(From December 24, 2007)
So I guess I am the biggest jerk ever. I am also a "shithead," "cocksucker," "asshole," "jack-off," and a "motherfucker." (P.S.-- Don't tell my Dad about that last one.)
Here's the story: I just washed my truck, and decided to go to the Super America to get gas, put some air in my tires and use the ATM.
The one across Lyndale from the car wash was a zoo (they are ALL zoos today, I would later find out.)
So I went to the one on 25th and Hennepin. This one was also a clusterfuck. I wait patiently for a pump while witnessing all manner of idiocy by all manner of people. Finally, the last straw. Two woman in a tan Camry back into the pump in front of me. The driver shuts-off the engine and gets out, only to discover that her gas tank is on the other side of the car. Whoopsi!
I had had enough of stupid people for the day. When she pulls forward, I pull-in to take her place.
Was this a dick move? Yes it was, but it was a dick move with a purpose.
For this young woman to redirect her car back into the same space she would have had to make a "K"-turn of outrageous proportions. I calculated that at least 8 changes of gear would have been necessary. At one point she would have her rear-end out into oncoming traffic on Hennepin Ave, causing traffic there to have to briefly come to a halt in the middle of the block. With the roads being as they were, not exactly the safest proposition.
I know how these things go. I knew that even though she couldn't be bothered to know which side of the car her gas tank was on, IT WAS HER SPOT. And no matter how many people she inconvenienced or endangered in her attempts to turn her car around to get it back where she wanted it (and it was A LOT of people-- basically everyone in the goddamn place) doing what I did would make me the asshole.
I shut-off my engine and got out of my truck. I knew I was in for it. For a college girl she had quite a mouth on her. I will not list again the names I was called. I knew also that there was no point in explaining why I did what I did. I simply allowed her to express her indignation as I went about my business. Meanwhile-- as I was glared at and accused of all manner of sexual deviance and unsavory behavior-- the spot she should have chosen quickly became open and she could have been fuelling her car. But that would have made too much sense. (By the way, I knew that this other spot would soon be available, it had factored into my decision, but hey, when you're not a self-involved shit, you notice these things.)
I took care of my business and left. Before I did the young woman in question gave me her Christmas present, she hawked-up hard and spit on my hood. She was still without gas. And she still didn't realize the Christmas present I HAD GIVEN HER.
When she arrives at her family's home to enjoy a delicious dinner, she will no doubt recount her harrowing tale. All around will agree what a dick I was, as they will no doubt affirm that NONE AMONG THEM would ever do such a thing. Especially not on Christmas Eve Day!
Thus they will get to bask in the glow of their moral superiority. Then they will open all the expensive gifts they bought for each other and all will be well.
And in two days they can go back to being the selfish, right thinking Christian jerks they are the rest of the year. And I still get to be the asshole of the story.
You know what? Fuck Christmas. I've really had it with this nonsense.
Monday, April 21, 2008
THE WOMAN WHO LIVES DOWNSTAIRS FROM ME
(From December 1, 2007)
Mostly, it's because she seems to have some kind of hyper-dramatic relationship with her boyfriend.
She's NEVER THERE. I mean almost never. My guess is that she is in a de-facto living situation with this shithead, and the only times she's actually in her apartment are when they are having a spat. On these occasions a very obvious pattern emerges. She comes home, slams her door, and can be heard screaming obscenities into her cellular telephone. The word "fuck" is used in ways it was never intended, and it makes me think that her parents probably wasted an outrageous amount of money on her alleged education.
The phone conversation stops and she starts playing "music."
I use quotation marks because, while I can't really tell what she's listening to, it's obvious the bands she favors are operating under the mistaken impression that the bass guitar is an appropriate melody instrument. Which it is not.
Listening to shitty music for an hour must be her catharsis, because that ends and another loud phone conversation begins. Five minutes of this, and the door slams and she's gone.
All is quiet now. She must have gone back to his place. Call me a lousy person, but I hope a murder/suicide pact is in their near future.
Dig: I have electric guitars, amplifiers, a CASIO CZ-1000 synthesizer, harmonicas, a Schylling hand organ and a potentially VERY LOUD stereo with hundreds of records. And I'll bet she's never heard much out of me.
That's because I understand apartment living.
Once again, the woman who lives downstairs from me sucks.
Mostly, it's because she seems to have some kind of hyper-dramatic relationship with her boyfriend.
She's NEVER THERE. I mean almost never. My guess is that she is in a de-facto living situation with this shithead, and the only times she's actually in her apartment are when they are having a spat. On these occasions a very obvious pattern emerges. She comes home, slams her door, and can be heard screaming obscenities into her cellular telephone. The word "fuck" is used in ways it was never intended, and it makes me think that her parents probably wasted an outrageous amount of money on her alleged education.
The phone conversation stops and she starts playing "music."
I use quotation marks because, while I can't really tell what she's listening to, it's obvious the bands she favors are operating under the mistaken impression that the bass guitar is an appropriate melody instrument. Which it is not.
Listening to shitty music for an hour must be her catharsis, because that ends and another loud phone conversation begins. Five minutes of this, and the door slams and she's gone.
All is quiet now. She must have gone back to his place. Call me a lousy person, but I hope a murder/suicide pact is in their near future.
Dig: I have electric guitars, amplifiers, a CASIO CZ-1000 synthesizer, harmonicas, a Schylling hand organ and a potentially VERY LOUD stereo with hundreds of records. And I'll bet she's never heard much out of me.
That's because I understand apartment living.
