black Keys/Kings of Leon/Ryan Adams - though there are many. Oh, and no instrumentals by vocal bands or live stuff, there has to be parameters bitches. So with out any further ado, here is the list:
1. Behind Blue Eyes - The Who
Someone told me recently that I was a moron for not having enough Who on my itunes and while I listen to this song I am beginning to realize how right they were. One often forgets how much they really enjoy a band over the years and I guess The Who is one band that I wrote off in a sense, I don't pretend to know why. I suppose it has something to do with some article I read somewhere that said they were inflated or less than but in the long run good music is just good fucking music.
2. Talking Columbia - Woody Guthrie
You know, I had a CD that was mad for me last year by my friend Matt and he put on the end of it Bob Dylan's "Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie" (if you haven't you should), and right then and there I figured I should listen to this young lad Woody I had heard so much about. Now I will be the first to admit that I don't care too much for country music but I think that has more to do with modern country that the old stuff because Woody makes me laugh and think in a fashion I don't often do, much like John Prine - who you should also listen to. I like the simplicity of the music.
3. Nothing Left To Say But Goodbye - Audioslave
I was really hoping this would be Cochise, I can't deny it. I fucking love Chris Cornell's voice, it is everything Rock n Roll is all about - gritty, loud, soft, hard and dirty. Oh, but not necessarily in that order. I am rather sad that Audioslave is no more, if not for the songs for the fact that I will no longer be supplied with awesome songs for karaoke. If you haven't heard Cornell's acoustic version of Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean" you should, its awesome.
4. Eclipse - Pink Floyd
It doesn't seem right not listening to this song within the context of the album. Who doesn't love Pink Floyd? Wait I know the answer to that - Communists, Republicans and the Devil. My dad used to wake me up with the heartbeat at the end of this song on Saturday mornings. He'd crank up his stereo so the whole damned house was shaking. Dick.
5. Heart Of Stone - The Rolling Stones
This one falls into that extra bluesy stuff the Stones do. I love the Stones and I really like this song even though I'm sure most people have never heard it. I heard that Mick thinks that his voice got its bluesy tone from the fact that he fell as a child and bit off the tip of his tongue. Weird.
6. Where Fugees At - Wyclef Jean
I don't know if I have ever heard this song before, no wait its just been a really long time. I have to be honest I want that fucking question answered. I loved the Fugees and now where are we at? Clef is doing this, Praz is probably smoked up in some Jamaican burrow and Lauren is in a padded room yelling at white people. I miss the Fugees, they were on the right track with the writing they did, I don't care who chastises me for it. Not that anyone reads this. Man I kind of like this song, I should listen to more Clef. Wait, did I just put that down. Shit.
7. Letter To Hermione - David Bowie
True story, I lost all my music a few years ago due to a fried hard drive and didn't realize I hadn't gotten the Bowie back until I saw a Flight of the Conchords episode. I like Bowie on certain days and this is one of them, the guy can get a little weird but this song is rather nice. I would like to know if he wrote this on acid and had a vision into the future and this was written due to his crush on a certain teen actress. No? Okay.
8. Step Inside My Ride '94 - G. Love and Special Sauce
My good friend Greg turned me on to these guys and I don't think I will be able to live another summer without heavy rotation from G. Love. This is the absolute perfect music for a lazy summer porch party - of which we had plenty. I dare anyone to listen to some G. Love and not catch yourself bobbing your head with the music after a few short minutes, its near impossible.
9. Nervous Shakedown - AC/DC
These motherfuckers are undeniable. Un. De. Niable. If you hate AC/DC you hate life cause this shit could wake the dead, and I'm sure it has from time to time. You have no idea how hard it is to do what these boys do until you try to karaoke an AC/DC song, trust. Brian Johnson has the vocal chords of the devil and he knows how to use them. For those who think all the songs sound the same and its nothing but repeats, you need to listen to the beginning lyrics to "Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution" and take them to fucking heart.
10. The Devil Is Singing Our Song - James Gang
So about a year ago my buddy Nick says to me, "have you heard of the James Gang" to which I replied with a string of answers pertaining to the Jesse James Gang, and then the band - to which he was actually referring. "Yeah I have, why?" He then proceeded to coerce me into giving them a complete re listen. These dudes are vastly underrated and owe a lot of current recognition to Joe Walsh. Anyway, give them another shot if you haven't yet, its worth it.
11. Your Southern Can Is Mine - The White Stripes
I want this to be known right now: I knew about the White Stripes before you knew what was up and what was down. I saw them on Conan a LONG time ago and didn't get the name wrote down and then ran into a CD years later and recognized the cover of Meg's bass drum and was instantly gratified. Jack White knows modern blues like most of us know how to walk. Now if he can only learn how to keep his voice in good condition.
12. Rock N' Me - Steve Miller Band
I think I listened to these boys more than any other human being in 1993. I found the CD in my dad's collection, gave it a spin and fell instantly in love with the sound. Something about it that links to Dire Straights and Tom Petty, simple good American Rock n Roll. That and the opening lyrics are like my life right now, hell a lot of the lyrics are like my life right now, this is weird.
