Random Shit 7912

Of course as soon as I read about Stream of Consciousness Sunday the blogger who was hosting it stopped. Whatthefuckever. I'm going to do one anyway, mostly because it's summer and I have trouble settling down in the summer. I carry around a big, bad case of spring fever most of the year, but summer is the best worst. Must be something about the heat and sweating and summer nights and necking with boys on gravel roads with the windows down when I was a teenager ... I dunno. If I really wrote a stream of consciousness it would go on forever and I'd probably have to classify this as a porn blog. Here's just a bit.

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I finally bought a new smart phone. I already wrote about why I needed to buy a new phone. Now I've got one. It's a Virgin HTC EVO--like anybody gives a shit. Android. Ice cream sandwich. 3-D camera and video. It's like an alien phone compared to my old dumb phone. It does all kinds of fancy shit. Like the keys vibrate whenever I touch them. Tiny little buzzes with each tap of the keys. I hope nobody has noticed I'm texting myself a lot just so I can get little fingertip cookies.

The first day I had my phone something strange and disturbing happened. Nobody texted me for hours. When I had to take off a tightly wound hair tie to answer every text, people sent me texts all the time. When my qwerty was held together with gum and hope, people texted me constantly. As soon as I got a smart new phone ....... dead silence. Hours of dead silence. I finally had to whine on Facebook before a few people took pity and texted me. I wrote long, orgasmic responses with my vibrating keys.

(Speaking of vibrators, go see Hysteria. I loved it as much as I expected to. It's funny and quirky and lots of women get cookies.)

(Also speaking of vibrators, I went to my first sex toy party. I'm not going to tell you what I bought, because I've lost it already. As soon as I took it out of the package I lost it. All I remember is that it didn't come with instructions. I prefer real people anyway.)

One reason I got a smart phone was so I could play Draw Something. I wanted to play it with Alex because he draws really well, but he quit playing before I got my phone because you can't fucking win the game. It's like one of those Facebook games where you set up a restaurant and then you just keep adding tables and potted plants and special recipes, but you never win. Oh well.

I'm playing Draw Something with 8 people so far. I probably spent 2 hours today drawing clues that look like blobs of mashed potatoes or random jumbles of sticks or piles of dog shit -- or they would look like dog shit if I had earned enough coins to buy more than 3 primary colors + black so far. No brown for me.

Somehow people still guess the clues right. I even ordered styluses for me and both kids so we can make better drawings. Back in the days when my dad was still alive, and we didn't have smart phones, we just sat around the kitchen and drank and chain-smoked and argued about politics. My kids and I send drawings of dreidels, bromance, and goslings to each other. Shit changes.

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Rollo's memorial service was last weekend. What can I say? It was nice? It was nice. It was tearful and yet there was laughter. The only thing missing was Rollo. There were photos of him throughout his life, including a few from when he was a child. I wish that child could have known how many people would love and cherish him later in his life. If you haven't done it yet, I encourage you to read his memoir, Lost and Found.

Of course people got a chance to stand up and share some memories of Rollo during the service. I could have talked for hours about him, but I narrowed it down to 3 things: how Rollo became friends with my friends on Facebook and they grew to love him. How he was the biggest fan if my music and how much I'll miss looking at him when I play on Sunday mornings. And how he and his wife Sue hated every man I ever dated. Instantly. Unequivocally. Sue had her eyes closed, tears streaming down her face as I spoke, but she laughed and nodded her head when I said that. They didn't think anybody was good enough for me. They were right both times.

I can't leave Rollo's memorial without making a confession. Months ago Rollo asked me to put together a quartet to sing an arrangement of song that's special to Unitarian Universalists, "Spirit of Life." He'd arranged it himself, and he didn't want just anybody to sing it. I .... ummmm .... this is hard to admit .... I didn't do it. I wasn't setting up music like I was when he first started coming to the church and I wasn't asked to play anything during that time ..... and then, I think I forgot. And then he couldn't come to church any more.

We sang his arrangement at his memorial service, but I didn't put it together, and he didn't get to hear it. The whole time I sang I felt such terrible guilt. It was hard enough not to cry, but I kept thinking how I should done what he asked me to. I couldn't even look at Sue as we sang. Somehow I ... we .... got through the song. When there are only 2 sopranos, you can't break down and stop singing. There are always these fucking lessons when someone dies, and yet I expect I will continue to disappoint the people I love.

I miss him.

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I read 50 Shades of Grey because I'm going to host a book discussion at my house. I rolled my eyes several times, but I didn't get spanked. Just as well. I hit back. More on that later.

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I was talking to Elvira on the phone one afternoon when I heard someone playing "Sunshine of My Life" on a trombone in my next door neighbor's front yard. I opened the windows and listened to this guy play several more songs before he got into a car with 3 other people and drove away.

Later, after my neighbor came home from work, they came back. After dinner he stood out in the yard and played again for a porchful of people. (My next door neighbors are friendly, but they never invite me onto their porch.) Elvira, Coraline, and I went out in my yard and listened. Coraline danced. He wanted me to jam with him, but I don't play jazz and it's not that easy to jam with a trombone.

After he'd played until his lips gave out, he and the people he was with came in so he could play my grand piano. We all shared some music. He told us his name and rattled off a list of big names he'd played with, including Rick James. Later I googled his name and he wasn't lying. He said he'd been in hell (drugs) the past 20 years and had just started playing again. I hope he keeps playing, even if he's not playing with Rick James (bitch).

I never know what will happen in this neighborhood. Could be gunshots. Could be trombones.

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I rode about 15 miles on my bike tonight. The temps have hovered around 100 for at least a week, and I haven't been going out as often as I'd like. As I was riding I ran into a bug with my knee, which is better than hitting it with my eye or my open mouth. But, damn, this one stung like a son of a bitch. I didn't want to slow down, but when I was forced to stop at a street crossing, I pulled out a big stinger with a chunk of insect ass still attached. It left a good hole in my leg. Then, because all I could do was pedal and think, I imagined that thing swelling up like a baseball and causing a anaphylactic response out in the middle of nowhere on the bike path ..... Am I the only one who makes up crazy shit like that? I can't even see where it was now.

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Do you see what time it is? I have to stop now and go to bed. Feel free to share your stream in the comments section.