holaolah

What's In a Name + Some Scary Insights From Kelly

Today's original hola text can be found on Kyle's masterfully edited "Bridgeton Legends" blog. It's a simple story with a lot of insight (if I do say so myself).

To take care of the next part of the title, Kelly came back from vacation in the Outer Banks in time to provide a rather startling and insightful take on my dream of Steven and the Wolves. She knows me well, but I didn't know she knew me that well. Perhaps she's a witch of some sort. I am glad I did not give her that trash bag of hair she requested after my recent haircut.

Chief Halftown

Every so often, once in a blue moon, at the oddest times, when I'm least expecting it, totally out of left field,  I will remember Chief Halftown and ponder his existence. Rest in peace brave warrior.

My Past Is Catching Up With Me

Something I've failed to tell you before this point in our relationship: I was a warchild.
Dear readers, please welcome the newest blog on the block, Bridgeton Legends.  It just so happens that it's about everything that's happened on my block of origin. It's weird, the site is authored by Kyle, the guy who puts more work into holaolah than I do, and he's recruiting the old gang to immortalize the tales of the old neighborhood and town.

I'm excited and scared. Excited because there's a lot of gold in these stories. We had a very rich upbringing and there are laughs a plenty to be had by the readers/hearers of these legends. I guess the scared part comes with the fact that these stories are finally being put down. We'll no longer have the oral tradition to tell around the fires when we take our firstborn out into the woods to teach them the old ways of digging trenches for the impending Russian invasion, how to use a Wiffleball bat as a rock launcher, building match-head bombs, and the lengths that some of us will go to to complete our G.I. Joe collections.

The Lakestreetians will now be chronicled, and the embellishments might cease. We'll have to come to a communally agreed upon version of the truth. There is a danger in documentation, we might lose the flourish of a new voice in the retelling of our old tales. If I do commit the story of the "Fire on the Wire," will I truly be able to capture my father's pride in the event? Can I write it in such a way that will convey his tears of joy in making Mrs. Morvay lose her steaks?  Another reason I am kinda dreading this venture goes something like this -- the legends that I am involved with usually end up with me being embarrassed or preyed upon in some way. The legend titled "Rusty's Cage" will basically end with me being captured by the older guys on the block and thrown into the pen of Kyle's horn-dog Golden Retriever, Rusty. To make a long story short, Rusty was a sexual predator, and the kids on my block stood outside his cage laughing as Rusty, well, used me as his bitch. Fun times. This is the reason that I prefer cats.

But really, all of the above can be chalked up to fear. At least we'll be doing something deliberate to try and get this stuff down. That's worth a lot. I think we can tackle all those previously mentioned concerns as they come up. For now, we're starting something, and that speaks volumes about the people of my hometown. There's no more saving this stuff for a rainy day -- waiting til someone pays us to write them or until one of us finds some sweet writing gig somewhere which probably won't happen. I do still think that Mr. Ira Glass and his "This American Life" radio-show should take notice of this cache of great storytelling.

It's like the old neighborhood gang is calling me out to play "Hide & Go Seek Army," or calling me out to fight for some reason I don't understand. There's no point in staying inside anymore, there's nothing on TV.  The real life is outside, on the street. I guess I'll go out and play. And if they try and throw me into a dog pen again, make no mistake, I will fight any beast that attempts to have his way with me. Let's write.

I'll Only Turn 30 Once Pt. 9

  Trump Marina from Borgata 
  Originally uploaded by holaolah.

"So where exactly am I supposed to go?"
"Dude, you're going to the Borgata. Get on the Atlantic City Expressway and it will take you right up to it. Call her from the lobby when you get there."

I'll Only Turn 30 Once Pt. 7

We took to a booth in the smoking section near the bar. I asked Brent if he was drinking and he declined. I took that as a cue to get a Pepsi myself. He said it was a good idea because I've still got lots of driving ahead of me tonight. I instantly recalled a recent conversation I had with Janell about the proximity of Brent's house to Philly and how long I thought it would take to get between the two. This would explain the missing Philly NFT from our coffee table. So I'm going to Philly via South Jersey via Newark. Pretty convoluted way to go but who was I to complain about a birthday goose chase that Nellie was cooking up for me. But if that was the case, why were we almost at the Jersey shore? Maybe I was headed to our friend Julie's beach trailer in Sea Isle? 

