One Packrat's Saved Emails

As mentioned in a recent Gambit, I've been doing a bit of summer cleaning. I will now be taking a page from the book of Wade Anderson, and reprinting a bunch of snippets from old emails in this space. Hopefully you'll find them as amusing as I do - it's nice to have such funny friends.

From: Sarah Mo. Feb 20, 1998.
quand j'etais petite, je n'etais pas grande,
je montrais les fesses a tous les passants
quand ils me disaient de les cacher
je leur repondais de les embrasser
--------------------------------------------
Translation:
when i was little, i wasn't very big
i showed my butt to all the passers-by
when they told me to hide my butt
i told them to kiss it
grand, eh? thought so :)

From: Will. Dec 22, 1998.
(Talking about a friend's likely ill-fated Christmas Card idea)
"Interestingly enough, apparently he has time to put his family concerns behind and blow off Kart (and drag me along with him), but enough time to record some Christmas song, which I GUARANTEE will be shitty, hastily put together, and far less enjoyable than planned, not to mention FAR TOO FUCKING LATE to get to anyone before NEXT Christmas. The only reason I'm doing it is to be nice and try to help a buddy during the holidays. Otherwise I'd punch him in the face."

From: Pete. Jul 1, 1999.
(Talking about a Frisbee practice run by a local guy with a short fuse)
"I went to Petey's practice last night and we got him so pissed off (truth) he was about to pull to us, turned around and pulled out the back of his endzone straight into parked cars 50 yds away, screams fuck you guys, quits (we went from 7s to 6s), bitches all the way to his bike and rides home at 8. EVERY single time his team was on the line he would start a clinic by getting in front of his other team with his back to us and talk and talk while we were waiting to pull or receive. So Inge, Brian and me (other?) started yelling yap yap yap yap yap until the disc was in the air. It sounded funny as hell because it was out of unisyn and more like the sound a flock of birds would make. By the third time we did this he snapped ,from what I have ever seen, was the biggest display of being a baby anyone in their forties has ever done. So if you ever need to get his goat you know what to do."

From: wadE. Jul 22, 1999.
(Talking about that year's Fantasy baseball team he owned)
Subject: Drunkards Stumble Ahead
Associated Press
Lutsen Minn. - Local fantasy baseball franchise, Lutsen Drunkards, stumbled ahead of the much maligned Tuscon Goats to take over 3rd place in the Goat? league today. Owner Daniel Dean Motschenbacher was reached for comment as he left Papa Charlie's Saloon & Grill in downtown Lutsen.
"Aw shit...that's freakin' awesome. Nuttin' like shuvin' a big black *BURP* up the Goats ass...aw shit, I'm so black....", Motschenbacher was quoted as saying.
Although the Drunkards lead is tenuous, GM and manager Tom Kelly, Jr. said the team was moving in the right direction. "The Drunkards are moving in the right direction, but there is plenty of season left...plenty of time to move up or down, haabaabuh."
As of press time, the Goats could not be reached for comment.

From: Jason. Oct 6, 1999.
"While we often think of alcoholics as skinny, recent research suggests that for most people alcohol adds inches around the waist"...well, there goes wade's method for keeping trim. Next thing you know they'll be coming out with a report that says cheese balls and swiss cake rolls cause obesity and high levels of aggression when teased or beaten at nintendo. Sorry Al, it's been like 6 years since I've made fun of wade...you're the only one who ever understands...

From: Loo. Nov 29, 1999.
Subject: Depravities for your thrill and amazement
Okay, first of all, I got this excerpt from a story about serial killers, which had a small section on serial killers in ancient times.
>Locusta the Poisoner killed five or six people in ancient Rome, some >for profit and some because she enjoyed it, said Newton. She was >executed in 69 A.D., first publicly raped by a specially trained >giraffe and then torn apart by wild animals.
There's quite a few questions that I'd like answered about this specially trained giraffe.

