All Things Must Pass

 So why not go for a turkey? I think I shall and make another Beatles' reference for the third time. So let the spotlight be on George Harrison this time. The title alludes to his second album, and song of the same name. Harrison's concept seems to be fitting and all, since school is ending and whatnot. Okay cool, a whole tale about freshman year at a community college. Eh, not quite.

 Then comes Friday morning. I didn't see the body, but I heard he was found laying in the ditch. I like to think that it was in the same way as Edgar Allan Poe; not sure why I found this to be better. Probably, because it has this mystery to it all. Didn't really intend it be an ode, but yeah...

For the body was of a cat, but not just a cat. It was my cat, Wilson. He was the subject of some tweets, and the butt of jokes. He was also made the subject of a photo, of him being naughty. By the way, this happened to win over my photography class for some reason? He was inquisitive to the nth degree, when it came to things such as a faucets, water, carrying his toy hedgehog, licking eyebrows, sleeping next to sewing machines, playing with scissors and among other subjects.

Sure he sucked at being a cat, especially a lap cat. In fact he was probably more of a dog than a cat. Okay, he purred and slept everywhere, but he would play fetch and needed someone to let him out, to relieve himself as well as “kitty things.” He had suffered from “pinchy-eye syndrome,”and hadn't mastered the concept of glass (I teased him with shoe laces from the other side). He had the uncanny ability to just appear. I mean, one could just look out window and there would be nothing there, and look away. Not even moments would pass, and one could look back there he would be standing (either wanting to be let in or at least to observe those in the room). He mastered the the ability to tap on the glass, so we would know: “oh, you want to be let in.”

Then it hit me (at 11), he won't be there. Not there, not ever. No more playing with the balusters. I now must re-learn not to wander into the back room, looking to see if he's sleeping by the sewing machine. So niyawh^[1]...

And for some strange reason, unknown to me, “I Shall Be Released” had a ringing echo in my head- well at least the opening line, over and over that day: “they say ev’rything can be replaced.” I call bullshit on that. Either it be towards Dylan or “They.” I continued the day as normal and finished mowing the lawn (elsewhere) for someone that's in need of their lawn being mowed. I started with the lane, for the lane goes back into the woods, and ends at a creek. It's a pretty good stretch.

Anyways, off in the distance there was a shadowy figure, similar looking to that famous hoax. I had gotten closer and saw that it was a goose. Okay big whoop? [UW-]Sheboygan usually has geese at the entrance, whether they're walking near the road or on the road. The goose I was watching had eventually flown away and regrouped with a posse of geese of in the nearest field over yonder. I got closer to the creek where more geese emerged. Some were adults, and there were little fuzzy ones. Weird to describe something with features as fuzzy. I guess I didn't like, that I disturbed their own Walden. That's if geese can have that.

Second time down the road another one walked out of the field. This one had quite the personality, for the way it waddled down the lane was like some old queen that once had the time of his life, but now it's far over. Surprisingly, the goose actually stood his ground for quite some time before he fled. More or less, I was just taking in the now, while listening to Mumford & Sons and having an Astral Weeks moment.

Still, overall the first year wasn't quite the same as NBC's Community (“six seasons and a movie”), though I had learned about rhetoric, and I'm pretty sure that's always a useful tool. Got some pretty sweet pieces of art, that I actually like, done (not to mention I saw a nude lady, oh boy). Met some pretty cool people, who really helped shape this first year, and had many good times at lunch. And I thank them for that. Though, on the downside, most, if not all, are sophomores and won't be returning for next year. Going off to bigger and better. I even met an awesome person in art who likes probably the coolest music out there and had gotten me back into the White Stripes. He had even given me some vinyl rips of the White Stripes and the Raconteurs, only exclusively released on vinyl. There was even a countdown for the release of Blunderbuss. In return, Junior Kimbrough and a Jack White bootleg. Then comes the downside that he's a sophomore and won't be returning next year.

 I suppose that's one way to end freshman year.

