Aaron, how does your garden grow?
Posted by Aaron - 24/05/07 at 03:05:00 pmIn an attempt to bring a little of the green Midwest to my desert backyard, I planted a garden. Check it out!!
Garden: step 1: An empty wasteland, waiting for 10 bags of garden soil to transform it.
Garden step 2: Screw water the plants, we have to water the dirt first. Timmy trying to make the job of breaking up the soil a bit easier. If De Loss rentals wasn’t closed on Saturdays, we could have just used a rototiller. Instead we kicked it old skool with shovels and pick axes.
Garden step 3: With the soil, uh, I mean clay, broken up, I spread 30 cubic feet of dirt all over the place. I then mixed the good dirt in with the bad dirt to create the semi-bad dirt I am attempting to grow plants in.
Garden step 4: There she is. I’ve decided my garden is female because I don’t get to talk to females that often, so this way, when I talk to my garden, I’ll be talking to a female. From left to right, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, zucchinis, squash, soy beans, beans, sunflowers. It might not be much now, but soon, a month or two, it will bloom into a beautiful garden of leaves, vines and maybe some eats!
Garden step 5: First fruits. This is my first fruit, a garden salsa pepper. The tag says hot, so watch out. I’m so proud of you Herr Pepper.
The San Bernardino County fair
Posted by Aaron - 18/05/07 at 05:05:00 amI went to the fair last night, check that, I had to work at the fair last night. The Desert Dispatch table was right next to a stage where a hypnotist performed. I hate hypnotists. Don’t know why. That is probably a counseling session right there. But I hate them. But after he was done, I peeled off to the animals, my favorite part of any fair.
So I sat down next to the goat at the fair and talked to it for awhile. I told it everything. We, well I, talked about work, about friends, about family, about living in Barstow, about not living in Michigan, about how that guy at the poetry reading really pissed me off the other night when he ragged on Kalamazoo and Michigan’s season, a little about girls, but mostly about me.
Goats listen. At least I think they do. They look at you like they’re interested. They tilt their heads, move their eyes, lift their ears. For all I care, they are intrigued with everything I say.
And they don’t talk back. They just listen.
So after a few minutes, maybe 15 or so, the owner of the goat, a little girl, about ye high, walked up to.
“Can I help you,” she asked.
“No, I’m just talking to the goat.”
“You know, he can’t talk back.”
“Yeah, it’s great.”
I love the fair.
and I still don’t know what a Texas Donut is.
Weekend in the city
Posted by Aaron - 16/05/07 at 02:05:00 amI was in
Andy graduate from Loyola over the weekend, and despite instant thoughts to the contrary, it only took him, when he added it all it and included some semesters where he had nothing to show for it in the end, only 5 and half years. So not that bad. But I think he was relieved to get it over with. Next stop Seattle, Washington, and the exciting world of Boeing. Congrats bro!
But Chicago wasn’t just about Andy graduating. Seeing a good thing and keeping it going, all the Aupperlees converged for the weekend. Big Dave, aka as dad, picked up the tabs at some nice dinners. High on my list was the Alaskan King Crab — Deadliest Catch style — at Joe’s. I see why now people die to catch those things. Crazy good dinner all around. Andy pulled a surf ‘n turf of some type, Scott (not an Aupperlee but one of the many who wish it was their last name) some lamb, mom and Betsy got some weird named fish, dad had some scallops and I can’t remember what Emily had though I doubt she can either. Crazy good dinner.
And that doesn’t include the duck I had the night before or the Manhattans consumed throughout the weekend. We go to Chicago to eat, drink and shop. Which I did a little of too, buying a jacket because I was so freaking cold. Chicago is certainly not the desert. And I bought some new jeans because I have this thing for designer jeans. It’s my one shallow obsession. My only, I swear. Oh yeah, did you know that Britney Spears showed up at party the other night without pants. So I have two shallow obsessions.
By the way, don’t eat the eggs in the refrigerator. They made me monstrously sick yesterday, camping with the Retteraths memorial day weekend sick.