Once again, the woman who lives downstairs from me sucks.
27 THINGS I WANT FOR MY 34TH BIRTHDAY
(From November 20, 2007)
Coupon for a free massage, bubble tea and hand finish from one of those shady massage parlors listed in the back of the City Pages
15th Century Venetian merchants costume (don't ask)
Atomic toothpaste
Rare photo of Geli Raubal pissing in Adolph Hitler's mouth (If unavailable, I will accept a photo of Hitler fellating Ernst Rohm)
Original draft of the Magna Carta stained with King John's tears
Israeli-made Merkava MK-4 Main Battle Tank
John the Baptist's shaving kit from the reliquary in the basement of The Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Motion, Turin Italy
A 19-year-old Dutch girl to sit in my kitchen naked and roll cigarettes for me
Tommy John Ligament replacement surgery for my right elbow
A jewel-encrusted Dunhill cigarette case fit for a Saudi prince (and by "fit for" I mean so garishly expensive only a Saudi prince would own one) Try Harrods in London or maybe J.N. Barber, LTD.
Mint-Condition 1939 PLAY BALL Ted Williams card 92
A date with Kerry Howley
1921 First Edition of H.L. Mencken's book, "The American Language: An Inquiry Into the Development of English in the United States"
A NEW NAME FOR THE NEW BAND! PLEASE!
Dane Cook. Dead.
82-foot West Bay SonShip custom duel-station-raised-pilot-house motor yacht
A baby hippo (What? They're cute)
$15,000 ELP Laser Turntable
1944 North American P-51 Mustang with Rolls Royce Merlin engine and (6) operational .50 caliber machine guns
Flying lessons
One bottle of 50-year-old GLENFIDDICH Scotch in a hand made oak box with a brass plaque declaring how awesome I am
A Brazilian model with an "innie" belly button for me to drink outrageously expensive scotch out of
Solid gold shower and bath fixtures fit for an Enron executive
GUIDED BY VOICES to reform for one performance-- at my birthday party, of course!
FREEDOM FROM UNDERWEAR!
TWINS season tickets. Good ones.
A little "leg" would be nice
ASK MR. SHUEY NO.9: "SCARF WEATHER? ALREADY?"
(From November 5, 2007)
Mr. Shuey,
How do you get your scarf back from some guy you don't really want to have to see again but really want the scarf (and no, we don't have any friends in common, I'm still new in this town.)
If you need more back story let me know, but I really do want this scarf back.
"Lady Chestington"
United Kingdom
How do I get my scarf back from some guy I don't really want to see again? I start by not sleeping with guys. That way I will never stumble out of their apartment, bleary-eyed at nine in the morning having left articles of clothing behind. (I don't want to imply you slept with this guy, but I'm getting that vibe.)
This is a situation that I'm sure many young adults have dealt with at one time or another. Here are a few tricks I've learned to avoid leaving things behind:
1) Use your shoes: Small items will fit nicely in them. Keys, wallets, jewelry and cell phones. Stuff your socks in after to keep things in place.
2) Carve out a spot for yourself: This can be hard in some people's apartments, but there is usually at least a few square feet of floor space not covered in junk. If this isn't the case, pile some of their shit on top of their other shit to make room for your stuff. This is not rude. Rude is having a guest over without first considering that that person will have to disrobe in order to have sex with you. And that this guest, having woken-up next to a total slob will want to gather her belongs and get the fuck out without tearing the place apart, making noise and inevitably waking up the slovenly host who will no doubt burp, yawn, scratch his nuts and say, "Fancy breakfast, love?"
3) Drink less.
And how do you get your scarf back?
You don't. At least not without seeing this schmoe again. You shouldn't try sneaking-in and retrieving it. Like most places, Breaking and Entering is a crime in England (See: s9 under the English THEFT ACT of 1968.) And since they've got all those nifty CCTV cameras around it's unlikely you'll get away with it.
So either take the loss of the scarf as a lesson learned, or suck it up and call the guy.
Good Luck,
Mr. Shuey
CHRISTIAN SINGLES TOO FREAKY FOR ME!
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A ONE ACT PLAY ABOUT GAY SPACE ALIENS
(From September 13, 2007)
THE VOYAGER HAS LANDED
By
Brian David Shuey
SCENE:
P'Tang, a gay outer space alien is sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast. His boyfriend, Korg bursts in, clearly agitated.
KORG: (holding some smoldering, metallic debris) "Damn fucking space junk!"
P'TANG: "What is it? What's the matter?"
KORG: "This just landed in the back yard. It crushed my good bobo bush."
P'TANG: "Oh shoot, I was going to use bobos in the salad tonight! I've been bragging to Christopher and Stephen all week how good the bobos were this year. Now I'll have to use ones from the store. We should really call someone and complain."
KORG: "It won't do any good. This isn't a government satellite. Look at the writing"
P'TANG: (tries to read aloud) "V-O-Y-A-G-E-R. What is that? What do you think it means?"
KORG: "I think it's some kind of probe. It came with a shiny metal disc with some weird instructions engraved on it. Like a recording. I think we're supposed to play it."
P'TANG: "Oh, don't! What if it's a weapon or something?"
KORG: "No planet that produces shitty, backward-assed stuff like this is going to be able to send a weapon to another galaxy."
P'TANG: (inspecting the disc) "Ooh, I think I figured it out. You put this pointy thingy in the surface of the disc and spin it."
KORG: "I'm not fooling around with that. Just put it in the Nexophone."
P'TANG: "What makes you think the Nexophone will play it?"
