My name is Bean and this is my blog. Hence the name. If you have comments or questions, just leave them in the comments area.
When I was growing up, there was a single dream that repeated over and over again. I probably experienced it throughout a 5 year period or so... between 10 and 15 years old. I bet I had the dream 50 times.
I was standing outside of my parents old house, in the driveway, and a demon was crawling up the side of the house. It was scaling the siding that led up to the window of my room - which for atleast part of the time period, was actually my brother's room. I don't have clear memories of if ever actually making it into the house. All I can remember and all I can picture in my mind is the deftness with which the demon could climb, holding it's body so close to the house, and the surprising moment that always made me wake up: when the demon swung it's head around and stared directly at me.
There was nothing particularly gruesome about the dream, or even about the demon. From my best recollection, the demon's face was awkwardly triangular and resembled that of The Joker. Alas, even stupid nightmares are scary if you have them enough times.
Last night while watching the FOX Sunday night lineup, I saw a commercial for Goodnites Diapers. These diapers were for 12 year old kids who wet the bed. The whole theme of the commercial was along the line of "Don't worry if you still wet the bed, just wear these diapers and you'll be fine!"
When a twelve year olf child still wets the bed, you need to fix the problem, not just slap a diaper on them! I have a particular interest in this as I was a bedwetter up until the age of 24. Okay, not 24, but 10 at least (I think). My point it, when I was wetting the bed, my biggest concern was how to stop, not how to sleep better through the night. I remember when I was finally able to STOP peeing while I slept, and it was a great day, much mo greater, I am sure, than having mom bring home a big fucking carton of teenager diapers!
Anyway, what ended up working for me was some electronics-laden jock-strap deally that would buzz real loud when pee closed the circuit between two electrodes. That woke my ass up when I started to pee, and within a week, I was cured. It was something like this, but a different brand.
Picked up a corncob pipe and some top-notch pipe tabacky yesterday at the local smoke shop. My dad used to (and may still) have a pipe set, and I have fond memories of the wonderfully fragrant tobacco he kept with it. Ever since I started smoking Backwoods cigars (which smell a lot like pipe tobacco) a few years ago, I've wanted to rekindle the flame, so to speak, and try a pipe. So I did. And it is good. The end.
NDE = Near Death Experience
I was driving on a two-lane, one-way street in downtown New Albany shortly after I got my license. The road split in two to go around a monument or something, so I was kinda racing the people in the other lanes. A block or two after the merge, I notice a truck in the other lane slowing down to a stop and smiled, knowing I was still in my own lane and would not be affected by his strange stopping manuver. As I zipped past the truck (which was now at a complete stop), I heard something and felt a bump in the road. I looked in my rearview mirror to see what I had run over, but all I could see was train. I had run over the tracks right in front of a fucking train. It must have been really close, because I looked back pretty much right after the bump, and that train was already there looking right back at me.
I think someone was with me in the vehicle, and based on the timeframe, it was probably either Big Willis or JCTMH. Either of you remember this?
Here's an email excerpt from a recent exchange with fooie about Jeff Muller (name may be misspelled), who lived down the street from contanister growing up:
I never egged his house, but once, me and a buddy threw a pack of firecrackers on his front door and rang the doorbell. It was great - they exploded right as people came to the door. Their whole family came outside and started wandering around the yard and neighborhood looking for us... they found John and me in the bushes hiding. His mom made him clean it up and apologize - I just went home.
The Best Little League Baseball Advice
Posted April 12, 2006 at 08:15:02 AM by Bean in the Flashbacks category
When I was in elementary school, I played little league baseball. At first, I was a timid batter. I would rarely swing the bat. I PRAYED for the walk. I had no confidence at all, and that's why I batted last, played in the distant outfield, and hardley ever got on base. In short, I sucked.
Until, that is, my dad gave me the best advice a dad could ever give his little league son: watch the ball and swing at every pitch. That's saying as lot in little league, where pitchers aren't very accurate and pitches come high, low, in, and out more than they come down Main Street.
I followed his advice. Sometimes I chopped my bat way up high and sometimes I dug it into the dirt trying to hit that pitch, but every time I got up to bat after that, I hit the ball. Now, don't get me wrong - I did pop-out some, got thrown out some, etc. But I always hit the ball. By swinging the bat every time, I learned how to watch it come in, and eventually make contact. And nothing makes a kid playing little league baseball feel better than the *ding* of his own bat hitting the ball.
I recently mentioned an obscure memory on theduck about my Grandma Kelly, who has been gone for many years now. I thought it would be good to get it down on my blog before it fades into that abyss that so many other childhood memories have disapeared into.
There was a summer when my parents went on vacation and I either wanted to or was forced to stay at home. My Grandma Kelly stayed at the house with me. I guess I was around 10, but I'm not sure. It was great. She let me stay up late, sleep on the couch, eat whatever I wanted for most meals, and, brace yourself: wear my snowboots as shoes to school. That was the best non-vacation vacation ever.
The A. Sandler fans out there may note the similarities to a certian scene in the movie Big Daddy. I'd never put 2 and 2 together until now. Brings a big smile to my face, for multiple reasons.
