I've been making it a habit of going outside to play guitar and work on new songs a few nights a week in order to get re-acquainted with my strumming and writing muscles. There has been a severe lack in my output of work I can be proud of lately, and as much as I like simply bitching about it, I know it's just going to keep wasting my time. By now I've been at it long enough to re-establish my calluses. So, encouraged by the evidence of discipline, I went out tonight to be true to my routine. Usually I am uninterrupted during my rehabilitation, meaning the few people who walk by don't even break stride to glance over at me. Tonight, however, I was the ear of choice for a terribly depressing monologue.
I had seen the man walk by earlier in the evening, dragging a black garbage bag the size of a small parachute beside him. I glanced up after he was far enough away and saw him looking back in my direction between every few strides. After a while, he came back and approached me timidly, finally stopping about six feet away. He proceeded to lean forward, as if he were peering in through some invisible doorway. At this point, I stopped playing my guitar to acknowledge his gesture. The man was terribly thin and stood a modest five foot six at most. He had tanned, dry skin, grew a magnificent silver mane and had more fingers than teeth.
He asked me if I was in a band. I said I was. He proceeded to stumble through a few sentences in an attept to tell a story about a time in his life when he, too, was in a band. The sound of his voice started to change. It sounded youthful and jaunty as he was storytelling. Apparently, his drummer had crippling stagefright at the big show and the band fell apart. It all went downhill from there. He told me he had lived in LA for over 20 years, and had been homeless for 14 of them. He had a cousin in town who was still unaware of his situation. According to his monologue, the man had been building a good life for himself: cars, a house, steady job and a good woman. He elaborated on his wife, Lisa, quite a bit. She operated the phones at 1-800-DENTIST. He would call her and disguise his voice to describe some imaginary oral ailment, only to cheerfully reveal himself as her beau and profess his love to her. According to him, she absolutely ate it up.
The man himself was a truck driver, which I found hard to believe based on his appearance. I've seen my fair share of truck drivers while shuttling all over America in the Green Machine with the boys, and this guy just didn't have the gut, ass, and caffeinated eyes for the job. I took his word for it as he regaled himself with an abridged version of one of his big hauls. Mostly he talked about how hard it was to be away from his wife. I wasn't sure where exaclty all of this was going, but the man was clearly not finished. I figured he would've asked me for a quarter or a cigarette by now, but he continued on. I was beginning to get bored until the man changed his tune slightly. He went on a quick tangent about thai food, then came back to his wife.
Up to this point, I had probably muttered 'uh-huh' or 'right' or 'sure' where it seemed appropriate in an attempt to hurry this man to his point, but he was far from done. With all the joy and nostalgia coming out of this man, I never saw the next ramble coming.
Next time: The Death of Lisa
Monday, August 27, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Captive Audience Pt. 2
I was audience to a rambling bum recently. This is part two of my recollection of the experience.
I neither asked this man to give me his name, nor shared mine. He showed me the same courtesy. In fact, I never asked him anything at all and in turn, my silence was rewarded with his life-story. In the last installment, we learned that our man wasn't always down in the dumps as he is now. He once had a job travelling the country, "bringing it" as truckers do, which allowed him to pay rent, which gave him a place to park his Class C automobiles and, among other things, his bed, which he shared with his loving wife. They were a working couple who didn't always see as much of each other as they might have liked. He couldn't tell me enough how much she meant to him. I was half expecting her to sneak out from around the corner and give him a kiss on the cheek for praising her the way he did. She didn't. I was about to find out why she never would again.
What surprised me about his story was how well it was told. Up until this point, the man had been friendly, but very timid. His actions were constrained, his speech was gentle, and his sentences were poorly constructed at times. Before I knew it, I was savoring every word the man said.
His sad tale began as he was driving home from his local thai food joint. Thai was Lisa's favorite food. Our man was joyfully about to deliver a surprise meal to his missus. He was supposed to have been driving his rig, but he'd ducked out early. He walked in the front door and set things up by the book: nice tablecloth, low lights and candles, sexy music. Then he sat down, waited for his belle, and let himself dream up a slideshow of dances shared, cherished kisses, and they joy they would share over their meal that night.
After nearly forty minutes had passed, he snuffed the candles. Worried, he paced around a bit. She should have been home by now. She wouldn't be at the office this late. Traffic was never this bad. He stepped outside to have a cigarette. What errands might she run so late? Where could she be? His neighbor approached and could see how worried he was. He bravely declined his neighbors offer for a consolatory hit of crack. Time continued to pass. He went inside and sat down for a few minutes before he heard an appropriately authoritative knock at his door. The police had arrived, and after verifying he was Lisa's husband they asked him to take a seat. They said they were sorry to have to break the news to him.
Her untimely death was caused by a drunk driver running a stop sign. It's a tragic and helpless way to go, and the news hit our poor boy hard. Though they had made funeral arrangements together, he spent extra money and sold a few possesions in order to give Lisa the best funeral he could manage. She was buried in a magnificent mahogany coffin after being honored by her friends and family.
Next: What happened next...
