misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

I would like to request a moment of silence from everybody in memory of my trumpet, armoire, and leather couch, all recently eliminated by the treacherous former roommate of mine, dragonhair (actually, when reading, I guess you are already silent, unless you are one of those people that like to read out loud ... in any event, taking a moment of silence wouldn't necessarily apply here ... maybe instead you should take a moment of noise .. Let's try that again):

I'd like to take a moment of noise in memory of my trumpet, armoire, and leather couch (should I mention it's color? black), all recently eliminated (a more dramatic way of saying: sold) by the treacherous former roommate of mine (should i mention his race? chink), dragonhair.

When I departed San Francisco for the nubile adventures in New York City, I gave, no, loaned, no, entrusted (yes!) my most valued possessions to dragonhair/Lee. It wasn't so much that I was giving him "things", but memories. Yes, the couch, armoire, and trumpet, were technically "things", in that they were constructed of the small "things" that make "things" be "big things", "things" like thread, metals, and woods. But more importantly, they were the only three remaining items left from a lifetime of, well, life. Constant moves and general vagabond-ness have resulted in the total loss of any and all physical items related to my past (past being defined as anything before right now). I have no pictures, I have no home, I have no boxes of old stuff. What do I have? Or, rather, what did I have?

A trumpet, an armoire, and a couch. Three things, a thousand memories.

The trumpet, a Bach original, was purchased when I was in fourth grade, in Buffalo Grove, Illinois. I practiced every single day through 8th grade on that magical brass blowpipe. The trumpet marched with me in the 1985 St. Patrick's Day Parade in Chicago. Upon my move to San Diego, that trumpet was my best friend. By 7th grade, this trumpet had guided me from fourth chair to first chair in the Meadowbrook Middle School Band. The trumpet defended me against the violent charge of 2nd chair, Christoper Auge, as he attempted to bloody my lip so I couldn't play a trumpet solo (a beautiful piece - Dvorak's New World Symphony) for a concert in our school gym (it was the original Nancy Kerrigan/Tonya Harding scandal. Only much geekier.). In college, I took private trumpet lessons, to recover from the pain of romantic rejection (one of ten rejections before I learned girls actually liked it when you called them bitch and disrespected them). The trumpet made the move from Santa Clara to Milpitas to Sunnyvale to Noe Valley to Twin Peaks to Campbell. It was the worn-brass extension of me.

And now, what do I have in place of the trumpet? 75 bucks. Actually, I don't even have that. Lee has that. As he sold it. To some unappreciative Silicon Valley asshole. They're probably going to melt it down to use in microchips or something.

I don't even need to explain the worn leather couch. If you are reading this, it is guaranteed that you've sat on that couch. That couch was bought when I was in 6th grade. You have all napped, slept, farted, on that couch.

The armoire? Made by my grandfather, for my mother. Granted, it wasn't well made (no offense, ghost of grandpa .. actually, grandpa only spoke German, so I doubt he can take offense at that previous statement .. unless when you die, you can understand all languages, in which case I hope dead grandpa can take a joke), but it was a family heirloom. Now it is nothing but money in Lee's pocket.

No one person has benefited from the Anderson family than dragonhair. That guy will sell your fucking pants while you are wearing them. He'll rent out your apartment if you leave for the weekend. He'll sell your unfinished dinner on Craigslist. Problem is, you won't see any of the earnings. All that money goes into his general Lee pile of money, the one he is using to one day fund an invasion of mainland China.

So, armoire, trumpet, couch .. goodbye. I hope Lee appreciates the 175 dollars you earned for him. Hopefully, my memories of you will last longer than that cash. Because thanks to Lee, the Anderson family legacy has been pawned to some SCU kids and a bitch with a limp trying to furnish a bed and breakfast.

Actually, upon reflection, it seems evident that this blog is as good a reminder of those things as those actual things. I've got pictures, words, stories ... which, in actuality, seem more valuable that having those actual things, as those things were hard to move and smelled a bit like rotten swordfish flesh. I'll never have to move this blog. But anytime I want to call to mind the memories, I can visit this page, bring up the picture, and imagine letting a deep release of smelly gas into the seemingly endless cushion of that leather couch.

That's as good as anything.