Whenever there was something introduced to my spongy brain that emotion deemed hazardous, I would shove my nose in a book or a movie. I would color. I would build something. I would pretend to be a dragon in the backyard. THAT was where I sussed out a lot of my pain. Luckily I had kids my own age that were just as creative as I was and we would have epic fanciful adventures.
In the winter, we would pile snow into massive mountains to climb. Our mini Caradhras would entertain us until someone else brought a new tool and it magically changed. We were then tasked to break through the Deeping Wall of Helm’s Deep. Winter was spent doing snow related things, what with being raised in a New England town. Sledding, snowball fights and shoveling were a definite part of every child’s routine.

In my head however, the sled was my spaceship. Even though it felt like I was going down, I was going up with great speed and breaking through the atmosphere to float along the universe.

We used to always go to the same sledding spot. It was a hill relatively close to home, but mom would drive the van out and sit and wait, listening to music and reading. My brother and I would meet with our friends and run up the hill and careen down at lightning speeds, trusting gravity.

Imagine our surprise one day when we found that there was a frozen pond at the base of our hill. After stepping on it and hearing it slightly crack, someone confirmed that it was frozen completely. As an adult I realize how incredibly stupid that reasoning is. There needed to be something less dense underneath it in order for the cracking to even occur. At nine? It was perfect logic. Plus it meant I could still go sledding.

Blissfully ignorant to that concept, we all rushed up the hill, snow tubes and sleds in hand. I remember having this heavy plastic inner tube for pools that my parents had us double for sledding. It was solid purple on the bottom half and the top half was white with purple accented lines. The handles were thick and not wide enough to accept both my hand and my mitten when holding on to it. So I took off the mittens.

As any child figures out after their first time sledding, I knew that if you get a running start you go faster. I ran as fast as I could before hopping unto the donut shaped propulsion device. The moments down the hill can only be described as pure exhilaration laced with joy. You have very little to do with control and you have to accept that to truly enjoy yourself.

I enjoyed the hell out of it… Until I hit the pond at the bottom. I had seen several kids just slide completely over it. Apparently, the introduction of a chubby girl on an inner tube resulted in me reaching a dead stop at the very bottom of the hill. I couldn’t get out of the donut as I was wrapped up in forty-seven snowsuits.

The sound of cracking ice is terrifying, even if you know that it’s not that deep. Your brain knows exactly what is going to happen before it does and it goes through several different scenarios to send a bunch of fear through every inch of your body. You tense and brace for impact.

I assumed that I would be flung from my inner tube. I expected to be flung from my inner tube. What my brain failed to expect was that the pond was deeper than I anticipated. My tube cracked the ice, my weight shifted to one side, and I capsized. My face hit the frozen ground and the icy, dirty water kept me from passing out. I pushed myself out of the water and inhaled a bunch of chilled air.

Everyone shouted from above, asking if I was okay. I nodded and shook them off as I was coughed and sputtered. I had every intention of going again until I realized that lifting my arms was difficult and I was starting to feel really tired. So I started the trudge back to the van and realized that my head was starting to feel crunchy.

I pulled off my hat and winced as stands of my hair were frozen to it. I removed my gloves as they were so saturated they weren’t keeping me warm at all. I imagined that I was Luke Skywalker on Hoth, struggling to make it until Han rode in on a Tauntaun. Even though I spent a lot of time in my own little fantasy world, I knew that Harrison Ford was NOWHERE near me and I definitely needed to get to the van.

When it was finally in view I started screaming for my mom, but saw that she was engrossed in a book and most likely had music playing in the background. She’s also deaf in her left ear, so instead I thought about how warm it would be when I finally got there. It was so cold I was terrified that I would be walking and accidentally step on and shatter a toe. Yes, it most likely wouldn’t have happened. My head has a tendency of playing things out in grand fashion.

I finally got to the door and tried opening the side door and my fingers just stopped cooperating with me. Mr. Press was in the car next to us and jumped out and assessed the issue. He yanked my coat over my head and pulled the door open and shouted for my mom’s jacket. My mother practically vaulted over the seat and started stripping me out of my clothing. I was so cold and so tired I didn’t care that I was getting naked in front of my friend’s father.

I was burritoed up in my mom’s jacket and thrown into the passenger side and all vents were redirected to me. My mom asked Fred to drop my brother off when they were done and then sped back home.

You know those moments in movies where they try to speed up the parts of the story that are inconsequential but they show you that time has progressed? I’m referring to the “fade to black and then fade in to a new moment” effect. That was pretty much what was happening every time I closed my eyes.