13. By The Light Of The Silvery Moon - Ray Charles
Okay truth be told, I got the Ray Charles entire collection on the cheap and I have never heard this song before. That doesn't mean I don't like it. You can trace a whole shit ton of modern music back to Ray, if not through the music through the drug use. If you listen to him close enough one starts to understand how some of his stuff was rather raucous at the time, I mean he flat out says he wants to spoon in this song. Man times have CHANGED.
14. Hair Pie: Bake 2 - Captain Beefheart
I know I said no instrumentals, but this is a special one. Not really the song as much as the band. I first heard about this group because the Black Keys have covered a few of their songs and regard them rather highly so I looked into them. If you have any questions about what its like well, Captain Beefheart was really good friends with Frank Zappa so it can get a little weird. When they come down off the high they do some cool shit though.
15. Rumors - Josh Ritter
My friend Matt that made the CD I mentioned earlier had a Josh Ritter shirt he would wear to rehearsal from time to time, so I asked him about the dude. He told me to give it a listen and here we are, I have all of his stuff, I think. I just don't think that modern radio plays enough music like this. I guess it would be called soft rock/country maybe. Its a little like Jack Johnson meets Clem Snide a little. I don't fucking know, I just like the dude. Give it a whirl. Good background party music.
16. It Beats For You - My Morning Jacket
If you don't know who My Morning Jacket is, shame on you! Its hard to put these guys into any kind of box so I won't even try. I read an article in RS where these guys were interviewed and it was one of those articles you read and walk away from knowing that music is still in good hands. Once you get away from all the corporate bullshit that is out there. Who can argue with Jim James (lead singer) when he includes "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" in his list of favorite all time songs. Every CD they have released has passed my driving test and that is hard to do.
17. Dinu Lipatti's Bones - The Mountain Goats
Here is another one of those bands I could put on and just let repeat for days. My friend had this playing one night while we were playing poker and I immediately asked who they were. Such a nice chill level of songwriting and singing. The Mountain Goats might be a little hard to find for some, but they have a ton of shit out there so look them up.
18. Barbara Ann - Beach Boys
I love this song. Plain and simple. Forget that my little brother had a lip sync talent show band that covered this song, so it makes me laugh, its just too catchy not to love. Its one of those songs that comes on an everyone in the room know all the words and can't help but sing along. Now isn't it our job to find that kind of music today? I guarantee you that its not fucking Britney Spears, that is for sure.
19. Strange Brew - Cream
You can't deny Clapton. I don't have to say anything else than that.
20. Here Comes My Girl - Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
When I was in sixth grade I would walk home from school with my friends my brother Ian would be close ahead or behind with his friends. We would unlock the back door to our house, read the note mom had left of chores we needed to do around the house, pop in Tom Petty on dad's CD changer and just let that fucker ride. Never was there ever a more simple and enjoyable time in my life. I can assure you if you put on the Full Moon Fever CD anytime, anywhere, me and Ian could sing every song front to back with a broom in hand.
Well there it is, my list. I think I might do this every month or so just to keep my own sanity. It was good to hear a lot of these songs, especially that last one. Go out and listen to something good today and if you haven't for a while walk into a random music store (preferable not a corporate one like Best Buy) and ask the first person that looks like they know their shit what you should be listening to right now. I have done it numerous times at Homer's in Lincoln, NE and have never been let down by those guys, they know their shit trust them.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Things I hated in 2008
The economy.
The government.
People that go to grad school only to bitch about how much they hate it.
People that destroy art, and not just any kind but especially the kind that was made from a man's one dream for his hometown. Yep, those kinds of people pissed me off.
People that are too afraid to call the above people on their bullshit.
News affiliates that hold on to a story far too long, only to release it far too late.
Best Buy employees that don't know their head from their ass when it comes to saving files.
The way it smells after it rains in Alabama.
No wait, just the way it smells in Alabama.
Big Ten Tires.
Old Barbers that yell at you for letting your dog piss on their lawn.
Tim Tebow.
8:15. What a stupid time of day. Either way.
Fucking idiots. There I said it.
The entire state of Delaware. Why Delaware you ask? Why not Delaware.
Hockey moms.
Soccer moms.
Your mom.
Okay just kidding, I think your mom is fine.
Girls that wear pink fishnet shirts that make them look like sausages. You madam, are too big.
The BCS. Probably gonna carry over to 2009.
Gas prices. Retarded.
Pink hair.
People who fire other people because they are afraid of them.
Miniature statuettes.
Stinky people on the subway.
The day your Metro card runs out.
Insecurity.
Arbor Station handy men. That title is really an oxymoron.
Leaving friends.
Cats. Always have, always will.
The MLB playoffs.
If there's anything I forgot, let me know.
The government.
People that go to grad school only to bitch about how much they hate it.
People that destroy art, and not just any kind but especially the kind that was made from a man's one dream for his hometown. Yep, those kinds of people pissed me off.
People that are too afraid to call the above people on their bullshit.
News affiliates that hold on to a story far too long, only to release it far too late.
Best Buy employees that don't know their head from their ass when it comes to saving files.
The way it smells after it rains in Alabama.
No wait, just the way it smells in Alabama.
Big Ten Tires.
Old Barbers that yell at you for letting your dog piss on their lawn.
Tim Tebow.
8:15. What a stupid time of day. Either way.
Fucking idiots. There I said it.
