Plumbing Problem

I’m appealing to the public to help me out here.

I have a basement studio complete with shower and toilet. I’m having a problem and I’m wondering if it has to do with the super duper amounts of rain we’ve been having. I could be wrong because I know nothing about what voo-doo (get it?!) goes on once the pipes go into the walls and under the floors.

When I flush the toilet, sewage gurgles up from my shower drain. They are connected somehow. Moths have been coming out of my shower drain and sometimes when the sewage gurgles up there are little worms (moth larvae) mixed in with the sewage. Nice huh? This is the life of the rich and famous. My studio has little black moths coming out of my shower drain and when it’s not moths it’s my poop.

Anyone have any ideas? I’m wondering if I should pour Liquid Plummer into the shower drain. I already poured a bottle of Head and Shoulders and Old Spice body scrub that Eef left at my house when his band stayed over last summer. Those products didn’t kill the worms so I poured Clorox color bleach down there and now when the sewage gurgles up the worms are all dead (and smell breezy fresh).

The Hope of Youth

When I was 25 I had hope because I was ignorant of the shit that life had in store for most of us. Like Hesse’s BENEATH THE WHEEL my youthful optimism hadn’t been dragged through the mud and crushed under the wagon wheel of adulthood. I got punched and was slow to learn that life is at least partially about getting punched.

I’ve been listening to The Spoons and their music will not last, but I love it. There’s this song called The Underdog that hits me deep everytime I hear, “You won’t listen to the middle man. That’s why you will not survive.”

Now those lyrics are general enough to apply to everyone in just about every situation, but I’m in this weird place where it feels like prophecy, “Listen to the low people or you will die…soon.” That’s going psycho, I know. Believe me I’m pretty well attuned to how close I am to that blabbering, homeless guy who sleeps in his own piss and has at least six people living in his skull. Without my Beloved wife I’d be that guy. I’d be the 6′8″ version of that guy and people would give me money to buy soup so they could feel like they were buying their way into heaven. If homeless people serve any purpose they serve as a warning to me and a repository of rich white guilt deflection.

Okay, so I hate feeling guilty, feeling low, feeling like God is crushing me Beneath The Wheel because I’m so corrupt that I will take pride in God crushing me. He has to touch me to crush me and I’m important enough to show up on his radar and…see? If I was really humble I wouldn’t have to tell you about my personal progress. I’m only telling you this so you’ll suspect me before you respect me. You’re not allowed to think I’m humble, progressive, introspective or virtuous because even my virtue should be brought under the banner of suspect.

So we’re on the same page that I’m a pig, right? If you didn’t believe me just trust that I could share three or four despicable thoughts I’ve had in the last 24 hours that would convince you that I’m a pig, a hypocrite, a vessel worthy of destruction. I also take no joy in being low because that would only be yet another example of being a pig. Whew! So much qualifying just to say what I want to say.

So I’m brought low in the mud and I look up and a flower is growing here in my pigpen. Not just a flower but a garden of lush ferns, mushrooms, fucking Sequoias. There’s hope down here. Not empty dreams of fantasies and well wishing or positive thinking. This is hope. I could build a house on it. It’s secure.

I’m supposed to be so pessimistic that winging around words like “hope” disqualify me from being truly self-loathing. Hope is the ultimate fuck you to those who think I’m reading from the script of a guilt spiral. That’s what I’m trying to say, that I’m crushed under the wheel and I’ve never had more hope to stand on. This might just be what Christ means by finding life in him when I die to self. Well I’m dead and I’ve never had joy like this. I’m walking around high as a kite. I’m feasting like a zombie at a convalescent hospital.

Mom, if you read this I’m sorry for saying the word “fuck”. I have a heirarchy of character defects to change and cussing is appropriately below “dying on the vine”. I’ll get to it. Hold your nose until I get to it.

I feel like a kid but I have the knowledge of an adult. Look to the horizon, friend. See that? That’s hope over there. It’s coming to town like an iron train.

P.S. Off topic but I’m cutting back on sweets so when the urge hits I eat a handful of cashew nuts. That’s like when your car runs out of gas you put a football in the tank.

Life Rule 178: Don’t Jog After Dinner

Especially if that dinner is corned beef (lots of mustard), cabbage and corn.

I thought waiting 3 hours was an appropriate amount of time but 3/4 of a mile into the jog I felt a lot of heat sloshing around in my stomach.

I run to the same songs on my Shuffle:
AC/DC: Rock and Roll aint noise pollution.
The Killers: Read My Mind
Zeppelin: The Wanton Song
The Spoons: Don’t You Evah and The Underdog

On Parenting. (THis is still a blog test)

I love my baby son, 9 months old…so don’t take this wrong. But when he screams he pisses me off. I mean, the reason why I hate babies is because I’m a man and men like to fix problems, not listen to them.

My Beloved asks the screaming kid what’s wrong, cuddles him, is patient with him. That’s always a lot better than my solutions which involve moving him into the basement or the garage.

My other kids are a piece of cake; ages 6, 4 and 2.5

You can talk to them. You can usually reason with them…as far as child-like reasoning goes. I can get them to behave simply by saying, “Cookie” or “television”.

Rewriting Monster Zoo

Crimony, I’m trying to get this graphic novel out the door. I have a confession. By the end of the book I’m completely sick of whatever story I’m on. I’m so done.com

Anyways, I edit the dialogue as I draw the pages but I don’t update my Final Draft document along the way. So now at the end I have to update the master script to send off to the lettering people. It took me 8 hours to edit just 27 pages of my 144 page book.

One thing I learned today, GOd didn’t put me on this earth to be a comic book editor.

My beloved made me some killer taco salad for dinner tonight, but I also had a bowl of broccoli soup and the different ingredients are fighting in my stomach.

Advice for my son: How to slay a dragon

Dragons are real. They live by killing good things. There are no good dragons. The best technique to kill them is to know their nature. They have an aversion to crosses, some wicker products from Crate and Barrel or Pier 1 Imports and are drawn to virgins or good people or both.

What you do is draw the creature out of the pit using goodness as a bait, make sure the dragon is lunging and quickly dive to the left (the dragon’s right). The dragon’s heart is located on the right half of his ribcage. If he’s in full attack, his side will be stretched to the max and deliver the most vulnerable state you’re gonna get. Run your sword between whatever ribs are in front of you at the time but don’t let his blood stay on your skin for long periods of time or you’ll get AIDS and stuff.

I’m proud of you.

Finished My Next Graphic Novel

Today it’s done. The 144 page graphic novel MONSTER ZOO will be available in late spring/early summer for you to purchase and read. I don’t know the exact release date because I’m too burnt to care. I have exactly three thoughts leftover to think and they go something like this:

1. “Pee”

2. “Coffee”

3. “Pee”

Is there room for thoughts on a release date in there? I don’t think so given I can barely remember by third child’s name.

This blog is a test.

I’m Doug TenNapel and I don’t approve of your messages.