What's brown and sticky?

"I am feeling better today. I am feeling like maybe how Mozart must have been feeling, and then he died. But I am ALIVE! It is like the first day of my new life. That's something that I say a lot. It seems like I am always starting a new life. I feel like maybe Mozart and I would have gotten along. You see, I like the movie Amadeus. And apparently, Mozart 'had a startling fondness for scatological humor.'"

"Curt," Monica's voice says over the phone. "That's great to hear! Curt. I have an idea."

"I like ideas."

"You say that your dad is getting tired of you and whenever we talk and your dad is brought up in conversation, you sound like you're getting tired of your dad."

"Uh-huh."

"So why don't you move into the apartment that I'm moving out of? It's not that expensive and the landlord is nice. Or," Monica pauses.

"Yeah?"

"We can be roommates."

TMI

I got myself some sort of stomach virus. It has not left me in good condition. Once again, Dad is sick of me. I am sick of myself. It is something when even the thought of butter makes you sick to your stomach. I am waiting for the haze to be lifted.

I have exhausted my toilet reading. I have prayed to the patron saint of toilets. Also, the patron saint of lost causes. Surely, this is not a lost cause yet, but why take a chance? 

This blog feels empty. I am sorry. I wish I had the strength to do better.

An Episode in the Life of a Lost Game

We're going to play a game.

***

On the radio: "You better watch your step."

***

In the kitchen, our principal player: Curt.

***

In Curt's mind, a thought about breakfast. A thought about lunch.

***

In the kitchen, Curt's father: Dad.

***

On the radio: "You better watch your step."

***

In the kitchen, our principal player, Curt, can be seen from the window. He is outside, in the yard. In his mind, a thought about inside. A thought about another house. A house he saw with "Monica."

***

In a kitchen: "Monica."

***

In the kitchen window, Dad, stares out at his son, Curt.

***

"Monica" is not in a kitchen. She is on a walk with her dogs. This game is full of lies. It is a game about lying and laying in wait.

***

Like a wolf.

***

Your turn.

***

You are in front of a computer. A laptop. Your eyes run across the sentence. The radio is off.

***

The radio is on. Dad turns it off.

***

Curt is not outside.

***

"Monica" is in a car.

***

She is naked in Curt's mind.

***

Dad. Every father has seen his child naked. Did you forget?

***

Every father has come into the world naked.

***

You don't know about this game. Something about it makes you uncomfortable.

***

You can stop. That would make you a loser.

***

My turn.

***

On the radio: "You better watch your step."

***

Dad is eating a cereal that is good for his heart.

***

Curt is in his bedroom. He is still asleep.

***

Did you really think he was outside thinking about inside, a house, breakfast, lunch? He was not. He has been sleeping this whole time.

***

"Monica" is in a car. She is traveling somewhere. Above, the car is a blue dot. Above, the car is turning onto a road, and another. Below, the car makes a sound like keys tossed in an empty bowl. Inside, "Monica's" radio is turned on. "You better watch your step."

***

It's a different song. It is a radio show now in the kitchen. Dad listens.

***

First, he must turn on the radio.

***

Dad turns on the radio. Dad listens.

***

Curt is waking up.

***

You are thinking about something.

***

Mostly lies.

***

Your face is moving because it is trying to be still.

***

"Monica's" car disappears. I lost sight of it from above. From below, it is the same noise.

***

Your turn.

***

If you stop now, you lose.

***

Keep going.

***

What happens in a game?

***

Someone cheats. It's my turn.

***

Already?

***

Yes.

***

It is all about Curt.

***

The radio show Dad listens to is about myths.

***

Basements can be built in Oklahoma. But no one in Oklahoma believes this.

***

Then the tornadoes come.

***

"Monica" listens to the radio show.

***

Woof. Woof.

***

Her dogs are in the backseat.

***

Curt says, "Woof. Woof."

***

The radio says: "Woof. Woof."

***

Which author do dogs like best?

***

Is this game boring you?

***

Virginia Woof.

***

You lose a turn.

***

Curt is still waking up.

***

"Monica" is thinking about a "house."

***

The dogs are wagging their tales.

***

Dad turns off the radio.

***

Oklahoma doesn't have homes with basements.

***

Curt gets out of bed.

***

You forget what this game is all about.

***

That's right. I never told you.

***

Just like that. Game over.

***

The wolf pounces.

***

The lies proliferate.

***

The game, even after it has ended, continues on and on.

***

Our principal player, Curt, doesn't even realize.

***

He yawns.

Milk-cake Whole-truth

You understand that their real names are not Burning Sand, not Loving Hand, not Monica.

You understand that privacy is a valuable thing. That when I tell you that we saw some more houses today, that we talked about it afterwards in Monica's apartment, and that we sat there drinking Prince of Peace Ginger-Honey Beverage , you understand that when I say that I wished that we were not sitting on her love seat but were rather sitting on the World's longest sofa, you understand that I might not be telling the whole truth. Do you understand?