The entire state of Delaware. Why Delaware you ask? Why not Delaware.
Hockey moms.
Soccer moms.
Your mom.
Okay just kidding, I think your mom is fine.
Girls that wear pink fishnet shirts that make them look like sausages. You madam, are too big.
The BCS. Probably gonna carry over to 2009.
Gas prices. Retarded.
Pink hair.
People who fire other people because they are afraid of them.
Miniature statuettes.
Stinky people on the subway.
The day your Metro card runs out.
Insecurity.
Arbor Station handy men. That title is really an oxymoron.
Leaving friends.
Cats. Always have, always will.
The MLB playoffs.
If there's anything I forgot, let me know.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
My Christmas Story
I have no doubt that everyone and their uncle has seen the movie "A Christmas Story", especially considering that its been on a 24 hour loop every Christmas day for the last 10 years or so. Bearing that in mind I still love the damn movie. When Christmas rolls around every year, I can't wait to catch at least one running of the movie, and often watch it 3 or 4 times just out of pure boredom. Every time I watch it however, I am reminded of the Christmas that I received my first BB gun - which just so happened to be a Red Rider.
If I remember the build up to that Christmas correctly, it involved a lot of begging and pleading on my part in an attempt to cajole my parents into the benefits of "Santa" getting me a BB gun that Christmas. You see it was simply unfair for me to NOT have a BB gun as many of my friends already had received guns of their own and were running around our neighborhood killing every Sparrow, Robin and Black Bird they could find, as well as the occasional rabbit and squirrel. If they could have a BB gun, why the hell shouldn't I have one as well? Frankly it pissed me right off, and I voiced that opinion frequently.
In the days leading up to Christmas I began to leave notes for "Santa" randomly lying around the house, the only thing on the list was always a BB gun. Simply put, I would not be satisfied with all the presents in the world if one of them was not a BB gun. I shit you not when I say the entire holiday season that year went down almost as if my parents had meant to reenact the movie "A Christmas Story". Every time I asked for the gun, my mother told me that age old rebuttal, "You'll shoot your eye out." I was appalled. I had seen the movie of course, I had seen that fat little puke shoot his eye out time and time again; but being just a 3rd grader myself, I knew the major problem with what had happened in the movie you see. Any idiot worth his salt never shot at a paper target hung in front of a piece of sheet metal! That stupid kid deserved to have the BB ricochet and hit him in the eye, he just got lucky he was wearing glasses. It still pisses me off to this day, that little fucker ruined the ownership of a BB gun for so many kids after him just by not using common sense.
Anyway...
Christmas day came and like I said, it seemed like the whole thing was being played right out of the movie script. My brother Ian and I came downstairs in the morning to the most spectacular pile of presents we had ever seen, there were gifts everywhere! As we searched about the tree trying to see what we all had, separating the presents with our name on them, it slowly became quite clear that I had not been given a BB gun.
I was heartbroken.
The rest of the gift opening went off as expected, lots of frothing at the mouth and tearing of paper, screams of delight and smiles all around. As the gifts dwindled to almost nothing I didn't even notice my dad get up from his chair to "get another cup of coffee" much less see him return with not one but two long rectangular shaped presents and slide them behind the tree. My brothers and I were busy playing with all the new stuff we got as well as checking out each others presents when my dad mentioned something about the other two presents still under the tree. I'm not sure but I think a little pee came out as we both turned to see what lay in wait for us in that wrapping paper.
At this point it should be mentioned that my dad did stop us and say something or other about how we had to be more responsible with this present than we had with anything else we had ever received and if we ever blah, blah, blah. I'm not sure about Ian, but I know that I was pretty much frothing at the mouth by the time we were given the okay to open the damn things and I'm sure when we did it looked a little like rabid dogs eating babies covered in hot chocolate. I have to admit I was not as fond of the gun when I first saw it; you see many of my friends had pellet guns that involved several pumps to load and were far more powerful than a simple BB gun. In the long run, beggars can't be choosers and this beggar wanted A gun, it didn't matter what kind as long as it could kill.
No sooner did we have the guns open than we were loading them and taking them out to shoot. Just a couple of shots were all we were allowed however, because we had to load up our stuff and head out to my grandparents farm for the Koenig family Christmas. Of course, I took my gun as did Ian, thinking there would be plenty of things to have target practice on at the farm. Oh, and we would also be able to hold the guns over our cousins heads as many of them lived in bigger towns and couldn't have BB guns.
When we got out the farm the scene unfolded pretty much as expected, upon learning we had Red Rider BB guns everyone wanted to shoot them and we being the owners of said guns were Gods among children, weilding our newfound power with an iron fist. No one under Ian's age was allowed to shoot his gun, likewise with my age and gun. That left only 3 people to shoot besides me and Ian and a good number more to watch and complain. We were forced to wait to begin the assault on all things living until after dinner and the other gift opening of sweatpants and the like from the grandparents and the excitement was making everyone crazy.
