I miss Minneapolis from kevinyezbick on Vimeo.

After a long evening on the town during PLA 08 – before throwing myself onto bed and into slumbers – I took it all in for a moment from my room at the Westin – and tried to balance out the chaos. I was grinning ear to ear while I filmed this — and it all looked much more wonderful at the time. Still – it’s interesting to look back on something so amazing, and be amazed, by my own amazement.

I noticed the battery low light on my laptop task bar. This didn’t make any sense. I was plugged in to a socket on the second floor of the Purdy/Kresge graduate library (they are renovating — but still…) and should have been receiving the juice without any obstacles. Frustrated enough at Charles Martel already — I picked up the laptop and carried it around to each of the sockets — plugging it in — unplugging in — watching it drain down to 33% before finally packing up with a sigh and deciding to head out.

When I got downstairs — all the lights were out — and the alarm was going off.

There was none of this on the second floor – mind you — where I was at “peace” sifting in and out of the collection in the midst of remodelling. Apparently – some of the circuits that connect the alarms on the second floor have been flipped off while they tear out the walls and whatnot. Whatever the case — the alarms on the first floor were ON and it was DARK…

I began to wonder whether I was caught in the towering inferno — if I was in fact doomed to die in a library – not having heeded what little warning there was — “maybe it’s a bomb…ohmygodabombimgonnadie!” I headed towards the exit — through the deserted library — at a brisk pace and a little confused…Then remembered I still had a reference book in my bag — slid it on a table — and continued outside.

Immediately upon exiting I came across a WSU patrolman and asked,
“So, are they, like, closed?”
“I think so…”
“Or is there a fire drill or something, cause I was just in there and the alarms were going – the lights were off – and there ain’t nobody in the place…”
In the tone of Police chatter into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder:
“mumble mumble got a fire drill at mumble mumble fiver?”
“negative”

And looking at me:
“You just hang out here while I check this out…”
So there I sat and ate my leftover tabouli from lunch, waiting patiently until about 15 minutes later when the officer emerged:

“Sir,”
“Yes?”
“They are closed sir.”

Anyways — to make a long story short — the library staff locked me in the building…A fitting end to an eventful day that included sitting in on the Tri-Chapter ASIS&T Summer 2005 meeting: To Google or Not to Google — on a videolink – something I’ll save for later when I don’t need to drink a beer…

I think that quite possibly this has been the longest hiatus I’ve been on yet when it comes to the feeding of this blog creature. I must tell you — however – that as with any hungry being – this blog was a whiny little bastard.

I couldn’t sit down to the computer to knock off menial school tasks or question little curiousities of the world without hearing the plaintive wail begging me to drop a few morsels. There it was, sitting there, staring up at me with its blank forms — and I could only pull my lips tight and shrug. The pressure was too much. I was stifling my outburst.

But here it is a couple of weeks later — and I suppose I should finally go ahead and try to get it out of my system so that I can move on and get back into some sort of rhythm.

Two weeks ago — grandma, aunt barb, mom and pops and I piled into the Ford Windstar and drove down to Spring Hill, Tennessee to celebrate my cousin Sean’s earning a doctorate. Muchos personas that belong to the extended family were also present…and while there are several things that I COULD write about — I’m lazy — so I’m only going to concentrate on one aspect of the weekend…and besides — For some reason, I don’t remember much else.

What I want to relate are a few observations picked up while on a tour of the Saturn facility in Spring Hill. I won’t rehash the entire tour — nor will I give an extensive review of it — as someone else, interestingly enough – someone involved in the Special Libraries Association – has already done that. So – some highlights:

1. There is a display in the visitor center with a shopping cart and a Saturn car door. If you push a button – the shopping cart rams into the “dent resistant” door. There is a sign nearby asking that the button only be pushed once. Unfortunately – I never saw the button – but I hear from Aunt Barb that the thrills were magnificent.

2. One warning: Do not for a moment joke about your name! At the start of the tour – a big burly man called us over and began asking, “OK, who’s Patrick,” and ripping off a sticker bearing “Patrick,” moved on to, “OK, who’s Michael?” When he made his way through the list, leaving only me to be called out, “OK, where’s Kevin?” I responded: I guess I can be Kevin today…”

He was not amused. “What’s your name?” He grumbled.
“Uhhhh. Kevin.” I said sheepishly, looking for a pebble to kick.
He didn’t belong in the visitors center.

