A Free Man

Well, gentle readers, you’ve been incredibly tolerant of my college football obsession this season and for that I’m grateful. Many of you will be happy to hear that this weekend marks the end of the regular season and thus, the end of Deep South Smack Talk. But we’re going out with a bang - it’s Clean, Old-Fashioned Hate week, the annual stomping of Atlanta’s North Avenue Trade School by their betters to the east in Athens.

Speaking for the Nerd Herd this week, I have one of my favorite bloggers. Courtney can flat out write, but she has questionable allegiances when it comes to college football.

Greetings and happy post-Thanksgiving, readers of A Free Man. Courtney here, proprietor of Malfeasance and die-hard Georgia Tech fan, born and bred. As such, it’s in my blood to believe the University (sic) of Georgia is nothing less than the gaping maw of hell, and all those who enter it are illiterate hillbillies who don’t know how to properly spell the word “dog.” No doubt you all think A Free Man is quite the thoughtful and intelligent blogger, and I agree with you a vast majority of the time. But on those 11 to 12 Saturdays a year when he cheers on his pathetic alma mater? Illiterate hillbilly.

As rivalries go, the GT/U(sic)GA one is rather lopsided. Ask your average Georgia fan who he or she considers to be the school’s biggest rival, and no doubt that person will answer Florida or Tennessee (not this year) or possibly Alabama. Georgia Tech may be its in-state rivalry, but let’s be honest — Tech hasn’t been much of a threat for the past few years. If memory serves me correctly, Tech has lost this game for the past six years straight.* It has effectively ruined the past six Thanksgivings for me. And when U(sic)GA was seeded #1 at the beginning of this season, it looked like the Yellow Jackets’ hopes would all but certainly be dashed again this year.

But they won’t. Not this year. Georgia Tech is going to beat the wrinkles right out of that smush-faced dog’s jaws on Saturday, and if you’re doubtful, I’ll now outline a five-point plan to convince you of the Jackets’ superiority.

1. The losses of the past six years all came under the leadership of Chan Gailey. Gailey was fired last year, and new coach Paul Johnson has whipped the Jackets into shape this year. The Curse of Gailey is gone, and in its place is the Age of Bulldog-Stomping.

2. Tech beat No. 23 Miami last week. And looked damn good doing it, if I do say so myself. If we can beat Miami, we can beat Georgia.

3.  Three words: Triple option offense. Call it old-school if you must, but it’s been working for Tech this year. Seventh in the nation in rushing yards per game, people. If U(sic)GA’s defense wants to stand a chance against it, they’d better wake up and quit daydreaming about the turkey their sister-cousin made in the double-wide yesterday.

4. Georgia is crazy overrated. And unholy. Just sayin’.

5.  Barack Obama. That guy successfully based his campaign on change, and damn if this isn’t a change I can believe in. Make it happen, Mr. President-Elect.

I think this should effectively seal the deal: Jackets rule, Bulldogs drool. In a big way. Seriously, it’s disgusting.

My prediction: Georgia Tech 42, University (sic) of Georgia 21.

“Oh, if I had a daughter, sir, I’d dress her in white and gold And put her on the campus to cheer the brave and bold. But if I had a son, sir, I’d tell you what he’d do: He would yell, ‘TO HELL WITH GEORGIA’ like his daddy used to do!”

GO JACKETS!

And in response, you underwhelming correspondent…

For most of my time at the University of Georgia, I didn’t really get the Georgia-Georgia Tech rivalry. Not being a Georgia native, I didn’t have the historical perspective, the years of intra-state feuding that . The Florida Gators were, and still are, my natural enemy. But that all changed on Thanksgiving weekend 1998. I had to be back for classes on Monday and started the long drive to Athens from north Florida about midway through the game. I figured it was pretty safe, I mean we had beaten the Gnats seven years in a row, how likely was it that they would pull something out this year? I listened to the game on the radio as I drove back towards school on I-75.

Well, that game didn’t go as planned, the Techies won on a last second Brad Chambers field goal that was set up under extremely dodgy circumstances. Circumstances that made me so apoplectic that I had to pull off at one of the free orange juice stands that litter south Georgia lest I crash into the median. Of course, we’ve since learned that Tech coach George O’Leary was using ineligible players that year. That about sums up Tech, the only way they beat us is by cheating.

