Soul Break

My friend Mike and I have been in a band since we were eighteen. The band is called Soul Blade and consists of Mike playing a very loud lead electric guitar and myself playing an old keyboard from the eighties. Our songs are pretty good, but most people think that the band is a joke band because most of the music is made by the keyboard, and because we drink way to many beers whenever we play or make our records. When we were about twenty-one, we booked a mini-tour of the Midwest and made an entirely new record of mostly cover songs. This tour was over spring break, and Mike put it together so that we could go to Springfield Missouri and I could meet his friend Warren.

Mike and I are pretty funny when we play shows. We are always drinking heavily, and we take it very seriously. Most of the songs that I write for it are soulful and I tend to sing them like I am a preacher, or James Brown. Mike just plays too loud, sometimes is on key, and is so tall that he can hang on the ceilings of any of the venues that we play. We left Wichita in the afternoon and headed for our first show in Joplin, but we didn’t know where the gig was that we were playing that night.

“We are playing at a house; I think it is a house, called the Cesspool Castle.” Mike said.

“Cesspool Castle?” I said, “What the hell is that?”

“Warren said that he had played there before, but mostly all the people that go to it are kids that are into metal and sniff paint and shit.” Mike said.

“Do we know the address to this castle?” I said.

“I figured we would just drive down this street, and look for metal kids and then set up our stuff and play.” Mike said.

Mike and I drove down the street that Warren had told him the castle was on, and after about thirty minutes we found it. There were about fifty kids wearing all black, and they had their faces painted like clowns.

“This has got to be the Cesspool Castle,” I said.

“If it’s not, then it will do.” Mike said.

The castle was definitely a cesspool. All of the walls, the floors, and the ceilings in the house were covered in the grossest colored white carpet I had ever seen. All of the things not covered in carpet were dripping wet with some kind of liquid that came from upstairs. We went in and played our set, just after a metal band had played some of the dumbest music I had ever heard. I don’t remember what the name of that band was, but there were five teenagers in it and one old man who did all of the shredding and trilling. We finished our set, and then tried to sell some of our new records that we had with us for gas money.

“Thanks a lot. We are Soul Blade, and we have some Cds for sell for two dollars.” I said.

“Why would anyone buy that for two dollars?” Someone from the crowd said.

It was time to go. The crowd did not like our music, and so we didn’t even wait around to get paid from the king of the Cesspool Castle. Mike decided that we should just go north to Springfield so we could meet up with Warren and hang out. I agreed and we left.

The drive to Springfield from Joplin took about an hour, and on the way Mike told me some stories about Warren. Apparently Warren had just broken up with his girlfriend at Christmas time and had been just hanging out in the same clothes, eating macaroni and cheese, and playing metal music with his band every day since the break up.

“He told me that he has been wearing short Hawaiian shorts and a wife-beater everyday just to see if anyone would notice.” Mike said. “He even wears it to work, but no one has said anything yet.”

“That’s hilarious.” I said.

“Yeah, he had been dating this girl named Sarah for like two weeks before Christmas, and on Christmas day he was hanging out with his parents and family and she called him like two hundred times. She filled up his inbox and everything. He ignored her because he was hanging out with his family and drinking whiskey, and then she showed up at his house at like three in the morning. Then she handed him a note on a napkin shaped like Santa Claus’s face that said “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He told her that he didn’t know what she was talking about, since they had only been dating for like two weeks. And then she left.”

“Weird.” I said.

“Yeah, then the next morning when he went to his house she was sitting in his house and had cracked the password to his email and was just sitting there reading all his shit.”

“What?” I said.

“Yeah, effing weird.” Mike said.

We made it to Springfield and drove over to Warren’s house, which was just a regular looking house with about forty bicycles tied up in the front of it. Our truck pulled up in front of the house, and Warren came walking out wearing the shorts and the wife-beater.

“What’s going on Soul Blade?” Warren said.

“Yeah!” Said Mike, giving Warren a giant sized hug.

“I got you guys some bikes, we’re going for a ride.” Warren said.

“What’s up Warren, I’m Zach.” I said.

“I know man, come on lets ride.” He said.

