17. Lewis Skolnick is a rapist, Chapter 2 continued from Sparky's Dream

When I returned to Stereofish the room was filled with the familiar chugga, chugga intrinsic to On a Rope by Rocket From The Crypt. Yelling above the noise, Max and Chunk were discussing the egregious geek classic, Revenge of the Nerds.

Chunk had this persistent intuition that something about the film was wrong. He was right, Lewis Skolnick was a rapist. Let's review the facts. Lewis and his nerd buddies poached underwear from pretty coeds, surreptitiously planted hidden cameras in the women's dorm rooms (illegal in most states I believe) and Lewis masqueraded as Stan Gable (Ted McGinley) to sleep with Stan's girlfriend, Betty.

Compounding matters up that last point, Lewis repeatedly harassed Betty to date him, knowing I might add, that she had a boyfriend. When she declined, Mr. Skolnick constructed an unscrupulous scheme which infringed on Betty’s privacy. He used secret video surveillance to see her tits and other favourable bodily parts, all in the name of love.

I don't know about you but that seems like stalking and criminal harassment to me. Somehow, throughout their transgressions we cheered on those lovable nerds. Sure, those Alpha-Betas were a bit mean to them, but when was the last time “mean” was illegal? I say, bring back those Alpha-Betas jocks to kick some nerd ass and this time around you’ll have my utmost endorsement. Don’t hate Stan because he’s beautiful Lewis.

16. Sparky's Dream, chapter 2 continued from Train in Vain

At this point, I was compelled by both unnatural inclination and an instant obligation to take Kara's flowers to Mr. Salford's plot. I didn't know the spot where Mr. Salford's was buried, I'd never been there. However, during what now appeared to be adumbrate discussions with Kara, I knew that Nigel was buried beside his father. As a footnote, Mr. Salford died on the exact anniversary of his father's death, ten years separated.

That fucking unflagging feeling of persuasion persisted and seemingly escorted me to the dead, Mr. Salford. The really remarkable thing about the celerity of this achievement is emphasized by the fact that Roselawn Heights is the oldest and largest cemetery in the region, where a growing population of 54, 000 deceased resided. It resembled an eldrich subdivision of flawlessly manicured lawns and perpendicular streets. Mr. Salford's headstone had not been ensconced to date despite its requisition by the family last year. You could say it was a miracle to find it, if you well, believed in miracles.

I was now at the grave of someone to which I had no acquaintance. What the fuck was I doing here exactly? I needed some cogency and substantiation but there wasn't any. This was fucked up, I know that. I could have exonerated myself by telling you I was three sheets to the wind if I didn't value abstemiousness. Save your commentary, I know, a bar owner that doesn't drink?

Slapped by an abrupt blow of embarrassment and lucidity, I got back into my car, turning the ignition over. A small bird flew across my windshield, coiling the car. This sequence was succeeded by another bird until a sundry procession of birds accompanied the carousal and assembled on Nigel's grave.

Incomprehension had prefaced an advancing onset of jitters . Despite my discomposure, I collected the dexterity to drive away. Truth is, I got the fuck out of there fast. As I passed the gates leaving the cemetery, I tuned the radio to the opening chords for Start Again by Teenage Fanclub. I've always found that song and the album, Songs from Northern Britain consolatory. It became a lazy afternoon staff favourite. The album was introduced to us by Stereofish staff darling, Elyse Toby who resembled Franka Potente from Run Lola Run.

My cell phone rang but I didn't pick up as I saw Kara's number. I intended to call Kara back but just not yet.

15. Train in vain, chapter 2 continued from How soon is now?

August 21st is a big calendar day. It's the birth date of Joe Strummer from the Clash. Kara called me at work to say that the strain of her father's death and memory was hindering her capacity to nurture a relationship. Well, maybe not in those exact words.

"Can we still be friends?"

"I'm sorry Kara, I can't do it. I'd have ulterior motive, you know that. That wouldn't be friendship as I don't see you that way."

"Please Greg."

In appearance, my response had the presence of selfishness and maybe negligence but it was a practiced policy of self preservation. The reality was I really liked Kara and I didn't want to be her friend. I liked the tenderness of an intimate relationship. In the event that you give a shit, my adoration for Kara is keenly evoked by lyrics from the song Sunshine Smile by Adorable, "If I'm going to be someone else, I'd rather be somebody else with you". I always heard it as, "If you're ever with someone else, I'd rather be somebody else with you". Either way, that's exactly how I felt.

The following succession of evenings were exhausted by ceaseless solicitations for friendship and indelible rejections. I repetitiously reminded Kara that we could not be friends. She was endearingly stubborn.