More from Loo, Feb 28, 2000.
"I was talking to my roommate the other day, and I was marveling at the thought that if I lost my job without warning, I'd be financially solvent for about a year. I'd have to cut back on the whole scene of eating out for every meal and buying four CDs at a time, but I could go about a year, and that's phenomenal.
My roommate nodded in agreement. There was a pause. Then he replied "I'd be in trouble Thursday."
But moving on, I began to speculate further, and I realized that I could decide to celebrate one weekend, and I could drop a thousand bucks on hookers and a thousand bucks on cocaine, and it wouldn't make the tiniest difference in my financial situation. That's power, baby.
I mentioned this to my brother, who deals with these matters on a far less theoretical basis, and he shook his head, and took the condescending tone of the instructing parent. "Steve, Steve, Steve. If you've got a thousand bucks of cocaine, the hookers are free." And I'm sure he's right. I mean, hell, it's not like I'm going to be the one snorting it."

From: Jimmy. May 11, 2000.
Subject: no need to worry
No need to worry folks!,
Sorry to keep the suspense high, but at approximately 11:45am on Wednesday, May 15 I entered Jerry's Barber Shop right next to Basil's for a "trimming of the follicles." I requested "about an inch off the bangs, and a little off the side," opting for a straight line in the back rather than the tapered look. About fifteen minutes later I walked out in the cold, cruel weather, feeling just a little bit better about this crazy world. I must admit, the tension was high when Jerry remarked, "hey kid you got hair growing out your ears, you must be forty or something!" But, knowing I student taught last semester, at least he didn't ask his token question about why teachers are always molesting kids. So we laughed and cried together; he's just a working joe like me!
So far, public reception has been exceptional. After an initial outburst of emails expressing extreme surprise at my revelation, people seem to have come to this consensus: the haircut is ONE FINE PIECE OF CRAFTMANSHIP. Andy Lees sez: "hey, nice haircut, man." Keep watching for a general assessment of the public's opinion.
One satisfied consumer,
Jimmy

(I could explain that one to you, but that'd have to involve me explaining Jimmy to you. And there just isn't enough time for that.)

From: North. May 17, 2000.
(The Flag Story I referenced here.)
But for the benefit of Al-San and Stevo ... my story ...
Several years back, Renz's law school chum Anders Folk was attending one of those Boys State conventions (he's a bit of a weenie -- but smart as hell -- oh yeah, he's also in the Marines, a career move no doubt influenced by his Herculean strength and bizarre desire to "blow shit up.") As is commonly known, Boys State is sponsored by the VFW, and the convention is swarming with Veterans eager to pass along the torch of patriotism.
One night, several of these aged Veterans were walking back to quarters when they noticed a flag still flying atop a small shelter on campus. Well, you all [should] know that once the sun goes down, a flag must be illuminated or taken down until morning.
So what did these Vets do? ...
... Unable to lower the flag, they stood watch, ALL FUCKING NIGHT, taking turns SHINING FLASHLIGHTS ON THE FLAG!
God bless America.

More from North, July 17, 2000.
Subject: my kids
So, I've got this kid in class named Carlos. He's six.
At lunch today, Carlos is munching away on his lunch when, suddenly, he looks up from the table with alarm. The rest of the kids start pointing at him and laughing. I make my way over to Carlos and discover that he has pissed himself.
I ask Carlos, "are you ok? what's happened?" (A fucking IDIOTIC question, I realize, but gimme a break...I'm new to this).
He responds, "yes, I had to go to the bathroom before we came here, but then I started to eat, and I guess I just forgot, and so I just went."
(Let me take this opportunity to clarify -- the kid wet himself because he was too busy eating to get up and go to the bathroom.)
At this point, I tell Carlos that he should get up from the table and come with me to the office to get cleaned up and find some new clothes. But Carlos, WAVING HIS HANDS BACK AND FORTH PAST THE BACK OF HIS SOAKING WET TROUSERS IN A VAIN ATTEMPT TO DRY HIMSELF, says,
"Naw. It'll dry out in a minute and I'll be fine. I'm just gonna keep eating."
Honest to God.

From Me, To Matty. Jan 10, 2001
"again, the glove graces my card. joined by bill guerin, and chris gatling. another meatloaf card."

Talking, of course, about ESPN's old 3-Play game. I really enjoyed that, by the way. No idea why they stopped it...

And Finally, one last tale from Loo. This is out of order, and I won't bother to put a date on it. It concerns his tale of what (as far as I know) is the only time he's ever played his bass in public. Fantastic stuff. Have a good night kids.

