Sic Semper Tyrannis

Pure, Simple Fantastic Part II.

II.

For whatever reason there was one day I indeed had my precious time alone in that rear seat. It was a typical hot Savannah summer day, the sun just pummeling down as if Mother Nature had seen enough and finally decided to get rid of the humans. On top of that was the fact that the station wagon offered little to no measurable air conditioning, especially all the way back in the Crow’s Nest. TV chefs and cooking personalities talk about “sweating” vegetables in a frying pan. Maybe Mother Nature was a carnivore, preparing a chubby kid snack for herself.

Despite the hellacious heat, heaven was simultaneously present. After all, this was a beach day.

It’s about an hour’s drive to Tybee Island from where we lived, which is approximately 4,200 minutes or 70 hours in kid-time. Days at the beach weren’t an all-too common occurrence for the Stutzman clan, probably because it’s no “day at the beach” for parents to cart around three boys constanty fidgeting while they face the prospect of aging at seventy times the normal rate, arguing amongst each other, facing traffic, the heat, the temperamental A/C and just the general ludicrousness of life.

The drive out to the island was an observant kid’s dream as far as scenery goes: past the Krispy Kreme, turn right onto the long boulevard with palm trees planted evenly in the median, one for every local soldier killed in battle (if I remember correctly), huge rollercoaster bridges that seem to give the car wings to glide above the saturated marshes and millionaire homes and boats and gray sand and the families of crabs that live in pockmarks of the stinking, salty ground, past the old civil war fort where something important surely happened amongst the man-made mounds and tunnels and cannons, the bricks and bars. I’ll never forget the significance of the violin and bow found in the moat and displayed at the fort’s museum, surrounded by black-and-white sepia photos of those stoic civil war guys who all looked like Lincoln, gazing off to the photo’s edge, silent. I always wondered, “Who has time for violins when a civil war is happening?”

But today was not a day for the civil war. I had bigger fish to fry.

In the seat next to me, in a carefully sealed Zip-loc bag, was a crack team of military commandoes, a beach assault team- the likes of which the world had never seen assembled: reporting directly to me was Duke, the First Sergeant and natural-born leader. The importance of this mission could not be overstated and for times like these, you need cool heads in control.

Handling communications was Breaker, whose job always seemed a little nebulous to me. He didn’t even carry a gun. But I’ve never been a technical guy and was sure he was handy for something. Probably making phone calls on his fancy headset.

Providing versatility with the crossbow, (a genius idea- a bow and arrow held horizontally) was the fiery red-head counter-intelligence soldier Scarlett. Also important as a source of boobs for distracting the enemy.

Bringing the heavy firepower was Rock n’ Roll, his blond hair and manly beard a reminder of better times, when toughness could be measured by the amount of hair on your face or the number of keyboards you had on stage in front of you or the length of your cape.∗

In case of trouble, it’s always a good idea to have a teacher. Thus the inclusion of Spirit and his trusty eagle buddy. And speaking of trusty animal buddies, Mutt and Junkyard were called up for service for this mission. Unfortunately the dog disappeared- probably into the recesses of the house, under a couch or other inaccessible cranny. Mutt never seemed to be the same without his dog. He was a “dog handler” after all. His whole identity was stricken. This is why specialization is a very risky undertaking. Markets dry up. Funding disappears. Schools of literary criticism become passé.

Also storming the beach that day would be Snow Job, the arctic trooper.

Finally, as an early demonstration of my seeking the best in people, the white ninja Storm Shadow was also enlisted, despite his history of working with the enemy and the red cobra image right there on his uniform. Still, if you sent an army of ninjas to any war… Plus, in a rare reversal of Western mores and fashion, Storm Shadow wore white while his “good guy” counterpoint, Snake Eyes wore black.