My lids would droop and then I would open them and I was being held under a warm shower. I’d blink and then I was putting on pajamas. I’d blink and then I opened my eyes and I was sleeping on the side of my parents waterbed where the heater was and my mother informed me she had turned it to the max and I should just rest. She and my dad then woke me up every few hours.

Looking back, I’m pretty sure it could have been a lot worse.

Oh procrastination… I love you. I blame the Bloggess

Today, the Record Club is reviewing Clutch – Robot Hive/Exodus. Due to the backlog of Season One, the reviews will not post until 8/22. Yes, I’ve done the math and set up scheduled posts for cranialspasm.com/recordclub … You know what? I don’t need to defend myself. I’m neurotic, but at least I make use of it in a productive way!

Anyways, after the reviewing we occasionally have discussions. I decided to share this one because it was so amazing I am still laughing about it.

Seth: I’m listening to Blast Tyrant now. I like it less than Robot Hive but it’s still good.
Mike: Basically they get more rock and jam oriented with age, more spacey metal with their young stuff. The consistency is lyrically based.
Paul: “Spacey Metal”

Marissa: Ok….this picture is clearly the reason I got up today
Ali: Things like this that make some sports talk okay on occasion.
DON’T YOU DARE TALK SPORTS NOW! THIS IS NOT THE OCCASION FOR SPORTS!

Seth: I’ll be on my perch.
Ali: WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO MY EYES RIGHT NOW?!?!?!?!?!! I think I’m having a seizure.
Seth: It may be a Squeee-zure.
Ali: I am so happy!

Seth: Wait, WHAT?

Ali: WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!?!?!?!!

Seth: The 11th and Captain Picard fight the Cybermen and the Borg. If it doesn’t happen, everyone turns into robots.
You don’t want to be a robot, do you?

Ali: You know that I do.

Seth: Well, you WOULD make a hawt borg or cyberlady… Hey, how did the American show have the least exploitive character design?

Ali: I’m part Swedish, so technically I’d be Börg.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking about friendships and conversations about comedy.

I guess it all started with a Christmas present. For Christmas, my brother and sister-in-law got tickets for us to go see Stephen Lynch at Foxwoods.

Tangent – I love a live comedy show. I’m not that big a fan of a concert because there is that nasty habit of people around you singing along loudly to the songs that you’ve heard a thousand times. The thing is… I didn’t pay to hear them sing it. I paid to hear the artist sing it. If I wanted to hear someone next to me belt out Bruce Springsteen, I wouldn’t have spent $160 to do so. I would’ve spent $7 for a drink at a karaoke night.

I was absolutely tickled when Stephen announced that he was working on new music and he played EIGHT NEW SONGS! People were assholes shouting titles of old songs. I got so fed up I ending up shouting “SING SOMETHING NEW!” and when he did, I felt like a wizard.

Here’s where I get to the actual reason why I’m posting.

Over the last few years, a friend rediscovered her love of her faith. I didn’t have a problem with it… except that I didn’t get to see her as much. That’s not to say it’s her fault that we don’t hang out regularly. I tend to forget that there are people that like to hang out with me.

Let’s not talk about those issues (I can touch upon those later if need be). The reason that is relevant to the conversation is that one of Lynch’s new songs was a comedy bit about a friend being “born again”. As he was singing it, I listened and smiled to at the words. As it concluded, I clapped until I realized that my friend didn’t look amused.

Immediately I worried that I had offended her by finding humor in the bit. Since the show I have been thinking about how I approach comedic appreciation with many of my friends. In an era of hypersensitive flowerchild mentalities, it turns out that I unconsciously had been filtering my humor with her.

I don’t believe that I am intentionally stereotyping someone by doing this because other times, I’m completely freaking oblivious.

I’ve been listening to Marc Maron’s podcast WTF? I listened to some of the back catalog and settled on the Patrice O’Neill episode. I laughed my ass off and thought “man… I know my buddy is gonna get a kick outta this.” So I queued it up and started to play it for him. He was silent during parts that I thought were really funny and I found my head cocking to the side. After awhile I asked him what the issue was.

He told me that he kept saying the word “fag” or “gay” and it started to bother him. He actually got a bit angry with me for introducing him to a comedian that obviously rubbed him the wrong way. He asked why I would’ve played something like that for him as he’s been out and proud for many years now.

I thoroughly apologized and turned it off. I didn’t think of him as my homosexual friend. He’s just… him. It’s never been a character definition when referring to him. “This is my gay friend. Ask him about your pants.”