Soon we began walking around the farmhouse shooting at birds and cans and well, whatever the hell we wanted to with the exception of Robins, Cardinals and Wrens; Grandma liked those birds to much to let them die. We shot at anything and everything allowing those in the age range to occasionally shoot as well. The longer we shot, the more the younger cousins bitched that they should be allowed to shoot as well, and none of them bitched more than Davey. Now while present day cousin Dave is a pretty cool guy and one I have shared a beer with on several occasions, Davey - circa 1986 - was wound tighter than a crackhead on payday. That Davey was 6 or 7 and had more energy than 5 kids his age, he also had more nerve.
You see, as I toted my gun around the farm I made sure to keep the tip pointed down or up at all times and after a while the gun started to get heavy. The tip eventually got too low and caught the ground putting a bit of dirt into the barrel and like any good exploding gun fearing rifleman. I had heard the stories (and seen the cartoons to back it up) and I was not about to shoot a gun with dirt in the barrel just to have it blow my face off. At any rate I sat down to clean the dirt out of the barrel completely forgetting whether or not I had cocked the damn thing or if I had placed the safety on it.
That is when Davey made his move.
Quick as he could Davey rushed to the gun and just as I was starting to blow the dirt away he pulled the trigger.
What unfolded next could only be described as the most amazing scene in Koenig family Christmas history. Immediatly realizing what had happened - Davey shooting my gun of course, not so much me getting shot in the mouth - I stood up and punched Davey. I hit him so hard he spun round, fell on his ass and simultaniously pissed his pants and puked into his hand. His brothers Bobby and Danny then set to beating him to within an inch of his life. As this happened, Ian was running into the house to tell everyone what had happened and after I had landed the haymaker I was right on his heels.
When I came into the house there was utter pandimonium. I was immediatly grabbed by my dad as he tilted my head back to look into my mouth. Before he could start however he gasped upon feeling a tiny rock stuck in my hair, you see he thought the BB had gone straight through. I explained that I had spit it out and was allright, I just had a lot of blood in my mouth and wanted to rinse it out. About that time Davey came in bloody, crying and covered in puke and piss, which also had to be explained away.
There isn't a Christmas that goes by that I don't think about how fucking lucky I was that day. A split second sooner or later on that trigger and Davey could have literally shot my eye out or worse.
Yep, that's my fucking luck.
If I remember the build up to that Christmas correctly, it involved a lot of begging and pleading on my part in an attempt to cajole my parents into the benefits of "Santa" getting me a BB gun that Christmas. You see it was simply unfair for me to NOT have a BB gun as many of my friends already had received guns of their own and were running around our neighborhood killing every Sparrow, Robin and Black Bird they could find, as well as the occasional rabbit and squirrel. If they could have a BB gun, why the hell shouldn't I have one as well? Frankly it pissed me right off, and I voiced that opinion frequently.
In the days leading up to Christmas I began to leave notes for "Santa" randomly lying around the house, the only thing on the list was always a BB gun. Simply put, I would not be satisfied with all the presents in the world if one of them was not a BB gun. I shit you not when I say the entire holiday season that year went down almost as if my parents had meant to reenact the movie "A Christmas Story". Every time I asked for the gun, my mother told me that age old rebuttal, "You'll shoot your eye out." I was appalled. I had seen the movie of course, I had seen that fat little puke shoot his eye out time and time again; but being just a 3rd grader myself, I knew the major problem with what had happened in the movie you see. Any idiot worth his salt never shot at a paper target hung in front of a piece of sheet metal! That stupid kid deserved to have the BB ricochet and hit him in the eye, he just got lucky he was wearing glasses. It still pisses me off to this day, that little fucker ruined the ownership of a BB gun for so many kids after him just by not using common sense.
Anyway...
Christmas day came and like I said, it seemed like the whole thing was being played right out of the movie script. My brother Ian and I came downstairs in the morning to the most spectacular pile of presents we had ever seen, there were gifts everywhere! As we searched about the tree trying to see what we all had, separating the presents with our name on them, it slowly became quite clear that I had not been given a BB gun.
I was heartbroken.
The rest of the gift opening went off as expected, lots of frothing at the mouth and tearing of paper, screams of delight and smiles all around. As the gifts dwindled to almost nothing I didn't even notice my dad get up from his chair to "get another cup of coffee" much less see him return with not one but two long rectangular shaped presents and slide them behind the tree. My brothers and I were busy playing with all the new stuff we got as well as checking out each others presents when my dad mentioned something about the other two presents still under the tree. I'm not sure but I think a little pee came out as we both turned to see what lay in wait for us in that wrapping paper.
At this point it should be mentioned that my dad did stop us and say something or other about how we had to be more responsible with this present than we had with anything else we had ever received and if we ever blah, blah, blah. I'm not sure about Ian, but I know that I was pretty much frothing at the mouth by the time we were given the okay to open the damn things and I'm sure when we did it looked a little like rabid dogs eating babies covered in hot chocolate. I have to admit I was not as fond of the gun when I first saw it; you see many of my friends had pellet guns that involved several pumps to load and were far more powerful than a simple BB gun. In the long run, beggars can't be choosers and this beggar wanted A gun, it didn't matter what kind as long as it could kill.
No sooner did we have the guns open than we were loading them and taking them out to shoot. Just a couple of shots were all we were allowed however, because we had to load up our stuff and head out to my grandparents farm for the Koenig family Christmas. Of course, I took my gun as did Ian, thinking there would be plenty of things to have target practice on at the farm. Oh, and we would also be able to hold the guns over our cousins heads as many of them lived in bigger towns and couldn't have BB guns.