Since that Thanksgiving I’ve developed a healthy loathing of the ‘Dawgs in state rival. It’s true that Tech is probably the best trade school south of the Carolinas, but that only goes so far. Have you ever been unfortunate enough to be seated next to a computer engineer at a dinner party? You probably don’t remember because you drank yourself into oblivion to try to assuage the boredom. The University of Georgia offers her students a well rounded educational opportunity, preparing alumni for not only their careers but for a full and joyful life. A UGA graduate is the complete package - intelligent, interesting, and damn fine looking examples of humanity. These, my friends, are the advantage of a liberal arts education.

But back to the task at hand - the game. We’re in a similar place this year as we were back in ‘98. Georgia has again won seven in a row against the Gnats. The Nerd Herd has put together a cute little season and is ranked in the Top 25. But the difference this year is that the ACC is battling with the Sun Belt for the honor of worst conference in Division I college football. So, a 4-4 record in ACC play is kind of a dubious honor. Yes, the Techies put a hurting on Miami, which may have been impressive if it was 2001. The Dawgs on the other hand have put together a 9-2 season in the toughest conference in college football, with losses coming to two potential National Championship contenders. And, the game is on our turf and we don’t let the Techies win between the hedges.

Let me just break this game down plain and simple. I know that Techies deal with numbers better than words, so here’s a seven point response to Courtney’s five point plan:

1. 2001 - Georgia 31, Georgia Tech 17
2. 2002 - Georgia 51, Georgia Tech 7
3. 2003 - Georgia 34, Georgia Tech 17
4. 2004 - Georgia 19, Georgia Tech 13
5. 2005 - Georgia 14, Georgia Tech 7
6. 2006 - Georgia 15, Georgia Tech 12
7. 2007 - Georgia 31, Georgia Tech 17

Shall we go for #8? I’m fairly certain that is what is going to happen between the hedges on Saturday. Bring on the yellow bellied whipping boys.

Oh, and Courtney, Barack Obama is a ‘Dawg fan.

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Georgia Tech at Georgia kicks off at 12:00 Eastern (3:30 a.m. Sunday in Adelaide) on CBS. Expat fans can watch the game online by using a loophole to get around CBS’ U.S. only regulations. Send me an e-mail (chris[at]afreeman[dot]org) if you want to know how. A Free Family is going away for the weekend, so chances are I won’t have a chance to watch this one, but I’m pretty sure that everyone except a few delusional math majors on North Avenue know what is going to happen.

Green Day’s 1997 record “Nimrod” is available from .

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* It’s actually seven years in a row, Courtney.

 

 Green Day - "Platypus (I Hate You)" [2:22m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 65% [?]

A Free Man is taking the day off from the internets to do some of that tedious work stuff, but I didn’t want to leave my gentle readers high and dry. Some of you may remember that Chris of Formerly Fun was kind enough to give me the day off last week with her guest post. Well, she somehow coerced me into a discussion of a topic that I typically avoid like Somali pirates - female body image. Check out my self-immolation over at Formerly Fun’s place.

I’ll be back here later for the last Deep South Smack Talk of the season - the Clean, Old Fashioned Hate edition.

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I have no idea what Canadian artist Richard Marchand’s illustration “Gone Fishin’” has to do with fishing, but it seemed dead appropriate for my guest post today.

Popularity: 55% [?]

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It’s the one holiday that is about gratitude, the one holiday that hasn’t been contaminated with rampant consumerism (although I imagine turkey farmers do pretty well this time of year). It’s all about friends and family and cooking up an indulgent dinner in the gloomy tail of autumn. For the last four years as an expatriate living in countries in which the fourth Thursday in November is just another work day I’ve managed to celebrate Thanksgiving. Usually it involved a group of hastily assembled Brits who were slightly confused as to why we were eating turkey in November.

