How Life Comes Today - Mr. Bad Vibe Guy

How Life Comes Today – A series of some of my more obsessive traits and observations.

Mr. Bad Vibe Guy

Everyone has neighbors; it is unavoidable if you want to be a recognizable part of society.  Sadly, you don’t get to pick them.  When purchasing a house I think the potential owner should have to submit to a panel of neighbors.  This would do two things, allow the current residence to preview the potential addition to their community and also allow the buyer to see whom they might be living next to.  If this was a standard process then I wouldn’t have to deal with Mr. Bad Vibe Guy.

Anyone who has spent any amount of time at our house has experienced or heard of Bad Vibe Guy.  I first encountered him one early March morning while I was feeding Thane. The sun was shining and there was dew on the grass, drooping wet spider webs spread between branches in the morning light.  Thane had his head buried in his kibble, crunching away, when suddenly he stopped and peered up the driveway.  I usually watch Thane eat to ensure he finishes and I like to talk at him, which means that my back was facing the driveway and subsequently the road.  From the entrance to the garage we have a level paved section before the driveway turns to gravel and raises in elevation until it meets the paved road we live off of.  Turning to follow Thane’s gaze I see a man standing at the top of our driveway.  I have never seen this man before and I wish I never had.  He wore knee high green rain boots, thick black Carrhartt workpants which are tucked into the boots, a think gray hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, gardening gloves, and a pair of black sunglasses with a heavy tint.    A cigarette passed from his gloved hand to his mouth where a thick long yellow moustache consumed the smoke with each inhale.  He could have only been staring at me, I knew this even behind the looming black shades. 

Obviously this course of action is generally regarded as weird behavior.  No greeting parted from his lips. No friendly wave which I would normally expect from someone on an initial greeting.  Instead, he stood just gazing like a sentinel.  I remember thinking to myself, ‘ok, what’s the game plan here.’   

Is this how it ends for me?  Could it be a bullet to shatter the silence in the crisp morning air?  Maybe he has a hidden knife in the folds of his sweatshirt to put in my belly so that I can bleed out amongst the dew covered lawn? I scanned the garage looking for anything that I could use to neutralize this man should he choose to end me.  A baseball bat, a dull wood splitting axe, a host of assorted screwdrivers; at least if it came to a physical altercation I would have a chance.  I think anyone can be moderately decent with a bat in a melee; it’s the most fundamental of maiming instruments and can be devastating if you know how to properly swing it.  A quick left handed swing to his knee should leave him on the ground long enough for me to bring the bat down again on his shoulder which would completely render his offensive capabilities to nothing.  A quick phone call to the police and the situation would be resolved.  Alright, plan established.

Thane still had not resumed eating and the statue remained.  The tense silence needed to be broken before this went any further and it was obvious he wasn’t going to say a word, just watch.  Remaining in place I released a short salutation.  Apparently for this man recognition of his presence opens the door for him to close the ground.  Green knee highs crackled above gravel as his first foot left the paved road and started down the driveway, the cigarette bobbled from his mouth, thick grey smoke filtering through his moustache and billowed into his hood.  Still the glasses remained.   At this point I have to make a decision.  He’s coming towards the open garage.  Thane is motionless with his tail half raised and head positioned inquisitively, fur bristled.  I am closer to the axe then the bat. Thane is not wearing a collar. I am not wearing shoes. No one else is home.  My cell phone is inside.  There are no witnesses.  Will I die alone? Will Thane help defend me against this man?  My brain was busy processing every option, observing every action, a human fight or flight mechanic perfected through evolution now spreading through my system by means of adrenaline.  Not yet at flight, I took a step forward.

I met him at the point in which the paved portion of the drive way met the gravel and used body language to explain that that was far enough for him to come.  The conversation was brief, he wanted to introduce himself and let me know that he was living with his brother down the street.  He says he is from Forks but didn’t bother to say how long he was staying.  What was most unsettling was his constant need to remind me that he was not threatening.  He told me just how non-threatening he was three times in the course of our three minute exchange.  All the while he wore those black glasses and attempted to look past me into the garage, talking through broken brown teeth.  Keeping conversation brief, I turned and returned to Thane ushering him into the back yard.  Shut the gate, and quickly hurried into the garage pounding on the button as soon as it was within arms-length.  The long steel door descended as Bad Vibe Guy stood at the top of the driveway staring down.