When we got out the farm the scene unfolded pretty much as expected, upon learning we had Red Rider BB guns everyone wanted to shoot them and we being the owners of said guns were Gods among children, weilding our newfound power with an iron fist. No one under Ian's age was allowed to shoot his gun, likewise with my age and gun. That left only 3 people to shoot besides me and Ian and a good number more to watch and complain. We were forced to wait to begin the assault on all things living until after dinner and the other gift opening of sweatpants and the like from the grandparents and the excitement was making everyone crazy.
Soon we began walking around the farmhouse shooting at birds and cans and well, whatever the hell we wanted to with the exception of Robins, Cardinals and Wrens; Grandma liked those birds to much to let them die. We shot at anything and everything allowing those in the age range to occasionally shoot as well. The longer we shot, the more the younger cousins bitched that they should be allowed to shoot as well, and none of them bitched more than Davey. Now while present day cousin Dave is a pretty cool guy and one I have shared a beer with on several occasions, Davey - circa 1986 - was wound tighter than a crackhead on payday. That Davey was 6 or 7 and had more energy than 5 kids his age, he also had more nerve.
You see, as I toted my gun around the farm I made sure to keep the tip pointed down or up at all times and after a while the gun started to get heavy. The tip eventually got too low and caught the ground putting a bit of dirt into the barrel and like any good exploding gun fearing rifleman. I had heard the stories (and seen the cartoons to back it up) and I was not about to shoot a gun with dirt in the barrel just to have it blow my face off. At any rate I sat down to clean the dirt out of the barrel completely forgetting whether or not I had cocked the damn thing or if I had placed the safety on it.
That is when Davey made his move.
Quick as he could Davey rushed to the gun and just as I was starting to blow the dirt away he pulled the trigger.
What unfolded next could only be described as the most amazing scene in Koenig family Christmas history. Immediatly realizing what had happened - Davey shooting my gun of course, not so much me getting shot in the mouth - I stood up and punched Davey. I hit him so hard he spun round, fell on his ass and simultaniously pissed his pants and puked into his hand. His brothers Bobby and Danny then set to beating him to within an inch of his life. As this happened, Ian was running into the house to tell everyone what had happened and after I had landed the haymaker I was right on his heels.
When I came into the house there was utter pandimonium. I was immediatly grabbed by my dad as he tilted my head back to look into my mouth. Before he could start however he gasped upon feeling a tiny rock stuck in my hair, you see he thought the BB had gone straight through. I explained that I had spit it out and was allright, I just had a lot of blood in my mouth and wanted to rinse it out. About that time Davey came in bloody, crying and covered in puke and piss, which also had to be explained away.
There isn't a Christmas that goes by that I don't think about how fucking lucky I was that day. A split second sooner or later on that trigger and Davey could have literally shot my eye out or worse.
Yep, that's my fucking luck.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Mice
In the last few weeks, as the weather has grown colder and the days shorter, tiny evil mice have been plotting their revenge. While I have been here in New York City, trying to be a successful actor, by wife has been in Nebraska, being inundated by what can only be described as a horde born straight from the mouth of hell - mice. At current count, the death toll stands at 9 with no sign of slowing down. I, of course will be heading back to Lincoln for Thanksgiving, and perhaps a little longer, and am already in the planning stages of amassing some sort of defensive stand against these bastards of the animal world.
If pigeons are rats with wings, mice are rats with cherub faces and the smell of baby powder. You see, as I begin my attack I am not only fighting against the evil that is the mouse underworld, but I also have to battle the weak heart of my wife Laura who would like nothing more than to adopt each mouse that enters our abode, and keep them for ever after as a pet. As if that weren't enough already, it turns out that one of our dogs has apparently taken to watching the little bastards run back and forth - from under the desk to under the stove and back - with great entertainment. It turns out that even though they have dug a hole into the loaf of bread and made a tiny hovel bed out of whole wheat, they are just so fucking cute, that we should let them run free, to crawl over our faces in the night, shit in our silverware drawer and possibly eat our damned faces off!
I can't help but think this is punishment of some sort of wrong I have done to the mouse world as a whole, some kind of karmic righting or sorts. "But Nate," you ask "what have you done to mice?" Well, its not that simple you see. Just as Cubs fans have paid generations of post season pain for the goat hating actions of one man, I, it seems am also guilty by association. You see, my father could widely be considered the A number 1 offender to mice everywhere. What Babe Ruth was to baseballs, what Ray Robinson was to Jake LaMotta, what George W. Bush is to peace, my father has been to the world of mice.
Now, I know you probably doubt that Tom Lange has been that prolific in the killing of mice, but do you know the whole story? Are you aware that, unhappy with the classic bait of cheese on a mouse trap, my dad came up with the combined use of peanut butter mashed together with cotton, the use of which makes it virtually impossible for the mouse to pull the bait off the trap with out setting off the trap? And if the mouse accomplishes this seemingly death defying feat, what awaits him after he attempts to eat the peanut butter soaked cotton, but a death of suffocation and choking due to the indigestible "pot-heads nightmare" as it is also known. (I have actually looked in on a trap that was set off to find a mouse dead by asphyxiation.) Trust me the man has given me lectures on the evil of a mouse in the house from a young age, and they are still a vivid memory.
