Monday, July 31, 2006 | by nathan

I Think I Broke The Wings Off That Little Songbird

It’s so weird.

I got up this morning and did my morning things, and after a little while started getting ready for Karen’s funeral. It was oddly ritualistic - ironing my shirt, making sure the water was on in back while I got ready, having breakfast.

I was listening to Patty Griffin as I got ready, and as I drove to the funeral home. I ended up running late and so the drive was a bit stressful. I was only a couple minutes late, however, and ended up walking in with a guy with whom I knew a bit at the Gazette.

I felt embarassed coming in so late and slouched down in my pew. The service started.

I always feel detached during funerals. I am not sure if this is some kind of psychological defense mechanism. I listened to the stories that her family told, and recited Psalm 23 along with the minister. It was rote, like the ironing.

I have only known Karen for nine months or so, and in that time I have grown to really love her, but it occurred to me at the funeral that what I know of her is dwarfed by the experiences of her family, and our other co-workers, and her good friends.

I wasn’t sure what to do when they opened the coffin and everyone filed toward the front. Karen’s daughter Jill works at the Gazette as well, and I hugged her and felt myself beginning to tear up. I snuck a look at Karen; she didn’t look like herself. She has worn a wig as long as I have known her - the price of chemo. But she didn’t have her glasses on, and her face was drawn into a kind of frown. I hate that about open caskets; people never look like themselves, and it is hard to say goodbye.

In the front room of the funeral home I hugged our editor and we made small talk for a couple seconds, but I felt myself getting claustrophobic and stepped outside. I wanted to ask for a cigarette, but I thought it would be in bad taste, as Karen had died of lung cancer.

I elected not to go to the burial; I always thought that was more of a thing for the family and close, close friends; also, I am a coward.

I drove from the funeral home to Laurie and Jaye’s house; I needed someone to talk to, and Brian was at work. I got to Laurie’s at 11:30 and made myself a Jack and Coke, and she and I talked until Jaye got home from class. We all went to Chelino’s for Mexican food. I came home and crashed on the couch for awhile; checked email, watched TiVo, vegged out.

Brian got his hair cut in Norman after work, then went to Chickasha to visit his parents. Twice I got in the car to go get food, and each time got freaked out and turned around and came back home. I wasn’t sure what freaked me out, exactly; I just couldn’t really countenance eating, though I was famished.

Then my dad called, and I started talking to him, and I found myself in the car, then driving, then at Sonic. I felt calmer. We got off the phone and I ordered food, and called Dylan, who is coming to visit in time for K.C.’s next show on August 19.

I felt calmer for awhile, with waves of sad panic rising up in my chest, then falling.

I hate death. I hate cancer.  

Friday, July 28, 2006 | by nathan

Fried Chicken on My Birthday

With everything else that has been going on this week I entirely forgot to blog about my birthday dinner.

Well - that is partially true. I wrote an entire blog post about it and then accidentally clicked on one of my live bookmarks and the whole thing was lost. It was late at night and I was tired of writing, and so I just said, "Screw it." THEN everything got crazy and I never had a chance to rewrite.

So here’s Opus 2.

Everyone kept asking me where I wanted to go for my birthday dinner. I threw out three suggestions, all of which were closed on Sunday night. So we postponed the dinner until Monday morning, but I was still faced with the same horrifying choice: Cafe Nova, Galileo, or Sushi Neko. I was torn, and everyone said it was up to me, as if the only unacceptable birthday present was to ask for someone else to make the decision, which was really all I wanted.

In the end, I decided on something very different than all of those places, and much more sinful.

I decided on Eischen’s Bar, in Okarche, Oklahoma.

For the uninitiated Eischen’s Bar is an historical landmark in a very small town northwest of Oklahoma City about twenty miles. It is a straight shot out of the city on the northwest expressway or directly north of El Reno on U.S. Highway 81. 

Monday night Laurie and Jaye, Erica, my mom, my brother, Brian and I loaded up into three cars and flew up the expressway to chicken heaven. Eischen’s is famous in Oklahoma and, no matter where in the state you live, it is always worth the drive. The menu consists of fried chicken, fried okra, some barbecue, and chili.

