Dec. 6: Embroidery

 Chuck Klosterman is one of my comfort writers. I have read a few of his books but two of them have stuck with me. I WEAR THE BLACK HAT is a meditation on villains and the nature of villainy. KILLING YOURSELF TO LIVE is about a cross-America trip in a rented car where Klosterman visits the various sites where rock stars died. It should come as no surprise that the book ends with him dropping in at the place where the music died. February 3, 1959. A plane crash that claimed the life of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, the Big Bopper, and a pilot who no one remembers. The pilot's name was Roger Peterson. I mention him here because his life was also valuable even though he wasn't a rock star.

Roger Peterson, died at the age of 22

 I listened to the audiobook of KILLING YOURSELF TO LIVE today while driving up to Petawawa to do a magic show. It is about the sixth time I have listened to that book. My brain is stupid. Instead of seeking out new information and new stories, it keeps insisting on the same old same old over and over again. I might be autistic.

I shouldn't like Chuck Klosterman because (a) he is a good writer and (b) he is a more successful writer than I am even though (c) he consumes recreational drugs like marijuana and cocaine, at least he did while writing KILLING YOURSELF TO LIVE. This bothers me because I have always been drug free and I want drugs to turn good writers into bad ones so I can continue to feel smugly superior because of my drug-free lifestyle.

At this point, picky Leos should keep their opinions to themselves.

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My 12-year-old autistic son was riding in the car with me and, unfortunately, had to listen to Chuck Klosterman tell a story about smoking marijuana in a hotel room somewhere in Mississippi after visiting the sight of the plane crash that killed Ronnie Van Sant. I am not wanting my son to take up marijuana smoking because of his old man's irresponsibility. I quickly switched off the audiobook and turned on my music, which was on shuffle, classical genre. Bad old Chuck Klosterman was replaced with someone playing Beethoven's Fur Elise, which was then followed by Strauss's Blue Danube Waltz. I have always enjoyed the Blue Danube Waltz, even though the middle section is kind of boring. This opinion is fascinating to no one but me.

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I dropped my son off at his sister's place before hightailing it to the army base in Petawawa, which is where I was doing my magic show. I did a magic show there last year as well and several of the kids remembered me and told me what tricks I had done in 2024. One of them even had a playing card that I had autographed for her. 

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You might think that this note has very little to do with embroidery, but you would be wrong. This note has everything to do with embroidery. Right now, I am trying to embroider several themes - Chuck Klosterman, magic shows, classical music, autism - into a cohesive narrative. This might fail. Other themes I will mention - I can feel them percolating in my brain even as I type these words - are Kraft Dinner, my aching shoulders, and Santa Claus.

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See, I did a whole bunch of fun things today. I did a magic show, then I stopped by the daughter's place and got to hold my two-month-old grandson for a good 20 minutes (he smiled at me) and then my son and I drove home so I could take pictures of the Santa Claus Parade in Martintown. On the way, I stopped at the KFC in Casselman so I could get myself a spicy big crunch. This was a risk for two reasons:

1. It took 10 minutes to get the Spicy Big Crunch, and Martintown was 42 minutes away and the parade started at 6:30 and it was 5:51 when I got to the KFC.

2. Ashley, who will read this later, will call me a butt head for not bringing KFC home with me because KFC is one of her comfort meals.

I am of the opinion that cold KFC is better than hot KFC. I doubt that I am alone here. KFC could probably bring in a whole lot of extra money if they would start selling KFC from a fridge.

The reason I needed a spicy big crunch from KFC is that I hadn't eaten anything that day except for an English muffin from Tim Hortons. I never eat on performance days and this is a bad habit. My mom will scold me after she reads this. So will Ashley. So will Dan Willis, who, apparently, reads all of these things. Hi Dan.

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My son ate today. He got a large pepperoni pizza from Dominos. The people at the Christmas party had ordered about 60 pizzas and there were a whole lot left over. One of the soldiers asked me if I wanted a free large pepperoni pizza and I said that I would because my kid loves Dominos. He ate about three pieces at his sister's house but I knew that when we got home, he would want Kraft Dinner.

My son is very particular about his Kraft Dinner. It needs to be a very specific consistency or he won't eat it. Too limp or too firm? Garbage. You need to boil it for exactly six minutes and 45 seconds, add exactly a teaspoon full of milk, two teaspoon full of margarine, then add that gross orange powder stuff and stir it around until it looks like orange vomit.  

Sometimes, he will hand me a box of Kraft Dinner, hang over my shoulder while I make it, and then, after a steaming bowl is presented to him, will turn up his nose and throw it in the garbage. My mission in life is to master the perfect ratio of Kraft Dinner making.

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I wonder if Michael J. Fox is a good actor or if he just excelled at playing one type, the somewhat clueless yet overconfident yuppie.

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I am sore when I get into my car. My body is stupid. My legs are very short and because of this, my car seat is pretty much touching the pedals. And because of that, I have to crane my neck back like a contortionist whenever I enter my car. And because I am a stubborn Capricorn who insists on manual transmissions, that means that my right hand is used a lot whenever I am driving. Lately, my arm aches when I have to switch gears and my neck and upper back muscles are still sore from a recent week-long trip from Toronto.

I am convinced that my shoulders are sore because my desk is at a weird height because desk manufacturers don't make desks for people with stupid short leg bodies like mine.  And no, Mr,. Klosterman, I will not smoke marijuana to help with the pain.

 

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