KORG: "Look, I paid 600 xenars for that Nexophone, and the kid at the store told me it will play ANY format in the universe. It will even translate it."
P'TANG: "That kid at the store could have sold you anything! I remember how you were looking at him."
KORG: "Not now with that shit, P'Tang! Just play the thing."
(P'tang fusses with the Nexophone, annoyed, finally the disc begins playing)
FROM THE NEXOPHONE: "Greetings from Earth!" MESSAGE CONTINUES "Greetings from Earth." Nexophone continues to play the 44 different messages in 44 different Earth languages, translating all of them into, "Greetings from Earth."
KORG: "You gotta be fucking kidding me. My BEST bobo bush, just so these idiots could say, 'hello?"
P'TANG: "Ooh, there's more. There's pictures!"
(NEXOPHONE BEGINS SHOWING IMAGES OF EARTH)
KORG: "Oh, these really are a simple bunch of fucks! 'Look at us! Little pink and brown hair-less freaks who have mastered flight!'"
P'TANG: "Stop it! I think they're quaint. Charming, even."
KORG: (Points at screen) "Oh really? You think THAT'S charming?"
P'TANG: (Looks on at an image of a nursing mother) "Ewww! Oh no, what is it doing?"
KORG: "Apparently, their young eat the bulbous, fleshy bags hanging from the thorax of the adult females."
P'TANG: "Oh man, that's just fucking GROSS!"
KORG: "Quaint, indeed."
P'TANG: "Still, the PLANET looks nice. Sort of reminds me of Verillia 3."
KORG: "Verilla 3? Ha! Verillia 3 is a pleasure planet where young Verillian boys massage your…"
P'TANG: (interrupts) "Yes, I'm well aware of what you used to do before we met. I don't need a reminder."
KORG: (abruptly) "We should invade them!"
P'TANG: "What? It's just a bobo bush, get over it!"
KORG: "No, it's not about the bush. We should invade them on fucking principle alone!"
P'TANG: "What's gotten into you?"
KORG: "Look, they're like idiot children. They need to be taught a lesson. They send a probe out into the vastness of space, that says, "Hello, we're infantile little brats taking our first tentative steps beyond the confines of our own jerk-water planet (which, by the way, here are directions to should you care to visit.) We wanted to make sure anyone who finds this message knows how clever we think we are to have figured out how to calculate the circumference of a circle, but are for the most part just soft, pink, squishy, defenseless little creeps."
P'TANG: "And just where were you planning to get an inter-galactic ship for this 'invasion' of yours?"
KORG: "You said it yourself, Christopher and Stephen are coming to dinner tonight, we can use theirs."
P'TANG: "But I wanted to go to the lake after dinner!"
KORG: "Damn it! You can go to the lake any time!"
P'TANG: (sulking) "Well…"
KORG: "Well what?"
P'TANG: "I was just thinking that the metal the disc is made out of is kind of pretty. I could use it for the ankle bracelets I've been making. You know, the one's I was going to see if Christopher wanted to sell in his shop. If we invade this 'Earth' place I could bring loads of it back with us."
KORG: "You are seriously the gayest outer space alien ever."
END
ME AND SEN. CRAIG: THE BLOWJOB THAT NEVER WAS
(From August 30, 2007)
As some of you may remember, I was inadvertently involved in the Mark Foley scandal last year. In the course of trying to interview the Florida Representative over the phone-- on what I considered to be substantive policy issues-- I was subjected to all manner of lascivious insinuations via instant messaging.
Well, now I find myself in the middle-- or the periphery, really --of the Larry Craig debacle. Two months ago, Senator Craig was charged with lewd conduct resulting from a "misunderstanding" that occurred in a men's room in the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. (He plead guilty to a lesser charge of disorderly conduct.)
What didn't make it into the police report was that prior to soliciting an undercover police officer, I had the misfortune of sharing the stall next to the distinguished gentleman from Idaho.
What follows is my best recollection of the incident:
At 1213 hours, I entered handicapped accessible stall in the restroom adjacent to the WORLD CLUBS on Concourse "C" (I find the bathroom nearest the WORLD CLUBS is often the cleanest in any given airport. And the handicapped stall, the roomiest.)
At 1214 hours I opened a copy of US MAGAZINE I had purchased at the newsstand and began reading a story about former "007" Pierce Brosnan's fondness for dog breeding and his favorite places to dine in Tuscany. Needless to say, I was quite enthralled and oblivious to much that was going on around me.
At 1215 hours I noticed a single shoe tapping rhythmically on MY SIDE of the stall. It was a well-shined Johnson & Murphy Emery Kiltie tasseled loafer in black calfskin. "Well, somebody's a real dandy!" I remember thinking. Then I thought, "Well, YOU'RE the one who properly identified the shoe, fruit-loop. What does that make YOU?"
The tapping continued, and I asked the person, "Are you trying to get my attention, or do you just have a song in your heart?"
The person then remarked, "Are you a bad boy? Are you a nasty, bad, naughty boy?"
"Do I know you, sir?" I asked.
"I don't know, do you ever watch C-SPAN?"
"I try not to." I replied.
"Why don't you come over here and see."
It was at this point that I heard another voice, "Airport Police. Please exit the stall, sir."
Recriminations and denials were exchanged. I tried to remain aloof and unnoticed until I heard Senator Craig say, "What do you think of THAT?"
At this point I thought he had whipped it out, and I'll admit to a certain amount of curiosity. After all, I've seen prick senators before, but never a senator's prick. I peeked blithely through the crack in the stall door. It turns out what he was showing-off was not his pride, but rather a business card identifying himself and his esteemed office. The undercover cop then discreetly extracted him from the restroom.