But you go for the fried stuff; especially the chicken. The chicken at Eischen’s is legendary, as is the okra. The whole thing is served not on plates but on large pieces of butcher paper and in little paper boats. Every order comes with a large setup of dill and bread and butter pickles and white onions soaked in vinegar. They bring you almost an entire loaf of white bread, and you wrap the pickles and onions up in this to get you started.

The beer on tap is cold and delicious - let’s not even mention how cheap. In the face of this much fried food - not to mention the country music on the jukebox and the sawdust on the floor - it is neither possible nor desirable to be a beer snob. The beer on special was Coors, and along with all that sinful, delicious food it tasted delicious.

Oklahomans get crazy excited about a trip to Eischens. Health nuts put aside their hang-ups and everyone else makes sure to eat nothing before an Eischen’s trip. Just look at how excited the Flynns are here.

Laurie looks like she could split with excitement. Our food took awhile to arrive, but in the interest of being fair, we were a party of seven who ordered three chickens, two orders of Okra, and three pitchers of beer with only 30 minutes left before the kitchen closed.

Notice behind Jaye’s head that there is a large blackened piece of woodwork. That is all that is left of an old baroque Spanish bar that was crafted in the 1500s and was shipped to the U.S. early in the 20th century. It found its way to Eischens after it was built, and when a huge fire gutted the place in the 1980s the bar was almost entirely consumed. What is left of this wonderful piece of antiquery hangs on the wall around news clippings from papers and magazines from around the world praising Eischens and lamenting its near loss in the horrible fire.

We walked out of there feeling like we were about to burst; this was not a problem, as the food was - pardon my French - fucking delicious and we all thoroughly enjoyed one another’s company.

Bride-to-be Erica was particularly excited about the delicious chicken and pitchers of beer. She has to fit in a wedding dress one week from tomorrow, and in the face of Eischens food, it did not matter.

Dude, I’m telling you - it alone is worth a trip to Oklahoma.

This weekend Brian and I are headed back out to the plains to go camping. This is the first weekend we have not had prior commitments since the middle of June - between Pride and wedding stuff we haven’t had an entire weekend to ourselves in a month and a half.

We’ll be at Roman Nose State Park if you desperately need us, but the computer is not coming with, and I promise you that you can do without us for a couple days.

Photo blog on the camping trip to follow on Sunday night or Monday morning.
 

Friday, July 28, 2006 | by nathan

It’s A Stupid, Unfair World

Back when I kept office hours at the Gazette I worked with a wonderful woman named Karen. She was funny and snarky, intelligent and immensely helpful in helping me to find my legs in the editorial basement. While I loved almost everything about my internship, and really enjoy everyone with whom I worked, I liked Karen especially.

Karen was battling lung cancer from the moment I met her. Every day I would ask her about her doctor’s appointments and her treatments, and she and I would agree that in some way, George W. Bush was absolutely to blame for her illness. I like that in a girl. While I was working in the editorial department Karen had surgery to remove a large section of her lung that had been overcome with tumors. She was out for six weeks, and in her absence I was trained in a big part of her job, which was typing in the entertainment listings for which the Gazette is locally revered and sought out. I liked the work, but missed Karen. When she came back - weakened but excited to get out of bed and back to work - I was ecstatic.

One day I went to lunch at my favorite place, Galileo, and while there I walked across the street to a little boutique in the Paseo Arts District. As I walked around the boutique I saw a little blue ceramic hippo. He was this beautiful shade of blue - the color of peace for me - and he had some beautiful carved lines on him. He fit in my palm, and I bought him, because I felt I needed something to hang on to.

I named him Zippy the Hippy Hippo.

When I got back to the office Karen was over the moon about Zippy, and as she was set to go on leave for her operation the next day, I sat him on her desk for the rest of the day. I thought of telling her to take Zippy with her while she was gone, but for some reason I didn’t. I’m not sure why - it’s not like I was so married to Zippy that I wanted him all to myself. I just thought, "What a feeble gesture."

Karen died last night, almost exactly 24 hours prior to my writing of this post. I had only seen her once since my internship was over, and I was rushing into a meeting with my editor and couldn’t talk to her for very long. I gave her a big hug on my way out.

Now she is gone and all I can think is how much I wish I’d have given Zippy to her.