3. It has now been determined that my seestore can indeed name her son-to-be “Aardvark.” The family had been discussing the possibilities – as her husband’s family has a tradition of the first born son being named with the initials A.J.

Seestore has expressed an interest in wanting to name him after something from nature – and since “Apple” is already taken – the most reasonable moniker she could come up with was “Arbor.” We mocked and we mocked and we suggested, jokingly, Aardvark as an alternative.

Imagine the surprise of the ten or so of us when we arrived at the visitor’s center of the Saturn tour and were told that our tour driver was named “Aartvark.” While the speaking half of our tour guides went on about safety precautions, the Yezbicks all exchanged knowing glances — until my mother interrupted with, “That’s what my grandson is going to be named!”

Aartvark looked like he didn’t know what hit him — or was just plain incredulous. No matter. Seestore — your child has been named. Aartvark would go on to explain that it was a nickname — but I could read it plain as day on his ID card. So I says to him,

“I’m surprised they let you put your nicknames on your ID badges.”
“Why’s that?”
“Cause that guy over there got really upset when I made the suggestion that my name wasn’t really Kevin.”

4. While touring the factory grounds, being towed around by something akin to an airport luggage hauler — the shuttle winds its way past several workers on the line. Passing them by, they often stop their tasks to raise a hand and smile in greeting. There is such a pattern to it all that one begins to lose sight of where the robotics end, and the workers begin – reminiscent of the animatronics of Chuck E. Cheese or Showbiz pizza.

5. In the Q-N-A session afterwards — I was happy to see other Yezbicks peppering the guides with questions. Barb asked perhaps the one question we were all really thinking,

“How do they feel about being forced to wave to all of us?”
“Oh they love the tours!” Cheryl insisted. “There are about 4 tours a day and the workers wave because they want to. No one is forced to wave.”

Which led me to follow up with a question about safety. Having toured the Ford Rouge plant – I knew that Ford explicitly forbid the tourists from drawing attention to themselves by either waving or calling out to the workers. In light of this, I wanted to know,
“How much of a concern is safety?”
“Oh, safety is one of our top concerns at Saturn. Our workers are very important to us…”

To which I followed up with the rather morbid:
“So, when was the last time you guys had an accident on the line?”
“Uhhhh,” Cheryl paused. “I don’t have that information.”

WHAT?!? Hmmm. Oh well.

6. Only later did it occur to me just how much of a threat we truly posed to those workers on that fateful day. While they may be used to 4 tours going through during their shift — they must’ve been thinking during their break:

“Hey, did you notice anything weird about that last group that came through?”
“Yeah. Yeah there was definitely something odd about them.”
“They all looked kinda, uhhh, I don’t know…weird?”
“Yeah…Yeah I did notice that. Weird.”

7. Then – on top of all that…(it has come to my attention, or it has been recalled for me, that not all involved are aware of this occurrence yet, and therefore this piece has been edited) congrats again…

8. There are some movies now sitting in my brother’s yahoo mailbox — waiting to be edited together in some shape or form — that capture some sort of semblance of the weekend…

Peace Out Obligatory Family Post!!! I’m free of your bonds!!!!!!

That’s me. Beeping my own horn.

Over the weekend Espaldita and I ventured out to Pinckney, Michigan with the aims of completing a 5 mile “fun run” over hill and over dale. The Road Ends 5 mile fun run has been a staple of the season for many a year now – each year enticing hundreds to climb out of their caves, widen their nostrils and squint their over-compensating bulbous eyes in order to navigate their way along a thin path complete with stray roots and slippery rocks. (Actually – most everyone there was sportin’ some sort of bionic running gear and looked as if they were suffering from withdrawal fits from standing in place more than 5 minutes. Espaldita and I felt quite out of place waiting for the call to the line…) It is something of a tradition to declare those not competing in the run to be WIMPS, and said as much in the email.

This year mother nature had a trick up her sleeve — blanketing the runners with a steady snowfall and record low temperatures for such a late day in April, thus ensuring the absence of any form of wimpage. Watching the flakes falling, I could feel Espaldita’s confidence rising. This was precisely the type of weather we had been training in! Notice the excited exclamation points!!!

For this first attempt at organized running we were fortunate enough to have the wonderful Aunt Barb as a wing person. In fact, she was the one who cooked up this crazy notion of running with other runners in the first place. We promptly left her in the dust after the first dip down a hill – about thirty seconds into the run.

“My name is Kevin Yezbick. This is my back. Get used to it, cause when I’m running it’s all you’re going to see.”