Subject: Sordid tale of fear and disgrace

I don't know if North told you this or not, so I'll start from the start.

A few months ago, I was jamming with this guitarist every now and then. It was okay, not stellar. He's a guy I've known since middle school, and he's been hanging around a lot lately. Anyway, one day he starts talking about how his friend is having this graduation party in December, and how we should play at this thing with Billiamo. He's got a snazzy PA coming in the mail, and we'll be fuckin rock stars. I interpret this as an example of pipe dream speech, and in an effort to be polite, I say "Well, it sounds real cool, but I've got exams in mid November, so it's going to be a long time before I could work on something like that, and it seems like we'd have to practice an awful lot in those three weeks, and I bet there's no way you could bet Bill's shit together enough to make it happen."

In the first of many such occasions, the guitarist seemed to hear only the positive parts of what I had said. Foolishly, I remained unalarmed.

Side note: The aforementioned pipe dream included us driving two hours each way on a Wednesday night.

So this pipe dream would come up from time to time in conversation over the next few weeks, and a subtle transformation occurred in the guitarist's perception of this hypothetical show, from a cool idea that was a long way away, to a pre-ordained certainty that we could all ink in on our calendars. I viewed this all with cynical humor, thinking to myself, "Yeah, keep smoking that shit, you putz. This shit just ain't happenin."

Finally, exams are over, and he's chomping at the bit to get going, so we jam a couple of times. Bill doesn't make it, because Bill is a wandering stoner who can't get anywhere according to any schedule ever. We end up fucking around with a couple of things, including a 20 minute piece that he wrote for solo guitar accompanied by his keyboard, during which he plays hundreds and hundreds of slightly different D chords, to no apparent purpose.

That sounds riveting, doesn't it?

Also, at some point I'm fucking around, and he says "Hey, what's that little riff?", and I reply that it's a Coltrane tune that I think goes sort of like this. So we play that some, based on the way that I think it sort of goes. In the final analysis, this was not in fact that way that it goes, but what the hell did I care, since we were just fucking around, right?

Right?

By the way, the PA was a huge Bose contraption, and was fucking awesome.

So these sort of mediocre jam sessions serve to further fan the inferno of his excitement, and he's not only discussing this hypothetical show as a foregone conclusion, he's telling everybody how great it's going to be. I point out to him, the three of us (Billiam included) have yet to enter a room together and play a single fucking note. On top of this, Bill's woman is coming in town for a week, so he's out of commission, and is it really realistic to think that in the week and a half between her leaving and this show happening that we're going to drag Bill to practice enough times to develop a respectable set? I think not.

In his continuing drive to ignore all aspects of negativity or realism, the guitarist listens to this, nods thoughtfully, and ignores it. Essentially what he took from it was that if we practice with Bill, it will make things better.

A week and a half before the hypothetical show, the guitarist is still having some difficulties with the rhythm in one section of the Coltrane tune, so I lend him Giant Steps, and an MMW album that also has the tune on it. He finds these quite enlightening.

A week before the hypothetical show, he gets Bill to come out for the first time. A mediocre jam session follows. Since neither this guitarist nor Bill has any musical taste whatsoever, they both rave afterwards about how fucking awesome it was. I begin to know fear.

I don't know if you've been alert to this phenomenon, but there has been a second subtle transformation occurring throughout the narrative. At the beginning of our tale, the guitarist was horribly mistaken and the bassist was laughing. Gradually, bit by bit, the guitarist has begun to laugh, and the bassist has ceased laughing whatsoever.

My entire strategy had been to show my dull-witted guitarist the error of his plans, and their inevitable failure, whereupon he would agree though discovery, and nix the plans under his own volition. Through steadfast refusal to realize this error (or anything else at all), he somehow lulled me past the point when I could responsibly nix the plans myself. It's too goddamned late for me to do anything about my impending doom.

Now, recall, I don't want to be a rock star. I have no desire to take the stage. My policy has always been that I am not good enough to do justice to the sort of music that I'd be interested in playing, and therefore, I just don't want to play out.