The fog of paranoia was starting to lift. I was still very disoriented, but I ceased to believe that my friends and family were killers, hiding around the corner and tailing me on the highway, waiting to end my life on the day it began 30 years ago. I just remembered Janell and how she really was as sweet as I've always thought her to be. Yes, reality was returning. I needed some time off the road and to be in the presence of my brother.

We ordered big-ass plates of appetizer samplers because we couldn't decide what we wanted to eat. I downed a couple Pepsis before our food arrived. We discussed the state of a house he inherited from our granny and his horror stories from his brief stint as a landlord. The conversation turned to work and the story of how he went from being a mechanic with many responsibilities at one glass house to another glass house with better money and less responsibilities. He seemed pleased at the change. Brent and I rarely sit down alone together and talk. I think I can count the number of times that it's happened in our lives together on both my paws. I was starting to see that Janell had directed me to spend time with Andrew and Brent--my brothers in different ways--on this special day.

Our food arrived and we dined on wings, catfish parts, ribs, chicken fingers and probably some other fried items I can't recall. With each bite, I gained a bit more clarity. Grease always helps me in that respect.

We continued our discussion on work and gnawed our grub until we decided our eyes were too big for our stomachs. I gave Brent my leftovers because I had the sneaking suspicion that I wouldn't be needing them where I was going.

I'll Only Turn 30 Once Pt. 6

"What are we doing here?" I asked.
"Eating dinner, just like I told you."
"Just us?"
"Yep, I'm taking you out to dinner."
"Wow, that's really cool."
And with that I shrugged off my paranoia and we entered Famous Dave's.
I'd end up keeping my confusion until about the middle of the next day.

I'll Only Turn 30 Once Pt. 3

Madness On the Road In Jersey...
I was over the Delaware Memorial Bridge and 15 minutes into Jersey on Rt. 40 when I got a call from Owen Wilson. He and his mother sang happy birthday to me. I thought it was amazing that he was so verbal on demand at less than one year old. It was later in the conversation with his father that it was revealed that his wailed song was prerecorded. This would actually be my second prerecorded birthday greeting of the day. Sponge Bob called me at the beginning of the day and wished me a very special celebration. A little deduction lead me to understand that Donovan was the culprit on that one. Owen and his parents wished me well and shared their love. They've been with me for half my life and and I felt empowered by their blessing.

It was after a few minutes of driving in silence following flipping my phone shut that I began to suspect my friends were double agents. Could their well wishes have been a set up, a ruse, to find out my progress on the road? Was a pre-recorded greeting from Owen Wilson some kinda clue? The conspiracy stuck with me for many miles across the gardens of my home-state. These people were seriously planning something on a sinister level if they'd utilize a prerecorded message from a cute little baby to remind me that I am now old. I fast forwarded to another baby I might soon be encountering -- Little Lauren who I was speeding my way towards. Was my final destination at her house to receive some cryptic clue from her little hand?

I started to cry a little at the idea of getting a set of traveling papers from one of the cutest girls in the world. Circle of life type stuff -- the newest name in the family line pays homage to the one celebrating their oldening. It could be profound if I dwelled on it long enough. I marveled at Janell's thoughtfulness and attention to the symbolism of it all. I popped out of that daydream in time to catch the exit to take to my bro's hometown. The directions were spotty and so I followed my instincts, which turned out to be crummy. I went the opposite way on the road for about 15 minutes before I wised up. I was already behind, and this just pushed everything back. I doubled back over the giant strip mall that is Delsea Drive in Vineland, NJ and kept going.

I was beginning to panic. I looked down at my phone to possibly call my brother and I noticed that I missed a call from my mom. She left the kind of message that moms leave for sons on such a day -- "hey, you were a joy, I'd have you all over again, no regrets" that sorta thing. I didn't return her call, out of paranoia. I couldn't be tying up the line in case some other kid with a famous name decided to call. I was growing more weary and panicked as I continued to drive into the void, believing that I'd somehow missed a turn on a numbered road that was recently renumbered. I'd been driving since 5:15 with just a little break. It was almost 8 and I was tired and nervous and contemplating my mortality on the road slightly exceeding the speed limit in the NJ night. I realized why I had moved away so many years ago. This is what happens here, this what they call entertainment. Eventually you just say "eff it, I'm staying" and that's that.

I pulled over and into the parking lot of one of the many tire/auto shops that line this stretch of road. I gave my brother a call and attempted to give him a description of my surroundings. I was ready to be there, wherever there was.  He affirmed that I was on their right track and told me that I was 10 minutes out.