I remember the first mouse I killed in front of my dad. We were in the kitchen of the house I grew up in when a mouse ran across the floor from under the sink to under the movable dishwasher that was currently near the stove. Mom screamed and dad immediately went into combat mode, yelling at all of us to get into position, "the little bastard doesn't have anywhere to go, he has to come back out!" So we grabbed the nearest shoes or pans or newspaper and when dad moved the dish washer, the mouse came running straight at me, then zigged toward my parents bedroom door, that was right off the kitchen. Without really thinking about it, I slammed the shoe down at the mouse and struck it clean on the head, well the nose really. Which only managed to make it flop around in a pretty freakish way before I could gather my senses and hit it even more square, killing it with my Pony high tops.
Years later, as the weather became colder once again, the little devil cherubs started to invade again, this time bringing with them the most conniving mouse know to man. I'm not sure of everything that mouse put my dad through, and frankly I'm afraid to ask him all the details; I do know this, after battling with that one mouse for over a month, upon killing it my dad had this look in his eye of accomplishment. This accomplishment wasn't just bread out of the death of one mouse, but it seemed the feeling that the world of mice had thrown their best at my dad, and he - being the nobler species - had destroyed that mouse, and with it any mouses hope on living long term in the Lange household. The mice, it seems did not share this sentiment.
Years later, after Laura and I had moved into a house apartment in Lincoln, Nebraska, the weather once again started to change, and once again, the mice decided to train their cross hairs on the Lange house, not the Tom Lange house, but the house of his eldest son, Nathan Lange. It started with the bread: a loaf would have a hole chewed into it, then a box of rice or some papers on the kitchen counter. Later we would find mouse turds in the silverware drawer and that was as far as it would last. Of course my animal loving wife wanted to try live traps so we did, much to the extreme dismay of my father. There was a late night conversation in which I was told that no matter how far I took the mouse to release it, it would find my house again and would have no problem settling right back in. Now more due to the live traps not really working than my belief in the mouse's innate ability to seek and destroy my particular life, I switched to death traps.
I decided to go with traps that had a cover over the actual "kill zone" because I surmised that Laura would not have to actually see the dead mice that way and I didn't want our dogs getting at the mouse trap food. For weeks I used the old peanut butter and cotton bait to no avail; the mice were just not taking the bait. After a little deliberation I decided to use a piece of "Bacon Strips" dog treat as well as the pb and cotton mix in hopes that the smell would be irresistible to the mice, and boy was I right. In the first few hours I had caught two mice and was feeling pretty happy about the situation. After a few days no mice had showed up and I thought that I had actually done away with all of them, until I saw one scoot across the floor as I walked to the bathroom early on morning. Seeing him run behind the TV stand, I immediately placed a trap in his run path, careful to put it far enough back so the dogs would not accidentally set off the trap, and left for class.
When I arrived home that afternoon, I was in dire need of a nap before I went to rehearsal that night so I immediately dropped my bag at the door and basically crashed on the love seat in our living room. The nap was wonderful, the dogs laid by my side and when I woke up an hour later I felt refreshed and ready for rehearsal. I got up off the couch and went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and get ready to leave but as I looked in the mirror I noticed some small drops of blood on the shoulder of my t-shirt. Feeling worried about where it came from I immediately took my shirt off and began to search my neck, back and arms for the source of the wound. Having found no cut I thought possibly one of the dogs had hurt themselves and bled on me while we slept, so I turned back toward the living room to take a look at them.
That's when everything went into slow motion.
Still holding the t-shirt, I turned toward the living room and noticed something small and grey on the love seat where I had just napped. In reality it probably took nano seconds for the whole scene to play out, but in my memory it was eons of pain and confusion. My eyes focused in on the object on the love seat and that is when I realized I had just napped for an hour with my two pug dogs, and A FUCKING DEAD MOUSE! My immediate reaction was that of a ten year old Girl Scout, I screamed like a sissy and threw my t-shirt in the direction of the dead mouse while at the same time diving backward into the bathtub. I turned on the shower, still screaming, and began to scrub my whole body in a feeble attempt to remove whatever form of rabies/bubonic plague the bastard had given me. There were tears. There were so many tears. Needless to say, it was not one of my proudest moments. It was a scene not unlike when Ace Venture realized he had made out with a Plum Smuggler.
When I finally got my shit together and cleaned myself up I went back into the living room to see how the hell this all was possible. It turns out that while my bait for the traps was incredibly effective in capturing mice, it was also incredibly effective in luring puppy dogs to scratch and dig at the trap so as to procure the tasty treat for themselves. My dogs had actually opened the trap, eaten the treat and then, as if to "hide the evidence" buried the damn mouse in the blanket covering the love seat so no one would find out. I not being privy to this information, proceeded to cuddle up with the deceased and take a nice nappy poo.
My fucking luck.
