Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick

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"Come, help me with this," my father says.

I walk into the livingroom to find that he has taken apart his tower stereo system, pulled out the pre-amp and amplifier and has the amplifier on the middle of the floor in pieces. "It just stopped working." Wow. I drop down to my knees next to the device and we putter around inside of it for awhile. Figuring out what is this thing and what is that thing, what is busted and what looks like it's normal. We narrow the problem down to the power source on the thing.



I check online and find the part costs $60.00 a piece and there are two of them. Only one might be blown. If that is the case, it will be a pretty cheap repair. If not, it can run pretty expensive from the parts alone. We put the device back together, but don't really put it away into the tower setup. Pop leaves it on the floor near the rest of the equipment and takes a breather at the bar in the house. I go with him and we pour ourselves drinks and then file into the den to watch the highlights of the tragedy in Japan.



It reminds me of years ago, watching another tragedy on their television set from North Carolina. The terrorist attacks of 9/11. It was on the day that I was supposed to be on the flight back to New York and to work that evening. But that day the planes hit, and I spent it sitting in my parent's den, watching helplessly as my two most beloved buildings came tumbling down.  Now, I'm watching tidal swells flatten entire towns into toothpicks. Japan has been stomped into the stone age, some portions of it that is.



It was said that Tokyo was back to normal. Business as usual, trains running, and Starbucks opened. Life was only briefly interrupted. Tokyo must be like New York city. Literally unstoppable. To make it blink you have to nuke it. Simple as that. Same thing with the Big Apple. It'll take a direct catastrophe just to get it's attention. Or Monday, it's business as usual. It says something about this country that other countries can't really match. It's either the level of dedication or greed and self interest that's unparalleled on the world stage. I don't know which one. You'll have to ask me about it some other time...probably when I'm less sober.



Funny, today, my lights went out early. My back was hurting me and I could feel the ache again around the right side of my body to my testicle. I popped a Tylenol, which does work to some extent, and then climbed onto the couch in the living room and drifted off to sleep. I awoke clear headed and still somewhat in pain, but another dose of Tylenol answered that doorbell. Then, I did what we in my family do best, hang around in the den and watch television. Not any television but strange television.



My father can literally sit through hours of CNN. Why this man isn't a political analyst is beyond me. He can rattle on about would politics, national security, bills being passed in congress, who's the better senator, who's the one to watch, much like some people can prattle on about a favorite ball player, and he can watch this shit repeat over and over again. I tried it. After something like four hours, CNN has said all that can be said about every subject in the news, and then it starts repeating itself all over again. From there, my pop will change the channel to the Judges. You know, 'The People's Court, Judge Judy, Judge Joe Brown, blah, blah, blah. He'll get a heavy dose of the law only to finish up with a sport. Either golf, watching Tiger Woods, or bull riding.



Yep, that's right. Bull riding, which is different than bronco busting. I didn't know that. Broncos are horses. Bulls are fucking two tons of muscle and arrogance, wrapped up in a 'go fuck yourself' tortilla. Sprinkled with a little 'Go to Hell' hot sauce and top it with probably the dumbest fuck you can find stumbling drunk from Jack Daniels in a bar.



Bull riders are fucking insane. If a sport is so demanding that it can only be measured out in four second intervals, then to me, it's not a sport, it's an exercise in futility. Now let me just repeat myself. What other sport do you know, that you have to perform for FOUR FUCKING SECONDS? Golf. Just hit the ball and before it stops rolling your score is tallied? Football? Snap the ball and the quarterback tucks it tightly under his arm and the play is over? Basketball? Dribble the ball once and you score? No...no time for a shot clock. C'mon! Pool? Slam a shot in and you win?



But you really aren't expected to last more than a few seconds on a bull. And the way this bitch is bucking when it's released from the gate, you can instantly tell why. This fucker can kick so hard with it's hind legs that it can kick its own self in the back of its head with its own hooves. Picture that shit. You're riding on the back of this muscle machine and the back of it is suddenly it's stomach, and you are tasked to hold on, because if you let go, those hooves are right back down on the ground, and if you are there, upon you!



Fuc-dat. There are stupider things to do in life. And one of them is to watch these young men throw their health away on some freak of nature intent on doing only one thing, get you the fuck off it's back.



I think I'm going to go back to drinking Jack Daniels and writing. I think that shit should be sport.

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