While I was on the phone with Brent my dad called to wish me a happy birthday. He said that it was no bother because I was probably out partying and that we could catch up when we'd catch up. I took that to mean when I would call him the next day and wish him a happy birthday. Brent's estimate of 10 minutes was based on his avg. driving speed. I was always the more cautious one so I got there 20 minutes later, that includes a wrong turn.

By this time my mind had started spinning a little conspiracy theory that Janell had convinced all of my friends and family that I needed to die and that they should gather in the Jersey Pine Barrens and have a wake for me before the killing was to be done. I marveled at her rhetorical witchcraft. She was some kind of dark force to cook up a twisted plot like that. What was I doing, I thought, I'm on my way to my brother's house so I can visit his family and then be off to my death? And Andrew, how could she have conned him into this whole plot?

The road madness had just reached a fever pitch when I pulled into his driveway. His house was dark and I hesitated, thinking that maybe I had the wrong victorian in his little village of victorians. The fluorescent overhead kitchen light lit up the place and it was just as soon cut off. I took that to mean that I was at the right place. My Element's interior lights took over my field of view once I opened my door and cut off with the slamming of the door. It was like we were playing a dueling banjos game with light switches. My eyes were adjusting as I found his path and made my way to his back door where the kitchen light had just gone off. I was halfway to the door when the face of a lone figure standing on Brent's backporch was illuminated as they lit their cigarette and started walking toward me.

Guest Poster: Kyle of Lake

This is part of what I was trying to say... for our second guest post, Kyle, ardent cheerleader and financial backer of holaolah, would like you to know about a show he'll be attending this Thursday. Here's what he says,

"A friend of mine just so happens to be the founding member of the hottest rock band in New Orleans.

Bonerama will be doing a show this Thursday (Jan 12th) in Ardmore, PA (mere minutes from Philly).  They're doing 2 sets, starting at 9:30 at the Palombaro Club.

Then, they're doing two nights in NYC, Friday and Saturday at Coda on E. 34th Street.  They routinely sell-out their NYC shows so people will need to buy tickets ahead of time through the magic of the Internet.

Please plug this on your blog.  NOLA artists need everything we can do for them at this point.

http://www.bonerama.net

I'll be at the Philly/Ardmore show on Thursday, for anyone who wants to meet me in person and see me in action.  In other words, this is an opportunity for your friends to meet a living legend AND see a kick-ass New Orleans rock band.

Kyle

Kyle & Erin Threw A Party

Last Friday night we went to a party in New Jersey hosted by uber-friends Kyle and Erin. Since I spent all my free time editing and posting the photos, I allowed Kyle to draw up the captions. If you have any comments on his work, feel free to deposit them below this post. So, without further ado, here's the album.

When Kyle sent in the captions he stated this in his e-mail:

If you want any chance of winning the 2006 KMA for Excellence, that David Brent character better be flipping* awesome.

Hmm, how do I tell him Brent is an imbecile? Well, he's not a complete imbecile really. He's very lovable in the process. Like I said in the previous post, it's a delivery thing. He's also the funniest TV character I've ever seen... and I don't even own a TV!  David Brent says stuff like,"There may be no 'I' in team, but there's a 'ME' if you look hard enough." I could see Kyle saying something like that. Alright, I'm diggin' the hole here. Can I please still be in the running for the award?

*Napoleonized for family reading

Hard Times Come Again No More

Every year, on this day, I play this song penned by Jennie's (that's her picture if you've never met her) Great-Great Something (uncle or pappy?) and look back over what my family, friends and I have been through in the year that's about to be history. It's my way of reflecting and praying for a brighter days ahead. Peace to you and yours in 2006.

Hard Times Come Again No More
(Stephen Foster)

1. Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,
   While we all sup sorrow with the poor;
   There's a song that will linger forever in our ears;
   Oh Hard times come again no more.

Chorus:
   Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
   Hard Times, hard times, come again no more
   Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
   Oh hard times come again no more.

2. While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay,
   There are frail forms fainting at the door;
   Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say
   Oh hard times come again no more.

3. There's a pale drooping maiden who toils her life away,
   With a worn heart whose better days are o'er:
   Though her voice would be merry, 'tis sighing all the day,
   Oh hard times come again no more.

4. Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave,
   Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore
   Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lowly grave
   Oh hard times come again no more.