I love digital media. It warms my heart to know that the following photo gems will be around for a long time. Each one brings back memories for me, and maybe for some of you. Enjoy:
Dirtass wearing a classic T.
Ranglog diggin' for a suprise!
Ken Rossi or Big Z? Nobody knows for sure (except me).
My old roomey Pete, looking mad. I still have the pictured blue and white blanket.
What happened when JCTMH passed OTE early one night. Luckily he was still alive enough to pose.
Some fat bass my buddy Bilal and I caught in hikeschool.
Ladamien Roblinson (D-Rob) at the first ever BeanFest.
Stutzenator - during rangoons bachelor party. Note the homemade shirt.
Me, Koji, and Piss toasting a Yuengling at the first MartiFest.
My old buddy Melba playing pool at my apartment in Indy circa 2001-2002. Note that she is wearing my college beer hat (which I still have).
A great vacation in pre-Katrina New Orleans.
The night I proposed to Stef (she said yes).
Christmas, Christmas Time is Near
Posted December 07, 2005 at 09:49:30 AM by Bean in the Flashbacks category
Had a wicked flashback last night while listening to that Chipmunks Christmas song on a commercial on TV.
I don't have a whole lot of clear memories from my childhood, so it's a real treat to let myself fall into a memory like I did last night. I remember my parents old record player - it was one of those big table ones, and it's had a smoothe black top on it. I used to take the top off and prop it up on stuff so I could use it like a slide. I bet I was about 8. We had the record single (45?) of the Chipmunks and I remember when I'd bust it out. It was almost like hearing that song officially ushered in the holiday season for me. School letting out... tree's coming down and going up... the smells and tastes of mom baking chocolate chip cookies and other Christmas treats. As a kid, it was the greatest. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore kicked off a 3 week long Christmas-break celebration. Their high-pitched carolling even outweighed the glorious sound of the 3:15-school's-out bell.
Open this wav file, then sing along.
Christmas, Christmas time is nearHappy Hollidays, everyone.
Nah... fuck that... Merry Christmas.
In keeping with the idea that beanblog is an archive of my life, I'm going to start putting my hazy, distant childhood memories out here. They come and go, so I'm not sure how frequent they'll be, but here's one to get things rolling.
When I was in school at Grant Line Elementary, there was this little black girl that was in the class behind me. This girl may or may not have actually been twins - my memmory is a little scetchy here, but anyway, what I remember about her is that she (they?) would scour the blacktop during recess and pick up old, nasty discarded wads of gum. And yeah, she (they?) chewed them. Gross. This girl or set of twins may or may not have also been the girl(s) who rode my bus and picked her (their?) nose(s?) with both fingers - yeilding the name "twin picker."
Now I'm just effin confused, cause I don't remember if twin picker was actually twins or not and whether the "twin" in "twin picker" was from using two fingers, or actually being twins. Shit.
GLE alum, help me out here.
I love blogging. I love blogs. I'm a blogger for life. I hit on this once before, in my How Blogging Changed My life entry, but I've thought a lot more about it recently.
The Beanblog, as it was originally created, was a simple way for me to publish whatever came to mind. It was something to amuse me, and other folks in need of a few-second break. It was somewhere I could write about the party I went to or the funny kid I saw at the ice cream store or any other meaning[full|less] experience. It was a general, multi-purpose, multi-media embodiment of self-expression.
Great. But it's more.
Almost 3 years of my life are now published. There is very little I hold back from this blog, and it's become the "archive" of me. In 3 years, I've blogged 388 blogs. That's 388 times (389 now, I guess) that I've sat at my computer and poured my thoughts, my views, and my feelings out for anyone to see. It's 389 times that I've taken a snapshot of myself and put in on the books. And I can go back and read them anytime I want. I can't even begin to imagine what it will be like to look back at this 20 years from now. It's great stuff - and I love the RandomBean link. It's like traveling back in time for me every time I click it.
My only regret is that I didn't start blogging earlier. I am jealous of all the little kiddies out there that are blogging. Some of them will document their entire lives on a blog. I'll have to settle for the blogging the rest of mine.
M1 has inspired me.
I too was a BSB2 resident, and I roomed (most of the year) with JCTMH. My next door neighbor was Koji (of kojiblog fame), and his roommate was Tom. Tom's mom always sent him food... and I'm not talking about just any normal amount of food, but laundry baskets full of Honey Buns, bags and bags of candy, and cases, cartons, and boxes of assorted snack products. This was a blessing, indeed, as well as one of the reasons I grew to be such a fat-ass my freshman year.
I used to go to Tom's room all the time. I'd walk in, and my eyes would light up when I saw the snacks. After asking for some, Tom would assure me that it was okay for me to partake. Eventually, I quit asking. Later, I didn't even care whether Tom was in his room or not, I'd just go in and take what I wanted.
After time, Tom decided that I was taking advantage of the situation, so he started hiding the food. This deterred me for approximately 10 seconds. I would always find his hiding place and chow down. There are only so many places to hide your stash in a 12 x 12 room with concrete walls. Not to be made a fool of, Tom started locking his door. And, unfortunately for me, Tom's door was one of the few on the floor that could not be picked with a credit card. Fortunately for me, however, I had a screwdriver. The next time his door was opened, I took off the knob, lock, etc., so that there was just a hole in his door. From that point on, it was Honey Buns for every meal. I love happy endings!
