Red Light House

Sammi and I went on a rare foray into the Marina for a birthday party on Friday night. We stopped in at the Horseshoe bar for a few drinks before heading to the party. I saw Tom, a coworker of mine, standing at the bar and went over to say hi. Just as I reached him a short, older blond woman sitting at the bar turned around and looked at me.

“Your friend is adorable.” She said to me, motioning towards Tom. His eyes grew big with shock. Always eager to participate in some wingmanship, even if it’s not requested or, indeed, unwelcome I started talking to the woman.

“Isn’t he though!” I said, “Fine Midwestern stock, this boy.”

“I like his size, too.” she said, appraising his frame.

“Oh baby,” I said, “he could keep you warm in the winter, huh? Wrap you up and never let you go.”

At this point Tom had raised both his hands up and was backing away in the universal sign for “hold your horses, folks”.

“I’m Angie,” she said to him, “you’re really very cute.”

“That’s what my girlfriend thinks.” said Tom.

“It’s good you mentioned your girlfriend up front,” Angie said, “I hate when guys wait a long time. It’s dishonest and I might have said some embarrassing things if I didn’t know.”

“Angie,” I said, hoping to egg on this uncomfortable moment for as long as I could, “you’re hungry for love, aren’tcha!”

“No way!” she said, “I’m not desperate at all! I met a Frenchman last week and I’m still sore.”

“Hooooooly Crap.” Tom and I both said at the same time.

Sammi then walked up to us, in a fortuitous display of timing. We introduced her to Angie, got her to repeat the last bit about the Frenchman and then beat a hasty retreat.

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” I said to Tom.

“I don’t.”

“That was a good call.”

Later, as we were leaving the bar to head to the party Angie accosted us again and proceeded to pick Sammi up off the ground and then whirl around like the world’s trampiest dervish. She threatened to try and lift me up, but luckily I talked her down from that foolishness.

The rest of the night was fun, but pretty much anything would have been let down after that.

…was not because Mark Bittman’s simple seaweed salad recipe was utter dogshit, but rather because I played one of the worst Scrabble games of all time.  Luckily his short rib recipe turned out really well (though it took some tinkering) or the night would have been a complete bust.  And there was wine, that always helps.

First off let me state that Sammi is really good at Scrabble, and while my vocabulary is at near genius levels for a 9 year old I have all the spelling acumen of a Boston terrier.  So I have some problems there.  But I was quite pleased at the start of the game when I drew to take the first turn and I laid down “wagon” for 20 or so points…a respectable 5 letter word and a decent start (for me).  “Finally!” I thought, “Maybe I’ll have a game where I don’t get blown out or, dare I hope it, win!”  Then I drew my 5 new tiles and it all started to unravel:

Do you see that!?  The fucking I I I I I’s have it!  Total crap. This is about the time when I turned into a foul mouthed sailor and let loose with a string of curses that lasted the entirety of our 2 and half hour game.  Luckily there was wine.

It was far too early in the game to start putting down bullshit two or three letter words with just vowels so I sucked it up and redrew all 7 tiles, losing my turn and letting Sammi surge ahead with one of the magical words she always comes up with that uses every bonus square on the board simultaneously.

My new 7 tiles were perfectly decent, so I started to get back into the swing of the game.  But it was not to be.  On my fourth or fifth draw I pull this:

A E I O U and sometimes another fucking E and O!  Such crap.  You can see that I took my watch off, a sure sign I was getting sweaty.  Also there was wine.  You can see the status of that as well.

I kept plugging along, and I got the bright idea to hold on to my two E tiles until I drew an R so I could put that on the end of my first word, “wagon” and make “wagoneer” and hit the triple word score and make Sammi swoon with my mastery of Scrabble and my pioneering spirit.   But guess what, I never did draw that R until 2 or 3 turns later AFTER I finally got tired of waiting and used up both E tiles.  Though now that I’m looking “wagoneer” up I can only find it as the name of a Jeep truck…one who drives a wagon is a “wagonER.”  Go figure…still getting screwed by that game into the next friggin’ day.

So we’re finally getting near the end of the game, Sammi is a good 96 points ahead of me and I draw the last of the tiles, emptying the bag.  Guess what?!  My friends came back to see me!

I I I I missed you, too!  Bastards.  You can see the wine is pushed to the side and my Kleenex is at hand to dry my tears.   The game limps to a close, as I managed to use up all my tiles, leaving Sammi stranded with a V she couldn’t use.  4 sweet points returned to me and she only beat me by 75.