Her funeral is on Monday. Erica’s wedding is on Saturday. This next week of my life is going to be like some horrible British film.

At a wedding I went to in 2004 I asked a friend, "Is it weird that funerals make me think of sex, and weddings make me think of death?" 

She replied, "I thought I was the only one who felt that way." 

Brian and I are going camping tomorrow. I think it will do me good to get out of my thinky thoughts for a couple days, to relax with a beer in one hand and a book in the other. We drove to Chickasha today so Brian could fill up his car with free gas from his dad’s convenience store. It started to storm on the way down, and the plains looked like this:

It’s not much, but it’s all I got. 

Karen’s my friend, and I’m going to miss her a whole lot.

The whole drive down I kept listening to Patty Griffin’s song "Long Ride Home" and watching the rain and lightning and sunset; it looked like the storm was trying to wrap itself around something that wanted to explode out - a shaft of light shooting straight upward here, a Jacob’s ladder there.

The plains are good for that kind of reflection, for reminding you how much bigger the sky is than just anything at all.

I don’t care whether you’re the praying kind or not. I once considered myself far too couth for prayer; but please send a quick one up for Karen’s family. Her daughter works at the Gazette as well and is going to miss her mother a lot.

Death sucks. 

Thursday, July 27, 2006 | by nathan

Hey, Here’s Another Bomb: I Like Beer.

So Lance Bass is gay.

Yeah, big shock. God, boy bands suck. Who the hell did these guys think they were kidding?

Wednesday, July 26, 2006 | by nathan

Seriously, What Would You Have Done?

On my MySpace profile I mention that I once beat up a drag queen. This may be a bit hyperbolic; it’s not like there was this drag queen lying broken and defeated at my feet, or that I was handed the Golden Chalice of Deren’Thor when it was all over or anything. But I get a lot of comments and emails asking about it, so here is the story.

There is this drag queen in Oklahoma City; fairly successful as far as drag queens go, I suppose, as most of the gay people with whom I associate know her both in drag and out. Many of them have had experiences with her similar to the one I am going to share (except without the beating up part), so keep that in mind. Also, keep in mind that I usually really like drag queens.

So just after I returned to Oklahoma City in 2002 I was still trying to make friends in the local gay community. I did not know very many people, I was brokenhearted and looking for some new friends. So I went out to Angles one night in the spring of 2003 and had one or two social cocktails.

This drag queen - who will not be named - kept walking up to me and, let us be charitable and say she kept complimenting me on my appearance. It was nice and all, except that a) she was not attractive in the least, and b) she kept trying to kiss me. I’m not really that kind of a guy, and so rebuffed her constantly but more or less played it off. As the night wore on I got a bit more inebriated, as did the drag queen, who began walking up to me and shoving her hand directly down my pants.

Okay, what guy do you know who likes having his junk grabbed by someone wearing four-inch nails? Wait, don’t answer that.

It happened several times and I kept pushing her away, each time more forcefully, less polite. I think people in the club started to think that I was with her, which was also incredibly irritating, as I was getting some unsavory looks. I wanted to get on the P.A. and announce how pissed off I was getting.

So the club closed, and by this time I had sobered up. I stepped out front to have a cigarette and the drag queen strolled up to me once more, and quickly shoved her hand down my pants again.

I shoved her away - for probably the eighth or ninth time - and was like, "Hey, man. Stop." Very firmly.

Queen kinda stumbled around a bit - she was drunk - and pulled me close to slur in my ear, "You should come back to my place. This is my car right here." Followed by a profane string of incredibly dirty things that she presumably wanted to do to me. Then she shoved her hand down my pants again.

Rage exploded inside me. "This is your car right here?" 

"Yeah. You’re coming home with me."

In a movement much quicker than I usually think myself capable, I pulled her hand out of my pants, grabbed the back of her neck with my other hand, and slammed her forehead on the hood of the car. She stood up quickly and stumbled around for a sec; I swear there were little cartoon birds swarming around her head for a moment.

"You don’t have to be a bitchabboudid," she slurred, sounding as if she had bit her tongue.

"Yeah, I think I do," I said loudly. "Don’t stick your fucking hand down people’s pants."