But this year, I screwed it up. I’m still getting used to the Southern Hemisphere seasonal reversal and as November ticked away the days got longer rather than shorter, sunnier rather than cloudier and warmer rather than colder. I knew that Thanksgiving was coming up, I mean I can read a calendar, but I procrastinated my way into a hole. I didn’t make plans. So, A Free Man’s Thanksgiving will be notably lacking in turkey, stuffing, pumpkin, football and fellowship this year.

But one of the endearing things about Thanksgiving is that it is in large part a state of mind. I’ve got a lot to be thankful for, I’ve got a lot of gratitude. I’ll spend the day being grateful for all the wonderful things in my life rather than flagellating myself for procrastination.

And I’ve got Arlo Guthrie. And I’ve got the masacree in four part harmony. My Dad subjected me and my sister to Guthrie’s twenty minute Thanksgiving epic every year for as long as I can remember. That is a Thanksgiving tradition that I can handle. So, to amend for my laziness, this year I’ll play Boy Z “Alice’s Restaurant”, make up a batch of turkey curry and make a Thanksgiving resolution to get my shit together next year. To my American readers - have a fantastic Thanksgiving. And remember, if you want to end war and stuff you’ve got to sing loud:

You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant
You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant
Walk right in it’s around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant.

Maybe if you sing it with me in four part harmony and with feeling I’ll be able to hear it from Down Under.

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Image Credits:

Turkey Australia

Arlo Guthrie

Get Arlo Guthrie’s classic album “Alice’s Restaurant” from .

 

 Arlo Guthrie - "Alice's Restaurant": Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 61% [?]

Today is my birthday. I’m sure that your gift is on its way Down Under and I’ll give you a pass on it being late due to the long travel time from the rest of the world. I’m officially in my late 30’s as of today and I’m beginning to see some of the inevitable effects of age. Nonetheless, I’m happier today at 37 than I ever was at 27, 17 or 7. That being said, I wouldn’t mind paring a few years off - 33 was pretty good…

Now that my brain has recovered slightly from a day at home with a toddler/terrorist, I’m going to try to put together a proper post. I don’t want to talk about myself - did enough of that last week. But the combination of my one say a week as a SAHD and a post that People In The Sun wrote last week got the rusty gears in my mind slowly grinding. Like him, I spend a fair bit of time on my Dad on this site, but not so much about my Mom. I think the reason for this is, as a new Dad, I can now relate to my own Dad’s experience. This was certainly not always the case, but we’ll leave that aside for now.

So, on my birthday I want to talk a little bit about my Mom, who had a minor role in my birthday. My Mom was a stay-at-home parent for a good part of the 70s and early 80s - making our lunches, getting us off to school and greeting us at the end of the day. Once we got a bit older she went back to work part-time, starting off as a receptionist in a doctor’s office and over the years moving her way up to become the office manager for another group of doctors. In the spirit of building a better mouse trap, Mom decided at some point that working for other people was for suckers. She set up her own medical billing business amongst disused exercise equipment and spare computer parts in her spare room. Writing as someone who tried (and failed) to run a home-based business I know just how difficult a gig this can be. Mom however, had the determination, organization and work ethic that it takes to run a business, she took to it naturally. She worked hard and the business started to grow slowly.  She expanded it to the point that she began to take on employees and then moved out of the home office and into a building downtown. She expanded it to the point that when my Dad was laid off/made redundant/offered early retirement that she was able to employ him full time. For the past several years, both of my parents have made their livings working for the company that my Mom started in her spare bedroom.

A year or so ago my parents made the decision that it was time to retire. They put the business on the market, hoping for a modest addition to their retirement savings. After a few months of nibbles and deals falling through, Mom is putting the finishing touches* on a deal that approaches half a million dollars. That will be a nice little retirement nest egg and will buy lots of flights to Oz to see their grandson.

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*I hope I’m not jinxing it here - I’m pretty sure that the sale has gone through.

** The photos for this post are gifts that I’ve received for my birthday this year. I’ll be sure to put a photo of your’s up when it arrives.

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Brooklyn, New York’s Oxford Collapse released their fourth LP “BITS” back in August. Buy the CD here.

 

 Oxford Collapse - "The Birthday Wars" [2:14m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 63% [?]

All of you stay at home parents have my respect. One day a week of it leaves me feeling like I’ve been lobotomized with a butter knife. Don’t get me wrong, I love it and am grateful that I have the time to spend with the boy. Call me a masochist.