Tangent – Those are words that will NEVER come out of my mouth when doing a first time introduction. Yes, it’s a part of him but it’s not the only part of him. I love that part of him, but that’s not why we’re friends. I’m not filling a quota. I’m pretty sure that if someone introduced me as their “often mental friend” I would shake someone’s hand and then burst into tears and make them hug me and tell me everything was going to be okay.

So I shouldn’t have introduced him to Patrice O’Neill through a conversational interview with Maron. I found it absolutely fascinating, but now I fear that he won’t watch any of Patrice’s comedy specials… and I feel like he’ll be missing out.

One of the benefits of comedy is that it is entirely subjective. It’s also a detriment.

I have a completely warped sense of humor and when I try to share it with some people their reaction shows me that they are not appreciative of it. That’s fine. However, I think that I limit many of potentially warped conversations with people that I have thrown into a “relatively virtuous” stereotype.

Without realizing what it is I’ve been doing, if I am having a conversation with someone I don’t necessarily hold back but I do try to gauge someone’s comedy/pain threshold. Some people may consider me disingenuous when my humor runs the gamut. I think it has a lot to do with being raised in a political family.

You’d think that would have taught me NOT to judge someone’s humor from a person’s façade. My family puts up with a lot of stuff that I do and say, and most of the time it’s with a laugh and a positive response.

Some people in my family love dick jokes

Seth: Would anybody else watch Riot Cats if it was a show on TNT?
Ali: I would.
Seth: I see it as SWAT with all roles played by kittens.
Ali: We have cameras and I’m sure someone will let us borrow kittens for
an evening.
Paul: This show sounds amazing.
[RC] 1/09/12

Ali: Maybe if you track your mood you may be more likely to give
something another try in the future.
Josh: I’d probably spend too long figuring out what kind of mood I’m in.
Seth: Wait, by what criteria are we rating moods? Let’s discuss this for
a few hours.
Paul: I dispute the whole concept of “moods”
Mike: Agreed. What really is self awareness anyway? a flawed prism of
introspection?
Ali: … I hate all of you.
[RC] 1/10/12

I’d totally see a movie called Devil Bucket.
[RC] Seth 1/11/12

I’m still looking for fat ho’s.
Steve 1/11/12

Sports are boring to AliMonster. If you keep me in this thread, add
kitteh pictures.
[RC] Ali 1/12/12

Marissa: Paul, you’re about to claim that Jordan is a Templar aren’t
you? Or at the very least a Mason?
Ali: Jordan, Bird, and Pippen formed the Balluminati.
Seth: Does anyone still really care about walkhockey? I know the NBA
owners don’t, and no one associated with the Knicks has for years.
Marissa: Seth, hush!! This is the kind of speak that gets you thrown in
the court of Justice. You’re then sentenced to a one-on-one sudden
death match-up with Michael Jordan or one of the other Centers of
Darkness. It never ends well for the lowly people.
[RC] 1/12/12

I’m really not a fan of fillers like this. It sounds like it ran away
from a Tim Burton movie.
[RC] Marissa 1/12/12

Rule #2 – You don’t talk about Fight Club. This is Record Club, stupid.
[RC] Josh 1/12/12

Seth: Paul, did anyone teach you how to start a new thread?
Paul: What did I do wrong? I guess I was a little lazy on thread
etiquette here-is that what you’re saying?
Seth: I’m just saying Joni Mitchell was acquitted of all charges in the
OKC incident.
[RC] 1/13/12

He had about four Tibetan Big Gulps.
Seth 1/13/12

Do you cum salt petre?
Ali 1/13/12

You blew a stripper? That’s like blowing every lady that got married
that year.
Ali 1/13/12

Once you go fat, you never go flat.
Seth 1/13/12

He has a beef chef boyardee about him?
Vicki 1/13/12

“Why does my sock smell so good?”
“You been walkin on sunshine?”
Seth and Vicki 1/13/12

I’m flying high on the new season of NeverNotFunny. And codeine cough
medicine. Mostly the medicine, actually. Turns out I can’t teleport. I
am just walking around during blackouts.
[RC] Seth 1/18/12

“Ali’s drunk so don’t listen to her.”
“Also true.”
Steve and Ali 1/18/12

I’ve never seen Bill Paxton look that happy.
[RC] Marissa 1/19/12

You didn’t know Hitler hated the balcony?
Ashley 1/20/12

Was that somebody’s snowblower or did they just pull up?
Seth 1/23/12

Lolmayor.
[RC] Christina 1/25/12

He’s kind of fun though. He’s like the Michael Scott of Mayors.
[RC] Kevin 1/25/12

