Friday, August 22, 2008

Two Moons, Moo Cows, & The Printers Ball






And I just stuck that Japanese thing in to see if anyone notices. Earlier today, I received my yearly announcement that has circulated the Internet longer than that the Nigerian lottery, the reminder that August 27th is (yet again) the Night Of The Two Moons. Of course, the actual night was back in 2000 AND THREE, when Mars was at its closest to Earth and its ascension coincided with a full moon. This year on August 27th, we can see a much dimmer Mercury and Venus, with the moon already waning. As Not From Michigan Mike said, it resembles an Islamic Flag. So get those telescopes out, people.

My buddy HEF is funny, aside from the fact that his house address is one of those 1111 numbers that will one day cause the downfall of Western civilization. Going back to my post about the Wow! Signal and Elvis going home, HEF commented that the static from space was really a dinner bell. One night, he, I, Jeff, and Andrew smoked pot in his basement and I exclaimed "I am Emily Dickinson!" to which the other men choked down the goodness and of course I meant to say that I was Spartacus. And to this day I am reminded of this event.

Last night, I awoke in the wee hours (they are called this not because old men like me have to go wee, rather the it is the time that the little grey aliens from Zeta Reticuli are yanking on my little toes, telepathically telling me "this little piggy went wee, wee, wee all the way home" at the same time as singing the theme from The Banana Splits) to a sudden and frightening realization. I dream about a flaming cow as a sign of impending doom. But I am linked forever to Bubbly Creek, and what is at the bottom? Cow Ghosts. Rotting Cow Ghosts. Then it was time to get up at urinate like a banshee.

Tonight was the Printers Ball, a yearly thing. This time around it was at the MCA, the Museum of Contemporary Art. The photo above is from last year's event in Bridgeport in which the police were called because Bridgeport is full of @$$holes. I can type those words about Mayor Daley's old neighborhood and get away with it because NOBODY in Bridgeport is smart enough to use Google and type in Bridgeport Is Full Of @$$holes. So there, you Irish hillbillies. It was a neat little event and I soon realized that most everybody there was half my age. I caught up with the aforementioned NFM Mike and Becky Who Can Evidently Afford To Drive From The Northside And Park In A Garage Off Michigan Avenue and we hung out for awhile, Becky passing out flyers for Twilight Tales while NFM Mike and I questioned if we should tell a fellow his fedora was on backwards. One guy had this cool teal sport jacket and we were the same build and I got into wondering if I should trade him...then I realize I had nothing to trade. I was wearing a kind of tealish Hawaiian shirt, but I'd look pretty silly wearing my jeans and just the jacket and my three chest hairs. Silly there, but fashionable in Wrigleyville. I also got a whatever kind of look girls give guys twice their age from this Claire Danesish gal as I refilled my water bottle. She was by herself but I had nothing to say because I AM AN IDIOT. I could be with her right now, holding hands over deep dish pizza at Lou Malnati's before sneaking out the back way because I only have $22.37 and a giant Pope coin to my name. Maybe she was into Hawaiian shirts. There was also this adorable black girl with an afro and she looked to be all of about 85 pounds. And, to be fair, I caught the eye of a guy who looked like young Kurt Russell, like from THE COMPUTER WORE TENNIS SHOES days, and everybody knows about my not-so-secret man-crush on the actor, and the guy gave me a chin nod to which I chin nodded back and it was like I had been transported into a George Pelecanos novel. It was a fun night, after Becky left us boys for our trek to the lowly subway, NFM Mike and I discussed porn while waiting for the Red Line and a young waif flipping through a magazine moved ever further away as I discussed such grand titles as THE NEIGHBORS SUCK AND SO DO WE, and the book I swear I will one day find again and one day own, I can see the cover as if it was 1979 all over again, MY DACHSHUND, MY LOVER. (I know if I keep mentioning the book, it will come to be in my possession.) And that was my last, oh, 18 hours or so. One more week of summer. I felt sooo old at that party tonight.

11 comments:

Lana Gramlich said...

Er...I hate to tell you, but Mars was at it's closest (in 60,000 years) in 2003. It's in my journal, but go ahead a Google it. Even NASA says so. Can you tell I've been responding to the same old spams you have lately?
Loved the Japan poster, btw. *L*

Steve Malley said...

Japan: Lose a bid for world domination, retreat deep, deep, DEEP into the back alleys of Crazytown...

Sidney said...

Ah, I remember when my ascension coincided with the full moon. I think it was a Tuesday. I may be misremembering this. I think I was at a party, and there could have been alcohol present. I, uh, could be an unreliable narrator.

Michael Fountain: Blood for Ink said...

