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post #144
bio: chris

wish list
first post
that week

Previous Posts
On Sting (and other crap)
Things I Say to My Dad, Because (like myself) He Thinks, Irrationally, He's Going to Die Soon
Why Hipstamatic Was Invented
Happy Mother's Day, Y'all
Black Pear Tree (Guest Post from John Darnielle)

The Honky's in the House!

Man, it's been a while. Hello, Happyrobot. How you doin'?

I know. I haven't been a good robot lately. I never call, I never write, I never comment. But I love you. Yes, really I do. I swear. Sure, I've hung out with another website or two. But I swear, she means nothing to me. Nothing. I mean it.

Happyrobot, you're the one I love.

Now that we've got that out of the way...

I don't usually do these kids of posts. You know, the sort where I just sort of ramble on about this and that, where I've been, what adventures I've been on and the like. Not that I don't enjoy it when other people do it – I do – but it's just not my style. I like to write only if I have something specific to say, and stay on it. Give it my full attention, if you will.

I ain't no blogger. I'm just a Honkycracker.

But it's been so long and I have so much to say. So, with apologies to our fearless leader Rich, I'm gonna kick this Honkycracker Robotjournal-style.

And I'm leading off with...

American Thanksgiving, Pony-style

I'm almost a little mad at myself for taking so long with this.

Holy crap, did I mention that I spent Thanksgiving week in Toronto hangin' with the indomitable, unsinkable, Happyrobot's own Pony?

It's been a long-time comin'. I've been a big fan of Pony since I was a wee-bitty Robot. And through the years I've gotten to meet and hang out with a lot of the NYC and North Carolina robots, but I never had the chance to meet Pony.

Well, that changed. And it changed mostly because of the fact that my girlfriend rocks.

I know, I know. You're cringing. I cringe when people praise their significant others, too. But truly, my girlfriend rocked the house on this one. I have to give her my props. My mad, mad props.

For my birthday – way back in May – fully aware that I was freakin' out cuz The Pixies, one of my two favorite bands ever-ever-ever-ever-ari-ari-ari – announced their comeback tour and as of that time hadn't announced any East Coast dates.

I was freakin'. If the Pixies reunited after thirteen years of heated acrimony and I didn't get to see them, then some seriously bad shit would have happened. I'm talkin' Plagues of Locusts and Frogs bad. Totally fuckin' Biblical-bad.

But The Honky Gal came through – getting tickets for us to see El Pixies in Toronto!

...So we could hang out with Pony AND see the Pixies!

Needless to say, it rocked pretty hard. We never would've made it to the show if we hadn't picked up Pony and her boyfriend, Chris. Chris guided us there better than Chewbacca ever guided Han Solo.

And the Pixies... what to say about that? My favorites. My band. Rocking hard.

For the past, oh geez, thirteen years or so, I would listen to Surfer Rosa and Doolittle and Come On Pilgrim, trying to imagine what I'd do if I ever was lucky enough to see them live.

I could never have imagined it would be like what it was.

To my left was Pony -- Respected Blogger, personal inspiration, and whatever-the-feminine-word-for-Mensch is Mensch.

Behind me to my right was Chris – a tall boy who gracefully bowed away from his beloved girlfriend to the back, so that I may move forward and see the majesty that is The Pixies.

And directly behind me rocked My One and Only, rocking along in support, so that whenever I wanted to turn back and yell such things like "AND GOD IS SEVEN! AND GOD IS SEVEN! THIS MONKEY'S GONE TO HEAVEN!" and "STANDIN' IN HER CHINOS, SHIRT PULLED OFF CLEAN! GOT A TATTOED TIT THAT SAYS NO. 13!", she would understand. And not bitch about the fact that I was inadvertently hitting some fifty-year-old woman with my forearm as I rocked.

All the while, of course, to the front of me, a big, bald Mountain of Rock – a veritable Planet of Rock – my hero, Black Francis/Frank Black/Charles Michael Kittredge Thompson IV – gave me his Sermon on the Mount.

Catholics visit the Pope. I go to a Pixies show.

The night after, Pony and Chris hosted an American Thanksgiving Dinner at their apartment. Twin chickens, yummy stuffing, and great peeps.

I regret the fact that on Thanksgiving night I was completely out of it. My ears rang. I had a nasty stomach ache all day. I was looking forward to having some hang-out time with Pony and Chris, as well as their various friends – including Elanamatic and The Dude. But I just couldn't keep up. I was beat and tired and completely out of it for various reasons (of course, I did drink like, 800 glasses of wine), and I wish I felt more like myself.

I didn't get a chance to talk to Elana as much as I would have liked, which is a shame, ‘cuz who knows how many times I'll ever get back to Toronto. I did have a chance to try and talk with The Dude about politics... but by the time that happened, I had drank way too much wine and found myself indefensibly trying to defend my decision to vote for Ralph Nader, and make no sense trying to explain the American Midwest and some other crap...