Josh: He probably did about 5 straight terms and then lost to April
Capone a few years ago and just got reelected last year. The funny thing
is, April’s main problem was she was at odds with the police force. She
definitely would have handled that question better.
Paul: Who would’ve thought-A Capone at odds with the police force
[RC] 1/25/12

“Seth: “Mayor Joseph Maturo SAYS he’s having tacos for dinner, but Mayor
Maturo’s wife actually is making a box of Velveeta Cheezy Skillet. Do we
need a mayor who can’t tell the truth about dinner?
I’m Harvey Stanton. When I commit to a meal, I don’t back out or
flip-flop. I have eaten tacos, spaghetti, General Tso’s, pho, and
haggis. As your mayor, I’ll eat anything, anywhere. And that’s a
promise.”"
Ali: …. LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLadies?
[RC] 1/25/12

Jared: My favorite quote – “I said maybe go out and have a latino meal
tonight, whether it be tacos or whether it be any other meal.”
Ali: … Latino Swedish Meatballs are delicious. I find nothing funny
about that sentence.
[RC] 1/25/12

That must happen in every town. Mayors give jobs to their friends and
relatives. It’s a fact of life. When Borer was mayor of west haven, he
was notorious for that. He was also notorious for hiring contractors,
paid for by the city of West Haven, to make home improvements to his
house & paying for regular flights to Ohio to meet his concubine.
[RC] Christina 1/25/12

That’s why they keep electing Picard. He’s the least crooked guy they’ve
had since the British burned the place down.
[RC] Seth 1/25/12

Is this whole thing about pizza and politics? I just want to know if
there’s anything I’m missing….
[RC] Marissa 1/25/12

Christmas at her house is a more offensive stereotype than the Olive
Garden.
[RC] Ali 1/25/12

Rosebud is Norman Bates’ mother all along.
[RC] Seth 1/26/12

If I could fuck Groupon, I would.
Ali 1/30/11

“We call the process of growing a beard after achieving recognition as a
child actor “”Wheatonization”".
Ain’t no beard alive as glorious as that which resides on the chinny
chin chin of the former Wesley Crusher. ”
[RC] Ali 1/31/12

True story.

I digress. When I was younger, I thought it would be super cool to get a SUFI tattoo. So I did.

Me this morning

One of my biggest issues with looking at this tattoo and seeing it wasn’t regret. It was more apathy than anything else. It was a fun while it lasted, but I didn’t feel anything towards it anymore.

This will probably piss off my parents, but I decided to take a small chunk of my tax return (State, and I didn’t use it all so it was a very cheap present to myself) and get a tattoo. I just wanted to cover the tattoo with something that I have loved since childhood. My body has changed so much in the past few years, I thoroughly enjoy decorating it with lovely things. Also it was getting super faded and I didn’t want to get it freshened when I didn’t really care about it as much.

So I got something to remind me of both my love for the macabre, and the car I used to have that I named after one of my favorite characters.

I walked into a parlor today and after talking to Dustin and taking a look at his portfolio, it was set in motion. As the needles vibrated against my skin I knew that I was doing the right thing (for me). As he inked over the scar tissue of the old tattoo I winced, because tattooing over scars is ridiculously painful. But I soldiered through. Pain is something that I am used to. It’s something that I used to revel in.

I saw the tattoo slowly fill in and couldn’t stop smiling.

So here it is, the newest addition to my body. I couldn’t be happier.

I am the shadow on the moon at night.

Seth: No story, no gumbo.

Ali: I’M SORRY! WIN THE LOTTO AND PAY ME TO WRITE IT!

Seth: No, I pay in gumbo.
If I win the lotto we are forming an arts colony that happens to own a bar.

Ali: … I need money to be happy.

Seth: My gumbo will keep you nourished and motivated, then the money comes when it starts selling.

Ali: I get worried when I don’t have any money.

Seth: Me too.

Ali: So instead of giving me a steady allowance, you will cash all of your winnings into gold coins less what it will take for an operation that will allow you to breathe fire. You’re going to dragon horde your riches while I sit in abject poverty with random cardboard pieces with little bits of my story written on them in blood and feces.
… You, sir, are a monster.

Seth: No no no no!
Arts Colony that owns Bar! That’s not dragon-hoarding, it’s material, financial, moral, and alcohol support!

Ali: YOU ARE LEAVING ME WITH POOP AND BLOOD! Poop is the DEVIL’S fingerpaint!