Yes — there we were, Espaldita and I, breezing through the snowfall, right up in the front of the pack with the leaders – no worries to be had — until we wandered into…

THE FOREST OF DOOM!!!

Ok. It wasn’t really a forest of doom, per se, but there were plenty of leg grabbing roots and snow slicked rocks which leapt out as one tried to pass them over.

And then there were the hills.

Yes. Espaldita and I were cruising along with the front of the pack — until we came upon the first hill. I guess this is where the bionic suits come in really handy — because some of these people seemed to just take the elevator up. Our pace slackened and we fell back a bit — just far enough to pace ourselves next to a really attractive member of the opposite sex.

Things I Learned While Running My First 5 Mile Fun Run
1. Don’t try to keep pace with someone whom you find attractive.
There are many, many reasons to heed this first rule. You must, first of all, realize that this is your first attempt at any sort of organized running – and that this fine specimen running alongside you has likely been doing this much longer — and is much more adept. That being said — you will feel a colossal sense of shame as you are forced to realize that you have fallen a good clip behind her, and can’t convince your body to keep up. You have been schooled. Accept it, move on, before someone REALLY gets hurt.

2. Watch your Sustenance Intake before the run.
You’re supposed to eat familiar foods in the days leading up to the race — and at least three hours before the gun — preferably sooner. This rule ties in with the rule above. Fortunately – this is a rule I followed – escaping possible further embarrassment on the trail. I mean – just imagine — you’re running along next to that perfect ’10′ when all of a sudden your lower regions are doing their best metronome impersonation…Or worse — you’ve only been out on the trail for a few moments, kicked up just a few pebbles and just begun breathing at an advanced rhythm when you feel something stirring — and like a hammer on a nail – continue to feel it with each clenched step.

3. Hills Suck.
We now return to our tale…

So there we were — falling back in the pack after the first series of hills — Espaldita hanging in there like a true champ — bouncing along with me inline with about thirty or so other runners at a similar step. The path was narrow and somewhat winding and the twists and turns and spring leaves combined with the gathering snow made it somewhat difficult to see what could be just around the next bend — but I’ll give you a hint:

Hills. Lots and lots of hills.

After about the seventh hill I was pretty convinced I wasn’t going to be finishing first. (Actually, it was more like the moment I laced up, but– to return…) It wasn’t until after the eighth hill that I saw the first mile marker — and wanted to beat the living daylights out of it.

Continuing on — the pace well slackened — quite ready to break with the running for a while — I found myself alongside quite the mare. She was bigger than I, wearing a semi-bionic outfit — and seemed to be an excellent match for pace. I pulled into a slot on the trail a couple of steps behind her – and was confidently drafting – when I picked up on her breathing.

Now – you’re supposed to have rhythmic breathing — it helps with that pace thing I’ve been talking about — but this woman’s subconscious mantra had managed to manifest itself. I’ve often been running with Espaldita and to keep that perfect step going I’ve counted in fours or some such manner to take the mind off the body. This woman was in the same situation — only she had completely lost her sense of surroundings and was making her mantra audible to all around her. Her mantra?

“Al-an, Tram-mel. Al-an, Tram-mel. Al-an, Tram-mel.”

At least — that’s what it sounded like to me. I could not run next to this woman. To hear her pronouncing my favorite ballplayer’s name through heavy breathing was sure to drive me insane — so I let off and fell further back into the pack.

As I kept sinking and slowing I thought back to my previous experiences with distance running.

There was the time I wanted to “belong” as a freshman in high school – so I went out for the Cross Country team – which lasted a day. There were the baseball tryouts — which I was motivated for and found to be doable. And then there were the basketball tryouts — which tore out one’s soul. It was during one of the mile runs following wind sprints that my nose developed a whistle at precisely the same moment Crampy McCramperson took over my right side. I distinctly remember one of the older guys encouraging me, “I know it hurts, but keep going. Fight it, Fight it!” But I also distinctly remember another older guy later in the pack, who very nonchalantly passed on the right and looked me in the eye while annunciating, “Nice nose whistle.”

I had to stop running.