It was actually a most enjoyable Valentine’s day.  Dinner and dessert were great (everything except for the seaweed salad), Sammi looked lovely and we listened to records all night on the turntable she bought me.  Though I’m pretty sure I accused her of F-ing me in the A on one or two of her plays.

It’s a good thing I got her flowers.

I went to Whole Foods last night to shop for the super awesome Valentine’s Day dinner I’m making tonight and the guy in front of me at the seafood counter ordered a bunch of lump crab meat. The guy working the fish counter said he needed to bring out some more from the back and he returned with a huge metal can of crab meat.

As he pulled out the can opener he turned around and smiled at the customer, “I hope this doesn’t destroy any expectations you had.”

“Oh, it’s canned?” he said, “No fresh?”

“Well,” said the fishmonger dude, “It’s never been frozen so we call it fresh.”

The customer looked at me and said, “I guess it’s silly to assume they’re back there picking crab out of their shells, huh?”

OK, so that last post was ridiculous, but I didn’t say it they were “GOOD” found lyrics, did I?  The truth of the matter is that for each set of lyrics that makes it into a real song (deservedly or not) there’s another one that will never see the light of day.  That’s why song writers like Jeff Tweedy release books of poetry, or why widows of rock stars find a huge stack of song lyrics in chests somewhere (ala Meg Ryan in The Doors).  It’s true for them, and it’s true for hacks like myself as well.  I just like the old lyrics because it’s interesting to see what I found funny at the time…and they’re all silly.  Too silly, really.

So, with that out of the way, let’s put up a new one, shall we?  This next one is a love song from a young man to the cow he raised as a 4H project.  Like any Man-Cow relationship it’s doomed from the start, but that makes it all the more poignant, yes?  No.

I think the real reason this song came about is that I wanted a song with an auctioneer voice breakdown in the middle of it.  I thought it would sound cool, and would be a throw back to the old do-wop songs with the talking part in the middle.  I thought RIGHT.
———————–

Ode to Bluebell

I raised you from a baby calf
I was there when you were born.
When you were sad I made you laugh
when cold, I kept you warm.

We played in fresh wheat fields
we tumbled through the snow
you ate alfalfa for every meal
to get strong and help you grow

You meant much more to me
than a 4 H blue ribbon
and some day I hope you see
That it’s all a part of livin’ on the farm

Oh it ain’t hard to see how
a man like me could ever love a cow
give it things you never had
and keep it from ever going mad

You’ve never been fed hormones
you’re free range through and through
I kept your hoofs from thorns and stones
and I shoveled all your poo.

One day the sad call came
you sensed it, and filled with caution
we drove the trailer through the rain
and took you to the auction

I didn’t want to sell you off
my tears could not be hidden
as they lead to that auction block
I knew it’s all a part of livin’ on the farm.

Auctioneer part
Gimme 100, 100 lookit this cow
150, 150, 150 now
Gimme two gimme two to the fella in the back
I hear three, three fifty the lady in black
Gimme four now folks only 2 years old
going once, going twice going three times sold!

The last time that I ever saw you
you were locked up in that pen
Tears streaming from your eyes of blue
Tears are all a part of living on the farm

Here’s one I wrote in an airport restaurant and haven’t looked at in years. Imagine a Johnny Cash, One Piece at a Time, kind of feel to it:

Salad Bar
by
Collin Conoley

The sign outside said all you can eat
and that’s a challenge I’d like to meet
so I walked inside and grabbed myself a chair
The salad bar was long and wide
so I sauntered up beside it
to behold the wholesome vegetables there.

There was lettuce, peas, corn and onions
tomatoes, peppers, beans and croutons
bacon bits reaching for the sky.
All the mayonnaise salads looked up to greet me
As if to say, “please come eat me”
I’m only a gentleman so I had to oblige.

There was tuna, chicken, crab and shrimp
four kinds of potato I could take my pick
All this for just 5.99!
Pasta salad both long and curly
fruit salad, egg salad, turkey curry
Don’t even think about trying to cut the line.

I’m working on that buffet line
I paid my dues and I’m serving time
I’m working on that buffet line
I won’t leave till closing time

I piled up my plate so tall
And when I turned around I saw
The dessert bar, then I had to cry
Because I have to get my money’s worth
Even if means my gut will burst
This might kill me but what a way to die.

There was Greek salad, Chinese chicken galore
It was a goddamned international smorgasbord
This must be what it’s like to be rich.
The Mexican salad came with salt and lime
the Japanese salad was still alive
Oh salad bar, you made me your bitch.

I’m working on that buffet line
I paid my dues and I’m serving time
I’m working on that buffet line
I won’t leave till closing time

“He was standing the middle of the street waving his arms all around.  He looked like an opticalpus!”