"Why can't we be friends? It's not fair" Kara quipped.

During a moment of transparency, Kara described feeling conflicted by emergent feelings of guilt and remorse, having dissolved a lengthy relationship last year under the weight of her father's death. She explained that spending time together had resurrected some forgotten and unresolved susceptibilities. This was not good for me.

"You don't understand how hard it was for me. I was very close to my dad. I rushed home after a frantic phone call from my mom and found my dad being taken out of the house in a body bag. Adrian was there for me."

I felt like an asshole for a second but Kara's disclosure had provoked an uninvited suspense. Frankly, I didn't have the dexterity to address it with imperturbability. That's why I needed space as well.

It's now August 29, Michael Jackson's birthday and I could give a shit. It's recognition is rendered solely because of my love for the Jackson 5 and particularly the song, I want you back.

Kara's emergent distress and confusion were tantamount to a concussion. Her repeated appeals for friendship had finally provoked pity. As compensation, I purchased carnations and drove to Kara's home. I envisaged leaving flowers at the doorstep. Yes, it was an encore performance.

Approaching Kara's house, I saw her car in the driveway which induced some apprehension. It further prompted the discontinuation of my errand. I wasn't ready to hang out just yet. What the hell was she doing home? I had fully expected her to be at work.

I turned around and headed back towards the bar. I contemplated tossing the flowers out the window. I told Kara that I couldn't be friends and meant it.

Unexpectedly, I was further apprehended by insuppressible compulsion as I drove past the graveyard where Kara's father was buried. I couldn't bring myself to throw out the flowers.

14. How soon is now? Chapter 2 continued from Mind Bomb

I was bothered by the persistent anticipation I experienced at Kara's house. However, in some unusual way it was soothingly familiar, commemorating sentiments of romantic appetence affiliated with my youth. That sensation was habitually accompanied by dread. Had the term been conceived in my teens I would have been Emo.

I suppose anxiety was induced by countless romantic miscalculations and blunders that lingered and persisted from youth to adulthood. Not that I was bad at relationships. They just never seemed to work out.

In my early teens I found consolation in neo-romantic era bands such as Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cure, The Smiths and Jesus and Mary Chain. Max shared my post-punk romanticism and reserved a fondness for the song, Understanding Jane by The Icicle Works while The Smith's, Please, please, please let me get what I want became my quixotic anthem. Thinking back, I was such a Streisand.

To this day, I still find comfort in 80's films like Say Anything, Some Kind of Wonderful and Pretty in Pink. John Cusack's personification of Lloyd Dobler was efficacious in my maturation as a man. I also remember being pissed off at Molly Ringwald's disregard for Ducky in Pretty in Pink. That cat would have doted on Andie Walsh through eternity. Today, Andie McDonnagh is most likely sporting a shiner administered by her affluent and vapid husband Blane for erroneous dinner setting etiquette. Undoubtedly, during acrimonious disagreements he reminds her that she was poor white trash before he came along. Bastard.

Regardless, there was always something really sweet and amiable about John Hughes films. I adored their modesty, principles and innocence. Ethics and ideals weren't inhibited by vanity and ostentation. Sure, the themes were present but superficiality always lost. Wait a sec, there's that damn Pretty in Pink again but that ending pissed off a lot of people, prompting the conciliatory, Some Kind of Wonderful.

I am aware that Hughe's characters were invariably stereotypical but that was the allure, the princess, the criminal, the jock, the brain and the basket case. I once dressed as John Bender for Halloween. It wasn't much of a stretch really. I had the same manner of resemblance in wardrobe and appearance. Bad-ass.

13. Mind Bomb, Chapter 2 continued from Postal Service

August 15th, the birth dates of MCA from the Beastie Boys and Matt Johnson of The The. At one time, I really, really loved the album Dusk. I ceaselessly listened to the track, Love is Stronger than Death. I always felt that Stereofish should have been named Mind Bomb in tribute to another cherished The The album. If I could sing, I'd unequivocally hope to have Matt Johnson's voice. Honestly, I can't sing to save my life. I'm not being unpretentious. I really do suck.

Today is also the first anniversary of the death of Nigel Salford, Kara's father.
Kara had invited me to a bereavement, anniversary gathering thing for family and friends. I politely declined in reverence of the circumstances. I had never met Mr. Salford or any of Kara's family for that matter. My attendance surely would have have qualified as an encumbrance. I am irrepressibly timorous and awkward in any unfamiliar social situation. In compensation, Kara would have remained undeviated at my side and I didn't want that.