So – after about 2.5 miles, Espaldita and I dropped into a brisk walk for about thirty seconds. People passed – and people passed — and after about a minute, maybe less – we decided to give it another go. We made it to the water station soon after – and with a smooth transition from volunteers hand to my own — we swallowed down a cup and kept on moving. The water seemed to invigorate — and it was at this point that somebody who I never looked at, but could tell was wearing a bionic suit, pulled alongside:

“Garble garble 50 degrees garble garble garble water,” he said. Looking back – I’m not even really sure he was talking to either Espaldita or me – but I responded with:

“Yeah, (breath in) just when you get acclimated (breath out).” To this he seemed to make some sort of hesitant guttural noise before kicking up his bionic heels and leaving me in his dust. I think he may have realized I was crazy. Espaldita and I thought about it quite a bit for the next few minutes – mulling over what he could have possibly said and why we even bothered trying to respond, when Espaldita began to pout. I don’t know if it was from embarrassment or what, but Espaldita and I began to disagree at about 3.5 miles into the fun run.

At the foot of a hill the volume of the argument went up a notch and we had to step to the side of the path. Sneakers shot past, our eyes keeping to the ground, our breathing heavy, our shame for our display evident. Sometimes sharing an embarrassing moment with someone can bring them that much closer — and this was the case for Espaldita and I here. After several deep breaths, I kneaded my thumbs across her, smoothing out the pain — and we continued running…and stopping…and running…and stopping.

We came to a cross in the trail where a park ranger had parked their car. (I’ve forgotten to mention that Aunt Barb is an authority figure in the state parks.) They shouted out to me, “Are you Kevin?” to which I replied in the affirmative and asked if they wanted to take my picture — which they did — and which will be in my possession shortly. I continued on my way when perhaps a minute and a half later I heard shouts of glee and the ranger’s siren going off on the car. Aunt Barb was just behind me.

Espaldita and I had to get moving.

To make a long story even longer — we ran a good deal more before stepping into one last walk — just before the forest opened — until I spotted a goofy bearded man who resembled me – only advanced by thirty-some odd years — standing in a clearing, waving and cheering. Emerging from that FOREST OF DOOM!!! was like a rebirthing.

Espaldita and I kicked up our heels and finished at 56:01. (The results say 56:06, but that’s only because they had trouble taking off my runner’s bib at the finish line.) Not bad for a former pack a day chimney.

There are plenty of other items of interest I can’t delve into here for want of boring you to death — but I should at least point out Don, the snarky concession stand owner who allowed Barb and I to stretch out in the back of his shack – where it was nice and warm – and who upon observing the other runners stretching out outside exclaimed, “Oh God! Those crazies are trying to push the building over!”

It was much more engaging than I was expecting. As someone going in knowing very little about the ways and mores of copyright law — the book reeled me in. Lessig leads you slowly into the water — allows you to splash around a bit in the history of copyright — wades with you up to the modern era while always referring back to the history so that you always have it in your swimming trunks — and presents several sound arguments along the way — all building up to the Supreme Court case Eldred v. Ashcroft. At that point — you’re swimming in some pretty deep waters.

What one would expect to be a droll lesson in legality is tinctured with the bright, impassioned tales of an attempt to guide a corralled spirit into greener pastures. To open the doors of creativity. To free culture. Lessig’s writing guides you along so subtly through the case history that in reading you don’t realize the sympathies you’ve developed until the verdict is read and you realize what we’ve lost. You empathize when he speaks of his realization, devastation and circles of recalculation following the defeat.

When I reached the halfway point earlier this week I realized I would need to reorganize my aggregator feeds. I’ve been stifling Lessig’s blog by keeping him contained in my political folder — which has seen its popularity plummet since the election. The movement towards an improvement in copyright law is ongoing — and after this reading — has a reinvested follower.

The book, in its presentation of reforming current legislation, touches several times on instances that in one way or another seep into the bigger picture. Everything, to risk melodramatics, is in some manner or another attached to everything else.

(I’ve lost my initial point here — as I just returned from the dentist’s office with a mouthful of novocaine.)

Of particular interest to me was the point that in securing copyrights, publishers of trade journals or specialized writings are able to suspend the distribution of periodicals to libraries in favor of establishing databases that require a subscription to view. Much too expensive for the everyday joe to afford — the wealth of knowledge that used to be available to all is now relegated to those fortunate enough to be able to afford it, or belong to an institution that can proxy it. A more dramatic picture was painted of those movies that have been under copyright since the late 1920′s — but have no commercial worth – so instead of being digitally preserved by archivists — the film is slowly disintegrating into dust.