You understand that the time that I told Tony that I had saved him a piece of milk-cake, that when he finally showed up 4 hours later and came in as I was eating the last piece of milk-cake, you understand that it wasn't my fault. You can't count on people. I had learned that lesson. Of course you understand. Sharing that lesson was more important than any piece of cake. 

Tony liked. Tony did not like.

Take us back, Curt, to a time you can hardly remember, but remember enough to tell. Close your eyes when you tell us, because that way we'll think it has much more meaning than it might, like you are trying to hold something back, and that as soon as you open your eyes, it would all come out, whatever it was you were trying to hold back.

Tony liked sweet potatoes. I know this because he told me so.
Tony liked green, but not red, grapes. I know this because he only ate green grapes.
Tony liked swimming pools more than I did. I know this because he went more times than I did.
Tony like horror movies. I know this because it was something he liked to talk about. Horror movies.
Tony had a mean father. I know this because most of the kids in our school had mean fathers.
Tony had a fear of throwing up. I know this because he said he had a fear of throwing up.
Tony liked summer more than spring and more than fall and more than winter. I know this because he looked happiest in summer.
Tony had a pet lizard. I know this because I came up with his pet lizard's name: Sebastian.
Tony's pet lizard died. I know this because we buried it on a hill and had a brief service for it. This was pretty ridiculous and we knew it was but we did it anyways and didn't care what people had to say.
Tony had brown hair. I know this because his hair was brown.
Tony had size 10 1/2 feet. I know this because his feet were smaller than mine.
Tony had more patience than I will ever have. I know this because when he got impatient, I had been impatient much earlier than he had.
Tony did not like sweet potatoes. I know this because he always chose normal potatoes over sweet potatoes.
Tony liked red, but not green, grapes. I know this because his mother only bought green grapes and he ate them reluctantly.
Tony did not like swimming pools more than I did. I know this because when we went together, he never went into the water, but sat on the edge with his feet in the water, looking disappointed.
Tony didn't like horror movies. I know this because whenever there was nothing left to say, he mentioned a horror movie that he hated.
Tony had a kind father. I know this because Tony's father had left him and his mother and sister when he was three and had never had a chance to be mean.
Tony did not have a fear of throwing up. I know this because he told me that he did, but always threw up anyways whenever he'd had too much sugar or too much beer.
Tony liked summer less than spring, but more than fall and winter. I know this because in spring, he had something to look forward to, but in fall and winter, he curled up inside his head and hid there.
Tony did not have a pet lizard. I know this because I pointed to a picture of a lizard and said, "Let's pretend we own him and lets call him Sebastian."
Tony's pet lizard did not die. I know this because we went to the park and sat on a hill and talked about death and funerals, and we forgot about the picture of Sebastian. So in a way, Sebastian died. But it was unreal.
Tony did not have brown hair. I know this because my hair is brown and Tony's hair looked different than my hair.
Tony had size 11 feet. I know this because his feet looked smaller than mine, but we could wear the same shoes.
Tony did not have more patience than me. I know this because he left this place much earlier than me.


Curt, Curt. Thank you.

Why Would you Stop?

Guy and I used to watch it, and talk about it. The part where he says "shove it up your nose". Guy used to get excited and he'd talk about what a feeling it must have been,  to be singing with that amazing band behind him, to be stoned out of his mind, and just to be Elvis. What a glorious mess. He can't stop. Would you have been able to stop?

Monica is looking at buying a house. She asked me if I wanted to come along with her to look at a few. Sure, I told her, why not, I am not a bad person. What a grown up thing to do! She says she likes my perspective, though I am not sure what that means. She has another date with the blind man on Wednesday. She says she cannot tell if she likes him or if she just pities him, and she has to figure it out. There was a blind man in prison I knew who was locked up for stealing a lot of money from a church. I am not sure if he was a bad person or not. Monica is not made of money, and the first house we see is very small. Too small for Loving Hand and Burning Hand I say, but she says, "I could make it work!" The second house is a wreck, there is an open house and everything is a mess and the owners are clearly hoarders who have let life get away from them.They are sitting in a van outside smoking cigarettes, and their 5 dogs (!) are sitting on the back porch pawing and scratching to be let in, or maybe just wanting to be told that everything is going to be ok. I wish I could tell them that. If I could be that guy. The carpets, the kitchen, everything, is a disaster. Monica says she sees through the mess and feels the potential of the place. All I see is sadness. I could not live here, but it is not my house hunt.

I have been feeling at times a big emptiness lately. I wonder what it was like to be Elvis, to have such success and such big thrills and to still have such huge appetites that were so impossible to sate. I think if I had what he had I might not have made it as far as he did. I am poor and lazy. What if I wasn't? Could I say no to so many temptations? I once read a biography of Elvis by Bobbie Anne Mason. She writes short stories that remind me of my mom. Elvis really loved his mom. I forgot that I read that book, and then I kept wondering how I knew so much of Elvis' life. Then I remembered.