 [1] A word that grandma uses quite a bit. It's basically a “sentence/idea ending” type word. It could possibly mean: “moving on” or in some form of agreement. Well at least that's what Rachel and I have concluded.

“I've Got Blisters on Me Fingers!”

If the title (or the artwork) doesn't give away the who's and what's about this, make note that the title does allude to Ringo, after along day of being Ringo (which is basically equivalent to 1/32nd of being Paul McCartney. I’m not too sure if that's legit conversion, just a shot in the dark). Anyways, not to worry, there aren't any descriptive details of oozing blisters and such thing along those lines, because that's just gross.

It's more of a funny story… well, maybe not a funny story, but a real puzzler of a tale. On the morn of Tuesday, I had woken up with blisters upon my fingers. Oh boy. Not too sure what I was doing that made them appear. Especially the ones on my left hand, seeing as a certain string should've help to callous them over. It's just pretty odd and whatnot. Eventually I had ignored them for the day.

There’s nothing like a good art story. During class later that day, I was “drawing,” having “fun” with oil stick. Oil stick is used to mark cows and sometimes draw, but I don't think the cow would appreciate that. It's like using a wet sidewalk caulk, basically. Still weird, drawing on cows. The goal is to draw something from life, which is easier said than done. And on a personal level, I'm digging how this drawing is turning out compared the to the last oil stick I did. Not going to brag, but I got some pretty sweet tooth growing on it.

Of course, after using these oil sticks one's hands can become quite messy, and I don't really want to make more messes elsewhere, so why not clean them? Remember by this time I had forgotten about them. What could go wrong? One does have to scrubbed to get the oil off- it's essentially like paint. And in the processes of the doing that, I had torn one of them. And a couple other things happened. I guess the main point of the matter that I would like to get across was that it hurt, simply.

How I Think "The Ballad of John and Yoko" Went Down

Late one night, weeks ago or so, I was up and listening to Hey Jude with a friend. When the song “The Ballad of John and Yoko” came on, I had my own idea of how it all went down. I had the background knowledge that only John and Paul were the only ones playing on the record. George and Ringo were off doing something that wasn't Beatles-related, how lazy? Anyways, this had gotten me thinking: hey, just Paul and John, that couldn't have been too civil? But what if it been like if they were more friends and Yoko wasn't there. That's something to think about. Sure, I don't go into detail about the actual recording, just the moments leading up to it. And this is how I assumed it went down, something like this- also I assume there's a phone call involved:

--THE TELEPHONE CALL--

SCENE: John Lennon is making a phone call to Paul McCartney about a song idea. Though I’m not sure where he is, but he's probably with Yoko, no doubt. Of course he's probably in bed.

JOHN

[dials number]

“Come on, pick up.”

[looks at his pocket watch and muttering to himself]

“Pick up.”

[sounding even more impatient then before]

CUT TO: Paul McCartney's swing '60s flat and he's wearing his sweater vest from Magical Mystery Tour, because that's what '60s Paul McCartney wears, always. To where he's about to sit down at the table, after having a long day of being Paul McCartney. And he's just about to enjoy his evening meal of Chinese take-out. Maybe Linda's there, but who knows. I'm pretty skeptical that she is.

[phone rings]

PAUL

[looks at the phone and looks down at his meal]

(sighs)

[phone continues to ring and looks back at the phone]

[stuffs food into mouth and answers phone]

“'ello.” (mumbled)

CUT BACK

JOHN

“Paul, I got an idea for a song.”

CUT TO: Paul

PAUL

“Who is this?”

CUT BACK

JOHN

“John.”

“Call up George and the other one.”

“This song must be recorded, immediately!”

CUT TO: Paul

PAUL

“Oh. It's you, John.”

[pause]

“Well, They're both out on 'oliday.”

CUT BACK

JOHN

“Oh, shit!”

[awkward silence]

“Um...” (dragged out) “You wanna do it ourselves?”