I neither asked this man to give me his name, nor shared mine. He showed me the same courtesy. In fact, I never asked him anything at all and in turn, my silence was rewarded with his life-story. In the last installment, we learned that our man wasn't always down in the dumps as he is now. He once had a job travelling the country, "bringing it" as truckers do, which allowed him to pay rent, which gave him a place to park his Class C automobiles and, among other things, his bed, which he shared with his loving wife. They were a working couple who didn't always see as much of each other as they might have liked. He couldn't tell me enough how much she meant to him. I was half expecting her to sneak out from around the corner and give him a kiss on the cheek for praising her the way he did. She didn't. I was about to find out why she never would again.
What surprised me about his story was how well it was told. Up until this point, the man had been friendly, but very timid. His actions were constrained, his speech was gentle, and his sentences were poorly constructed at times. Before I knew it, I was savoring every word the man said.
His sad tale began as he was driving home from his local thai food joint. Thai was Lisa's favorite food. Our man was joyfully about to deliver a surprise meal to his missus. He was supposed to have been driving his rig, but he'd ducked out early. He walked in the front door and set things up by the book: nice tablecloth, low lights and candles, sexy music. Then he sat down, waited for his belle, and let himself dream up a slideshow of dances shared, cherished kisses, and they joy they would share over their meal that night.
After nearly forty minutes had passed, he snuffed the candles. Worried, he paced around a bit. She should have been home by now. She wouldn't be at the office this late. Traffic was never this bad. He stepped outside to have a cigarette. What errands might she run so late? Where could she be? His neighbor approached and could see how worried he was. He bravely declined his neighbors offer for a consolatory hit of crack. Time continued to pass. He went inside and sat down for a few minutes before he heard an appropriately authoritative knock at his door. The police had arrived, and after verifying he was Lisa's husband they asked him to take a seat. They said they were sorry to have to break the news to him.
Her untimely death was caused by a drunk driver running a stop sign. It's a tragic and helpless way to go, and the news hit our poor boy hard. Though they had made funeral arrangements together, he spent extra money and sold a few possesions in order to give Lisa the best funeral he could manage. She was buried in a magnificent mahogany coffin after being honored by her friends and family.
Next: What happened next...
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Ask Austin Vol. III
Dear Dr. Austitron V.M.D.,
why is it acceptible to build houses for our dogs but not for our cats?
--Time Bomb Baby
Ms. Baby,
It is FULLY acceptable to build a house for your cat. Most breeds of cat have a noted fondness for kickin' it in high places. My animal behaviourist friends tell me height gives the cat a better observation point, allowing it to survey its "territory" and become aware of activities of people and other pets in the area. In the wild, a higher place may serve as a concealed site from which to hunt and scope out prospective mates; domestic cats are known to strike prey by pouncing from such a perch as a craggy cliff face, as does a Himalyan snow leopard. Height, therefore, can also give cats a sense of security and prestige. It's a shame that so few people understand how explosively the treehouse demand is booming in the feline community. Unfortunately, birds have the monopoly on the treehouse world and have set up zoning ordinances that make it unspeakably difficult for a cat to even lease, much less settle into a nice place up high.
Dear Dr.Austitron,
I always end up getting set-up by my friends because I can never find my own dates, or if I do spot a guy I find attractive, I can't approach them or I put myself in some twisted awkward position. So my question is, how can I approach a guy without making a damn fool of myself?
--Emily
Emily,
I don't understand why putting yourself in twisted awkward positions doesn't work! i've always loved gymnasts, ballerinas and contortionists...
First thing's first: Be yourself.
I would say to appeal to his masculinity. Ask for some kind of assistance, even if you don't need it. This will give you the opportunity to find out a little bit about how he interacts with people and allows you to further open up the conversation. Be brief, but let it flow as it comes naturally--remember you're just trying to get some contact information and you don't want to accidentally force someone into a first date upon meeting them.
Be as flirty as you need to be based on what you want from the guy. And say no to being set-up!
why is it acceptible to build houses for our dogs but not for our cats?
--Time Bomb Baby
Ms. Baby,
It is FULLY acceptable to build a house for your cat. Most breeds of cat have a noted fondness for kickin' it in high places. My animal behaviourist friends tell me height gives the cat a better observation point, allowing it to survey its "territory" and become aware of activities of people and other pets in the area. In the wild, a higher place may serve as a concealed site from which to hunt and scope out prospective mates; domestic cats are known to strike prey by pouncing from such a perch as a craggy cliff face, as does a Himalyan snow leopard. Height, therefore, can also give cats a sense of security and prestige. It's a shame that so few people understand how explosively the treehouse demand is booming in the feline community. Unfortunately, birds have the monopoly on the treehouse world and have set up zoning ordinances that make it unspeakably difficult for a cat to even lease, much less settle into a nice place up high.
Dear Dr.Austitron,
I always end up getting set-up by my friends because I can never find my own dates, or if I do spot a guy I find attractive, I can't approach them or I put myself in some twisted awkward position. So my question is, how can I approach a guy without making a damn fool of myself?
--Emily
Emily,
I don't understand why putting yourself in twisted awkward positions doesn't work! i've always loved gymnasts, ballerinas and contortionists...
First thing's first: Be yourself.
I would say to appeal to his masculinity. Ask for some kind of assistance, even if you don't need it. This will give you the opportunity to find out a little bit about how he interacts with people and allows you to further open up the conversation. Be brief, but let it flow as it comes naturally--remember you're just trying to get some contact information and you don't want to accidentally force someone into a first date upon meeting them.
Be as flirty as you need to be based on what you want from the guy. And say no to being set-up!
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