Here are some photos of Aupperlees doing what they do best in Chicago.
drinking…
partying…
and watching Scott talk to girls
Eric Lawrence
Posted by Aaron - 08/05/07 at 06:05:00 amMy brother called me this evening. He told me Eric Lawrence had passed away in his sleep the night before. Eric was everyone’s drummer.
I met him at band pre-camp in the summer of 1998. Then it was cabin one. I remember the blur of his sticks when we would convince to play Tornado. It was like our eyes were camera lenses with a slow shutter speed.
He was in my brother’s band, The Andy Aupperlee Explosion 5000. I believe there was a Forest Hills Northern High School Talent Show where Eric was in every band.
A fixture at the Aupperlee house during high school, Eric was akin to a family member.
Andy Szumowski wrote this. I end with it.
Dearest Friends:
It is with a great sadness that I inform you all of the passing of a great musician, and a personal inspiration, teacher, and fellow drummer, Eric Lawrence. Eric was one of the most phenomenal percussionists and drummers I have ever known. I was introduced to him at FHN Marching Band tryouts in the summer of 1998. I remember coming into the band room and trying on the various drums and harnesses. I played a little something on the quads, and then this skinny little white kid comes in. He doesn’t talk to anyone, just walks over to a snare drum and straps in. He began with a blisteringly quick etude for a drummer at the collegiate or professional level, and this was his WARMUP!!!!
Within 5 seconds everyone who had been talking and joking and making loud noises stopped, turned around, and silently stood in awe of this unknown god. He was a sophomore transfer from Creston, a downtown Grand Rapids high school.
Over the next few years we became very close, often spending free time listening to and discussing music from every continent, every decade, every genre and style imaginable. Miles Davis Quintet album, “Sorcerer” was a particular standout, mainly becuase of the young drummer, Tony Williams. We even started a cult, “TWIG”, (tony Williams Is God). Cleveland’s own Paul Skripnik can attest to this.
Eric is personally responsible for introducing me to the musical genius of Tony Williams, Igor Stravinsky, and many other inspirational composers and musicians I had never investigated. I believe he was 26 years old, but may have been younger. May Eric’s memory, and prayers for his family and friends, be in your thoughts and prayers this week.
Andy
exhaust
Posted by Aaron - 03/05/07 at 06:05:00 amI worked 12 hours, got California license plates, cooked a delicious falafel dinner and entertained the ladies. Exhausted.
he reads again
Posted by Aaron - 02/05/07 at 05:05:00 amIf anything, it was a scene.
We sat around the cheap Wal Mart table in our kitchen preparing our poems for tonight’s reading. I made a pan of Pad Thai and we ate, talked about something, and looked over our poetry. We were all nervous, most of us having never read in front of people before, all of us not used to sharing our poetry with each other.
For a moment, the little house in Lenwood turned into an artist community. We ate Thai food, how artsy, the light was low, how artsy, I drank a Sierra Nevada, more artsy than a Bud Light, and but we didn’t talk about poetry. No matter how much you want it to be true in your mind, artists communities don’t sit around and talk about art all the time. They probably watch baseball or the food channel every now and then. Like I said, we talked about something.
And so he reads again. No one was at the bar/club turned stage with a podium with a microphone for poetry on Tuesday nights. No one was there, except the house flies, those who spend most nights lounging on the couches and around the table in the little house in Lenwood when it’s not an artist community. But we read anyway. I yelled my way through my first poem. I hadn’t read since sophomore in college. I hated poetry readings and was this close to hating poetry all together. I read poems from high school, from college, and then one written in the McDonalds of the Barstow Wal Mart, uniquely inspired.
Jesse read too. Academic in nature, at first, reflecting a desire to be exact. He loosened though, poeming about drugs, girls, and the night time. Cameron read too. He speaks the truth when he reads. Uses the word “tits” a lot. It sounds good coming out of his boyish mouth. Dave read too. The most nervous of the group, mumbling through philosophical renditions of life. He eventually opened the Robert Frost book and drew on the great.
By the end of the night, we all read more poems than we thought we would.
Join us next week.
Rim of the World Trail, Afton Canyon, California
Posted by Aaron - 01/05/07 at 03:05:00 amPhotos now. General frustration led to drinking led to not finishing the story.
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