The reading touched upon several matters that I am sure I’ll be delving into in the next two years as I attempt to become a custodian of culture. It opened my eyes just a little wider to the importance of the position and the merits of librarianship. Libraries are a foundation of true democracy. They are supposed to level the playing field with open and free access to information for all. (and cue a deep swelling of patriotic music, slowly fading out the lights)

Recommended: Free Culture.

(I am rather surprised to see that those entries occurred such a relatively short time ago. I suppose this time gap with reality was brought about by the massive amounts of confusion molecules that were pumping to and fro throughout my body in the first two months following my move.)

Perhaps it was the festive mood of the holidays. Perhaps it was a long swelling desire to recapture the headlines here. Perhaps it was the five margaritas she consumed early in the evening combined with the competitive environment – but Jennifer has managed to throw herself back into the spotlight with an event that nearly tops her flaming extravaganza of 2002.

The evening following a wonderful Thanksgiving found a large portion of the Yezbick clan gathered together at Grandmother’s house for the delights of pizza, conversation and games – namely, a hard fought match of Spoons. For those of you who haven’t had the good fortune of playing the fast paced card game known as spoons – a short explanatory note follows of our version:

Spoons: A number of players gather around a table having a number of spoons one short of the number of players evenly spaced upon the center of the table so that each player has equal opportunity to reach for and grab a spoon. Two decks of playing cards minus the jokers are shuffled and each player is dealt four cards. The dealer places the rest of the deck by their side and draws from the deck. In an effort to acquire four of a kind – the dealer then discards to their right — the discard being acquired by the next player. The dealer continues to draw and discard and the entire process spreads around the table — until one player draws four of a kind – at which point they reach for a spoon. All other players must then grab a spoon, of which there is one less than the amount of players, or face a penalty for their lack of reflexes (fake outs are allowed and encouraged – where if a player touches a spoon and a winning hand has not been drawn – that player is docked a point and the round continues). One can either immediately expel the player lacking a spoon from the circle, remove a spoon and play until only two players and one spoon is left — or play a certain amount of rounds — docking players points in each round — so that at the end of a certain number of rounds the player with the least points wins.

Everybody on board? Good.

Well then. At this particularly festive match of spoons, and in the midst of heavy competition — the air began to fill with a giddy thickness. Giggles and laughing spasms began to accumulate in number, adults began slipping back to childhood and a merry time was being had by all. Spoons were flying as hands were flailing. It was under these circumstances then that Jennifer found it necessary to demonstrate what she thought to be the winning strategy to acquire the desired spoon.

With the raucous din raising everyone’s spirits – and the spirits raising the raucous din — Jennifer proceeded to fling herself across a table which had been extended by two leaves much like a killer whale hurtles itself ashore to capture the desired seal. Archival footage recorded at such high speeds that the recollection has slowed it in order to capture every detail. There was Jennifer — flying through the air — and there was everyone else around the table – all wide eyes and teeth laughing giddily – all turning to watch as the slow descent began on the far edge of the table. Slowly she seemed to stretch out – her extended reach beginning to hone in on her treasured spoon. Just as slowly she made her first surface contact — and in a slight hesitation of time — all was still.

The second hand upon the wall had not the chance to proceed before a loud SNAP like a thunderclap blanketed the room. Like an elevator free falling between floors, a hydraulic lift malfunctioning — the extension and leaf of the table succumbed to the forces of gravity – and the divine Ms. Jennifer found herself peering up to faces locked between laughs. It seemed like five minutes passed before we all realized that a good quarter of the table was now being supported only by the knees of those upon whom it had fallen. Here I find my memory quite fails me as to what followed. I remember a sheepish apology followed by momentary concern for all those knees…Soon after laughter returned and a great halo of humiliation began to rise around the fallen. It seemed we all had the opportunity to console Jennifer in her moment of guilt — and when at last she was sufficiently freed from those horrific immediate moments of embarrassment — I turned to her and said:

“Well, the important thing is — better you than me.”

So you see — we all have something we can be thankful for!

I hope everybody had as great a Thanksgiving as myself — it was wonderful.

I guess I really don’t know where to begin about the see-store. She is a tough shell to crack. Perhaps, as many are likely to tell you — it is because she is already cracked. It’s a difficult task – but something that must be done, because the previous object sitting there amongst the rest of the heartstrings is urging me on.