I always felt mildly jealous of the kids on the G.I. Joe commercials. They would get to play with the coolest new figures and vehicles amongst the most awesomely exotic locales. Granted, what looked like a swampy landscape on the planet of Dagobah was in actuality a corner in some drafty television studio soundstage. But today I was going to be one of those kids. I would have miles of actual coastline, the wispy salty wind, the sand dunes and beach grass…all of it real.

∗ Applies only to Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman, who by all observational accounts was the model for the Rock n’ Roll action figure.

posted by Mike @ 7:39 PM 3 comments

Pure, Simple Fantastic Part I.

Pure, Simple, Fantastic

I.

There is a certain “schlupping” sound that it makes.

The schlup and the sound of friction, like when you rub your fingers along the outside of a balloon. That strange hybrid is exactly the sound you get when you’re a little kid, say five or six years old, and your soft, white thigh flesh sticks to the vinyl seat as you’re moving around, getting fidgety from a long car ride.

But then, who’s to say it’s a long car ride? Kid-minutes are roughly seventy times as long as adult minutes. And is the fact that it’s a long car ride even important? Does the back of your thigh make the same sound when it slides across the seat during a short car ride? Of course. But it’s MY story and I thought it was an important detail, so back off.

Dateline: Savannah, GA- The early 80s

My hometown isn’t just a song by Springsteen. It’s also an actual place. You can point to it on a globe or map. I remember Savannah being a lot like hell in that people pretty much resigned themselves to being hot and sweaty all the time. I lived there from the womb until about eleven years of age, and it snowed a grand total of once in those years. And by “snowed,” I mean the grass had some frosting at the tips of the blades until the morning sun evaporated it. So, we wore shorts a lot. Thus the shluppy, farty sound my legs made when they stuck to those utilitarian, tan bench seats.

But Savannah was also a lot like heaven. For one thing we had a car.

The legend of that first family car looms large in my memory/ imagination; as transportation of the masses should. This poop-brown 1976 Chevelle station wagon was the wondrous device that shifted the Stutzman clan from one world, with its requisite culture and expectations, (namely our house), to strange, exotic new worlds where all bets were off, like Burger King. Or on really long days, we might ride clear across town to the Hobby Shop so my oldest brother Mark could get some glue or just the right paint for the intricate airplane models he would build. At the time I thought my eldest brother was some kind of magician. I never really got to see the process involving directions in both Japanese and English and time spent waiting for the glue on the plastic parts to dry. I only saw cool airplanes hanging from the ceiling in battle position, held in place by clear thread.

Anyway, that station wagon was something. (I mean that in the “folksy” sense. As in “Man, that station wagon was something,” not “that station wagon had physical presence.") The most radical feature for my little-kid brain to process was the rear seat. It faced backwards! Don’t let the awesomeness of that concept escape you, dear reader. If you’re reading this you’re probably old enough to have become jaded to the beautiful world of kid concepts and the pure, the simple, the fantastic.

There’s something so delightful about traveling -moving- but not really knowing where to. Riding in that back seat looking out the tailgate at where you were, with someone else worried about the logistics of driving and figuring out where to go and how to get there and all that rigamarole; that was just the best. (Not to mention making faces at the other drivers. Even at that age, I got a sense of how hard those adults were trying to ignore us, my brothers and I, with our fingers at the corners of our mouths, stretching them out. The default response was to stare ahead, as if terrified by a thought.) And I am still enthralled when I see the odd train or bus or people-mover or what have you that allows a passenger to disengage from what’s coming up ahead.

So, logically Mark and my other brother Todd and I would fight over that back seat. In one of the cruelest design flaws, the builders or architects or other scientific-type responsible for that seat forgot to make it big enough to fit all three of the Stutzman boys. In fact, it could really only seat one of us comfortably, and two of us rather uncomfortably. Three of us? Forget it.

My parents must have enjoyed opening that tailgate to find, not a dead body like you would see in a mob movie or James Bond film, but a big lump of giggling boyhood. I know that would make me happy these days.