CUT TO: Paul

PAUL

“Ah yeah, I do!” (sounds super excited)

FADES OUT

INTERTITLE: 9 Hours of Recording and Mixing Later

Record Store Day

It's done in the similar fashion as 420, being that it's not marked on an “official” calendar, and that there is a certain sort of subculture that participates. This said “holiday” is where one goes to support their local record store, and just to sweeten the deal, certain artists release special edition of albums, singles and etc. There was something that Jack White's Third Man Records in Nashville had released which had blown my mind. Anyways, as for supporting our local record store, Music Boxx, we pretty much did fail at that. I mean we did go to Madison, continuing what we had done last year. This year had a decision: either go with the Art Club to Chicago, or spend Record Store Day with friends in Madison. Still not that sure, I made the right choice. Moving on, so yeah- and like most of these it features the same cast: Cody, Dusty and I.


After leaving at seven, or close to seven, it was roughly around two hours when we arrived in Madison. There we had passed what one would think were the remains of the "Occupy Madison" movement; though it was more like occupy a parking lot. Anyways, we had eventually gotten to the first store, Strictly Discs. Its basement was filled with vinyls. There was an entire room of jazz and the other with mostly rock. We had spent at least an hour in there or so, and at the end I had found two “prison albums” (i.e. At San Quentin and Live in Cook County Jail), a misleading Who album, Stone the Crows, Vanilla Fudge, Rory Gallagher, and Bob Dylan and the Band's Planet Waves. Not too bad for the first stop. And Strictly Discs had given us a magnet with our purchase. Though later I had learned, through a tweet, that Kimya Dawson of the Moldy Peaches had stopped at Strictly Discs just hours later. Just think- Kimya Dawson stood where I had stood. That's pretty neat.


The next store was out on State Street, so we had piled in the Neon and fled the scene. The next stop wasn't so promising, for they didn't have many used records. I mean, they specialized in mostly new vinyl, though that's not all bad, but it is spendy. On the bright side I had found a Jack White single from this forthcoming album, which is released this coming Tuesday [April 24th]. So that's pretty neat. Though for this time they had a basement of used stuff, which wasn't as superior as the one at Strictly Discs. Their basement seemed to be more in its infancy. But still there wasn't that much there. At the checkout there were Sarah Palin brand condoms, which are “as thin as her resume.” Anyways the checkout person was quite surprised by my single, and had wondered if it was a special. She had also offered me a free comic book, but I didn't know what to do with it, so I passed on the offer. And like that it was time for lunch.

As we were walking down State Street there was a gentleman, who at first glance had the appearance of being 'down and out,' and that being talking about change. So sad, but not to worry, his so-called “down and out” appearance had changed when he personally and directly asked me: “Wanna buy some weed?” I suppose I have that type of appearance, meh. Oh well, it could always be worst. Then at a quick glace I had notice his “little green bag” sticking out of his front pocket of his gore-tex jacket. Anyways, he no longer seemed “down and out,” but would turn out to be more “up and in.” So I had handled it the best way that I could have with a response of, “What?!” And with that magic word, the friendly pusherman had apologized for some reason. We continued on walking, and left him to his own profession. The experience itself had worked up an appetite, so we stopped for lunch. The time on the parking meter was running low, so our time upon State Street had come to an end.

The store was Mad-City Music, where I believe I struck gold. I had been looking for some White Stripes vinyls, so I had ventured over to the new vinyl 'W.' There I was hoping to find their debut album or White Blood Cells. Though if I had been adventurous maybe Elephant. So I was flipping through them and Blunderbuss was there! That completely contradicted the poster near there: “JACK WHITE – BLUNDERBUSS – DEBUT ALBUM – APRIL 24.” Well that's something, but oh well. I'll take it. I had just assumed that when I was going to check out that they would be all “oh, sorry we can't sell you that.” But that didn't happen, so good deal. That was just surprise numero uno. My hopes had gotten up when I found a Blood on the Tracks, but then dead when there was a bar-code. So Cody was flipping through some and found Music from Big Pink. Oh boy, that's pretty sweet. I had gone from the pile to the hands like that, though I had to give up Death, to Cody. Still flipping through came another Blood on the Tracks, but still a reissue. Oh darn. And then another surprise had nipped me: Astral Weeks. That's really, really sweet, and something I didn't think I would see. That's going on my pile. Shortly afterward a Blood on theTracks from 1975 was found. As for me, I was pretty well set. Though the most shocking bit was that Dusty wanted to get something by Bruce Springsteen. Wait. Did I hear that right? So I naturally I just had to question this. Apparently he was being a neat guy by being a vinyl cartel for a Whitewater native. Although the Whitewater native could always do better. I mean, it is Springsteen. Why not just listen to Bat Out of Hell? At least that's listenable, just sayin'.