Since my first encounter, I have seen him almost every day.  Neither rain nor darkness keeps him from his rounds in the neighborhood.  More often than not he has a Golden Retriever on a long rope leash which he keeps coiled around him, at its full length it must be twenty feet.  The dog is unruly, despite his constant attempts to herd the dog via a series of whistles and clicks.   Many of the other dogs in the neighborhood are behind invisible fences.  For whatever reason Bad Vibe Guy has decided to stop at these junctions and click and whistle with his dog at the leashes max capacity, meters from the excited and encouraged neighbor dog going ballistic at the sound of the whistles and site of the other dog.  Once the dog is thoroughly shaken up, foaming and snarling, and nearly at the point of enduring the pain to attack Bad Vibe Guy will move on to the next.  Sometimes he will just watch kids play or someone doing housework.  Other times he won’t have the dog and will mount himself on an aluminum stead, peddling forward and expanding his reach into the other parts of the neighborhood.   Where Bad Vibe Guy goes on these expeditions and what he does in the other parts is a mystery to me, but I would assume that he is making people everywhere just as uncomfortable as I am in his presence.  

I don’t like to leave Claire here alone when I know he is out.  If people have to run to their car to get something I try to make sure that someone is watching.  Most everyone that comes over to our house has seen him and some have even had experiences of their own.  I wish he would leave, I wish he never came.  He will be the first person I look to if I hear that someone has gone missing in the neighborhood.  I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he has killed, that he has raped, or that he has committed some other terrible crime. 

He exudes bad vibes…he is Bad Vibe Guy.

What I Am Reading - The Dead Path

The Dead Path

Stephen M. Irwin

Hardback, 384 pgs.

I had needed a break from the rich tapestry of Martin and I found this during my local Boarders going out of business sale which offered 70% off hard backs.  Why not?  I never read horror and Fall was approaching rapidly.  I had picked up a decent amount of Halloween reading but I don’t think I will get to the bulk of it until November once I have closed out a "Song of Ice and Fire."  Oh well, that is why I have a stack of books. 

On a side note, I need to find some book ends.  The fancy little decorative things with a hefty weight.  If you come across some for cheap, let me know.  I should start checking garage sales.

'The Dead Path' was my first foray into horror beyond Mr. King and Miss Rice.  I don't generally read horror at all simply for the fact that I find horror really subjective and writers seem to write about what is scary to them.  If you align with the same fears it is generally a success, otherwise its just kind of dark fiction.  For instance, in The Dead Path uses spiders.  I hate spiders but they are not scary to read about for me so that is a complete miss, even if they are the size of a small dog. 

The author Stephen Irwin is from Australia, he has a happy life and seems pretty ordinary as far as authors go.  Irwin graduated from Queensland College with qualifications in Film and Television production.  He has produced some movies but I don’t know of any of them and have not bothered to look.  He has two kids and a loving wife, wonderful.  He has one some praise for his shorts and had a second book published in Australia, it is unclear if this is a sequel to 'The Dead Path' or not.

The book starts off with a brief introduction to the main character, Nicolas Close.  Nicolas is a 'picker.' Just like the History show he roams around looking for crap to sell to people with dramatic interior design desires.  He makes a decent living and his wife and himself have just purchased a nice flat which they are renovating.  Nicolas is off to the store to pick up some supplies.  As he motorcycles down he gets into an accident and although he is fine, he immediately decides to phone his wife.  As his wife travels down a latter to answer the phone, she slips and breaks her neck.  Now, Nicolas sees ghosts of the murdered or suicide variety in vivid detail playing out their final moments over and over.  Obviously this is drastically effecting him so he runs home to his mother to try and come to grips with the whole thing.  Of course this is when things get crazier and weirder.