“Mike told me about Sarah man, that shit sounded weird.” I said.

“Not as weird as the date I went on last night. I went to hang out with this girl from my work who is a little older than me, but still real good looking. And after we had a few drinks, we went back to her apartment so she could change. While she was in her bathroom, I started looking at a photo album she had laying around, and I started seeing pictures from like the seventies with what had to be her mom in them. I mean, she looked just like her, you know? But I asked her if it was her mom and she said that it was her. Turns out, she is like forty-five.”

“No way. What did you do?” I said.

“I stayed the night, no big deal.” Warren said.

Right then Mike came up with some whiskey and about five Evil Eye cans, and handed them to Warren and me.

“Drink up, time to ride.” Mike said.

“When are we playing our show?” I said.

“We are going for a ride through Springfield, then you guys are playing a show in my kitchen and I’m going to make some macaroni and cheese and had it out.” Said Warren.

“Rad.” I said.

We went on a ride for about three hours, and drank way to many beers. The thing about Evil Eye is that it is a high gravity malt beverage, and it makes you go crazy. Most people can only drink one or so. We drank about four apiece. On the way back to the house to play, Warren told Mike and I another story about a girl he had gone out with the week before.

“Mike and Zach, check this out. I went out to the bar with this girl the other night named Jill that I had met at work and we started dancing. We had been drinking all night and she wanted to dance, so we did. I was totally cutting rugs, and I kept spinning her around, and the last time that I did she projectile vomited all over the place. It was like a constant stream of puke coming out of her mouth.” Warren said.

“What?” Mike and I said.

“Yeah. Best thing about it though, was that when I brought her back around to me she wiped her mouth off and kept on dancing like I hadn’t seen any of the puking.” Warren said.

“Ridiculous.” Mike said.

“Yeah. I just acted like I hadn’t seen it, and just went on dancing. I figured that my breath wasn’t that good either, so what did it matter.” Warren said.

“One time I went out with a girl that was a guy.” Mike said.

“Really?” Warren said.

“No, but that would have been funny.” said Mike.

“Well, you know what they say.” Warren said.

“No.” I said.

“Fuck Jesus.” Warren said.

“What? That’s what people say?” Mike said.

“Well I just did I guess.” Warren said. “I say it.”

We made it back to Warren’s house, and then started to play some songs. We were drunk already so Mike and I were ready to give it our all. While we played, all the people that went on the bike ride with us danced and drank and had a real good time. Warren made everyone macaroni and cheese dressed in his shorts and wife-beater, and served to them out of the pot that he had made it in.

The show lasted until about six in the morning, and then everyone passed out around Warren’s living room. When Mike and I woke up Warren was already at work, and we had to meet up with some friends in another city so we left. I’m sure that Warren will have some more stories to tell me next time Mike and I play a show at his house. I look forward to that, but I hope that he changes his clothes by then.

Food for Sleepy Spiders

“It’s so useless,” she said, “to
put the food
and milk out in that spot.”
“Why?” he said.
“Why what?” she said slowly from her side of the bed.
“About food, and milk…”
“Maybe I was dreaming,” she said.
“About placing food places?”
“Maybe I was dreaming about
giving food and water to a
spider.” She said, followed up with an embarrassed whine.
“That rules,” he said, “That is very important.”