There was one last stop in Madison, though there was an Aidiko studio near, so of course Dusty being an aficionado, he just had to go and check that out. The record store was an odd store, for the vinyl were either priced quite steeply or they were missing the actual disc. It was rather dull, so moving on. Since our time in Madison was done, somehow Cody had convinced Dusty to take us to Milwaukee. This would be Cody's stomping grounds, and this required more driving. By time we left the Madison, the Neon's speedometer had died. Yeah, that common thing… well for the Neon it is. But not to worry for Dusty would hit it occasionally and sometimes it worked and other times it did not. It was a rather bumpy ride to Milwaukee. There we had hit up two more stores. And like that it was all over, and we went back to Sheboygan where we witnessed all three of the Neon's gauges to dead. Though I still have one thought, and that being: “How did I obtain Jack White's debut album three days before it's released?” I suppose I'm just that lucky.


Not sure if I would've have this much fun in Chicago...

Burger King

This isn't me trying to say that Burger King is unorganized or terrible (that can't be, for they have napkins, thus making them classy, said that one person). It's nothing more than a simple personal experience, which could have happened years ago or it might have happened just yesterday. It’s really not that important. To start things off, Burger King is, I assume, famous for the Whopper. Now the Whopper Double is a bigger version of the Whopper. And the Whopper is the smaller version of the Whopper Double, which would make the Whopper Junior the smaller version of that one. I'm pretty I figured that one out right, maybe?

A functioning soda machine would be a good place to start. I mean, most of them have some fluids dripping from one of the nozzles causing the surrounding areas to become sticky. Their Dr. Pepper had a “so much cherry” taste. And their Coca-Cola was nothing to shake a stick at, meaning something along the lines of it didn't have the same Coke taste. No, it wasn't watered down or anything, but that probably would've been better than what it actually tasted like. Also, I'm pretty sure that lady would've wanted the machine to work. Probably because the machine had “attacked” her, through the means of spraying with her choice of soda- see not all bad. I mean, that's too bad.

The Whopper’s fixings were falling apart. I don't think it was assembled right, but who's me to be the judge. It's not like my “vegetables” were falling out or anything. Not to worry, I had corrected the error with some simple rearranging. The fries were something. But at least on the bright side they did have a great idea.

On a completely separate note, it was recently brought to my attention Lucille Bogan's “Shave 'em Dry,” from 1935. Okay cool, the mid-1930s, right? Then of course there's Jelly Roll Morton's “The Dirty Dozen,” from 1938. Alright! Another song from the '30s. And it just the “prefect” song for this hypothetical: if both the songs were played on radio that FFC has control over. So, of the two songs, which one of them would be pulled first? I probably should make a note that there's some profanity, but I don't really feel like doing that. And it would just defeat the element of surprise. So, oh well.

If Thankskilling Had More of an Easter Theme

Just because mostly everyone's doing it [having some form of an Easter post] I thought, why not? It started sometime a while back, while searching through Netflix one time at a friend's house. There in the gutter of Netflix's eclectic-ness was a film with the description the included “... homicidal turkey …” It was more or less an “okay, I'll bite” moment. By the way, the movie was called Thankskilling. Anyway, the film is a (quite) low-budget film and the only “known” actress was an adult film star. Like I had said, there is a homicidal turkey that is basically a hand puppet, and has a fowl mouth. Ultimately, the turkey pillages and plunders (murders and fornicates) a group of college students. Anyways it probably has some sort of a cult following, but less than Troll 2 and not nearly as cool as anything Ed Wood did. But that's just me. Now the hypothetical is: what if Thankskilling had been more suited for the Easter holiday?