Overall the book wasn’t scary.  A couple of weird things, some dibble dabble with old mythos and that is about it.

What I Am Reading - A Storm of Swords

A Storm of Swords

George R.R. Martin

Read it in Hardback - 924pgs.

First and fore-most there are spoilers and speculations ahead, tread at your own peril.

I won't do the re-cap, in fact I am going to skip anything  about the first or second book at all.

If book two was the builder than this is the death-stroke to put the reader six feet under.  Since it had been ten years since I last read one through three, I had jumbled most of what happens in ‘A Clash’ and ‘A Storm.’  This is by far my favorite book of the series thus far (and I have completed four.)

A lot happens in this book, especially the last 1/3rd of the book.

“It’s Fall and Kings are falling like leaves.”

Westeros-

Well a ‘Clash of Kings’ saw the death of Renly but this was just the beginning.   Robb had to have seen it coming, right? Marrying Jane might have cost him the war at best and obviously you know at worst.  The Frey's were pretty pot committed until this little blunder.  With the exception of those married off to the Lannisters, they had that great house on their side.  To make matters worse, Caetlyn decided it was a good idea to free Jamie which lost him a  pillar of support in the North and meant the eventual beheading of Richard Karstark.  Well he couldn’t kill his own mother, Kinslaying is an agreed upon affront but he should have sent her off a long long time ago.  The joy of being a boy king I suppose.

Well luckily for the Starks, he took precautions for the event none the less.  This puts Jon in several interesting positions without even knowing it and foreshadows a lot in my opinion.  With nearly every seal of the Northman on this document, save the Bolton’s and Karstarks, it will eventually surface that Jon is the heir to Winterfell.  Oh, but Jon is on the wall, he can’t possibly leave the wall, especially not if he is Lord Commander… He can, Stannis has offered it to him, and I think Daeny will in time too.  But the thing that will truly push it will be Robb’s efforts to seal the document and Brann’s death.  Yep, I said it.  It hasn’t happened yet but I think it might the more I think on it.  Rickon being a child, and with a wilding will probably never resurface again despite the fact that the other wolves can sense Shaggy.  I have a feeling Melisandre kills Brann, burns him up like the other warg. Again, just speculations.

Joffrey got his as he choked/poisoned on his wedding night with the pigeon pie and Tywin at the hands of Tyrion for that matter which ultimately seals the deal for Lannister.  Why you say?  Jaimie has undergone a transformation with the loss of his sword hand and is seeing things differently.  He wants to make his wrongs right which means he won’t be helping his sister do a damn thing unless it aligns with that sense of right.  Cersei is a cunt and ineffectual as a leader and the rest of the Lannisters are spreading in the wind.  Thommen is too young to stand up to his mother so the only pinion of Lannister power lies with Cersei.  Tyrion has obviously fled and will play a march bigger part in things later and I have a feeling will end up ruling Casterly Rock.

A major house (Stark) fell but it took a large part of the Lannister’s down with them.  With the Lannister’s gone, Frey will fill the gap in time, at least until they get theirs and I think they will. 

Balon’s dead.  Another king down.  HIs death isn’t detailed, apparently he got blown off a causeway. I know book four (A Feast for Crows) goes into much more detail about the Iron Men so I am looking forward to that.  With Balon’s death this in theory leaves Theon in charge but Theon is with the Bastard of Bolton as a captive, nor is he respected enough to ever be permitted as Balon’s heir.  Wonder if he’s going to get flayed by a Bolton.  Asha will want the throne but Balon has two brothers who take precedent over her.  Interesting to see how the Iron Men fill the gap.

So in theory, Stannis could act but he went gallivanting to save the Wall and pursue the greater threat or some shenanigans. I think Stannis is rather droll, even if he is the heir apparent to Robert.  He will die with the false light sword in his hand, definitely certain.

Free Cities

Daeny is clever, Daeny is rich, Daeny has dragons.  She is plundering and freeing cities in the far east.  We discovered some more about the people around her and the things they do, but really at this point I feel like Daeny is filler and I hope that changes in 5.