Thanks for the finger painting idea, Jennifer. Although, the dog is blaming you for his new blue coat.

Back with you all when my brain regains the capacity for cogent thought.

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I’m not a huge Herbie Hancock fan, but this track is as close a musical approximation of a day with Boy Z that I can imagine. Get more music by Hancock (for free) from eMusic.

 

 Herbie Hancock - "Finger Painting" [6:45m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 62% [?]

About midway through Yann Martell’s Man Booker Prize winning novel “The Life of Pi”, the protagonist finds himself washed up on an island populated solely by meerkats. After a time on the island he begins to suspect that all is not as it seems - the meerkats take to the trees every night and one day Pi takes a bite of a fruit growing from one of the island’s trees and finds human teeth inside. It begins to dawn on him that the island is carnivorous, each night digesting anything that has the misfortune to remain on the ground.

For some reason, Pi’s carnivorous island was the first thing that popped into my head when I heard a news story on the NewsHours with Jim Lehrer podcast recently about what was described as our rapidly growing eight continent. There are no meerkats and it is not strictly carnivorous and it’s not really an island, but the Great Pacific Garbage Dump is as disturbing and potentially dangerous as Martell’s fantasy island.

My initial reaction to the NewsHour report is that it was a typical case of what tends to be a melodramatic and lacking in understanding response of the mainstream news media to a juicy science story. Surely there isn’t a continent of garbage out in the Pacific Ocean. The good news is that the media has overreacted, “continent” is not the right word. The Great Pacific Garbage Dump is not visible from the air (because most of it lies slightly below the surface of the water) nor does it have a particular nautical position (due to the shifting wind directions and currents). The bad news is that there are two massive accumulations of plastic waste swirling around in the doldrums of the northern Pacific Ocean. Charles Moore, the founder of the Algalita Marine Research Foundation and the man who had the misfortune of discovering the dump, estimates that the plastic garbage in the Pacific covers approximately five million square miles (about 1.5 times the land mass of the United States) and contains over 3.5 million tons of largely consumer waste.

By most accounts the trash finds its way to its home in the North Pacific through a long and circuitous route. Trash is dumped into rivers, in both North and South America and Asia, that empty into the Pacific. Ocean currents carry the trash, picking up more debris as it travels, around the Pacific before depositing it in the doldrums of the North Pacific Gyre. 80% of the trash in the ocean originates on land and a majority of that is from consumer products. Thus, it is a hard truth that we - you and I - are the problem. Here is how it works: say that you inadvertantly drop some innocuous bit of plastic - a clear plastic wrapper from a box of candy. The next time it rains, that wrapper gets washed into a storm drain which will flow into your nearest watershed and ultimately into the ocean. That little wrapper floats its way around the Pacific currents until it comes to rest in the Gyre where it will join the rest of the trash. This plastic waste will be around longer than you and I, longer than our children, longer than our grandchildren, longer than our great-grandchildren. Nobody really knows how long it takes for plastic to biodegrade because it basically doesn’t. Conservative estimates are around 450 - 500 years. We are creating a problem that will outlive us by centuries.

It isn’t just an aesthetic problem. In short, it’s devastating to marine ecosystems. Forty percent of albatross chicks are killed each year by consuming plastic accidentally fed to them by their parents. More than a million birds and marine animals die each year from consuming or becoming caught in plastic and other debris. But there is a less obvious and more frightening consequence to our trashing of the oceans. Moore’s group does a lot of research into the ecological effects of plastic debris on marine ecosystems. Recently they have been looking at plastic particulate levels in and around the Garbage Patch. The small bits of plastic that are a byproduct of the slow degradation of the plastic debris have been found to accumulate a lot of nasty chemicals - polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, chlorinated and legacy pesticides and hormonally active additives. This latter class are particularly nasty beasties, some of which have been implicated in an increased risk of breast cancer. Moore and his colleagues found that the ratio of plastic particles to plankton in the Gyre was between 1.4:1 and 6.9:1. In other words, there is more plastic particulate matter in this part of the ocean than there is plankton. You don’t have to be a biologist or have an in depth knowledge of food chains to recognize what this means: small fish eat plankton (or plastic particles), big fish eat small fish, humans eat big fish. We are eating our own toxic garbage.