Sitting here in my ship, softly swaying from side to side, the dizzying rhythms of the deep calling me away from shore and safehaven, I must admit that one of the stowaways has kept my attention if but by a perverse inclination to take in its loathsomeness out of the corner of my eye. Like on dry land, when speeding across the great terrain one comes upon one of those instances of circumstance where two opposing objects meet in a horrific accident – you can not tear your eyes away from the disturbing scenes ushered to the side of your path. Here I detect this sensation, morbid fascination, emanating from that same thing that has managed to wrangle itself into my world.

My world. What has it become? I hardly recognize it.

As alluded to previously, the see-store is a creature of mysterious qualities. She began as one thing, and then, whilst away at one of the great learning institutions of this country, became another. Behind those walls some cataclysmic event transformed a loyal patron of hair care products into the prototype for a weopan of mass destruction within that industry.

I can’t account for that. I wasn’t there.

There are only fractals now. Keywords. A&W. Living at Aunt Susy’s. Zeta Tau Alpha. And mosquito netting around the bed in Michigan in the early stages of pre-madonnahood.

I remember watching the grammys when Prince won, I believe his acceptance speech back in 1984 was simply “Thank you,” — but see-store swooned…Pops laughed. I think he was somewhat annoyed because we had to keep switching back and forth from one of his favorite shows…or something. What a strange memory to seep beneath the decks.

I remember slugging my see-store by the garage door in Snellville. I wasn’t happy. I was sick of her shit. I knocked her ass to the ground. Then I got the life lesson of never hitting a woman…I still think she learned something that day. As did I.

The developmental years, for me being those teenage disasters, featured little of our subject. She was off – everywhere and nowhere at the sametime. I don’t know what lessons she may have learned traversing the country in her jingly outfits – but learned she became – and learned she is still becoming – now working towards becoming a master of education.

I think that perhaps the memory that pops up most when focusing my thoughts on see-store is that of my first Grateful Dead show. It’s easy to say now, that having taken in experiences brought about by my presence at such carnival like events has shaped the being that I have become today. It is a being that tries repeatedly to escape its form — like play-doh that oozes out of the sides of its molder, I have become something of a creature that doesn’t want to be bound by any outside fence. I am that worm that you roll over in your hands, continuously expanding snakewise into the world. Eventually I will thin it out, snap, and the remnants will be taken up and smashed into something completely different. Such is life. Such is the end.

Back to the show.

While we were headed out into the midst of this curious parking lot I had the burden of overwhelming excitement that would cling to me, and has clinged to me to this day, of a man on the brink. I was entering into something unknown. There was danger, as was evident in my mother’s eyes when she warned me, “Don’t eat any brownies or any food from strangers…” Oh. Wow. What the hell was she talking about? Strangers were going to give me food?

I was more concerned with what was lying ahead — within — the Omni. I’d prepped myself with several cassettes procured from the local library branch – and walking towards that structure under the summer sun, I was happily wondering aloud what numbers could possibly be unleashed before us that evening. I wondered aloud so eagerly and so often that the admonishment came blunt and straight to the point, “Just don’t sing.”

I felt I’d done something wrong, and looking around there were so many smiling faces that I couldn’t help but wonder whether they weren’t all smiling at my expense. Those same smiling faces – cheeks fading away into wild eyes of delight, would continue to surround me in the coming years, though they were of far more comfort after I had released myself from my own microscope.

I remember getting into the arena, sitting around for awhile while the air filled with greetings of friends and a general buzz of excitement. I remember the lights going down and thousands of other small flickering lights answering. I remember a bright light flashing down in our vicinity and a crackling voice coming from something in the dark that wielded a halo of purple hair croaking out “No smoking!” At some point the see-store grabbed me and we waded out into the masses, the music muffled behind us as we stepped into the rotunda, suddenly stepping one foot over the other into higher altitudes, and the music growing louder as we re-entered a portal.

“Welcome to my section,” the fellow with the ponytail said at the end of the tunnel.

“This is us,” see-store said. And all was well. There was music. There was dancing. There was music. There was dancing. And dancing. And Dancing. And DANCING. AND DANCING AND

“Hey, are you allright?” I turned and looked at whoever it was that had interrupted my groove and my glance was answered by another smiling face of eyes.

“Yeah. uhh. I’m fine.” I answered, already feeling teenage sweat quickly flowing into every nervous pore.

“Well, you’re just dancing too fast,” he said. And everyone around him laughed. And that laughter echoed inside me. And I was sad. And I sat down for the first time all night and see-store turned to me and said,

“Hey, are you allright?” And I looked up at her and told her no, that those guys said I was dancing too fast and I feel like an idiot and

“Those guys are assholes. Don’t listen to assholes.” She almost literally picked me up and made me dance while turning her evil evil evil evil glare on those guys. Believe me, you don’t want to see my see-store’s evil glare.