Oh well, another brush with infamy deftly evaded.
I casually went back to my reading.
Did you know Rosie O'Donnell likes pets more than she likes people?
BDS
As some of you may remember, I was inadvertently involved in the Mark Foley scandal last year. In the course of trying to interview the Florida Representative over the phone-- on what I considered to be substantive policy issues-- I was subjected to all manner of lascivious insinuations via instant messaging.
Well, now I find myself in the middle-- or the periphery, really --of the Larry Craig debacle. Two months ago, Senator Craig was charged with lewd conduct resulting from a "misunderstanding" that occurred in a men's room in the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. (He plead guilty to a lesser charge of disorderly conduct.)
What didn't make it into the police report was that prior to soliciting an undercover police officer, I had the misfortune of sharing the stall next to the distinguished gentleman from Idaho.
What follows is my best recollection of the incident:
At 1213 hours, I entered handicapped accessible stall in the restroom adjacent to the WORLD CLUBS on Concourse "C" (I find the bathroom nearest the WORLD CLUBS is often the cleanest in any given airport. And the handicapped stall, the roomiest.)
At 1214 hours I opened a copy of US MAGAZINE I had purchased at the newsstand and began reading a story about former "007" Pierce Brosnan's fondness for dog breeding and his favorite places to dine in Tuscany. Needless to say, I was quite enthralled and oblivious to much that was going on around me.
At 1215 hours I noticed a single shoe tapping rhythmically on MY SIDE of the stall. It was a well-shined Johnson & Murphy Emery Kiltie tasseled loafer in black calfskin. "Well, somebody's a real dandy!" I remember thinking. Then I thought, "Well, YOU'RE the one who properly identified the shoe, fruit-loop. What does that make YOU?"
The tapping continued, and I asked the person, "Are you trying to get my attention, or do you just have a song in your heart?"
The person then remarked, "Are you a bad boy? Are you a nasty, bad, naughty boy?"
"Do I know you, sir?" I asked.
"I don't know, do you ever watch C-SPAN?"
"I try not to." I replied.
"Why don't you come over here and see."
It was at this point that I heard another voice, "Airport Police. Please exit the stall, sir."
Recriminations and denials were exchanged. I tried to remain aloof and unnoticed until I heard Senator Craig say, "What do you think of THAT?"
At this point I thought he had whipped it out, and I'll admit to a certain amount of curiosity. After all, I've seen prick senators before, but never a senator's prick. I peeked blithely through the crack in the stall door. It turns out what he was showing-off was not his pride, but rather a business card identifying himself and his esteemed office. The undercover cop then discreetly extracted him from the restroom.
Oh well, another brush with infamy deftly evaded.
I casually went back to my reading.
Did you know Rosie O'Donnell likes pets more than she likes people?
BDS
THE FOLLOWING THINGS ARE TRUE
(From August 25, 2007)
2) I have exactly as much chest hair as I want. No more, no less.
3) The best thing about playing music is the people you meet along the way. I got to see the kids in LADYFINGER and THE RED-EYED LEGENDS tonight and was very much reminded of this.
4) I like the new DOCTOR WHO and I don't care who knows it.
5) I have a truly astounding number of friends who I don't ever call. I just don't call people. I'm probably more fond of you than you've ever imagined.
6) I have-- or had --spiders in the cab of my pick-up truck. Apparently they can crawl in through the vents. I think they're all gone. I hope so, because if a spider falls down the back of my shirt while I'm driving there will be an accident. A serious accident.
7) Some people receive compliments all the time. I don't. But I have gotten two very odd ones in the last three days. I left my building through the back door on Wednesday night because I had to throw out some trash. There was a gaunt, shirtless white guy smoking a cigarette and carrying a rake passing through the alley who remarked, "Hey man, you look good. I'm serious for real, man. You do."
Then this afternoon a woman who works in at The Children's Theatre Company (adjacent to the museum) said, "Hey, you're a "toe-walker."
"What?" I answered.
"You walk on your toes. Very bouncy. It's nice."
(I could have done without both of those alleged compliments.)
8) I have an early 1970's SANSUI receiver, and fuck if it doesn't sound good.
9) FALCON CREST made my ears ring tonight. They're ringing still. Well done, boys.
10) I can't wait to play baseball tomorrow.
11) I have been wrangled into playing (cough, sputter) softball on Thursday nights. I am horribly ashamed of it. All the guys on the team are real great people. How could I say no? But softball is so very wrong.
12) I really like ARCHERS OF LOAF.
13) Thirteen is a "Baker's Dozen."
I don't know why that is. So my father's real father died when he was pretty young. His step-dad owned a bakery in Hershey, PA. He told me once that he had to get up at 4:00 in the morning to work there before he went off to school. I guess no matter what, the family were never allowed to eat fresh baked goods. They always had to wait until things were about to be thrown-out to have them. So he would wake-up early to make doughnuts and the like but he was never allowed to enjoy a "fresh" one. Not once. Not ever. Fucking people. Fucking Germans.
14) I am criminally sentimental. And it will be my undoing.
Good night
I MET NICK PUNTO!
(From August 20, 2007)
So I was at the Blockbuster Video on Hennepin and this dude walks in with his two young sons. And hey, it's Twins third baseman Nick Punto! |
AND JUST LIKE THAT, MY WORLD CAME CRASHING DOWN UPON ME
(From August 17, 2007)
My heart fell like a stone to the pit of my stomach.