I don’t wish to sound melodramatic or preachy but this is a problem that is getting worse on a daily basis and one that we cannot repair. We can, however, do something to slow the accumulation of rubbish in the oceans. 80% of the trash out there comes from us directly, so it is up to us to do something to make it better.

Here are ten things we can do about it:

1. Don’t use so much plastic. Make a concerted effort to reduce the amount of plastic that you purchase. It’s not easy. I’ve been making a concerted effort since I heard this story and it’s absolutely stunning how much excess plastic you get when you purchase anything. Note how much plastic crap you come home with on your next trip to the supermarket. Preferentially purchase items packaged in glass or paper. Virtually any material is better than plastic.
2. I’m a beach bum. Roughly 10% of the crap out in the Pacific comes from trash left on beaches. So, don’t leave trash on beaches and maybe pick some of it up when you’re out there. Boy Z, Timmins and I are headed out to the beach shortly and I’m bringing a bag with me to pick up.
3. Recycle. Plastic recycling is very low efficiency - only about 3.5% of plastic is recycled in any way. This is due in part to contamination of plastics with non-plastics, food waste and non-recyclable plastics. Clean up your plastic before recycling and make sure that you only include recyclable plastics. If your community does not recycle plastic then demand that they do.
4. Along the same lines, buy recycled products or products containing recycled materials.
5. This is kind of a no-brainer. But do not litter. Most of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch is thought to be a result of litter working its way into the river system.
6. Consider volunteering or donating to the Algalita Marine Research Foundation or other environmental organizations.
7. Think about the watershed when cleaning up around your hose. Sweep your sidewalks rather than hosing them. Wash your car on the grass so that the water sinks into the ground rather than storm drains.
8. When you go shopping do not take a plastic bag. Use a cloth or other reusable bag.
9. Buy in bulk. Most of the plastic that you bring home with you from the shop is packaging, the higher the product to packaging ratio, the less trash generated.
10. For god’s sake, don’t use so much plastic.

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Image credits:

Plastic trash

North Pacific Gyre Map

Food chain

I was leaning towards Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees” for this post, as it seemed appropriately gloomy. But, The Kinks have been in my head lately, possibly because they are apparently reuniting.

 

 The Kinks - "Plastic Man" [3:06m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 58% [?]

It was a perfect Spring Sunday in South Australia today.

In the spirit of rebirth and new beginnings, I thought it would be a graceful gesture to make peace with my avian adversaries. Some of you may remember that winter was awash with bellicose encounters with our fine feathered friends. Well, it has been a long and - for both sides - relatively fruitless campaign. Both birds and Free Men still occupy the same turf, neither cowed, neither beaten. I thought it was time to step up and be the bigger man (or bird) and to extend an olive branch.

Boy Z marched onto the field with a peace offering…

…which was gratefully received by the opposition.

Former combatants joined together in a veritable feast of love and peace.

Unfortunately, there are apparently a few dead enders left out there.*

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This track is one of my favorites from Patti Smith’s seminal “Horses” which can be purchased at or, even better, your local independent record store.

* Comments about my hair - or lack thereof - are unwelcome.

 

 Patti Smith - "Birdland": Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 55% [?]

There’s no football this week, well no Georgia football this week. But I’ve gotten pretty comfortable with having a guest do my job for me on Friday - I am, like the Dude, a lazy man. In fact, in an effort to improve the quality of writing here at A Free Man, I’m thinking of inviting a weekly guest poster after the football season ends, probably on Tuesdays when I spend the day with Boy Z.

This week, I’m happy to have one of my favorite lady bloggers holding down the fort. She’s got every teenage boy’s dream job and is the mother of my future daughter-in-law but beyond that, she’s one of the sharpest writers around. If you’re not reading her blog then you should be. I hope y’all will give a warm welcome to Chris from Formerly Fun who has managed to nicely fit into 90’s week:

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When Chris asked me to guest post of course I said yes and went about thinking about what I would write. He gathers a pretty intelligent crowd, many of whom are parents, so I thought I might expound on a recent fixation of mine, the consumerization of children. Of course, maybe you dear readers need a break from the serious and would rather hear about my days as a Brazilian bikini waxer. Still, this site, while not highbrow, maintains a certain standard that no doubt precludes talking about the ins and outs of chacha waxing.