But back to the fear, which is sinking into the pit of my stomach. I realize that with not just one, but two of them excited about the project, it's happening, and as negative/realistic as I'd been before, I start going for the gold now.

I made the following valid statements:

We're playing this Coltrane tune, and have been for a couple of weeks, over changes that I'm not sure are right, and in fact, I'm not even sure if the head is right. Nor can I figure it out immediately, because I lent this motherfucker both of my copies of it.

Bill doesn't play with other people. It's just not how DJs operate, and while it's not impossible, he has no practice at all with it. Which is why he does things like just let a beat run out without warning, or scratch obnoxiously over things like quiet interludes or other people's solo breaks.

When we jammed without any plan (which we're apparently planning on doing for a significant time period at this show), yes, it occasionally turned into something cool, but it was also boring A LOT, and we also trainwrecked A LOT. That sort of thing may be entertaining if you're doing it, but it sucks to listen to. Also, a trainwreck is no big deal in practice. You just stop, say "Sorry guys", and start something new. But it's a tad different on stage in front of dozens of people.

We sound bad. I am not a guy who has a lot of trouble with self-image, nor am I given to excessive modesty, so I can tell you, with a clear and unbiased ear, we sound BAD. In addition to being generally not very tight, our levels are different each time, our solos sound like just aimless noodling (which they absolutely are), and we're only mildly comfortable with our tunes. BAD.

I told them these things. Bill apparently picked up a bad case of whatever the guitarist has got, because he listened, nodded, and ignored.

A couple of days later, I got my CDs back, and confirmed that we had been playing the Coltrane tune wrong. We re-learned that on Saturday (show's on Wednesday), and finally figured out the correct changes, I think.

This was the first time that we recorded ourselves. Upon review, the word "suck" was used extensively by all.

By the way, I don't want you to miss the fact that this guy sat there listening to two versions of a tune that we'd been playing wrong for weeks, and he didn't realize that anything was amiss.

Sunday we practiced again, and recorded again. One of our takes was recorded over before we had played back so much as a note. Our keyboard accompaniment for the Coltrane tune was still wrong. Bill didn't understand the song structure yet.

Tuesday we practiced one more time. Bill began to grasp the song structure. The keyboard accompaniment was still wrong.

I don't want to gloss over that last part. Here we are, 22 hours before the show, and the fucking keyboard accompaniment is STILL WRONG. Which means that it has never been right. WE HAVE NEVER PLAYED IT RIGHT. This shit that I'm telling you about, where they concentrate on the good and ignore the bad, do you see now the extent of the disease? They're really hyped about this tune, which we have never ever ever played right all the way through. Not once.

I'll cut to the chase. We played the motherfucking show and it was awful. And perhaps there's some wisdom to their theory that the masses are so musically ignorant that they can't tell, but I don't give a fuck. Just for example, when we started the Coltrane tune, I start first, and I fucked up and started a half step up. Now, we don't have a drummer, we have a programmed keyboard, so I can't tell him to keep rolling while I modulate around, and the guitarist is coming in any second, so I tell him "Dude, I fucked up! I'm a half step up!" He nods, and proceeds to correct for this by playing his part a half step down. So we play the head of this tune, which is sort of dissonant even if you play it right, a whole step off of each other. It sounds like death. In the midst of this death, he looks to me and says "Let's just go to F", which is what it's supposed to be in. I agree, and do so. He then goes into E. I don't know why. We get this figured out at the end of his 3 chorus solo. I then play 3 choruses, which are finally in harmonic agreement, but I'm a tad rattled, and it wasn't exactly stellar because of it (not that they're ever stellar when I play them), and finally we turn it over to Bill, who cuts it up aimlessly for two choruses in front of the by-now-totally-inattentive crowd. Which I suppose is a blessing in disguise. We wrapped it up to no applause whatsoever. Bill says "Hey, that was pretty good."

That's how I paid tribute to the memory of John Coltrane.

I decided on the way home that as soon as neurosurgery advances to the point where they can surgically remove events from your memory, I'm going to pay somebody thousands of dollars to wipe every trace of this nightmare away. And I will part with my money joyfully.

(Loo also mentioned that he didn't want this story too widely distributed... but this was three years ago, so screw him. It's hilarous.)

-6/24/2003