So the show ended, with Baba O’Riley as the encore. I don’t remember much else of it — but I do remember that see-store and I had shared something. Perhaps the first something of substance in quite some time…

(There was, of course that time that we were both rehearsing for Cheaper By the Dozen while she was in high school and I told the director that see-store had quit and then found out that I totally got it all wrong and then got the part and I’m really sorry see-store but I swear that at that age I can’t be held responsible for delivering messages of that magnitude…I still don’t know what I was supposed to say…but I was damn good in Cheaper By the Dozen!!)

Some time later, or perhaps sometime before, time is but an invention of man, see-store presented me with the object in question. Once again I was hesitant in my acceptance, but there was no willishrinx to usurp my acquisition, and I found myself somewhat reluctantly accepting the object under discrimination. Many years have passed, but I find myself more than ever before that the following conversation took place:

“What the hell is it?”
“It’s a monster. It’s cool. Want it?”
“Uhhh…I don’t know.”
“Well, take it. It’s yours.”

So there you have it. A monster. She went about explaining the spine and the mouth and tail…Something you will have to decide for yourself upon a secondary perusing of the object…But point them out she did, with enthusiasm — an enthusiasm I see rarely effected in persons I meet in the world. Which is why I think that the see-store should be taking this opportunity to voice that enthusiasm, becoming a beacon of weirdness that yezbick.com so desperately needs more of. We have set up her home – but I fear that perhaps she is a little like me at that first concert — worried about dancing too fast. Therefore — dear readers, be you of blood or of some other earthly connection — I call upon you to hereby add your own say — no matter how fast you dance — to let the see-store know that the emptiness in the cyberspace set aside for her is unacceptable. PLEASE. For the love of all that is…errr. ummm…yezbick? just leave a comment and let see-store know we’d all like to know what exactly goes on in the mind of a Yezbick-Bays on the west coast.

Thank You. Good Night. And now you can all get back to your reality television and Ronald Reagan OD.

Oh…and I guess you probably want another object to think about too….

And this time we’ll make you think…

“but it just stopped.”

“how?”

“well, genius, if I knew that then I wouldn’t be talking about it because I’d have the answer and there’d be some signs of life.”

She was gone now. Ancient history. Lost in the mad scribbles of dusty journals. But each day there was still something there. A stranger’s nuance, a familiar rhythm to the wind – it all brought his mind back to her.

“That’s wordy.”

“What?”

“Wordy.” The hum of the overhead was deafening. everyone had turned in anticipation of his response. He had none.

“Fetid seemed the perfect fit,” he thought. “Who the hell is this guy?”
His anger wasn’t misplaced. The question was well posed. How did that man with his wandering eye manage his way into a university job? It was like a scene out of storytelling. Only he wasn’t gonna be blotted out by a gigantic red square.

“She just stopped talking. It was — I don’t know.” He flicked the ash into the winter wind and watched as a white truck passed by. The Mathis truck. The one they’d always joked about having bodies in the fridge compartment because it never moved from out front of the neighbor’s house.

“I’m sure there were plenty of things I did. But I can’t be sure of which one it was that caused this wall to suddenly jump between us. I mean how do you stop talking to someone like that?” He cricked his neck and there was an audible snap. “It’s even starting to happen with people I thought were friends…just friends.”

He thought his feet looked funny. The light of the moon and play of the lights were casting odd shadows about him – no doubt accentuated by the medicine. Shuffling one in front of the other just to keep warm he exhaled and watched the breath in front of him during the ensuing silence.

“Bullshit.”

“Indeed.”

I don’t know exactly what happened this Halloween…It came down to less than 24 hours before I was able to decide exactly what I was going to “be.” It came down to less than 3 hours before we knew where the party was going to be held…It took less time than that for me to spill beer all over B’s head…And a little longer for me to get schnockered…

When we all got over to B’s house, we sat through another one of Manah’s horrific lectures about the evils of Halloween — and it was fitting that she should deliver it in her get-up as Indian Prophet. I think the combination of the trembles I felt surging through my soul from those golden words and the shock of seeing B dressed as J-lo was what caused the beer catastrophe to ensue. I mean — we all know B was born without an ass — so when I saw this thang on her — I was, well, in awe. I tried drowning out the impure thoughts in my head by chasing bass with bass — not to mention a jello shot here and there for taste — but the intoxicating waters only quickened my sight to the object of my infatuation…Finally – in a pure act of desperation — I feigned losing control of my costume and doused the fires of my passion – on her head – with beer…That seemed to help…

Until Star showed up.