Later, I got a second email from Chris narrowing my choices, the theme would be 1995. 1995? Color me stumped, I didn’t know what to write. In 1995, I was twenty-one, finishing my last year of college. I had taken the LSAT and scored in the top 7%* in the country, I had limitless options as far as law schools went but I could not get my head around whether or not I actually wanted to be a lawyer. Did I want to travel? Tired of being poor, should I get a job? I know one part of me wanted to write, even then, however, in my family “artistic” pursuits got shelved for “real jobs”. I never really thought it was an option. I had so many people telling me what I should and shouldn’t do that I couldn’t hear myself think.

I look back to those days, really not that long ago and hardly recognize myself. Those were probably some of the most difficult days for me, that tumultuous transition between childhood and adulthood. Not legal adulthood mind you, but adult in the sense that you truly take care of yourself and make your own decisions. I was terribly unsure of myself back then. I was still living under the roof of my very opinionated mother, running almost every decision past her because I didn’t trust myself. I was, and continue to be, the extroverted introvert. Shy and slightly uncomfortable in social situations, being funny and gregarious is my defense mechanism to overcome that anxiety. I only appear socially adept.

I thought about how much of what I know now I wish I had known then. I imagine sitting down with my twenty-one year old self. What would I tell her if I had the chance? How could I better prepare her? I’m sure the things I’d say will continue to evolve, but at thirty-five, this is what I’d pass along.

1. You are not the only one who is insecure and unsure of yourself, in this regard, you are just like everyone else which should be comforting.
2. Don’t be ashamed or embarrassed about being smart, later on you’ll find the best men like the smart girls.
3. You need some breathing room away from your family to figure out who you are and what you want.
4. With regard to said family, just so you know, they’re not always right.
5. Tennis? Volleyball? Ballet? So what if you’re hopelessly uncoordinated? Especially since really, you’re not, your just so self conscious that you get yourself all torqued up and forget how to move your body. These are things you want to try, so what if you look silly, what do you care? Guess what? Most people are too self-absorbed to care what you’re doing anyway.
6. Stop being so afraid of failing. You think half the people out there are misguided and misinformed anyway so why do you care what they think?
7. You think you’re not pretty and you need to figure out why you think that because it’s not true.
8. Go easy on the carbs and you’ll lose that babyfat. Stop eating salads with ranch dressing and cheese, in spite of what you think, this is not going to help you lose weight and frankly, it tastes awful.
9. Your parents can only give you the tools they have so you are not going to be armed with everything you need. Some things you’ll figure out the hard way, other tools you can get through some keen observation, the latter is far easier.
10. You got the short straw in the dad department. His behavior has absolutely nothing to do with you. You don’t deserve it, you didn’t do anything to cause it. You are not difficult to love and in time, you will figure out how to trust men again.
11. With regard to men, you seriously have to expect more.
12. That thing you do, you know the thing I’m talking about, you need to stop doing it on the first date.
13. Get yourself a good therapist(see #9 & #10, and really, probably #11 & #12 too)
14. Clean up those eyebrows already, bushy brows are so 1995.
15. One word, sunscreen.
16. Quit smoking today.
17. Trust your gut. Whether it’s school, men, friends, you know more than you think you do.

*I never actually attended law school so that 7% is the sum of my bragging rights.

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This Green Day track was Chris’ choice and I think I see why. “Dookie” came out in ‘95 and I love it now as much as I did then - it’s just masterful pop-punk. Buy the album from or, even better, your local independent record store.

 

 Green Day - "She" [2:14m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Popularity: 62% [?]

It appears to have become, by default, 90’s week here at A Free Man. The thing is, that I don’t really like getting too deep into really personal things on this site. As Jamie correctly noted the other day, I present a persona on this site - one that I’m comfortable with people seeing, one that’s often a smudgy reflection of reality at best (as Dr. O’C is occasionally kind enough to point out). I don’t really like to throw things out on the internets that are too personal or too sensitive. But, I like to keep the customer satisfied and as this story seems to fit in this week of self-indulgent retrospection, without further prelude here is the story of my brief ‘marriage’.