Pony and Chris make magnificent hosts and hostesses, respectively. Truly lovely people, and I hope to see again them and hang out with them soon, when I'm feeling more myself. They rock so hard.

Hopefully, next time, we'll get to host them down here and repay the favor.

I'd also like to mention that this whole Thanksgiving thing would not have been possible without the incredibly loving foresight of my girlfriend, Becky. I don't thank her enough for all the selfless stuff she does for me, so I'd like to take the opportunity to do so now. Thank you, B-Dogg. You Rock the hardest of all Rockers, and I love you the mostest.

Now excuse me while I choke on my own vomit.

And now...

We're All Gonna Die

Within ten minutes of waking up absurdly early this morning, I learned that my best friend was in what appears to be a completely ridiculous car accident last night.

I don't know the exact details, so I won't go into ‘em. But apparently he was half-in/half-out of his car, tying his newly-bought Christmas tree to the top of his car (his car was parked, of course) when a wayward SUV drove full-speed into it.

Again, I don't know the details. (And I'm sure he probably doesn't appreciate me posting about it. But as long as I don't mention his name, I guess he can't legally complain.)

Now, I heard about this at like Six in the Morn (as Snoop-Dogg likes to say) while my morning coffee is brewing and at the time I still don't know what day it is or where my pants are or whether I should shave my face or not...

So in the first ten minutes of my day, I try to comprehend the fact that my best friend came rather close to no-longer-existing.

My best friend. My dogg. The person that, without his existence, I would not be the person I am today – for better or worse.

(The "Y" key is sticking on they keyboard. I think that's because, at six-something this morning, I thought about what life would be like if he were dead... and I lost my shit. Something – I'm not sure what – came out of my eyes, and I think it's making the "Y" key stick right now.)

So yeah, my best friend could very well have been dead right now.

That is so not cool.

Thankfully, he isn't. Thankfully, from what I know, he is entirely physically okay.

Some other things may suck, but my best friend is still alive. Let's all be happy about that. Please.

Cuz man, if I lost that guy, I don't know what I'd do.

Now, onto the second part of this whole thing...

Late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, I went out onto the deck to smoke a cigarette. As I tried to do so, I tripped over a lawn chair and fell hard, flat onto the right side of my face.

I fell so hard I nearly flew off the side on the deck onto the ground two stories below.

Thankfully, the gravelly floor of our deck caught me. Though the right side of my face was nastily bruised and scraped – I'll probably end up with an inch-long scar on my face because of it – I am not dead and without any broken bones and am not crippled in any way.

But I do look like a bad motherfucker.

Praise Jeebus.

But crap-ass... I came so close to falling so far. As I pulled myself up off the deck, I couldn't help but thinking:

"Geez... we all come so far. We spend every day to make sure the next one is better than the last. But in an instant, no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do, in just one shitty moment it can all be gone LIKE THAT. Bam. Gone."

Yeah, we all hear cheesy speeches like that in the Karate Kid and shit. But damn, suddenly you're inches away from a serious fuckin' fall, and when that happens you find that you can't be all Neal-Pollacky-clever-like.

That messed my shit up.

At first, I was all depressed. Let's face it – we all try so hard every freaking day, many of us doing things we really don't want to do – just to make sure that the next day is better for foremost our loved ones, and secondly ourselves. But something completely stupid and unexpected can come up on you at any time, and everything you were ever in the middle of tring to accomplish would be gone in a split-second. Just like that.

But the depression washed away almost as soon as I brushed the blood off of my face. Shit yeah, any bad-ol' thing can happen to anyone at anytime. That's the risk we take by choosing to live. But nothing good can happen if you stop livin'.

Either get busy livin' or get busy dyin'.

Tomorrow, I wake up promising The World that I'm gonna kick its ass.

Thankfully, my best friend and his Christmas Tree survived to tell the tale. And I'm still here to hang out with him the next time we get together.

Praise Jeebus and Hallelujah.

Best Friends

Just so no one feels jealous or anything, I would like to point out that I have three people in my life that I consider to be my best friends, (In no particular order, of course, nudge nudge) CR, SL, and PT – you know you're my doggs. So please don't feel slighted when I refer to one of you as "my best friend" without including the others.

You are all my dogs, and you know who you are.

Speaking of Best Friends...

Holy crap, doggs. I don't wanna get all sappy and sentimental on your asses. That ain't my style.

But shit, I miss the fuck out of you fuckers.

I'm in a "new" town with a bunch of "new" folks... and I don't have any of you to dump my crap on.

It sucks that I can't call any of you a 5 PM and say, "listen, we need to go for a beer. Stat."

Regardless of the time, the day, or what kind of day you're having, you've always been there for me. And I miss the hell out of the fact that I can't just come down and hang with you at the drop of a hat.

Sometimes I just need you folks. And you ain't where I decided to be.

That's OK. I'm happy here. Just sometimes, I wish you folks were here with me.

How did I ever think I could do it without you?

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