When I was in 6th grade, I got my first girlfriend. I remember writing the note, folding it that special way that kids fold notes, and giving it to her friend to pass along to her. In the note, I asked her to "go with me."
Amy Blackwell went to Grantline Elementary with me. I went there from Kindergarten through the 6th grade... she has just showed up in 5th or 6th (I don't remember). So she was the "new girl" at the time. We were both in this after school program called A3SIP. Again, I don't remember what that stood for, but we always claimed that the SIP stood for "Super Intelligent People". We were in the same class, rode the same bus, and were in the same after school program. She was cute, and I was in love.
Melissa McIntyre (may be misspelled) was the friend who passed the note to my soon-to-be girlfriend. When I got the response that she had said "yes", I was psyched. There were, of course, some glitches. Her parents wouldn't allow her to have a boyfriend, so I wouldn’t ever be allowed to call or come visit. Seemed a little weird to me, but I was a very shy person at the time so I was fine with it. That note made my day, my week, hell... it made my year. I still have it.
So we were "going together" now. This meant that we exchanged notes throughout the day, and that’s about it. I mentioned that I was a shy little kid, and due to this, I rarely talked face to face with Amy even though she was my girlfriend. Looking back, this seems extremely strange, but at the time I saw no other option. I was so afraid that I would say something stupid to her that I said nothing at all.
I did manage to talk to Amy on the phone a few times, I think. She told me certain time to call when her parents wouldn't be home. I don't remember the conversations being anything earth-shattering, though. When summer finally came and we could no longer pass notes, I was unsure on how we would communicate. I had elaborate plans of riding my bike to a secret location and meeting up with her. Unfortunately, she had elaborate plans of dumping me, and she did. In true 6th grade style, she had her friend do it. I played it off when I was asked about it, but I was devastated inside, at least as much as a 6th grader could be.
The first day of 7th grade, she sat next to me in one of our classes. I didn't know what to do, so I didn't do anything. I didn't look at her, talk to her, or in any way acknowledge that she was there. She soon moved to another seat. I don't think I talked to her a single time throughout junior high school. Even in high school, when we happened to be around each other (common friends) we didn't interact. Even if I saw her today, i would feel weird about talking to her. The only impressions I have of her in my memory are from 15 years ago.
Every now and then I'll hear her name from a high school friend. I heard she has a big head, physically, though I am not sure what to make of that. I also heard updates on what she was doing after high school, but never took much note. As far as I'm concerned, she is still the cute little 11 year old that broke my heart for the first time.
Everyone who has ever had breakfast at my parent's house knows that my mom makes the best biscuits and gravy, period. I have never, ever, in my whole life, at any restruant or house, had B&G that tasted better than momma's.
I grew up watching her make it and stuffing my face with it pretty much every Sunday for about 18 years, and I'm still not sick of it. Is this why I was so fat growing up? Maybe, but it was worth it!
The first time Stef came to meet my parents, mom made B&G. It was love at first taste. Now we have to have it every time we go back to visit. The mere mention of heading back to New Albany brings a smile to her face.
Like I said... I've seen my mom make this recipe countless times, so this morning I got up 45 minutes early and tried to make it for myself. I browned a 1 pound log of Bob Evans sausage and set it aside. I added flour and seasonings to the leftover grease and cooked it until it turned brown. Then I added some milk and started stirring. You have to stir it constantly for about 20 minutes while adding more and more milk, making sure not to scorch it. I gave it a try and added salt and pepper to taste. Lastly, after the base had thickened up to the proper consistency, I added about 3/4 of the sausage back in.
About that time, the Grands biscuits were turning gold in the oven below, so I grabbed one and split it open. I put two spoons of sausage gravy on each half and sat down outside to give it a try. It tasted pretty darn good. Aww... who am I kidding, it was awesome! But, as good as it was, it still paled in comparison with the original recipe. I guess I'll just have to watch momma make it a few more times.
I hung out with my friend Bilal a lot in junior high and highschool. He was pretty tiny back then, mostly skin and bones, and I was just the opposite (i.e. fat). One weekend, in early junior highschool if I remember correctly, I was spending the night at his house. We were up stairs watching TV or playing with legos or something, and I got an idea.
For whatever reason, I had really bad gas that night. I went to his kitchen and got a black garbage bag, and then every time I had to let one rip, I tried to capture it in the bag. Also, I am talented in the fact that I can make myself burp a lot whenever I want, so I also added some burp gas into the bag as well.
Bilal saw me doing this, and knew something bad was going to happen. He was right. I used my weigh advantage to do something I am sure Bilal will never forget. I tackled him and put the bag over his head. He was screaming and flailing his arms and legs, but I held the bag on tight. After a minute or so, I let him out of the wretched bag of body gas so he wouldn't suffocate.
I hereby define this assault as the "Gas Bag". Also, I hereby hope to God nobody ever gas bags me.
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