Her name was Beth, not Elizabeth, Beth. I don’t remember where I met her, I’ve blocked most of it out over time. It was most likely one of the Capitol Hill coffee shops that I lurked around smoking and reading. We would have talked frantically and excitedly, the way that you do when you meet a common spirit in a world full of strangers. We would have talked about music, the common denominator for most of the people that had emigrated west to Seattle in the early nineties. She had fled the stifling Western suburbs of Chicago (Wayne and Garth country) to find out what was happening in  Seatown. She was tall, with auburn hair a tone so deep that it could only have come from a bottle. She was pale and carried the fierce features of her Germanic ancestors. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but carried herself with a straight backed arrogance that I found irresistibly attractive. She was a cat person and like her feline friends was fickle, cold and ultimately disloyal.

The dates sort of run together, but I’m pretty sure we first met in the late summer of 1993, a time that Seattle still held the promise of the life I was looking for.  Our courtship was intense and fast paced, once we determined our compatibility we went for it and it slipped out of control. We moved in together early in 1994, to a woody top floor apartment on the west side of Capitol Hill. The place had an absolutely stunning view of the city skyline and Elliot Bay to the west and on clear days, Mount Rainier to the south. We painted the place in dark, funky colors and papered the walls with show posters and photos. To all appearances it was a happy hipster home.

We both liked music and we both liked to get wild, beyond that there wasn’t much there. We were more partners in crime than lovers. We fed off of each others self-destructive impulses and haunted the clubs of Seattle all through that year. I only have a couple of fond memories, again likely through intentional amnesia, but I remember the fights. Beth fought like a cat as well, screeching and nasty and claws extended. She liked to throw things. I had been taught that you never hit a woman so I took a lot of blunt objects to the head. Thank god for narcotics - they numb the pain of a marble bookend to the temple.

I don’t know why we decided to get married. In hindsight, I think that it was because - despite my rebellious, bohemian lifestyle - I wanted the Blue Sky dream that my parents generation had. I wanted a house and a pretty wife and a couple of pretty kids. I had never had much success with women and I figured that I better take the opportunity that presented itself. So one day in the summer of ‘94 I asked and she - and you’d have to ask her why - accepted.

The only time that I remember being happy with Beth was in the wedding preparations. She took to wedding planning like a cat to a bucket full of mice. She was going to design a wedding appropriate to our ‘alternative’ lifestyle. We didn’t have a ton of money and her parents were unwilling or incapable of paying for the wedding, so my parents offered to help us out. Beth spent my parents money with a kind of frightening verve, nothing but the finest for her wedding.

Despite offering to pony up for the bill,  my parents, particularly my Mom, were not exactly thrilled about the impending nuptials. My Mom told me that, at 22, I was too young to get married. I reminded her that she was married at 21. She tried, and failed, to convince me that she at 21 was far more prepared for marriage than I was at 22. In hindsight she was absolutely right, but at the time I didn’t hear her.

The day came, a rare cool and bright day in October. The wedding itself went off without a hitch and to Beth’s credit it was a beautiful day. We headed to Mexico for the honeymoon - Guadalajara and the Pacific coast. And for that week, I really thought it was going to work. For that week, lazing in the tropics, it seemed as if we had made the right decision. As we flew back into to Sea-Tac, into the gloomy Pacific Northwest autumn, I had high hopes for a life together.

And then a few months later it was over. She came in from work one day and told me she didn’t want to be married, had made a mistake. I was stunned. Surely it was far too soon to make that choice. Surely this was something that we could work out. Surely. But her mind was made up and she had already made arrangements to leave and after a couple of hours of angry tears she was gone.

But not really gone. Seattle at the time was more a collection of small towns than a city proper. We were forever running into each other at clubs and coffee shops and parties. We ran with the same crowd. I asked her to pay back my parents for the wedding - she wouldn’t. I asked her to return the wedding gifts that we received from friends and family - she wouldn’t. I found out that she had been sleeping with a ‘friend’ for quite some time and that affair may have been what helped her make up her mind to leave. Every time that I saw her for the next few months I got angrier and angrier and began to feel something that up until that point I had never experienced - hatred.