But in all honesty I have to say I enjoyed the times when I had that rear seat to myself. Much like Edgar Allen Poe, I think I might have had a devil looking over me as a child, silently, calmly watching over my bed at night. How else do you explain a child who enjoys solitude?

Well, you could also explain it by saying: “When you’ve got two other loud boys living in the same house, demanding attention, you start to crave time alone.”

That explanation sounds less grotesque…

posted by Mike @ 3:38 PM 2 comments

An explanation

A couple years ago I started working on a "fantastical memoir" type of thing to exercise my creative writing muscles. I'm going to start posting the fruits of those labors here. It has really just been a writing exercise in the "write SOMETHING every day" method of becoming a better writer. I'm not sure that approach works for me but it gives me something to post here on the old blog! (P.S. today marks my five year anniversary with this thing! Wow!)

These posts will be LARGELY unedited, mostly just a typed version of how the pen hit paper. What I'm saying here is that it's still really rough, I don't like a lot of it, and I haven't finished it. I still revisit it every now and then. But here's what I've got so far. Hope you enjoy some of it...

posted by Mike @ 3:29 PM 0 comments

But before I get to that...

The zeitgeist of conversation between me and a couple friends of late has been "The Album." We've been listening to some "classics" and talking about the album as an artform.

Which of course always comes around to discussion of the influential ones in your own life, regardless of(or at least not entirely dictated by)the likes of Rolling Stone, The Onion, Pitchfork Media or whatever critics tell you you should like.

So, not typically being a listmaker, I thought I would at last put my list together. This is roughly in order of preference, yet not very scientific and I feign very little critical detachment. But here are my 107 favorites, (because I can't narrow it down to just 100. In fact I thought of a couple more about three hours after sending this to my friend.) Anyway, these are the albums that have brought comfort, defined a season of life, forced me to sing along, to cry, and made me see life and music differently. I still thrill to see their album covers and enjoy listening to all of them.

Feel free to chasitise me for ommissions or gross miscalculations in ordering:


1. The Beatles Abbey Road
2. The Beatles The Beatles (White Album)
3. The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
4. Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon
5. Radiohead OK Computer
6. Led Zeppelin ZOSO
7. King Crimson Discipline
8. Elvis Costello & the Attractions Imperial Bedroom
9. Pink Floyd The Wall
10. Paul McCartney Ram
11. Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here
12. Van Halen Van Halen
13. Jellyfish Spilt Milk
14. Frank Zappa The Grand Wazoo
15. Weezer Weezer(Blue)
16. Stereolab Dots & Loops
17. The Beatles Magical Mystery Tour
18. Adrian Belew Op Zop Too Wah
19. Wilco Sky Blue Sky
20. Genesis Foxtrot
21. Smashing Pumpkins Siamese Dream
22. The Beatles Revolver
23. The Beatles Rubber Soul
24. Ben Folds Rockin’ the Suburbs
25. Bob Dylan The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan
26. The Beatles Help!
27. Garbage Version 2.0
28. Decemberists Castaways and Cutouts
29. Paul & Linda McCartney Band on the Run
30. They Might Be Giants Factory Showroom
31. The Zombies Odessey and Oracle
32. Rush Moving Pictures
33. XTC Nonsuch
34. Elvis Costello & the Attractions Armed Forces
35. Wilco A Ghost is Born
36. Fountains of Wayne Welcome Interstate Managers
37. The Cardigans Life
38. Dave Brubeck Quartet Time Out
39. Sixpence None the Richer Divine Discontent
40. Beck Sea Change
41. Sun Kil Moon Ghosts of the Great Highway
42. Wynton Marsalis Standard Time
43. Wynton Marsalis Think of One
44. REM Automatic for the People
45. Queen A Night at the Opera
46. Sheila Divine New Parade
47. Frank Zappa Hot Rats
48. Radiohead The Bends
49. Yes Close to the Edge
50. David Gray Flesh
51. REM Life’s Rich Pageant
52. Wilco Being There
53. Yes Going for the One
54. They Might Be Giants John Henry
55. Sixpence None the Richer Sixpence None the Richer
56. Genesis Nursery Cryme
57. The Who Who’s Next
58. Dave Matthews Band Before These Crowded Streets
59. The Police Synchronicity
60. King Crimson Three of a Perfect Pair
61. Genesis Wind & Wuthering
62. Brian Wilson Smile
63. Elvis Costello & Burt Bachrach Painted From Memory
64. Bob Dylan Time Out of Mind
65. XTC Apple Venus
66. Bloomsday Bloomsday EP
67. David Bowie The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust
68. Wilco Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
69. Phish Billy Breathes
70. Coldplay A Rush of Blood to the Head
71. Rush Permanent Waves
72. Miles Davis Kind of Blue
73. Pedro the Lion It’s Hard to Find a Friend
74. U2 The Joshua Tree
75. Josh Rouse Dressed Up Like Nebraska
76. They Might Be Giants Flood
77. Led Zeppelin II
78. Radiohead Pablo Honey
79. Paul Simon Graceland
80. The Cardigans First Band on the Moon
81. Bob Marley & the Wailers Legend
82. Of Montreal Aldhils Arboretum
83. Pink Floyd Meddle
84. Dire Straits Brothers in Arms
85. Stereolab Sound-Dust
86. Fountains of Wayne Fountains of Wayne
87. Stevie Wonder Songs in the Key of Life
88. The Beach Boys Pet Sounds
89. The Beatles A Hard Day’s Night
90. The Beatles For Sale
91. King Crimson THRAK
92. MxPx Slowly Going the Way of the Buffalo
93. Red House Painters Songs for a Blue Guitar
94. Tom Petty Wildflowers
95. John Coltrane A Love Supreme
96. Portishead Live at the Roseland Ballroom
97. Ivy Apartment Life
98. High Llamas Hawaii
99. Jeff Buckley Grace
100. Tom Waits Rain Dogs
101. Elliott Smith XO
102. Metallica …And Justice for All
103. Old 97s Satellite Rides
104. Weezer Pinkerton
105. Blink 182 Enema of the State
106. Eric Clapton From the Cradle
107. Liz Phair Whitechocolatespaceegg

posted by Mike @ 3:22 PM 1 comments

Stay With Me...

I will have a pretty large update in the next couple days.
I'm going to be laying some creative stuff on you in the coming weeks.
Stay tuned for some prose-writing...

posted by Mike @ 8:21 PM 0 comments

Change of Seasons and An Invitation to Witness Awe-Inspiring Glory (aka Mike finishing a race)

Well friends, the changing of the seasons is bringing with it a change in focus for yours truly. I was a biking nut for the whole summer. With the purchase of a new bike in June (and a little spandex…largely against my will) and lots and lots of training miles I now feel totally immersed in cycling culture. Riding a bike has become one of my favorite ways to pass time.

But the time has come to go back to the activity that largely turned the tide for me over two or three years of massive weight loss—running.

Running is an equally interesting thing to decide to do. One of the best shirts I saw in the marathon said: “My sport is your sport’s punishment.” Through the whole process of dropping the lbs I had a love/hate relationship with the mere word “running.” For, the pace at which I was tripping around the lake and park could more accurately be described as a “jog.” “Running” is for skinny, fast people.

Here’s something that has me excited, though.

Somehow over the summer I’ve become accustomed to a more aerobic (as opposed to a “fat-burning”) workout. Consequently, over the last month I have been running much faster than I ever have in my life! So, I transition into this time of the year with new hope. I will be smashing my previous times in the two events I have coming up: Race for the Cure 5K this Saturday 10/10 and the Tulsa Run 15K on 10/31. (By the way, I would love to see people I know at the finish of these. Anybody wanna “Save the Boobies” or take a road-trip to Tulsa?)

Progress is addictive.

posted by Mike @ 9:20 AM 3 comments