The Blog with No Name

When I was a little boy, and even when I was not such a little boy, I loved Saturday mornings. I still love Saturday mornings, though I usually sleep through all of them now. Back in my younger days I would wake up and rush to go watch cartoons. I remember Andrew and I fighting over what we would watch. He liked “Lost in Space,” which scared me. I like “Muppet Babies,” even though I loathed Miss. Piggy. Then there were the times that my brothers and I were joined by Dad to watch “Pee Wee’s Playhouse” at nine. We’d all sit on the couch watching the show, while Mom was behind us making pancakes or, better yet, french toast. Then when I got a little older, Saturday cartoons changed some, and I didn’t like them as much. I still watched them though, but I can’t even remember what I watched. Cartoons rapidly went downhill a few years back. They haven’t been the same since. Anyway, after cartoons, Mom would rush us off to do our Saturday morning chores: clean our rooms and clean the bathroom.

Then as I got even older, I stopped watching those horrible cartoons altogether. They just weren’t good anymore. The animation looked as if the cartoonists were on a constant acid trip. The plot lines were boring or stupidly outlandish. And I couldn’t identify with any of the charaters like I could with baby Gonzo. So, I stopped watching them. However, Saturday mornings were still a great time for a little boy. I remember many mornings in Alaska when we’d wake up to Mom or Dad buzzing the intercom, telling us to get upstairs for breakfast. I’d lazy fall out of bed, stumble into some clothes, and jog up the stairs. I’d flop down at the table with my rat’s nest hair and survey the pancakes or, better yet, the french toast Mom had prepared for us. If we were lucky the pancakes had chocolate chips in them. If we were really lucky, we got french toast. Our family would say grace, and then we’d suck down the food. My stomach was always very full after Saturday morning breakfasts, and I loved it. After eating we’d clear the table and then discuss what we had planned for the day. I believe, on the large part, these planning discussions were a genuine, sincere exchange of information. But, I also have the sneaky suspicion that sometimes they were a way to make Mom forget about or delay our Saturday morning chores.

There were many times that we tried to get out of our Saturday morning chores. And it is easy to see why! What little boy wants to hang around inside _cleaning_ when he could be outside in the woods building forts? And at this age, we always had a fort under construction. But Mom would transform from the Cook of Love to the horrible Taskmaster of Torment . . . or something like that. Little boys have active imaginations.
“You can’t go outside until your chores are done!”
Mom would say that line in various pitches and volumes. Usually both were high. Geez, I hated that line . . . it was almost as bad as some of the old stand-by lines that Dad used. So, we’d be stuck inside doing our slave work while the sun coasted through the sky. If it was the summer, we had less to worry about because Alaskan summer days are very long. If it was the winter, we were most unfortunate for there was only about five hours of good light. But regardless of what God’s creation looked like, Mom was busy making sure her creations cleaned up after themselves. What a drag. And she never made it easy. There were many times I believe that Mom could create dirt, dust, or messiness just by looking into a room. I would clean a room, pronounce it spotless, and Mom would just veto my declaration. She was more of a perfectionist than I was!
“Look at this! You missed this spot! Did you even clean this?!”
I hated to hear those words too because it only meant my prolonged stay under her whip of a tongue.

Oh how I hated doing those chores! They kept me from freedom! They kept me from entertainment! They kept me from my friends! I couldn’t stand cleaning the bathroom! I detested dusting! I loathed vacuuming! I had to endure this every Saturday while I lived with my parents! Yes, my hatred of the chores dug deep into the heart of my Saturday mornings.

Then the world took a lap or two or three around the sun. Now, all I do is clean bathrooms, dust furniture, and vacuum rooms. I do this from Monday to Friday. I do this for forty hours a week. This is my job.

What do I do on Saturdays? I leave everything messy and go have fun. At times, I could live without life’s ironies.

Yesterday I did security for KISS 106.1’s BFD (Big Freakin’ Deal). Let’s just get one thing straight: I did _not_ go for the music. Here’s the line up: Loni Rose, ATC, LFO, Debelah Morgan, Uncle Kracker, Dream, Vertical Horizon, Nelly Furtado, and Smash Mouth. Since I was security I didn’t really _see_ any shows, I just heard and caught glimpses of them. But here are my thoughts:

Loni Rose: local girl who won “Battle of the Girl Bands” Contest. I can’t remember what she sounded like.
ATC: These guys and gals sucked. Probably one of the stupidest shows I’ve ever heard. Lame, lipsynched dance numbers w/ extra-braindead lyrics. Their dance moves were amateurish, weak, and out of synch. My friend Nic and I disagree about the lead female singer. I think she’s hot; he thinks she’s not. The guys were fllllllamingly gay (you don’t say!).
LFO: This boy band sounded better (but that ain’t saying a lot). . .they actually sang at least.
Debelah Morgan: She has a great voice; I’ll give her that. She did this one section of cascading notes that was simply amazing. I heard that she had some really good guy dancers up there too.
Uncle Kracker: Kid Rock’s DJ. That says it all. He whined about how radio stations wouldn’t play his music. I guess you have to be from Detroit to really appreciate this guy. . .
Dream: ummm. . .can’t remember much about them. They were cute?
Vertical Horizon: The best show given from what I heard. They actually have decent music and seem to at least genuinely try to please the audience.
Nelly Furtado: She’s short! Probably gave the most energetic performance, though I don’t care much for her music. She actually jumped down in front of the Barricade and got real close to the crowd. She also climbed a little on the tresses and crowd surfed once. She walked right by me! I could have tripped her if I wanted. . .
Smash Mouth: Gosh, what a waste of a band. Their music gets annoying fast. They gave a lame set with little energy. If I had paid any more than $5 to see them, I would have been pissed.

Oh, and guess who was the guest MC! That’s right (I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt)! Mandy Moore! I really don’t know why she was there. However! She walked by me twice!! And I got to stand next to her for a little bit too! Hahaha. She was wearing these high heels that looked sooo uncomfortable. The heels were basically nails. She’s also a lot taller and thinner in person. Some guys were even saying she isn’t all that cute. I couldn’t tell; I couldn’t see her eyes or half of her face because she had big sunglasses on.

So, that’s the rundown on the celebs that were there. One thing that was driven home is that they’re all just people, just ordinary people. They aren’t as attractive when they aren’t airbrushed, made up, or primped for a photo shoot. Some have a lame sense of humor. Some just don’t care about their fans. They are only ordinary people shoved into a spotlight. They are nothing extra-special when it comes down to it.

Now, let’s talk about the people who were in the my mind’s spotlight and the ordinary people. This is what made my job interesting and worthwhile. For the first seven hours, I was making sure people were 21 at the VIP (Very Idiotic Prick) section. There was free beer if you were over 21 and a VIP. Lots of interesting people went through me, but those who I took the notice of most was the parents with a flock of little children. I’d asked them if they planned on drinking, and if so we would have to check their IDs. But more often than not, they seemed very excited about drinking. Now, I don’t think it’s wrong to drink in front of one’s children, but while in front of one’s children and being _excited_ about drinking? I dunno, that just seems really strange to me. It’s as if they really wanted to say, “Heck yeah! I plan on getting drunk! And who cares about the little buggers!?” It bothered me that they seemed so excited about drinking when they have all their little kids trailing behind or below them.

So, I stood at the VIP entrance for about seven hours. . .had two ten minute breaks. . .saw lots of interesting people. . .got a little sunburnt. . .then I got pulled to do another duty: autograph line.

While I had been at the VIP entrance I had seen the herds of little girls stampede to the autograph booth after a show. I didn’t actually see the lines because it was around the bend of the stadium. When I got there I was amazed at the line. Their was a clot of about 200 people around the booth and a line stretching nearly 75 yards back and at places 10 people deep. The line was almost entirely comprised of <16 -year old females with the occasional frazzled and/or irate parent. Unfortunately, I got there when everything went to heck in a Honey Bucket. I was given a radio (yes!) and told to maintain the entire line making sure that nobody cut or got rowdy. Things were rapidly getting worse. Have you ever tried to stop scores of junior high kids from getting to see their favorite band? It's not easy. The people up front were getting crushed and people were getting madder. Then the main security guy for the area screamed that only kids under 12 could come get things signed. That totally readjusted the line and pissed off many. I was beseiged by little girls asking questions and demanding answers. All were anxious about getting some scrap of paper signed by Dream. Some parents were getting fairly irate (one father in particular). I think the security guy made the right decision. The little ones were getting crushed, and they needed to be cleared out. Then to top it off, Dream stopped signing after 10 minutes. They really pissed off more people. There were pobably close to 400 people waiting to get those precious pen marks. So, my duty became to clear the people out. I guess this was fun for me. Basically, I got to yell at everybody and tell them to get lost. Some people were okay with it all. One girl asked me for my signature since she didn't get Dream's. She said mine was better than nothing. I asked her if she wanted my signature or if I should fake somebody else's. I ended up signing "Uncle Kracker" on the back of her Fred Meyer's receipt. I signed her friend's too. That concluded my duty with the autograph booth. Next I was sent up to the Barricade after a brief stop over in a tent with Mandy Moore (:-D).

The Barricade is the barrier that stops the throngs of people up front from storming the stage and ripping all the clothes off of the “artists.” It keeps the fans about thrity feet from the performers. Security’s duty is to make sure people don’t jump the Barricade, take pictures, or pick fights. Also we grab crowd surfers and look mean. I don’t think I can look mean effectively; I’m too small. I worked the Barricade for the last two songs of Vertical Horizon, all of Nelly Furtado, and all of Smash Mouth. One word: thankGodforearplugs. You think the ear plugs are for the super-loud speaker stacks? No, my friend, it’s for the high pitched screaming of annoying junior high girls. One time I was stupid and had an ear plug out when I was walking past the center. Ouch! Working the Barricade was rather fun actually. It was interesting to watch the fans react to what was going on behind me. They’d be dumbly staring forward, occasionally mouthing some lyrics, then suddenly their faces would light up and they’d stretch out their hands, vainly trying to touch their idols who were now twenty-five feet away rather than thirty feet away. It struck me as really strange behavior.

