Hotel Haiku III

"Greetings from Des Moines!"
the postcard chirped. I suppose
things could be much worse...

Photo: Common corn smut -- not a bud, Steve.

Somewhere in Iowa

Hotel Haiku II

Fuck this wireless shit!
"The connection has timed out."
Hour of work takes four.

Somewhere just outside Sandusky, OH

See? We can TOO get organized!

Here are a few pages from the Secret Guy Handbook on how men organize a social event -- in this case, getting together around the holidays. Predictably, it morphs into watching football together. One might think it's as easy as saying, "Hey, wanna watch the game?" But not quite -- especially when the participants are spread around the country -- in this case, CA, MN, WI, IL -- and via email. Observe:

My Friend Steve: Dudes, I'm out of the office until after New Year's starting tomorrow. If anybody's planning on any type of gathering (or needs a place to stay), you'll have better luck calling me at home 612-xxx-xxxx or cell 612-xxx-xxxx because I won't be checking my email more than twice.
Will there be any chance of Bob coming to town? I'm brewing "Mammoth Porter" and some other kind tomorrow! They could be ready to drink for New Years' Eve.
Later.

My friend Bob: What about watching the Vikes on Thursday night next week somewhere?? I'll CC Mike even though he's a Packer fan and Public Defendent freeing pedophiles and murderers on our dime. Bob

Steve: I believe the wife will be out so if you don't mind barking dogs (on second thought, I just might take them out back and whack 'em), we can watch at my place. We'll let Mike watch from outside...through partially open blinds. Lousy Packers.

My friend Kev: just checking my facts here, but do you get the NFL network? I was told that they made no allowance for local stations picking up their broadcasts. It may be totally inaccurate information, but I'm guessing it's worth looking into. Then again if you do get the NFL network, it won't be a problem and I'd be thrilled to watch the game at your pad

Wait, is Steve gonna see this?

Bob: This sounds great if it's playing, I'll bring the Zima! Kevin, is there some way of finding out before we go over there and end up sitting there like a turd in the punchbowl with no game. Just sayin'. Bob

Kev: This does sound great, does it not?

Anywho, I checked and yes it will be televised on local television. I don't know why I listen to people at work, they pretty much are wrong about everything. From now on I'm just going to assume that everything I hear at work is completely wrong and damn the consequences. But enough about me.

So we'll be watching football at Steve's home and drinking Zima. I'm very excited.

Steve: No worries, mates. I've got satellite and NFL Network. In any case, they broadcast on local stations within the team's market on a local station. Bob, about that Zima.....we'll talk. I'll try to get some food together (like homemade pizza) just bring your beverage, I'll probably have some nonhomebrew on hand. I believe the game is at 7 so come on over around 6 or so. I'm expecting at least you two (Bob, Kev), but if you know that other people are coming let me know. I'm guessing Keith (nominal Packer fan), Eric (clueless about football, known to enjoy beer and pizza) might be there too.

Chuck, I put you on this list in case you're interested in coming over and watching the Vikings vs Packers at my house Thursday Dec. 21. This is a National Football League game that will be televised to the nation. The Vikings are the team from Minnesota (you occasionally work here) and the Packers are the team from Wisconsin (you live there). The two states have enjoyed a friendly rivalry and football is a game that many people watch and enjoy, you might too. We would love to answer any questions you might have about this new pastime. It's fun!
Later