Just over a year from now I had planned on making my move. In early September of 2008 the Republican National Convention comes to town. Being a scion of the most prominent Republican family in America, her attendance was assured. And given her penchant for partying, it was likely she would be out and about among our town's "unwashed" ("Hey," I thought "that's ME!")
Sure, I would have to separate her form her Secret Service escort, but having managed that it was only a matter of squiring her back to my bachelor pad for the wooing to take it's course.
Awaiting us at my apartment would be a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and an eight ball of coke. I even purchased a used copy of The Boston Pops performing John Phillip Sousa's "The Stars and Stripes Forever" to play on the phonograph. (Do YOU know what sort of tunes get a young Republican girl hot? Because I sure don't!)
I also intended to remove all the books from my apartment, lest she peg me as a "pointy-headed intellectual."
But all of this planning and hoping was for nothing. Jenna is to be wed to Henry Hager, son of Virginia's Republican Party Chairman. He is tall and handsome, with thick, dark hair and fine features.
In short, he outclasses me in every way that would matter to Jenna --and her family.
So friends, I soldier on alone. Bowed but unbroken.
Anyone care to drink scotch and do a big pile of blow?
Yours with a heavy heart,
Brian
My heart fell like a stone to the pit of my stomach.
Just over a year from now I had planned on making my move. In early September of 2008 the Republican National Convention comes to town. Being a scion of the most prominent Republican family in America, her attendance was assured. And given her penchant for partying, it was likely she would be out and about among our town's "unwashed" ("Hey," I thought "that's ME!")
Sure, I would have to separate her form her Secret Service escort, but having managed that it was only a matter of squiring her back to my bachelor pad for the wooing to take it's course.
Awaiting us at my apartment would be a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and an eight ball of coke. I even purchased a used copy of The Boston Pops performing John Phillip Sousa's "The Stars and Stripes Forever" to play on the phonograph. (Do YOU know what sort of tunes get a young Republican girl hot? Because I sure don't!)
I also intended to remove all the books from my apartment, lest she peg me as a "pointy-headed intellectual."
But all of this planning and hoping was for nothing. Jenna is to be wed to Henry Hager, son of Virginia's Republican Party Chairman. He is tall and handsome, with thick, dark hair and fine features.
In short, he outclasses me in every way that would matter to Jenna --and her family.
So friends, I soldier on alone. Bowed but unbroken.
Anyone care to drink scotch and do a big pile of blow?
Yours with a heavy heart,
Brian
FUN AT THE STORE
(From August 13, 2007)
-Sleeping pills, bleach, rubber gloves, hacksaw
-16-pack of condoms, pink stuffed teddy bear, Easy-Bake-Oven
-Marie Claire Magazine, 16 oz. bottle of Johnson's baby oil, scented candle
-Bag of "snack size" Snickers bars, pack of Singer sewing needles (late October only)
-Wooden Ruler, 8-pound dumbbell, two foot length of chain
-Gas can, 3-pack of dish towels, anniversary card
-Depilatory cream, Summer's Eve feminine deodorant spray, heart-shaped box of chocolates (only funny if you're a guy-- on second thought, funny either way.)
C'mon, have some fun! After all, it's only money.
SORRY IF I'M PISSING ON THE "CHURCH" PARADE
(From July 26, 2007)
Here are my two cents: THE CHURCH WAS A FUCKING DEATH-TRAP.
Perhaps we should all be glad that it closed it's doors before something really bad happened there.
NOTE:
--When fuses/breakers are constantly being blown or tripped it does not mean, "they're bringing the rock too hard." It means the buildings electrical system is being operated beyond it's capacity. This can end badly. It can end in fires. It can end in a musician getting the shit so significantly shocked out of him that he can barely stand. I have personally experienced both. Amusing for 19-year-old art students? Perhaps. No fun for those electrocuted or aflame.
--When the lights go out on 200 drunken kids-- aside from the casual grope that leads to lifelong romance --nothing good came come of it. It can lead to stupid panic. It can lead to persons too slight of frame or incapacitated to properly protect themselves from being trampled. I've seen this, too.
-- There were two ways out of that place and neither one was adequate to accommodate the number of people in there, should something have gone horribly wrong.
I honestly believe that everyone who wants "The Church" kept around as an impromptu venue for bands has nothing but the best of intentions. But if they truly do care about the local music community, that should extend to the well-being of the people invited through it's doors.
So I say support saving, "The Church." But consider making your support contingent on those persons responsible for the place making it safe for the purposes they put it to. Otherwise, it's probably better as a hospital parking lot. Honestly. Nostalgia does not trump good sense. When it does, well... fuck.
BDS
Thursday, June 28, 2007
ASK MR. SHUEY NO. 8: EVEN PUNKERS GET OLD
Mr. Shuey,
When I was a young man I tried to fight against racism, homophobia and all manner of intolerance, holding many banners high. But in my golden years I don't confront people like I should. My question is, "How can I get as angry as I was when I was twenty?"
And yes, I have bricks nearby.
Sean,
Minneapolis
Sean,
Why would you want to be as angry as you were when you were twenty? Why would anyone? You are taking what I consider to be the one true pleasure that comes from growing older and turning it on its head. So you're not as, "in your face" as you used to be. So what? Most people's faces are best viewed from a distance anyway.
Believe me, I know where you're coming from. When I was a younger man I also held many banners high. The one I held highest read: "I am an insufferable 20-year-old prick who thinks he knows everything and is almost unbearable to be around! I can't hold my liquor, will argue and fight at the slightest provocation and should properly be placed over someone's knee and spanked!" (It was a big banner.)