Hate to say it but this character is ‘meh’ for me.  I hope in 5 she really brings it to the plate.  Westeros has always been more interesting to me.

Onto Four, A Feast for Crows.

How Life Comes Today - The Wonderful Ritual

How Life Comes Today – A series of some of my more obsessive traits and obervations.

The Wonderful Ritual

It’s been a long day.  I’ve procrastinated long enough on my responsibility at work that I must now complete a week’s work in one day. Not to say I don’t work throughout the week but I leave the majority of my plate for a meeting-less day when I can throw on an a few albums and crank out the work items,  but while work place phenomena is a whole ritual in itself that is not the point of this particular entry.

But alas, I have made it to the Promised Land; I have made it home to what has been named ‘Where the Wild Things Live.’  After getting acquainted with the landscape and changing my clothes like Mr. Rogers.  Unbutton the shirt to be replaced with some nasty old shirt, replace the Jeans with Sweatpants, throw on a hoodie, and look the part.  That is when I begin the ritual, a small thing really. I locate the Tupperware which has been haphazardly strewn across the room.  There is no rhyme or reason why it does not have a permanent place but I know each day it is a scavenger hunt to locate it.  Once I have located it I have to dig through its contents.  The contents of which consist of empty plastic bags, loose cigarette filters, and a host of wraps in a variety of flavors and compositions, a few toothpicks, and a little plastic spoon.  My fingers flip through flavored wraps titled honey, strawberry-kiwi, grape, peach, and even more exotic varieties.  My favorites are these pure unbleached and unflavored wonders.  They roll right and stay together when you put them to the flame.  Some people insist on blunts or pipes but for me, if it’s not going in a bong it’s going to get rolled up in a joint, hence the excess of papers, and filters in the Tupperware.  A long time ago I forgot how to wrap a proper joint, so now I just use this fancy cigarette machine when I roll my joints. But I digress. 

Finally my fingers wrap themselves around a bag with something light and squishy inside.  The gold has been discovered without the help of a map.  I pull the bag out and measure the contents with my eyes.  Never as much as I would like but always enough and I slide my fingers in and pluck a decent sized bud out.  This particular treasure is a deep forest green with splotches of orange, with short bushy orange hairs.  I don’t know the name of this strain particularly, for whatever reason stoners need to create whimsical designations for what they smoke.  I myself never cared but I knew a girl once who used to always ask me to describe what it was that I was smoking and would try to piece together what it was.  We still talk every once and a while but she doesn’t ask and we never hang out due to other complications.  The bud is floral, it’s spongy, it’s dank and the smell permeates the room as soon as I open the bag.  I am used to my room smelling of such and I never have to light incenses.  Sometimes, I will light some fragrant candles, but those only highlight the perfume.

Once I have selected the particular bud for consumption, it’s off to find the grinder.  Much like the Tupperware it is always hard to locate.  Is it in the kitchen?  Perhaps it is on the coffee table, on the counter, by the pool table, on top of the aquarium, in my room?  No one knows and I am sure it will take me at least fifteen minutes to locate the little black cylinder.  Grinding is an important part of my Wonderful Ritual.  Not everyone does it, you don’t have to if it is going in a pipe or a bong but it does give you more bang for your buck, creates a mellower smoke, and is a more balanced burn which is important in these endeavors.   The grinder itself is a simple and elegant machine drilled cylinder.  When you hold it you can feel where the machine has carved its existence from a block of Aluminum.  The machine is precise but still leaves milling rings along its short black exterior.  The grinder itself has three chambers.  The first is what does all of the heavy lifting in the process and is where the raw bud goes in.  It has metal prongs on the lid and on the base, once the lid is fitted; the bud is squished between these prongs.  Once sealed you simply turn the lid and the prongs shred the bud into mulch.  Holes drilled at the bottom of the chamber allow the mulch to feed down into the second chamber.  The second chamber has two uses, one of which is optional.  Its primary use is to capture the mulch as a repository.  The floor of the second chamber is a screen and if used in tandem with a disk, like a nickel, you can actually shake the grinder with the mulch around and force small mulch particulates through the screen.  The particles are pure THC, the active ingredient everyone’s always clamoring about and is held in the third chamber.   At this point it is time to find the Bong which is just as difficult as finding the Tupperware and the grinder.  Curse my bones; did I leave it outside again?  The landlord does not like when I leave my bong out amongst the wild.  It’s a fair request but one I am terrible with.  One of my roommates prefers the three foot monstrosities built for indulging a group of people, while I myself prefer a more manageable ‘solo occupant’ approach to my utensils.  I played around with a few but have finally settled on this piece I got in Montana.  It’s about 10 inches from the bottom of the water-chamber to the top of the spout.  It is glass, simple, and dare I say elegant? There really isn’t much color on it save a few green lines that circle the water-chamber and a few more at the top spout.  I don’t know who decided that glass bongs should be clear but cleaning the damn things is always a nightmare and there just is not a good option for cleaning them.  Instead the expended carbon just sits on the bottom or coagulates on the rim of the water-chamber, a real nightmare.

