The Thing That

Melle Mel hasn't blogged it yet but let me be the first to congratulate her. Way to go, babe!

This morning while pureeing chickpeas in the cuisinart (don't ask) that old adage "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade" popped into my head. I'm not sure why. And for perhaps the first time in my life I thought about this saying (which I've always found annoying) and its fundamental flaw. Have you ever tried to make lemonade with lemons -- with just lemons? You get bitter lemon juice that makes you gag. Lemonade requires water and lots of sugar. So unless life is also handing you sugarwater those lemons ain't gonna be so fucking great. Anyway, just a thought at 7am.

Here's a funny childhood memory. When I was growing up in England my parents were friends with another couple -- let's call them the Smiths. Maybe "friends" is too strong a word because at some point it came out that my parents really weren't that fond of them. One evening the Smiths invited themselves over. As we were waiting for them to arrive my parents grew increasingly annoyed at the thought of having to entertain them. My mother hit on the idea of turning off all the lights in the house and hiding in the kitchen with the door closed. Which is what we did. When they rang the doorbell we were lying on the floor under the kitchen table, trying not to make a sound. It worked: they left. I'm not sure what excuse my parents later offered for not being home, though now that I think about it I don't remember ever seeing the Smiths again, so maybe that was the end of the friendship. For me, it was just another sign that my parents weren't quite like other people's parents.

Today I got an email from my dad. 25 years and another continent later the Smiths have tracked him down. In April they'll be visiting the city where my parents live and are hoping to visit. The email from my dad, sent to my mother and cc'd to me, said: "Better bone-up on your hiding-under-the-table skills!" I doubt he'd seriously do it but how funny would it be if he invited them to town and then hid?

Last week sucked, plain and simple. Not being considered for a job that I probably didn't want was a blow to the ego. I couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't let it go. The meltdown happened on Thursday night: wailing, gnashing of teeth, etc. And then when I woke up Friday the storm had cleared. Work was fine and I didn't give a shit no more. I felt good. That night we watched Pretty in Pink, which, to Melle Mel's amazement, I'd never seen (yeah, it's an age thing) and I enjoyed it, a good sign. Then Saturday morning we headed down to Portland with the other Mike G. to go see Painkiller's band play in a Chinese restaurant. We spent the day in a state of giddiness which I insisted was due to the altitude. We walked all over downtown, which takes about ten minutes, hitting the legendary Powell's City of Books, chowing down at a charming Italian deli, and -- well, we must have done something else. Hooked up with PK and Mikie for drinks in the hotel bar (Note: don't stay in the downtown Days Inn in Portland -- it really sucks) then headed out for a fab dinner at Mother's Bistro (Note: if you ask anyone in Portland where to eat they will tell you Mother's). Got to the Chinese restaurant just in time to help the band load in and avoid the $7 cover (there were four bands on the bill, PK's playing second). Then we got drunk and obnoxious. Oh, and I got to play rock star, joining PK and the boys for one song to declaim nonsensical lyrics over a hypnotic groove. All in all it was one of the best Saturday's in a long time. And when I tossed my sock out the hotel window while trying to take it off at 3am I laughed until I cried.