My friend Chuck: Listen you brokeback motherfucker! I will never "acquire" the taste for enjoying big strong men in revealing tights as they "huddle" together and place their hands between each others buttocks and wait for the "ball". I will never long to hear the supersensitive microphones pickup in exquisite detail the grunts and moans of these most beefy of men as they sweat and run and twist as the others grasp them in any available spot, though finding anything to grasp with all the ripped and muscled bodies might be difficult, the fun is in the trying, I will never think that! I will never long for the extremely high definition TV signal that will allow me to be there, in the midst of the men, seeing the rivulets of dirty sweat run down their enormous calves, I will never wish for the advent of smelling microphones so I might draw in the wafting "odour" as the French say, the true man musk that must pervade the lineup. And even if I did I would be sure not to sit to close to the other spectators, or slap them on the back or ever ever hug them too enthusiastically or for too long after "my team" (of gorgeous men) triumph in this clash of Greek Titans lest anyone think I enjoyed it for the wrong reasons, or heard me whisper "Greek Titans" any louder then softly under my breath. For, unlike all of you, it is the company of men I will not admit to you or myself I most desire, in the home, in the bar, on the field of play and yes oh yes in the locker room if only if only I had made the team so many years ago so much so many differences my life not a lie but real oh so real I can think how it would have been that moment alone just him and me alone everyone gone but the shower the water still splashing slowly like broken crystal in the splashing slow motion, the rhythm, like a swimming dolphin, diamond hard water breaking against the absolute immovable hardness of his passion he must he must feel the same meant to be it will happen now it is happening oh god yes closer oh closer hiding no more waiting no more why is he looking like that wait oh god no oh no I know he feels the same I saw him looking wrong oh I was wrong oh dirty secret and cruel cruel lie and life what have I done what have I done run just run laugh it off hide lie oh it is her she it now disgusting her smell her talk oh how can I do it spend my life with one of them wanting the same needing the same I must I must hide it bury it cover it deeper deeper it must never ever show ever.

Uh, I mean, ok. Should I bring anything? ...Buddy?

Steve: OK, well Chuck appears to have the basics of the game, just with an ex-Navy guy's take.
See you then.

Black Keys rule

It's a cold November night in Minneapolis.

Most likely the effin' coldest night of the year so far. It's one of those nights where the wind tears at your flesh and you can feel big bubbles of frostbite forming on your cheekbones as you walk down Hennepin Ave.

I'm in town for business and have a light day the next day. So, I call up some way old homies and suggest we meet for brewskies. Catch up on our lives, our successes, our trials and tribulations. Since I'm staying downtown, we decide to meet at the Rock Bottom. Tommy and DAve (The Wad) show up; Steve begs off due to prior commitment(s) with the wife.

We meet, sit, have some beers, tell some lies. We're waiting for one more friend of Tommy's, a psychiatrist, who's due to show up "any minute".

Some beers turn into a few more beers, and it's starting to get late by 45-year-old old man standards. We're about to head out, and the psychiatrist shows up. So we have one beer, and he asks if anyone is up for seeing the Black Keys, playing just down the street at the Ave. With a head full of beer, and a longing to visit First Ave., I say, sure, why not. I can vaguely remember hearing a few Black Keys songs on my iPod, and if nothing else, I'm getting out for some kulture in my old city.

So we head out into the arctic blast, and the doc stops and asks if I want a pinchie. Wow, what a treat! I haven't had any in eons, and I suspect it will enhance the show. So we fumble in the high winds for a minute, enjoy our treat, then duck around the corner and into the front door of First Ave.

Someone in the entryway asks if anyone needs tickets. Bonus! The doc grabs one, and I reach for another. But there are no others. I send the doc in, and I'll buy on at the ticket counter. But no! The show is sold out! I figure I'll wait a few minutes, see if anyone else has a ducat, and find the doc inside.

After a few minutes, the doorman shoves me outside, not wanting anyone blocking the door. So out I go. Damn it's cold. I can feel my ears freezing solid, ready to snap off if someone were to flick them. I figure I'm out there about twenty minutes as the number of fans entering dwindles down to nothing. I step back inside and inquire if any will-call tickets remain. "No sir," is the reply. Gulp. SONOFA. The doorman keeps looking at me like I'm an idiot, and it finally dawns on my cold-addled brain. I slip a Jackson in his pocket and he waves me in. The warmth and waves of sound enveloping me are equally welcome.

Funny, I'd always thought of the Black Keys as a larger group -- their sound always seemed so big. But up there in front of me are just a guy flailing around on drumkit and a guy with a guitar. The place is jammed. There is no sign of the doc.

I make my way to the right of the stage in the nick of time to narrowly avoid being leveled by the huge chunks of skronk that come flying out of that guy's guitar. Big, luscious sheets they are, rippking and fuzzy and sharp. I can feel that old familiar wilt to my cochlea. God, is he good! Damn, does that drummer pound! How can two guys make that much noise?

I never did see the doc again, but I have to thank him. What a great idea that was.