If pigeons are rats with wings, mice are rats with cherub faces and the smell of baby powder. You see, as I begin my attack I am not only fighting against the evil that is the mouse underworld, but I also have to battle the weak heart of my wife Laura who would like nothing more than to adopt each mouse that enters our abode, and keep them for ever after as a pet. As if that weren't enough already, it turns out that one of our dogs has apparently taken to watching the little bastards run back and forth - from under the desk to under the stove and back - with great entertainment. It turns out that even though they have dug a hole into the loaf of bread and made a tiny hovel bed out of whole wheat, they are just so fucking cute, that we should let them run free, to crawl over our faces in the night, shit in our silverware drawer and possibly eat our damned faces off!
I can't help but think this is punishment of some sort of wrong I have done to the mouse world as a whole, some kind of karmic righting or sorts. "But Nate," you ask "what have you done to mice?" Well, its not that simple you see. Just as Cubs fans have paid generations of post season pain for the goat hating actions of one man, I, it seems am also guilty by association. You see, my father could widely be considered the A number 1 offender to mice everywhere. What Babe Ruth was to baseballs, what Ray Robinson was to Jake LaMotta, what George W. Bush is to peace, my father has been to the world of mice.
Now, I know you probably doubt that Tom Lange has been that prolific in the killing of mice, but do you know the whole story? Are you aware that, unhappy with the classic bait of cheese on a mouse trap, my dad came up with the combined use of peanut butter mashed together with cotton, the use of which makes it virtually impossible for the mouse to pull the bait off the trap with out setting off the trap? And if the mouse accomplishes this seemingly death defying feat, what awaits him after he attempts to eat the peanut butter soaked cotton, but a death of suffocation and choking due to the indigestible "pot-heads nightmare" as it is also known. (I have actually looked in on a trap that was set off to find a mouse dead by asphyxiation.) Trust me the man has given me lectures on the evil of a mouse in the house from a young age, and they are still a vivid memory.
I remember the first mouse I killed in front of my dad. We were in the kitchen of the house I grew up in when a mouse ran across the floor from under the sink to under the movable dishwasher that was currently near the stove. Mom screamed and dad immediately went into combat mode, yelling at all of us to get into position, "the little bastard doesn't have anywhere to go, he has to come back out!" So we grabbed the nearest shoes or pans or newspaper and when dad moved the dish washer, the mouse came running straight at me, then zigged toward my parents bedroom door, that was right off the kitchen. Without really thinking about it, I slammed the shoe down at the mouse and struck it clean on the head, well the nose really. Which only managed to make it flop around in a pretty freakish way before I could gather my senses and hit it even more square, killing it with my Pony high tops.
Years later, as the weather became colder once again, the little devil cherubs started to invade again, this time bringing with them the most conniving mouse know to man. I'm not sure of everything that mouse put my dad through, and frankly I'm afraid to ask him all the details; I do know this, after battling with that one mouse for over a month, upon killing it my dad had this look in his eye of accomplishment. This accomplishment wasn't just bread out of the death of one mouse, but it seemed the feeling that the world of mice had thrown their best at my dad, and he - being the nobler species - had destroyed that mouse, and with it any mouses hope on living long term in the Lange household. The mice, it seems did not share this sentiment.
Years later, after Laura and I had moved into a house apartment in Lincoln, Nebraska, the weather once again started to change, and once again, the mice decided to train their cross hairs on the Lange house, not the Tom Lange house, but the house of his eldest son, Nathan Lange. It started with the bread: a loaf would have a hole chewed into it, then a box of rice or some papers on the kitchen counter. Later we would find mouse turds in the silverware drawer and that was as far as it would last. Of course my animal loving wife wanted to try live traps so we did, much to the extreme dismay of my father. There was a late night conversation in which I was told that no matter how far I took the mouse to release it, it would find my house again and would have no problem settling right back in. Now more due to the live traps not really working than my belief in the mouse's innate ability to seek and destroy my particular life, I switched to death traps.
I decided to go with traps that had a cover over the actual "kill zone" because I surmised that Laura would not have to actually see the dead mice that way and I didn't want our dogs getting at the mouse trap food. For weeks I used the old peanut butter and cotton bait to no avail; the mice were just not taking the bait. After a little deliberation I decided to use a piece of "Bacon Strips" dog treat as well as the pb and cotton mix in hopes that the smell would be irresistible to the mice, and boy was I right. In the first few hours I had caught two mice and was feeling pretty happy about the situation. After a few days no mice had showed up and I thought that I had actually done away with all of them, until I saw one scoot across the floor as I walked to the bathroom early on morning. Seeing him run behind the TV stand, I immediately placed a trap in his run path, careful to put it far enough back so the dogs would not accidentally set off the trap, and left for class.
When I arrived home that afternoon, I was in dire need of a nap before I went to rehearsal that night so I immediately dropped my bag at the door and basically crashed on the love seat in our living room. The nap was wonderful, the dogs laid by my side and when I woke up an hour later I felt refreshed and ready for rehearsal. I got up off the couch and went into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and get ready to leave but as I looked in the mirror I noticed some small drops of blood on the shoulder of my t-shirt. Feeling worried about where it came from I immediately took my shirt off and began to search my neck, back and arms for the source of the wound. Having found no cut I thought possibly one of the dogs had hurt themselves and bled on me while we slept, so I turned back toward the living room to take a look at them.
That's when everything went into slow motion.