Letter I wrote to Chris Lovely, acting like Seneca, about the H1N1

I am sorry to hear of your troubles with this modern ailment known to all of us as the swine flu, Christopher Lovely. I have heard of its fevers and the shake that it induces in the entire body, and it is truly unfortunate that it has taken its hold in you. I remember when I was younger I too was taken aback by a flu, though not as severe, and let me tell you that it was not very pleasant by any means. This was before we were to take our trip across the lands of Europe, and on many an occasion I felt an urge to cut my life short there and then, but I realized that there were times when even to live is an act of bravery and that this was one. Since we are good friends, and epically due to the fact that we were about to depart on our journey, I did not.
There is nothing, Chris, quite like the devotion of one’s friends for supporting one in illness and restoring one to health, or for dispelling one’s anticipation and dread of death. This is why I am writing you now. Your friends will help you through this flu, even though we had told you to get the vaccination shot, because we do not want you to take your own life because of the complications associated with the illness. If you did take your own life in a fit of troublesome pain, I do not believe that you would be passing away but passing on your spirit to me. This, Chris, would cause me great disappointment and many worries of the mind.
The pain caused by your infliction will be great, but you should put your whole heart into the fight against this most dreadful flu. Remember that a man is as unhappy as he has convinced himself he is. This is important; do not let your pain inflict upon your spirit as much as it is upon your body. Think of the pain and punishment that the ultimate fighters take to the face and the body generally! They are able to put up with this suffering only because of their desire for fame, and you must put up with your pain because of the desire to live! You may complain a lot of the pain, but I will ask you now if it will stop you suffering it if you endure it in a womanish fashion?
Another thing that will help is to turn your thoughts to other things that will get you away from thinking about your suffering from this piggish set back. Think about when we were in Spain and living as well as younger men could live. Call your mind to the times when you were courageous, like when you went out and found us food in the middle of the darkest night all by yourself. Also, think about things that you admire the most: Warren Zevon, sitting with friends talking throughout the day, and spending time with your canine friends. Remember that this flu only can place its grips on your body, not on your mind as well.
One more note on your sickness before I leave you time to recover. The doctors will surely tell you how you should eat now that you have been taken over with this hog of a flu. You will be eating things that you are not fond of, and that others would find unbearable if forced to eat the same. Remember, you may be eating like a sick man, but you’ll at last be eating in the way a healthy man should. A time of sickness is not a time for luxury. All you need to do is keep healthy and try to make it though this ailment, and if you live out the rest of you life in a good way, then whatever you have been expecting for some time will come as less of a shock.

Waiting for the Miracle with Leonard Cohen the day after Easter around 5.

Just as

a snake peels his skin

as a spider sheds his covering,

I move slowly losing mine.

I have shed things that no longer

matter since I’ve advanced:

god, and other superstitiousness.

The Pink Ford Escort

When I was working at a guitar store in Wichita, Kansas, a lady came in and tried to fix me up with her daughter. It was in the early afternoon and I was tired because I had already worked at two jobs that day. I was the guy who watered plants at a nursery, a sandwich artist, and a part-time guitar tuner and salesman. The guitar store was the best place to work because all I have ever really wanted to do was play guitar, and I got to, but the other employees were very challenging. David was the owner’s son and thought that he was the best thing to ever be created, and Andrew who was tall and quiet and the best friend to David.

When the woman came into the store, David and Andrew were trying to sell a bass to a man who was shopping for his son for Christmas. I overheard David tell the man that Peavey made a good bass for cheap and that it was just as good as a Fender. I was thinking about how untrue that was when she walked up to me.

The lady looked like Bret Michaels from VH1, not from the eighties. She had long blonde hair that was ratted up and sticking out from under her bandana. She was rough.

“Where are your beginners’ guitars?” she said.
“What kind of guitar are you looking for?” I said.
“I need one for my son, but I don’t need a nice one. He will not know the difference anyways.” She said.
“Electric ones are easier to play.” I said.
“Show me the cheap ones.” She said, “He is not going to care about it in a month or so, so I’m not going to spend the money on anything good.”

I showed her the cheapest guitars that we had. They cost us twenty dollars to buy from the factory, and we sold them for eighty dollars or so. This one was bright orange. I picked it because we had a new shipment of bright orange amps for a hundred dollars that would go along with it very well. I was trying to make this happen because I got paid by commission and needed that extra ten bucks badly. I was telling her about the guitar, and showing how much her son could rock if he had it. But, the whole time I was making my pitch, it seemed like she was more interested in me than the instrument.

“You need to meet my daughter; she’s not a slut or anything.” She said.

I had no idea what to do at this point; I wanted to laugh so much.

“I’d be glad to meet her sometime, what’s her name?” I said thinking that if I did meet her, then this lady would buy the guitar and amp.
“Her name is Kirstin and she drives a pink Ford Escort. She isn’t a slut though at all.”
“I’m sure she is not a slut.” I said, “What does she like to do?”
“She likes art, and goes to North High.” She said.

She was still in high school.