I turned and walked away; a few of the gay boys who were standing around were looking at me in surprise. I was surprised with myself.

A couple years later that same drag queen locked a gay boy I knew in his closet and raped him, and any remorse I may have had about that night kinda vanished, if it was ever there to begin with. Which I am not sure it was.  

Sunday, July 23, 2006 | by nathan

Has Anyone Seen My Carefree Youth? I Know I Left It Around Here Somewhere…

I am 26 years old today. Very technically speaking I will not be 26 until 6:05 p.m., because that, I am told, is what time I was born after my mother walked herself from a doctor’s appointment over to the hospital in Weatherford, Oklahoma after the doctor said, "You’re not having back pain. You’re in labor." And so, she got up off the table, and walked herself to the emergency room.

In many ways, I am her son.

So today I am 26. Someone asked me last week how old I am and I said, "I’m 26." Just trying it on, seeing how it feels. 26. 26. 26. 26.

Last year some dumbass girl at the pool where I was working freaked out about how "old" I was when I told her it was my 25th birthday.

Two years ago I made minor Oklahoma City Legend with my incredible feats of drunken karaoke.

On my 20th birthday I was in Ireland again after a trip to London with Tish. I missed home, and mommy, and I called her to get her to tell me about the day I was born, but I think she was irritated because it was the first of my birthdays we hadn’t spent together, so she was very short, like, "I went into labor. You were born. Well, I gotta go."

On my 7th birthday we were vacationing in Colorado, our family doing its yearly camp-out, and mom and dad took me to Dinosaur National Monument. In the pictures of that day I look sarcastic and put-upon, but I remember it as being one of the best days ever, at least, for a seven-year-old.

My 25th year was a joyous surprise; a lot of good happened and, for the first time in a long time, I can honestly say I am really happy with where my life is, and who I feel I am becoming. As a child I feared adulthood. Now I am glad to be getting older. All the drama and hormonal fear of my teens, all the false starts, bad nights and crazy paranoia of my early twenties - all of that is gone, and while I am not sure what is next, I am sure looking forward to it.

Brian got me a new camera and a bottle of Effen Black Cherry vodka. Mom got me a gift card to Macy’s so we could get stuff for the house. I love this family. 

Saturday, July 22, 2006 | by nathan

The School of Life is, you take the test first, then you get the lesson.

When I was in junior high I was friends with a girl who was funny, pretty, and smart. Everyone loved her, and everyone wanted to be her friend. In junior high I was awkward, nerdy, undeveloped, and sad almost all the time. I was hormonal and scared, I was living in a new town, going to an overcrowded public school and living in apartments in bad neighborhoods, with cockroaches.

And yet this girl was my friend for a time. We both wrote, and walked around feeling like E.T. three days out of rehab almost all the time. And so I got to be friends with her.

Until we weren’t all of a sudden. I never knew what happened, except that she didn’t like me anymore, and neither did a lot of our friends in common. Being the person I am - and exercising significantly less control over my temper then than now - I decided I was not going to take this lying down. I trashed her behind her back. I spilled all the secrets she had told me. I all but took out ads in the local media. I trashed her like I assumed that she had trashed me, and it was good.

And we went to high school after that. There were a few flare-ups in the conflict, but mostly we avoided each other. We never had to work together on any group projects, and we mostly ran with different crowds, despite belonging to the fairly incestuous "honors class" crowd. I did my lame journalism/be-in-every-club-you-can thing, and as I remember she did a lot of science fair stuff. Our paths rarely crossed. The drama between us, which had been such a fascination among students, teachers and counselors alike in junior high, faded away as other dramas took their place. I became friends with some lovely people who are still in my life today. I also became friends with some rather awful people of whom I was glad to be shed come graduation day. Life continued apace.

So the other day I checked MySpace and whoom - there is a message in my inbox from this girl, to whom I have literally not spoken one word in ten and a half years. She apologized for what happened between us - twelve years or so ago in the ninth grade - and told me that she has gone through her life having to learn a lot of things the hard way.

Yeah - do I know something about that?

So I wrote her back and said hey, no problem. What is past is past, we all have to learn and grow and be stupid and go through that horrible awful time called junior high.