 The best way I have found to fill what is commonly called the ‘bowl’ is to remove the piece itself and hold it over the first opened cylinder while I use a pinching mechanic to shuffle mulch into the bowl piece.  I do this so that if I drop it anywhere while trying to fill, it just falls back into its home to be pinched again.  Every time I skip this step of my Wonderful Ritual I leave green confetti everywhere and depending on my state of mind when I find it, it may or may not be cleaned up adequately.  Once it’s loaded it is spongy and loose so I use the back of a pen, or any other flat cylindrical surface to pack it down.  Not so tight that I can’t get a good draw, but enough to create a thick wonderful white smoke without torching the entire face.  This is a lot of technical jargon for something that is pretty easy and I am probably going over board, but it’s my Wonderful Ritual.

Once packing is complete I hit the deck, we don’t smoke inside, but we do however have an outside gas fed fire with an assortment of uncomfortable chairs.  If I am alone on my endeavor I will pull up two chairs to create a haphazard place to recline.  It’s only comfortable for a limited time but as soon as I complete the Wonderful Ritual I can sit, statue like, staring at the sky or the trees or whatever.  All while being serenaded by the speaker box which is belting out whatever designation I or my roommates choose.  Rarely is there something to complain about.          

The Wonderful Ritual is about to close.  I am an addict.  I know what’s coming and while it might not be as exaggerated as other drugs, I look forward to it.  Knowing I am an addict means that I also know this is all I get.  I know my boundaries and I know what I am comfortable with.  I know that shifting to anything harder would be my doom and the destruction of everything I have built my life on.  I also know that one day I will have to give up my Wonderful Ritual.  So today I get to indulge. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.  As I release that breadth I flick the green Bic in my hand to create a small adequate flame and lower that to the top of the bowl.  The mulch turns black, peels, and turns into a little ember as I suck through the spout.  I suck lightly, enough to create a vacuum which pulls the smoke from the bowl and into the water chamber where I am rewarded with a bubbling sound as the smoke rises and coils around the spout.  Another deep breadth but this time instead of pulling clean air I pull the thick white smoke into my lungs and let it simmer.  Cigarette smoke is blue grey mess that hangs in the air, when you pull of a cigarette you pull it into your mouth and mix it with air as you inhale.  Smoking a cigarette is two part mechanic, a draw from the cigarette and then a draw of oxygen into your mouth.   Smoking Marijuana is different; it’s a direct draw system.  Some people seem convinced that the longer you hold it in the better but the reality is that your lungs pull the majority of what they will get in three seconds.  Anything longer than that won’t do much except make it more likely that you will cough strait for the next five minutes.

Some strains I can feel right away, creeping through my body and then my brain as my body reacts to the THC.  Other strains need to mellow and as they do so you get a slow steady affect.  It’s not a hallucinogen, it’s not a psychedelic.  Every strain is different and so are the effects but the one universal is the elevated feeling.  Your brain is still processing information it is just doing so through a filter.

Exhaling towards the stars, my Wonderful Ritual is complete.