I think my convictions began to wane when I was beaten-up by the local white power skinheads, then beaten up a week later by a black guy who accused me of knowing the skinheads who had just beaten me up. "Yeah I know them," I told the guy as he pounded on me, "they beat the shit out of me last week!"
It was at that point I decided to leave the banner waving to persons with smaller brains and thicker skulls.
There's nothing wrong with mellowing a bit as one ages. Especially since things don't seem to heal quite as fast as they used to. So leave acting like a kid to the kids.
And those bricks you've got handy? Use them to build a nice backyard BBQ. Throw on some steaks, crack open a beer and breathe-in the glorious summer air. If you still feel the need to do your part, invite all the neighbors over-- male and female, gay and straight, black, white, yellow and red. If they can't get along at a backyard beer bash, then something tells me all the banner-waving in the world will be of little good.
Best of Luck,
Mr. Shuey
"DEAR RICH PRICK"
So if you're anything like me, the sight of sixty thousand dollar sports cars in the modest surroundings of your neighborhood always feels gaudy and kind of insulting. And in the summertime the owner's "devil-may-care" rich guy insouciance causes them to casually leave the top down. It's like they're daring me to fuck with them! In the spirit of civility I have composed a note to leave that adequately expresses my frustration. Feel free to print it out and use it in situations as you see fit. You may replace my name with your own, or leave it as is. It's your choice.
Dear Rich Prick,
If you insist on shamelessly flaunting your wealth by parking your over-priced convertible sports car in a neighborhood where its cost exceeds the average annual family income by tens of thousands of dollars please have the good sense to CLOSE THE TOP. You have no idea how tempting it is to decorate your hand-tooled leather interior with cigarette butts, beer cans, dog shit, used rubbers and all manner of other unseemly articles. In fact, in the time it took me to carefully place this note on your passenger seat I could have just as easily covered it with a layer of Minwax varnish from the can that's been under my sink since I moved into my apartment. The tenant before me just left it there. Do you honestly believe I've got any thing that needs varnishing? Did he? Because I'm telling you pal, I don't! How thrilled would your date be if she came out of the restaurant and sat on a big puddle of varnish?
So just close your roof next time. Or better yet, stay the fuck out of my neighborhood. I'm trying to be a nice, law-abiding citizen, and people like you make it really hard.
Sincerely,
Brian David Shuey
SHORT FICTION AND A SHOW
(From June 7, 2007)
"So what are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"About HIM?"
"Him who?"
"Him WHO! 'Him' the kid you've got chained to the radiator!"
"Oh. Nothing."
"NOTHING!"
"Nothing for now. I gave him a bunch of these. He'll be out for hours."
"And what happens when he wakes up?"
"By then I'll be long gone. There's a show I want to see at THE HEXAGON tonight."
"The Hexagon? I've never heard of it."
"It's in Minneapolis."
"MINNEAPOLIS! How the hell do you plan to get all the way out there?"
"I'll take the chopper."
"The chopper! But MARINE ONE is mine!"
"It's only yours when I say it's yours."
"Oh, I get it. You're going to make ME deal with this one. Again."
"Quit being such a pussy. Just put him with the others under the bowling alley."
"But the bowling alley is right under the press room! What if they smell something?"
"That's what the bags of quick lime are for. Jesus, do I have to do all the thinking around here?"
"Just how many Indo-whatevers do you have buried down there now?"
"They're not Indonesians, they're Filipinos. God, you're a dumb son of a bitch!"
"Why do you always have to run me down, I was only..."
"Look, THE CHAMBERMAIDS, DIE ELECTRIC!, PRIVATE DANCER and PROLLY are playing at THE HEXAGON tonight and I don't plan on missing it!"
"And just where do you fix on putting the chopper down?"
"I did one of those GOOLGE EARTH searches. There's a bank parking lot right across the street. If we leave early enough it should be empty and we can land there."
"But I was gonna watch "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader" tonight. Last week I nearly beat the little bastards!"
"Have Laura tape it. Right now you need to roll up your sleeves and get to digging."
"Aw, man..."
"Look, the pilot said we'd be flying into headwinds the whole way out. I do not have time to fuck around with you right now."
"Alright."
"Good, it's settled then. I have to go get my MINOR THREAT t-shirt out of the dryer."
"You know something, Dick. You sure are one crazy, boy-raping, megalomaniacal nut-job!"
"Yeah, that may be true, but I've got GREAT taste in music."
"If you say so."
(Brian David Shuey--6.7.07)
TONIGHT THURSDAY JUNE 7 AT THE HEXAGON BAR (2600 27th Ave S MPLS)
THE CHAMBERMAIDS
DIE ELECTRIC!
PRIVATE DANCER
PROLLY
FREE!!!
ASK MR. SHUEY NO. 7: "METAL MOUTH"
(From May 30, 2007)
Dear Mr. Shuey,Are adult braces just for total assholes?
I need to know A.S.A.P.
Dana,
St. Paul
Dana,
Adult braces are in no way "just for total assholes." However, the following things are:
The band, MY MORNING JACKET
"Tom's of Maine" toothpaste
The sort of "braces" that skinheads wear
In-Dash car DVD players
Warrantless wiretaps
Outdoor smoking laws
TV Guide
This is not to say that braces aren't a serious decision. Especially since "adult" implies that your parents won't be paying for them.