Well, I could see it having some of the similar plot. Instead of a turkey puppet, maybe perhaps a macramé rabbit could be used since has a connection with Easter, and a macramé rabbit would just make it seem more realistic than a puppet. A puppet is just so two thousand and late; I assume kids are looking for more macramé. Plus that way it would be far removed so it wouldn't be similar to that of the Rabbit of Caerbannog. Moving on, it is a demonic bunny, since now it is Easter themed, and has some sort of spat with teenagers, who are probably on their cellphones- damn kids and their rap music. Don't worry, it's all rhetorical.

I see the rabbit as having the ability to talk and turn into a clip art of hasenpfeffer. You know… that common thing. Not to mention that the rabbit likes to make puns or some sort of word plays that makes the audience go “ugh.” And then it basically goes on from there. The rabbit attacks the students in numerous ways, such as serving eggs to the one student who is very allergic to eggs, because it works that well. He then offs a couple more, till there's very few left. The remaining few figure out what's going on, learn about their antagonist, and find a specific way to defeat it (which of course is all mentioned in a specific topic that one of the students has back at their house). It finally ends and they sit down to have their Easter dinner, which isn't ham. Oh no, it just so happens to be hasenpfeffer. And that's about it. Then again, one could go out on a limb and make some sort of blasphemous ending comment, such as “he is risen,” which then can be used for a subtle hint of a sequel which is probably as low-budget as the first. And that would be that. Before I forget, Happy Easter.

Fear and Loathing in (UW-)Whitewater (Part III)

Maybe we had walked down some stairs or something- well it was in the basement. Nothing too exciting down there, we had passed a broken bubbler which, by the way, is the proper name for it, continued down a hall towards wherever Dusty had been leading us to. Either we had stopped in an Apple Lab for a moment, or that was just a figment of Phil's imagination. Thank God we had gotten out of there before Phil could get any more excited. Though this wasn't the room that Dusty had intended. He had led us to a small room with two chairs and an electric piano. Not a cool electric piano like a Wurlitzer (you know, type like Ray Charles used in “What'd I Say“). For some reason Dusty has wanted to hear a harpsichord tune or something. Okay, sure why not? Well I didn't; I tried and played, from what I could remember of the Pumpkins' “Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness.” That lasted only for a moment and then we went back to a lounge area. There we sat. And sat for a while.

Cody and I had amused ourselves at the table while the others played the “nervous game” or some shit like that. Upon the table there was the Whitewater school paper. Sure, their school newspaper may be bigger than The Voice, however there's one thing The Voice has over them: coupons to Culver's. And Culver's coupons are extremely important. There were also some taped together branches for some sort of an arts and crafts time, and some alcohol awareness thing. While sitting or waiting, there were three large women, who I assumed to be be-drunken, who waddled up the stairs. And they were quite loud. If they weren't large or women, it still makes a better story. We just sat there. Well almost all of us, Stueven had gone off somewhere to talk to his betroth… for quite some time. The rest of us continued to sit. Eventually I ran out of sit and explored my surroundings, such as the Mr. “Geddy” Lee, which by the way doesn't look like Geddy Lee at all, he looks more like former-president Truman. You know, Harry S. Of course, that common thing. Near the portrait there was a handmade poster with “Bowling for Boobies.” Okay. I'll bite.

I'm pretty sure the rest lost the sit in them and we returned to Dusty's room. We went up the stairs and through the hallway back to the dorm to where one found none other than Kenny, who was doing something (probably playing Mass Effect). Eventually he had ended his game, and we tried to watch a movie. I’m not too sure what movie it was but it did star Mark Wahlberg. Alas, it was early and I don't think anyone was paying attention anyways. (Though I could be wrong.) A Whitewater native had sneaked in Dusty's room and used it as sanctuary. He was hiding from the RAs. As Kenny put it; he was “balding,” a Whitewater term for being under the influence. After an hour of the movie or less than that we all had given up with trying to watch, so we tried to sleep.