Nelson Algren, in his Notes from a Sea Diary days, would be proud of this entry. And I know what you mean about being the weird old guy at the party and not sure if someone's staring because they love the shirt or because I'm a freak show. (With me, for some reason it's the Mighty Mouse "Here I Come to Save the Day" shirt). I am declaring myself a confirmed old Irish bachelor (with a soupcon of French) because I'm tired of reciting the last lines of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" in my head every time I'm out in public.
Speaking of burning cows (as they run past during the apocalypse, you'll find me muttering "fools... mad fools" under my breath), it's a possibility that the great Chicago fire was actually caused by a scattered asteroid hit that sparked the Peshtigo fire in Wisconsin and killed more than a thousand people (maybe 2,000+) the same day.
I am Spartacus. Also, I am Beatrix Potter.

Capcom said...

Great stories, and the Japan poster was very noticable! Yeah, that two-moons email is so ridunkulous.

I feel old when I go into the sporting goods store (stoopid 20-somethings!). It's so unfair, when you're young, you're an idiot. And when your finally smart, whoops you're old. :-(

I like Kurt Russel the best in the movie "Swing Shift". He's delicious in that little known flick.

Charles Gramlich said...

That Japanese poster is so wrong, my friend. "You've" been providing at least sixty percent of the world's weird shit for at least a couple of decades. They're trying to steal your thunder. You should sue them or something.

Wayne Allen Sallee said...

Lana made the mistake of thinking I meant there were three moons in2000. I explained via my secret pneumatic thought tube that I was trying to sound like I was shouting, kinda like Mr. Spacely at George Jetson.

Steve, the Japan photo reminds me of our Printer's Row book fair in June, a few years back I turned my head and there was an Angelina Ballerina mouse as tall as me. In 90 degree heat.

Sid, I'm not certain if you are recalling your wedding night or the time Bayou Bob slipped the funny tablets in our Yoo-hoos at the World Fantasy Convention in 1993.

Mike, thanks. I try to channel Algren and wish I was better at showing links to past entries, like my flaming cow entry. And there is likely a way I could write about last night but it would read like crazy old John Cheever.

And, yes, I blame the Chicago Fire on Peshtigo, not the meteor. I think Manistee, Michigan burned as well. Well, it wasn't like the Tunguska meteor, which really was the crash of a mothership from Zeta Reticuli B. The meteors of 1871 were the little guys burning up in the atmosphere after not understanding their ejector seats correctly. If you can't blame the cows, blame the aliens. Or Donald Rumsfeld, at least.

Capcom, not familiar with Swing Shift (is that like Drive Shaft? ha ha), but I try to keep my Kurt Russell "thing" low-key. I think I typed as much as I did last night because I still had the adrenaline going.

HemlockMan said...

I try not to hang around young folks' parties. I'm so old that I'm always out of place. Even worse since I always felt out of place at parties even when I was as young as everyone else.

One thing about porn movie producers: they have a good sense of humor. One of my friends (a relative of Jesse James, I shit you not) is into that stuff and he would keep me up to date on the latest take-offs of popular movies made into porn films. Of course it's been years since I've spoken to Jesse (yes, he's named after his dad who was named after Jesse James). The last time I talked to him he was telling me about such movies as THE FLINTBONES, EDWARD PENIS HANDS, THE SPERMINATOR, etc.

Capcom said...

Heehee. Charlie's not in Swing Shift. :-D Anyway, that's a movie with Goldie Hawn about right before and during WW2, and all the men go off to war (except Russell, he's got a bad heart) and the women (and 4Fs) go to work at a warplane factory (modeled after McD-Douglas) which lends it to a Rosie the Riveter theme. Russel works there too, and is also a sax player in a band. A bunch of newbie actors (then) are in it too...Ed Harris, Fred Ward, Holly Hunter.

It's a good little movie, worth a watch, especially if one likes '40s retro (not quite as much fun as Woody Allens "Radio Days" in that respect tho). One thing that bugs me is, I could swear that the bungalows where everyone lives in the film, was where my family took a little vacation in Santa Cruz when my dad was looking for aerospace work, back in '68. Wierd.

Wayne Allen Sallee said...

Hemlockman: I hear you, but I kinda wanted to see what one of these things was like. Lots of students. I would likely have felt more in place if I was wearing a suit and either my Casablanca tie or the one with dogs playing poker. Or at least that old standby, the blood-stained clown suit.

Capcom: I do recall the movie now. Ed Harris and Fred Ward were in it as well? Russell on the sax? Count me in.

Capcom said...

Blood-stained clown suit, heehee.

I just read yesterday that Jonathan Demme's original director's cut of "Swing Shift" was much better than how it finally turned out. It seems that Hawn wanted more screen-time in it, or something like that, which resulted in it being more of a fluff-piece...with lots more of her in it. :-p It's still good for a rent with popcorn tho. Oh wait, I think that Russel actually plays the trumpet in it, sorry. But he's still cool.