I hated her in a way that I had never hated a person before or since. I hated her for humiliating me, for tearing apart my fantasy life. I hated her for cuckolding me. I hated her for making me incapable of trusting women. I hated her for driving me to pursue notches on my bedpost for a decade to prove that I was a real man. I hated her for years and years. There are things still that I do not like because of her - the name Beth, marriage, The Posies, Chicago, Germans, cats.

But somewhere along the way, I started to get over it.  I started to move on. I forgave her (in absentia) and forgave myself. I learned how to trust women again and I began to put the whole episode behind me. These days I treat it as a dinner party anecdote (don’t you wish you could come to one of my dinner parties) or a cautionary tale to young lovebirds (I’m talking to you SSG). In a lot of ways now, I’m grateful to Beth. Life’s a tangled, fragile web and the decisions that you make - or those that are made for you - can change the path of your life in ways that you can’t predict at the time.  If she hadn’t left so soon, our disastrous marriage may have made both of us miserable even longer. I probably wouldn’t be where I am today. I almost certainly wouldn’t have these two people in my life. Beth did me a favor and for that, I owe her one.

One more thing, I love irony. Every now and again I Google past acquaintances that I’ve lost touch with to see what they’re up to these days. About a year ago, I Googled Beth and I’m almost certain that she’s a - wait for it - divorce attorney in her old home town of Chicago. I couldn’t make it up better than that.  I’m fairly certain she’d be pretty good at it.

This has been surprisingly difficult to write and thus, this is the last of these kind of posts for a while, folks. Back to Boy Z photos and minutiae for a while.

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Two albums got me through this period: Nine Inch Nails’ “Pretty Hate Machine” for the hate and Sugar’s “Copper Blue”  for the redemption. I rarely listen to the former any more, but the latter still comes up on my iPod now and again. Here is a track from each that sort of gives an idea of where I was at the time. Both are excellent albums and available from .

Image credits:

Lazlo Moholy Nagy - “The Broken Marriage” (1925)

Mudhoney

Capitol Hill

 

 Nine Inch Nails - "That's What I Get": Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 Sugar - "The Slim": Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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Just a wee break in the 90’s flashbacks this week, stay tuned for more…

It rained yesterday - Australian drought my ass. It rained on A Free Man and Boy Party Day, which meant that we were house bound for the bulk of the day. Boy Z has risen to toddlerhood proper and I just want to say that I now have sympathy for all you stay-at-home-parents. The boy is an insubordinate destructicon (he gets it from his Mother). Here’s hoping that this mythological Australian summer kicks in soon or I may go back to working five days a week.

My sanity was preserved by  the arrival of two overseas packages yesterda. First, in the morning mail, was a box of Georgia schwag from Just Jessie containing more paraphenalia to make Boy Z the best dressed Little Dawg in the Southern Hemisphere. Even better, though, was DVDs of the first four games of the year - back when we still thought we were good. Watching the Bulldogs run all over Georgia Southern kept Boy Z quiet for a good two minutes.

With the afternoon post, my sanity was at a breaking point - the terrorist was on the verge of winning.  Then my hardworking postman rang the bell again, this time with a box full of Obama paraphernalia kindly shipped my way by Alice of 10,000 Monkeys and a Camera - her campaign leftovers. It was a veritable treasure trove of all things Obama, including some t-shirts, stickers, buttons, posters (one of which is my favorite campaign image) and even Democratic mints. There was a notable shortage of Obama gear in Oz, so Alice’s package was a great treat for a fervent supporter of the president-elect. Plus, the stickers and pins distracted Boy Z for a fair few minutes. Although, I suspect that I’ll be finding Obama-Biden stickers stuck about the place for a few days.

My most heartfelt thanks to both Jessie and Alice!

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In lieu of an accompanying track, I’d like to point you to the Aquarium Drunkard who has a whole album of a show played by Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash in 1969. Two of my favorite artists of all time - magical. Check it out here.

Popularity: 80% [?]