The sleeping arrangements were most peculiar: two beds, one floor, and a futon. Although the two Whitewater natives got their respected beds. The floor was to Carter, and in addition to the floor he had gotten my pillow. Though with a pillow case of the Packer kind, it would only make sense more to him than me, I suppose. And the futon was shared between Stueven, Cody, Phil and I. So yeah, four guys… sounds hot, doesn't it?

It was like something out of Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice. Wait, that's a terrible reference; it doesn't really apply at all (and it's probably out-dated, and not all walks of life will/would get it). Sure, there were four bodies, but we were all guys, we weren't couples, we weren't exploring free love, and most importantly we weren't in a bed. Although Kenny had offered to return to his “room,” though that wouldn't be too nice. I mean, throwing him back to a room that smelled of “shame, sweat, and disappointment” would just be cruel. And yet, oh how much I would give for a bed. Believe it or not, but surprisingly I'm not the tallest. However, in this strange turn of events I was just tall enough to have my legs dangle off the edge. Then to top it all off, there was all this ploy-rhythmic wall of snores, coming from all round me. I had this thought floating in the back of my mind, “I can't sleep in this shit.”

To the person on the right of me, I was pretty sure he was tossing and turning, and for some reason smothering himself with his pillow. Though I don't really remember, but I'm also convinced the person on my right had touched asses. Certainly a nightmare. That’s weird. Maybe the floor or Dusty's bed wasn't sounding that bad after all. Like I had mentioned earlier about the snoring, there was this loud obnoxious snore from person on my far left, at the time I described as “the sound of a person, who hated Apple products.” That doesn't really make much sense. Could one tell I was sleepy? Later I was told that I wasn't the only one annoyed by the loud snorer. Someone had punched him, and surprisingly it had worked. Though it had stopped, he still had mumbled “goddam it, son of a bitch.” And that's that, I would suppose. Phil was still one sick puppy, sleeping with his shoes (and jacket) on. That's just gross.

I must've fallen sleep, because I remember waking up. Though I'm quite puzzled by how that had happened. My legs hurt. Dusty didn't want to bring us through the Whitewater eatery. I think he's embarrassed by us? Of all the places one could eat at Whitewater and the city, we went to MacDon's. Oh, that's fancy, not like I could find one of those in Sheboygan. So yeah, we ate there, Stueven made a mess, and we went back to the school. Alas we needed a group photo to at least prove that Whitewater existed and that we were actually there. There was a couple who helped take the group picture. They were driving a Sebring which prompted Cody to say: “first compliment them on their Sebring and then tell them that their engine's going to die.” He did have emotional ties with Sebrings. So the couple was nice enough to do what we had asked. Then it was time for the big goodbye. And then we had left Dusty to fear and loath in Whitewater, by his self. Hours later it had ended on the road with Blind Melon's “No Rain” playing. I think that's a fitting end to a place that was in the middle of nowhere.

Though of course there was Dylan's proto-rap song, “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” which was later, and came on my way home. One just has to play it loud... Sure did any of these experiences or blurry pictures prove that Whitewater actually existed? But who knows, I'm not there, I'm gone. We must have done something right, at least I think. I mean it felt like we had lost an hour. Not only did we lose time, but one didn't come home with us. Indeed, we left to him to fend for himself in Milwaukee. I don't think I had learned that much of anything, except maybe a certain pair of people, who'll remain nameless, had this whole Verlaine and Rimbaud... well, that's just my thought. And sure there was this whole “we had to bring the entertainment and food” type of deal. Really Dusty? Maybe one should redefine their definition of being a “host.” But still it was nice to get out of Sheboygan. That's always a plus. I had gotten a couple of tweets out of this, that's good. I almost forgot, I had gotten a Ralph Steadman-like doodle. And yet I don't believe that I found the great American dream, but I might have...