In almost all cases orthodontics are considered cosmetic, and are not covered by standard dental insurance. Unless your teeth are so misaligned that their primary function (chewing food) is impaired, you'll likely have to pay for them out of your own pocket.
According to The Academy of General Dentistry, the cost of adult braces is anywhere from $4,000 to $9,000. Also, adults need to wear braces for a longer period of time (18 months to three years) than adolescents.
You have three choices when it comes to braces, traditional metal ones, clear ceramic and Invisalign. ™
The clear ceramic sort are often referred to as, "less noticeable." In my experience they always make people look like they have an enormous buildup of plaque on their teeth. On closer inspection one will realize that they are in fact "clear" braces, but by then you have kind of lost your taste for lunch.
Invisalign ™ braces are, according to their literature, "invisible." But my guess is they are the ones in the $9000 range.
I say if you're going to do it, go with the metal ones. They're the least expensive option, and this will show people that your vanity is tempered with a certain amount of prudence.
More than your choice to get braces, what most concerns me is your need to make a decision, "A.S.A.P"
The only cause for such urgency I could come up with is that you are dating an impossibly dull orthodontist-- as opposed the charming and dynamic sort! --and were hoping to take advantage of his skills before dumping him. This would be a mistake, as braces require periodic tightening and adjusting, and those subsequent visits couldn't help but be incredibly awkward.
Best of Luck,
Mr. Shuey
Just for fun, here are some photos of REALLY BAD TEETH:
http://www.strangepersons.com/images/content/101457.jpg
http://www.thegrid.org.uk/learning/science/ks1-2/resources/examples/livingthings/teeth/badteeth.jpg
http://www.mikesjournal.com/October%202006/Bad%20Teeth%201.jpg
Ask Mr. Shuey No. 6: "All About Balls"
(From May 24, 2007)
 | Dear Mr. Shuey, |
Ask Mr. Shuey No. 5: "Diet Dilemma"
(From May 7, 2007)
Dear Mr. Shuey,
How can I get myself to eat healthier? I don't really like vegetables or fruits. I like burgers and fried chicken. Eating this type of garbage all the time makes me feel like a disgusting slob. Sometimes I force-feed myself good food on principal, but it doesn't make me hate it any less.
Please Help.
Thanks,
Andy
Minneapolis
Well Andy, I'm sorry to say that short of getting married to a health-nut there is little hope for you. But I'll do what I can.
I too am guilty of having a poor diet. For me it's too much frozen pizza and pasta. I often force myself to buy fruits and vegetables, but other than the occasional apple or some snow peas in my stir-fry, most of the time these items end-up turning to compost in my crisper.
We are BACHELORS, my friend. This is how we were meant to eat.
Here are a few suggestions that may help, but I should point out that even with my renowned good sense and almost super-human will power I have failed to see much improvement in my own diet. So honestly, what are your chances?
TRY TO EAT IN: For whatever reason, dietician's say that homemade shitty food is less shitty than restaurant shitty food. How much less shitty? (I'm guessing only a little less shitty.) The reason for this is simple: fat and salt are relatively CHEAP and make food TASTE GOOD. So to keep you coming back the restaurants pile it on. And why not? They will never have to visit you in the hospital or attend your funeral. (Which is a shame, because a sympathy card from Colonel Sanders would be a hell of a thing to see!)
DATE A REALLY ATTRACTIVE GIRL: I don't know how far this will go to improving your diet, I just think that as bachelors we should all be dating really attractive girls. Couldn't hurt.
DESIGNATE ONE DAY A WEEK AS "HEALTHFUL FOOD DAY": Take Monday, for instance, and make that the day of the week that you eat a healthy, balanced diet. Or failing that, just don't eat anything at all on Monday.
TRY A LITTLE AVERSION THERAPY: Here are some links to sites that have images of coronary artery disease, blocked colons, and the like:
http://www.cs.nsw.gov.au/concord/Departs/gastro/boweldisease/Crohn.html
http://www.heart-health-for-life.com/cholesterol-and-heart-disease.html
http://blogs.kansascity.com/photos/uncategorized/larryking1.jpg
http://navigator.medschool.pitt.edu/Introduction%20to%20GI%20Imaging3EDIT_files/image016.jpg
Print them out and tape them to your refrigerator and any cupboards that contain food. The image of a blocked colon may just convince you NOT to reach for the NASCAR-APPROVED Southern Family Size sleeve of frozen hamburger patties I am certain sits waiting for you in your freezer (next to the Ore-Ida French Fries.)
For added incentive, I included a picture of well-known heart patient and talk show host Larry King. In searching for gross heart disease images his portrait was easily the most stomach-turning picture available.
And for any of you out there that want to stop eating all together, do a Google Image Search for "Skin Diseases." Tape those pictures on your fridge and I guarantee you'll never eat anything again, healthy or otherwise.
Best of luck!
(Keep those questions coming, kids!)
Thursday, May 03, 2007
ASK MR. SHUEY No.4: NAILBITER
Dear Mr. Shuey,
I've tried just about everything to quit biting my fingernails, to no avail. Sometimes I bite the cuticles to the point that they bleed and scab...it's gross and I want to stop. Please help. P.S. Please do not suggest any kind of exercise regimen. Thank you,
Sarah,
Minneapolis
Sarah,
First of all, I appreciate your use of, "please" and "thank you." Your parents have done well by you. If we can eliminate your nail biting you will easily be the nearest thing to a proper young woman that this town has ever produced. (And you'll be a veritable Queen Victoria by south Minneapolis standards!)