The lady did not buy the guitar then, but said that she needed to think about it more. She did leave with my phone number for Kirstin. She had to get it because we would have such a good time if we went out. I gave her the number thinking that the girl wouldn’t call me, but that the lady would remember how nice I was and come back and buy the amp and guitar deal. If she came back and bought the guitar and the amp, then she would need a tuner and picks along with more strings and other things. The possibilities were endless, and I would get a lot of money from the commission. When I got off work at six, I received a phone call from a number that I didn’t know.

“Hello?” I said.
“Hello is this Zach from the guitar store?” said a woman’s voice.
“Yes, who is this?” I said, thinking that it may be Kirstin.
“This is Laura, Kirstin’s mom; I was in the store today.” She said.
“Oh, how are you?” I said. “Were you calling about the orange guitar?”
“No. I just wanted to tell you that my daughter is really good for you, and in no way is she a slut. Kirstin also plays the French horn in the band. She is really artistic, and takes two art classes at her high school.” she said.
“Oh. Alright, well have her call me if she wants. Thanks for calling.” I said.
“She really is a nice girl,” she said, “I’ll have her call you.”

I was not expecting a call from Laura again, but she did call me one more time before I got a call from her daughter, Kirstin. I talked to her for a few minutes but it was late and she needed to get to bed. She asked me if I wanted to go on a date with her and see a movie. I agreed, but told her to get a friend and I would have one of my friends go also. A double date is the best way to have a blind date.

I asked my friend Mike to go with me on the date because he was tough and I was kind of afraid that the lady and her daughter would try to abduct me or something weird. Mike wanted to go because I had told him about Kirstin’s mom after she first called me. We were to meet Kirstin and her friend Meg at the downtown movie theater at seven thirty. We went to see some movie with Jim Carey as the star and it looked terrible. I did not want to go, but Mike and I did anyways.

We were sitting outside when a pink Ford parked and two girls got out.

“Are you Kirstin?” I said.
“Yes, and this is Meg,” she said, “and you’re Zach? And Mike?”
“Yep, let’s go see that movie.” I said.

The meeting was awkward, and I bought my ticket but not Kirstin’s. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. She was shorter than me, very skinny, and had the strangest gap in her top front teeth. Meg was about the same, but the gap was in a different place. Throughout the film, she kept talking to me at weird parts and asking me things that didn’t even matter. We had nothing in common.

“I didn’t know that this movie was about a man that kills children,” she said.
“Is that what this movie is about?” I said.
“I think so, have you been paying attention?” she said.
“A little bit.” I said.
“He is really funny,” she said. “I love Jim Carey.”
“This is definitely a Jim Carey movie.” I said.
“Do you ever watch The Simpsons?” she said.
“Doesn’t everyone watch The Simpsons?” I said.
“I’m not allowed to.” She said.
“How old are you?” I said.

The date was not going very well. Mike and Meg were not even talking, and I think that Mike was asleep for the whole movie. The movie ended but the girls wanted to do more with us. I had a bottle of whisky and a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon at my cousin Derek’s house so we went over there. The girls could only stay for a little while because they had to go to high school in the morning. I had to work with the plants, then sandwiches, and guitars the next day but those were things that I could also do hung-over. No big deal.

I started to drink the whisky and Mike and I got a little drunk and played music with my cousin. The girls both nursed their beers and then after about thirty minutes they said that they needed to go. Mike and I took a break from the whisky and walked them out to their pink car.

“I had fun,” I said.

This was more of me being polite than truthful.

“Me to,” she said.

She was being polite as well, but I thought that she was going to try to hang out with me again.

“Do you want to go do this again?” I said, thinking about that guitar and her mom and my commission.
“I don’t think that I can do this again.” She said.
“Do what again?” I said.
“We can’t date, I have a boyfriend.” She said.
“If you have a boyfriend, then why did you go to a movie with me?” I said.
“I just wanted a new dress and I am thinking that my mom will buy it for me if I go out with you. She doesn’t like my boyfriend.” She said, “But she liked you.”

And with that she got into the pink car to leave and never called me again. I never called her in the first place so that did not bother me at all. What did bother me was that her mom never came in to buy that damn guitar.