Between the Vertical Horizon set and Nelly Furtado, I had to run a quick errand. On my way back to my post, I was stopped by a rather worried young woman. She asked me what was done about lost children. After talking to my boss via the cool radio I was given, I found out there was nothing done about lost children. All we could do was spread the description of the kid and hope he turns up. As I was escorting her to the location where she would wait until the kid turned up, I got a description from her. It was a boy about four and a half feet tall, short dark brown hair, he had a gray hooded sweat shirt with a jean jacket over it, his name was Devon, and he was little slow. She said, “His parents will kill me if I lost him.” So, I promised her that I would make a couple of passes through the stadium to try and locate him in the crowd that nearly covered an entire baseball field and bleachers. As I began my search, I prayed that I would find him quickly so the lady wouldn’t have to worry about it any longer. I had nearly completed my first pass when I saw a little boy who almost matched the description (no jean jacket and had a green hooded sweat shirt). I stopped him and asked him his name. “Devon.”. I found had found him. God had heard my silent prayer over the booming speakers and loud crowd. I escorted Devon back to his babysitter. She gave him a small scolding, lit a cigarette, said thanks, and I walked away. I was a hero. . .I guess.

That’s all I have to say about BFD.

Happy birthday to me! Thanks to the five people who remembered (Mom, Dad, and three others)!

What a glorious day. Beautiful sunny weather here in the Emerald City. Too bad I spend most of my time indoors these days because of my job, but that’s okay. It’s nice to see the sunshine outside. I’d be outside reading right now, but I still have to find a place to set up my little chair. During the school year, I would go just outside my room to a grassy hillside that we all called The Beach. I would go up there and read or rest every sunny day that was warm. I got a really nice farmer’s tan from that. When I say farmer’s tan, I mean farmer’s tan. It’s really rather funny. Anyway, I’ll stop talking about my odd skin coloration. . .

Work is going much better. I don’t do a whole lot, never have to sweat, and work at a “relaxed” pace. That’s what my supervisor, Jim, told me, “Work at a relaxed pace.” Jim is so cool. Now, this is in stark contrast to what I was doing last summer. I was working my butt off last summer and being paid only a little bit more. Plus I was in a place I did not want to be at all. So, last summer was miserable; this summer will probably only be a little bit dull. I think that’s an improvement.

What’s cool about this job is that I can think about things due to it’s very low brain-power requirements. I have a lot to think about too: yearbook next year, the movie I want to make, stuff I want to write down, the lyrics of songs I’m listening too, events in the past. . .actually I don’t like thinking about the past very much. Unfortunately, that’s what I think about a lot. My thoughts just keep drifting back that way. However, now I can control my thoughts a little bit better than I could a few months ago, so I am able to push those reflections away easier. I don’t know if it is a good thing or not though. Anyway, I still appreciate the time to get lost in my own thoughts. I’m sure some people would say I do that too much as it is.

Ah, good news, Zao is coming back to town! I’m so happy! Mid-July they’re coming through and playing three shows in the area. I’ll be going to two of them again. Can’t get enough of Zao. Today I listened to their song, Autopsy, a bunch. It is so good. I often wonder how people can NOT like Zao. Oh well, their loss.

Plant Services: Where job number one is our second priority.

Well, they kinda mislead me down at Plant Services (SPU’s maintenence organization). They didn’t give me the job I requested, and they never told me until the first day of work. Turns out that I’m going to be a janitor all summer. That is not cool. Yeah, I can do janitorial work all summer, but I sure as heck don’t want to. I’ll be looking for a new job starting tomorrow because then I’ll actually have enough sleep to not be dead after work. . .at least that’s the plan.

We’re all settled into the apartment. I’ll be posting pics of my room and such soon, I think. No promises though. I’d describe my set up, but a picture is worth a thousand words. I’ll save my time, and just post some pictures.

I think I’ve discovered that I was unconsciously using the busy-ness of my last quarter to bury somethings that have been bothering me. Now, things that I thought I had cleared up, I’m discovering I didn’t clear up, but merely hid them from myself. This does two things to me. It makes me fear the times when I have nothing to do, and it gives me a general mood of melancholy and isolation. I don’t know why I’m saying any of this. Good night.

I’m finally done. On a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being hell and 10 being the best year of my entire life, I give my sophomore year of college a 3. I’m shaking my head now in. . .in disgust I think. I need to go to bed. I’m getting more and more angry the more I think about this past year. I’m so disgusted.