On to your problem. I don't imagine you are biting your nails because you are hungry. And outside of this city's West Bank neighborhood, scabby cuticles are not considered a fashion or political statement. My guess is that we have a compulsion brought on by an overabundance of nervous energy. We must therefore eliminate, block or redirect this energy.
Here a few suggestions:
JUST FUCKING RELAX ALREADY!: Seriously, quit being such a twitchy spazz all the time! (Did that do it? Yeah, I didn't think it would.)
As a twitchy spazz myself, I know that nothing makes me more anxious than being TOLD to relax. Even with medication, meditation, hypnosis or the like this is who you are. Eliminating the nervousness is outside our poor powers.
TRY WEARING GLOVES: I've seen this recommended for children with nail biting problems. I can only imagine how popular a kid is with his classmates when he is forced to wear gloves year round indoors and out. Why not just give him a sweatshirt to wear with "LEPER" written on it. Adults should leave children the hell alone sometimes.
Should you choose this route your grown-up friends, acquaintances and co-workers will likely --but not necessarily-- be a bit more sensitive. To deflect potential snickering about the gloves you may try telling them, "I wear these gloves because I disfigured my hands while pulling a baby from a burning building."
This will engender so much respect from people that they wouldn't dream of saying anything unkind about your gloves.
Conversely, you could choose to tell people you burned your hands throwing a baby INTO a burning building. In which case I guarantee no one will say shit about you ever again!
TAKE UP SMOKING: If you haven't already done so I highly recommend smoking cigarettes. (And you thought I was going to suggest an exercise regimen?) The problem with this is that you can't smoke ALL THE TIME. (Believe me, I've tried.) And absent the comforting presence of a cigarette you are bound to go right back to your nails.
OVER-THE-COUNTER REMEDIES: Orly makes a product called, "No-Bite" which it describes as, "a bitter flavored nail biting deterrent." You can get it online for $7.00. I have also read that similar products are "available in most corner pharmacies." (Although not, I suppose, in those pharmacies located in the middle of the block.)
And finally, MR. SHUEY'S PATENTED CURE FOR CHRONIC ONYCHOPHAGIA: This is a real whiz-banger! Every morning before you go about your day, dip the tips of your fingers in botulism toxin. (How you get it from the cosmetic surgeon is your business.)
Make sure you pin a note on your person that reads, "Sarah, remember how this morning you dipped your fingers in botulism toxin? Well, keep them the hell out of your mouth or you will get sick and die!"
If that doesn't do the trick, I don't know what will.
Best of luck!
I've tried just about everything to quit biting my fingernails, to no avail. Sometimes I bite the cuticles to the point that they bleed and scab...it's gross and I want to stop. Please help. P.S. Please do not suggest any kind of exercise regimen. Thank you,
Sarah,
Minneapolis
Sarah,
First of all, I appreciate your use of, "please" and "thank you." Your parents have done well by you. If we can eliminate your nail biting you will easily be the nearest thing to a proper young woman that this town has ever produced. (And you'll be a veritable Queen Victoria by south Minneapolis standards!)
On to your problem. I don't imagine you are biting your nails because you are hungry. And outside of this city's West Bank neighborhood, scabby cuticles are not considered a fashion or political statement. My guess is that we have a compulsion brought on by an overabundance of nervous energy. We must therefore eliminate, block or redirect this energy.
Here a few suggestions:
JUST FUCKING RELAX ALREADY!: Seriously, quit being such a twitchy spazz all the time! (Did that do it? Yeah, I didn't think it would.)
As a twitchy spazz myself, I know that nothing makes me more anxious than being TOLD to relax. Even with medication, meditation, hypnosis or the like this is who you are. Eliminating the nervousness is outside our poor powers.
TRY WEARING GLOVES: I've seen this recommended for children with nail biting problems. I can only imagine how popular a kid is with his classmates when he is forced to wear gloves year round indoors and out. Why not just give him a sweatshirt to wear with "LEPER" written on it. Adults should leave children the hell alone sometimes.
Should you choose this route your grown-up friends, acquaintances and co-workers will likely --but not necessarily-- be a bit more sensitive. To deflect potential snickering about the gloves you may try telling them, "I wear these gloves because I disfigured my hands while pulling a baby from a burning building."
This will engender so much respect from people that they wouldn't dream of saying anything unkind about your gloves.
Conversely, you could choose to tell people you burned your hands throwing a baby INTO a burning building. In which case I guarantee no one will say shit about you ever again!
TAKE UP SMOKING: If you haven't already done so I highly recommend smoking cigarettes. (And you thought I was going to suggest an exercise regimen?) The problem with this is that you can't smoke ALL THE TIME. (Believe me, I've tried.) And absent the comforting presence of a cigarette you are bound to go right back to your nails.
OVER-THE-COUNTER REMEDIES: Orly makes a product called, "No-Bite" which it describes as, "a bitter flavored nail biting deterrent." You can get it online for $7.00. I have also read that similar products are "available in most corner pharmacies." (Although not, I suppose, in those pharmacies located in the middle of the block.)
And finally, MR. SHUEY'S PATENTED CURE FOR CHRONIC ONYCHOPHAGIA: This is a real whiz-banger! Every morning before you go about your day, dip the tips of your fingers in botulism toxin. (How you get it from the cosmetic surgeon is your business.)
Make sure you pin a note on your person that reads, "Sarah, remember how this morning you dipped your fingers in botulism toxin? Well, keep them the hell out of your mouth or you will get sick and die!"
If that doesn't do the trick, I don't know what will.
Best of luck!
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