Once again I was drawn in by the sins of the flesh. Manah’s words were but a distant memory when I beheld the awesome power of Star’s dead mermaid bosom. I think B was on to my impure thoughts — and despite my efforts to ward her off with a drenching of sweet english ale — the two of them doubled their efforts against me. I am all but convinced now that it was no accident that one can observe Star’s navel in this shot. She had been crafting this pose the entire evening in the wrinkles of her mind – knowing that if she could get under the lights just right — she would be wearing nothing more than a translucent green aura. Ohhh Star — you naughty girl…

Still – Star is not without morals. She knew she could only push the envelope so far — so she brought a safety net. An idol so blatant in its protective powers that a man would be a fool to test its mettle. Bestowed with the power of creative cuteness — Star revealed that she had brought her Bret – and that their costumes were actually part of a grander scheme. They had used their creative wits to form — a theme. Dead pirate, dead mermaid. Bret knew our thoughts…being from beyond — he could read all…For our sakes – he gave us fair warning of our fates should we give in to temptation — tattooed with the evils of the flesh.

Warded off – at last – I managed to retreat for some time into the shadows of B’s home. But it wasn’t long before I was presented with a new nemesis. BEHOLD! THE AWESOME POWERs OF THE SULTRY SUZANNE!

Sensing my slip-up – the shadows offering protection no more — Star redoubled her efforts — and soon I was lost in bedlam once more…

Finally — at long last, and after a an effort worthy of at least some acknowledgement — I surrendered my pride — raised my arms in defeat – and left myself open to any woman’s whim…

Later I would sleep — alone…again…

(But at least I didn’t drink the ashtray beer!)

BTW – for those who need the explanation for the get-up — refer back to the big question.

I think my ribs felt like they were gonna burst outta my chest. “The cops!” I thought..I slid the album under the chair and Monsieur opened the front door…nobody. Perhaps it was all our imagina-BOOM BOOM BOOM!! The side door. The carport…Monsieur went to answer it while I sat there and panicked. This was a little too much like the paper boy incident many years ago. I thought for a moment – maybe its Juan. He’s loud and obnoxious and likely to stop by the house at 1 am after being at the bar all night. Instead – I hear the door open and a female voice with a slight southern drawl say -

“Hey – could y’all help me out — my car broke down and I’ve been walking and I just seen your lights on and that’s why I come up.”

Okay. That’s weird. Really weird. See – cause – I live up off a main road – and there’s a gas station not a mile from my house. There is also a hotel – a cheap hotel – not a mile from my house. So – in my head – I smell a scam. And I say – still from the other room -

“Why don’t you go to the gas station?” And I hear -

“I’ve been walking since Buford Highway and…” And that’s where I knew something was weird – cause Buford Highway isn’t anywhere near my house…It’s at least four miles away. But Monsieur is there and he’s helping her out and decides to let her call a taxi. Which she does. And then asks for a cigarette. And Monsieur doesn’t smoke.

My nerves are shot at this point. I don’t take well to strange visits. It gets my mind working a little too much. Meanwhile Monsieur is like “I would’ve given her a ride if you woulda gone with me.” Hell No! What you need to understand is that I never even got a good look at the girl — I just immediately saw her as Tammy from David Cross’ Run Ronnie Run…Monsieur says that she appeared to be sober – that she’s twenty — I think Monsieur has a crush on her.

After she gives us back the phone – and walks out to the front of the house to wait for the taxi – I remember walking into the kitchen and seeing Auburn scrubbing the phone with Rubbing Alcohol…She couldn’t have been that keen.

About twenty minutes later the taxi pulls up and I have to go out and explain to him why the girl is no longer there. Which I have no idea why – although I must say I never thought she intended to stay. I ramble on about crack addictions and apologize to the cab driver – who looking at me – must’ve thought I was crazy…

I’m sorry – this story had to be told — so that Monsieur would stop talking about killing hitchikers…I mean – he’s inserting that comment under entries that have no connection to killing hitchikers. I mean – yeah – killing hitchikers is pretty much complementary to any story – but then there’s overkill.

The point is – go out and rent or buy Run Ronnie Run today! It will change your life!!!