Still holding the t-shirt, I turned toward the living room and noticed something small and grey on the love seat where I had just napped. In reality it probably took nano seconds for the whole scene to play out, but in my memory it was eons of pain and confusion. My eyes focused in on the object on the love seat and that is when I realized I had just napped for an hour with my two pug dogs, and A FUCKING DEAD MOUSE! My immediate reaction was that of a ten year old Girl Scout, I screamed like a sissy and threw my t-shirt in the direction of the dead mouse while at the same time diving backward into the bathtub. I turned on the shower, still screaming, and began to scrub my whole body in a feeble attempt to remove whatever form of rabies/bubonic plague the bastard had given me. There were tears. There were so many tears. Needless to say, it was not one of my proudest moments. It was a scene not unlike when Ace Venture realized he had made out with a Plum Smuggler.
When I finally got my shit together and cleaned myself up I went back into the living room to see how the hell this all was possible. It turns out that while my bait for the traps was incredibly effective in capturing mice, it was also incredibly effective in luring puppy dogs to scratch and dig at the trap so as to procure the tasty treat for themselves. My dogs had actually opened the trap, eaten the treat and then, as if to "hide the evidence" buried the damn mouse in the blanket covering the love seat so no one would find out. I not being privy to this information, proceeded to cuddle up with the deceased and take a nice nappy poo.
My fucking luck.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Welcome to the Nate Lange Show!
Okay, so this is the first of hopefully many times I will be putting some stuff up here for you people to read. I don't know what the hell I am actually going to base any of this off of, but the way I figure, most of the people that come here are just looking for some classic stuff to come flying out of my classy mouth. You may not have heard from me for a while and I hope that you don't take that as a slight, frankly I may be the worst person in the world at keeping in contact with people, so don't make yourself so damn important, its not you its me.
To get things started in a good direction, I thought I would blog a bit about the recent election and how I feel about it. It should be obvious to many that I am absolutely thrilled that Barack Obama is the 44th President Elect of the United States of America! As I sat and watched the night unfold, I couldn't help but try to think back to the last time I really felt that proud to be an American. I suppose it was as a kid watching the astronauts go into space, and of course to see the outpouring of human kindness in the wake of the 9/11 tragedies, but as far as being proud that as a country we finally elected the right man for the job, it made me very happy. I hope and pray that the next four years will be the first steps in the right direction for our country as I feel we are on the edge of scary possibilities. Days later as I was watching the news and seeing the reactions all over the world to the many different countries and celebrations, I came to the realization that many Americans were not the only ones who had been waiting for our country to "do the right thing". This is one of the main reasons why I felt Obama was the right choice for this country. Let's face it, in the end they are all politicians and we can't really trust them farther than we can throw them; but in Obama I find a man that, while he may lack in years more than makes up for it in passion, intelligence and universal appeal. That last one will most obviously get some flack, but think about it for a second. The USA is look to by the rest of the world, at least prior to this election, as the big brother that could never live up to the hype. We would preach tolerance and understand and universal acceptance, but never would we actually back that up by passing certain laws, or electing certain officials. Now, the whole world see that man standing at the podium and they say to themselves, "If that man can lead the USA, maybe there is hope for the rest of us." I suppose we will see where it goes, but for now I am really excited.
Well, that's about all that I have for now, my blogging muscles are sore and I have to be up at 7am, which is rather early for me, so we are going to call this good. If anyone has any suggestions for topics, let them fly. I've always said "Give me a topic and I'll bitch about it for a solid 60 seconds". Trust me friends, that goes for almost any topic.
Later.
To get things started in a good direction, I thought I would blog a bit about the recent election and how I feel about it. It should be obvious to many that I am absolutely thrilled that Barack Obama is the 44th President Elect of the United States of America! As I sat and watched the night unfold, I couldn't help but try to think back to the last time I really felt that proud to be an American. I suppose it was as a kid watching the astronauts go into space, and of course to see the outpouring of human kindness in the wake of the 9/11 tragedies, but as far as being proud that as a country we finally elected the right man for the job, it made me very happy. I hope and pray that the next four years will be the first steps in the right direction for our country as I feel we are on the edge of scary possibilities. Days later as I was watching the news and seeing the reactions all over the world to the many different countries and celebrations, I came to the realization that many Americans were not the only ones who had been waiting for our country to "do the right thing". This is one of the main reasons why I felt Obama was the right choice for this country. Let's face it, in the end they are all politicians and we can't really trust them farther than we can throw them; but in Obama I find a man that, while he may lack in years more than makes up for it in passion, intelligence and universal appeal. That last one will most obviously get some flack, but think about it for a second. The USA is look to by the rest of the world, at least prior to this election, as the big brother that could never live up to the hype. We would preach tolerance and understand and universal acceptance, but never would we actually back that up by passing certain laws, or electing certain officials. Now, the whole world see that man standing at the podium and they say to themselves, "If that man can lead the USA, maybe there is hope for the rest of us." I suppose we will see where it goes, but for now I am really excited.
Well, that's about all that I have for now, my blogging muscles are sore and I have to be up at 7am, which is rather early for me, so we are going to call this good. If anyone has any suggestions for topics, let them fly. I've always said "Give me a topic and I'll bitch about it for a solid 60 seconds". Trust me friends, that goes for almost any topic.
Later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)