The whole situation between she and I is so far in the past as to be almost nonexistent. The fact is, it was good to hear from her, to see what she is doing with her life now, to see pictures, and to find out that she seems more or less happy with the person she is. Is this what growth feels like?

The internet has magical powers, and I don’t understand how life can be so incredibly funny at times. 

Thursday, July 20, 2006 | by nathan

She’s A Big Girl, and I Like That

Duuuuude.

So I’m doing this story on antique malls and vintage clothing stores for my lovely paper (ignoring the fact that two stories I pitched got handed to the new intern - but I am trying my very best to remain un-bitter).

Yesterday I was wrapping up the leg work and just about to get started writing when I wandered into one last antique mall for the day - check out what I found.

Vintage 50’s pitcher and tumblers with a woman in a polka-dot bathing suit and hat. What I love about her is that she is clearly a size 12. I love that about the 50’s. 

Tuesday, July 18, 2006 | by nathan

The Sets Were Virtually Identical

So it’s hot, right? Effing HOT. The high today was 108; in Calumet they recorded 116. Yeah, global warming is a myth, and we should all go out and buy Hummers.

So we sat in tonight, made beer and pastrami sandwiches, and watched television. Two episodes of Veronica Mars - yeah. And then - in a fit of boredom that might have killed a tree sloth - turned on the Trinity Broadcasting Network. Where we saw….this:

(P.S., "Praise The Lord" is a lot more fun when you mute it and make up your own dialogue).

She’s coming for YOUR children if she doesn’t get a contribution in the next fifteen minutes. She actually needs a bigger cross around her neck. This one won’t ward off all the vampires that are after her at this point.

"When you’re down there you reach up and you twist the tit. Just twist it, just a little; she’ll love it." 

Where are they? Liberace’s living room? Barbara Mandrell’s foyer? And what’s up with Jesus being behind bars back there?

"You should see my new baby." No, that’s really what’s she’s saying there. Jesus gave her offspring and bleachy-white teeth.

I know her. She won the drag queen pageant last year because SHE IS A MAN. MAN!! And what’s with the outfit? Is she going to direct traffic later? Is it deer season?

So after PTL was Benny Hinn. Aaah, Benny Hinn, who was banned from Oklahoma City for over a decade because a 90-something year old woman he "healed" on stage promptly got up, tried to walk away, fell, and broke her neck. He made a triumphal reentry to OKC last year. 

"People of Argentina…"

Ummm, Benny - I think you puked all down your shirt there. And you’ve got a little something on your lip, just… yeah, I’m sure it’s just milk. Powdered…milk. White, powdery, Colombian milk.

After awhile we just couldn’t deal with it anymore, and so we switched over to something only a little less weird, and a whole lot less gay: Pee-Wee’s Playhouse on Adult Swim. I never realized it, but all those years of watching this show as a first-grader - it made me really crave my dad’s pancakes (which he used to make for us every Saturday morning) and twenty years later it made me see everything in a whole new light where Mr. Herman is concerned. Let’s look at the evidence:

Dude, Jomby’s about to seriously get it. Right in the face he’s gonna get it. And he’s ready; look at that beatific smile shining out from that bejeweled box where he lives. Mekka-Lekka Hi, Mekka Hiney Ho indeed, Jomby.

After Pee-Wee connects the dots (la la la la la!) he uses his new dot-sleigh to head to the North Pole, where he finds Santa standing on a street corner like a common hooker giving the "gay wave." "Hey girl! What choo want for Christmas?" 

Okay, and then Pee-Wee plays pretend and goes off for a claymation trip in space, where he runs into…this… 

If this doesn’t speak for himself then I am Maya Angelou.

Then Tito the Pool Boy comes over…

"Tito the Pool Boy thinks that this time, I’m going to use a condom. Tito the Pool Boy doesn’t realize that I can have INS here in five seconds flat if he doesn’t let me bareback."

Tito’s salivating for it anyway, Pee-Wee. Just go for it. 

And notice that the show is TV-PG. It was pretty racy for Saturday morning.  

Still, much more comforting and theologically sound than Praise The Lord.  

Monday, July 17, 2006 | by nathan

Maybe Calvin Is Allergic To Texas…

Dallas was fantastic. And dramatic. It was the most fun disaster I have ever been a part of.