Curt, you are so complicated! Monica says. I do not feel complicated. I just feel hopeless. Where is my great moment, my pinnacle? If you found yourself on a Las Vegas stage in front of an amazing band singing a great song, and you were Elvis again, wouldn't you want to stay there as long as you could? As long as you could sustain it? Forever if you could? Is there something better? Will I ever taste anything remotely like that?

Monica says that the blind man lost his sight when he was working in downtown Philadelphia building a skyscraper. He had a wife and kids and his life was good, and work was hard and tedious but he was excited to think that someday whenever he drove by that building with his family he could point to it and say "I helped build that," to his sons and his daughter and that they would know that there dad didn't just leave the house in the morning to do nothing, that he was a man who built things. Then there was an accident, and then his marriage was over, and then there was nothing left except that he was a blind man. All of his old adjectives turned into a single one. But he had turned to Jesus, and he was starting to understand things, Monica said. A man who could overcome something like that, Monica said. Monica was apparently drawn to broken people.

"Which house do you like better?" I ask Monica.

"I like them both," she says, "but I'm not sure how much. I'm not sure if I like them for me."

I try to picture Monica living in the houses with her dogs, and I can picture it, but it doesn't make things any clearer. Buying a house is a big commitment. You don't know how long the roof is going to hold out, whether something will happen and you won't be able to make your mortgage payment, whether a rendering plant will be built next door that will destroy the value of your property. Houses have secrets, I say. Monica says that good things can happen too, that maybe you buy a house one day and then find out that Elvis was born there and you won't have to work another day in your life! Sometimes there are good secrets, she says.

I remind Monica that there's only one Elvis, and she seems to have had enough of talking to me for the day.

Bad People

The day before today was Valentine's Day! Monica asked me for a favor. She was going on a blind date and needed someone to watch her dogs. Would I watch Loving Hand? Would I watch Burning Sand? Yes, I said. I would watch Monica's dogs. She said she was literally going on a blind date. Her date was blind. Wild, I thought, but it was, I hope it goes well, that I said.

Loving Hand and Burning Sand are medium-sized dogs. Dad is not a dog person. He is not a cat person. Sometimes, he is not even a person person. But I'd already agreed. There was Monica, leaving. She looked pretty. She was wearing something that looked like a dress, but really it was flowing pants. The dogs were in my care and into the house we went. Dad wasn't happy. But he wasn't necessarily mad either. But I think he'd had enough of my shenanigans. Then the weather turned icy.

My sister called to wish me and Dad a Happy Valentine's Day. Dad put her on speaker phone and Loving Hand and Burning Sand listened to her say stuff. It wasn't a very happy conversation because she was talking about high blood pressure and our family tree. "We were related to some bad people," she said. "How did we get unrelated?" I asked. "What do you mean?" she said. "Well, you used the past tense, like we're not related to some bad people any more." "Curt," she said. "What kinds of bad people?" Dad asked. "They went to prison," my sister said. No one talked for a while and then my sister said, "Oh, God, I don't mean to say that Curt's a bad person." "Whatever," I said. Dad looked at Burning Sand and Loving Hand and said, "Who names their dogs those names?" "What dogs?" my sister said. "Nothing," I said. Dad started coughing. "I want a chocolate heart," my sister said. My sister is a nice person overall. Dad took her off speaker phone. He was talking to my sister when Burning Sand pooped on the floor. It was easy to clean up, but I was kind of in shock. She did it in front of me and I wondered if there was something wrong with her. Of course there was if she was going to Doggie Daycare. Meanwhile, Monica must have been staring into the eyes of her literally blind date and wondering what happened to her date's eyes. When you are born blind, what is there to miss with vision?

This is where the story changes, dear reader. It is the same, but also, it is not. We will call him C.

C. picks up the dog poop. C.'s father puts down the phone. C.'s father sees the dog poop. C.'s father says, What is that, dog s**t? H**l no it ain't! Get those dogs out of here. C. has the dog poop in a tissue in his hand. The tissue in his hand is filled with dog poop and then C.'s dad walks over and looks at the tissue in C.'s hand. Out, C.'s father says.

It is icy outside. The dog's don't know what to do. They sniff a tree. They want to go inside the house. Don't poop anymore, C. says. When they come inside, C.'s father has calmed down. Dad, C. says. Am I a bad person? C.'s father looks at C. No, C., you aren't. Sometimes you don't think. That's all. You are an unthinking person. That sounds pretty bad, C. says. The dogs lick C.'s hand. C. never washed his hands after he picked up the poop. He washes his hands. The phone rings. It is Monica. She can't drive because of the weather. Her and her literally blind date are inside a warm building. How is the date going? C. asks. What? Monica asks. Oh, she says. Well, it's good so far. How are Loving Hand and Burning Sand? Just great, C. says. They didn't poop inside, did they? No, C. says. Good, Monica says. Sometimes they do that when they're nervous. That must mean they feel comfortable with you, Monica says. I guess, C. says. Well, I gotta go. My date's waiting. Thanks C. You're welcome C. says.

At night, C. lets the dogs sleep in his bed with him. It is like the good old days. He listens to the ice hit the window. Tap, tap, like a walking stick.