Highlights and Lowlights:

At dinner, when I won the contest of "Who Knows Erica the Best" and one of the bridesmaids got angry with me.

Dropping my phone into a bag of beer cans, where it was promptly killed. 

Smashing out my tail light at the hotel while trying to chase Sara’s car to the karaoke bar.

Anna Nicole Smith’s cousin hooking at the gas station across the highway.

Chipotle. Chipotle. Chipotle.

I got to ride with the three coolest people on the trip: Anitra, Chambers, and Laurie. You wanna talk some fun car conversations.

Anitra singing Tears for Fears at the karaoke bar and making Erica cry, and mine and Erica’s rousing performance of "Love Shack." To quote Erica: "I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun singing that song." Amen, Bridey.

Sneaking Erica into the boys’ bathroom to steal a roll of toilet paper.

Having to leave the karaoke bar very, very suddenly because - well, because I’m not sure why except some people were dead set on not being there anymore.

The rousing conversation I had with Sara Gowdy at the second bar, wherein she became my new hero. Never has there been a Maid of Honor quite like her - she drove down to Dallas awhile back by herself to plan all the logistics of this trip. She kept everything together this weekend in spite of losing her wallet at the bar, and she handled all the dramarama like a pro, and with class. 

Chambers rubbing his junk on Laurie, who shoved him out into the hallway wearing nothing but my "Vaginas Unite" T-shirt, where he was promptly shamed by an elderly black woman.

There’s more, of course - suffice it to say that despite the fact that things kept going wrong, it was an absolute blast. On the way back from Dallas, however, my car seriously overheated. We had stopped for a few minutes at the Braum’s in Ardmore, Oklahoma, and as we were leaving I noticed that my heat gauge was in the red. I have been having radiator problems for over a year, and so I have learned something about getting back on the road again - wait for it to cool down, pour some water up in it, then head on out. Ooookay. So because I had been walking around with Bulky Camera all weekend and shot no pictures, I whipped it out to handle the ennui.

This plant looks like it’s sneaking up on Bryon and Anitra.

It’s not an anything room. Not anymore.

Oh yeah. Laurie’s having fun. Mondo.

Well, Chambers, this is what happens when you spend a whole weekend opening beers with your fingers.

I had to use my Vaginas Unite shirt to unscrew the radiator cap, and it got water and antifreeze all over it. Aww, I’m sad. I had to hang out with fifty lesbians for six weeks to get that shirt.

Yeah, Braum’s sells this. Yum. "Hey kids! Put on yer Sundy best! Wur makin’ meatloaf in the radar range!"

Okay, it’s a fast-food ice cream and dairy store. Not the CIA. Communications may be monitored and recorded? Activities may be recorded on tape? What the hell?

Okay, so we finally got back on the road. After we got off the interstate the car started to heat up; I made it to Chambers’ house just as the car started to overheat again. And so - more waiting. And the best part was that, because Chambers packed in such a rush, he had no keys, and no way to get into the house until his sister came to get him. I called Brian and he and Jaye came to work on the car. In the meantime, we waited in the hundred-degree Oklahoma mugginess:

Not sure what happened here, but apparently Chambers’ incessant poking at my car’s engine with a stick accomplished something funny.

God, it was hot out there. Good thing we had beers in a cooler in the back. My poor car - look at little Calvin with his hood up all sad-like.

You know you’re suffering from heatstroke when you start taking pictures of people’s trash cans.

I think it’s safe to say that Anitra was ready to get home to Stillwater - here and she still had another hour to drive. And let me just reiterate how effing hot it was out there.

Anyhow, Brian and Jaye showed up to save the day. I drove Anitra back to the Beans’ house in Brian’s car, came back to pick up Laurie while Jaye and Bri took my car home, and finally - the trip was over. It was an exhausting, trying wonderful weekend, and when it was over, I said, "I don’t think I have ever been so excited to see this house in all my life."

I’m home, I’m grateful I have Mondays off, and I’m thanking Jesus that when my car did overheat, it did it in safe places, and that I was with people I love and admire for their patience, friendship and fortitude.

One of those friends is getting married soon. Good luck, Erica. I look forward to making more memories when we’re both married old bitties.