So instead, I went to Kara's house unannounced and placed flowers at the doorstep with a note conveying my sympathies and support. It was uncluttered and sincere.

The home was quiet on the outside until Kara's voice dented the placidity.

"Hey, what are you doing?"
"I just left some flowers and a note"
"You want to meet my family? They're all in the back yard"
"I better not, I just wanted to let you know that if you needed to talk or wanted some distraction I'll be around. Call me later tonight if you'd like."
As Kara thanked me, I began to feel inexplicable anxiety and expectancy.

12. Postal Service, chapter 2 continued from Sonic Youth

When the hilarity subsided, I told Chunk and Max to go home, leaving myself languishing in the banality of closing shop. I was sweeping the floor and listening to Such Great Heights by the Postal Service when the phone rang.
It was Kara, "Hey...I'm sorry about today, I want to work on things, I do...lets just take it slowly OK?"

My acknowledgment was absolute evasion, "OK".

I found it curious that the dissolution of my relationship with Kara never induced panic or incited melancholy. Somehow, I had a feeling that things would work themselves out.

"I have to warn you that the next few weeks are going to be a bit rough for me. The one year anniversary of my father's death is coming up. I'm gonna be a basket case".

I had never met Kara's father in life and in all frankness knew nothing of the man.

July 27th, birthday of Miles Hunt from the Wonderstuff. Sitting at a booth, I noticed that Max was absorbed in conversation with someone who seemed dispossessed and had every semblance of a bum. Max had exhausted his tips to buy coffee, food and cigarettes for some derelict who sort of resembled Christ. I neglected to appreciate why Max was beguiled by somebody so unkempt and sullied, Jesus similitude aside.

While I admire the romantic notion of extending care to the displaced and unfortunate, I am ashamed to admit that an unsympathetic part of me was concerned about latent and imagined repercussions from clientele.

Max substantiated his intrigue for the derelict he would soon dub the Messiah Bum by regurgitating suppositions on the fragility of mathematics and science. Unknown to me, I would soon be indoctrinated as successive evenings were consumed by lectures on physics and mathematics by the king of kings himself.

As Max and I weren't exactly adept at advanced mathematics, we weren't completely sure if our perceived edification was effected by a psychopath or prodigy.

Explaining to you what was told to us is very difficult. My recollection of details are deficient due to the constraints of technical comprehension. I do remember conversation fragments where the Messiah Bum postulated that physics and math were flawed in corporeal application due to the fallacy of zero.

"There is no such thing as zero, every part of the universe is occupied and connected by something smaller and smaller in comparison. The spot occupied by zero in an equation has a value. This is proven by its simple presence on a page or in a formula. More importantly, the negative and positive numbers preceding and following zero respectively are dependent on it's existence. There is reliance in that connection. It demonstrates the interconnectedness of what we perceive as independent."

Messiah Bum continued, "If we were to combine the sum of every positive number, then combine every negative number that sum would be zero thus equaling infinity. Zero may appear to separate positive values from negative ones on a scale but zero is also the sum. All other values in actuality are smaller. It is definite yet infinite."

Messiah Bum rendered an algorithmic remedy for the zero fallacy in architecture and engineering. You'll have to accept my apology as I can't recall the exact details of the ameliorative formula. Besides, the whole thing has given me a headache.

11. Sonic Youth, Chapter 2 continued from Darkness

July 25th, it's the birthday of Elvis Costello and Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth. It was the afternoon following tres palabras day. Kara and I decided to go a for a walk to the park, where she conceded the following, "I think we should be friends, things are moving a bit too fast and I'm not ready for it".

Once more, I struggled to untangle myself from the previous evening's blunder by telling Kara that I hadn't meant what I said and that the declaration was an unsuspected defection. She didn't believe me and earnestly appeared burdened by my unintended romantic profession. In retrospect, a part of me had meant it but I swear I never intended to say those three words.

"It really stinks that you feel that way Kara. I can respect that you need space. You're doing what you need to do out of self preservation and for the same reason, I can't be your friend. I 'd have a secret agenda and ulterior motive. It's not fair to you and certainly not fair to me."

I had anticipated that Kara would say she understood, but she didn't. She became resolute and persistent in petitioning my friendship.

"Just give me time to work it out". I made my way back to the bar alone.

At Stereofish, Max and Chunk were protesting intemperance by the local band, Fidelity Sound Lab who were performing with a mission to no one. They were wanking.

Chunk had censured FSL, "Tonight is total shit. These assholes fucking suck ass. FSL brings three fucking bands with them and the only audience is each other?"

Max was irate, "For six months, these guys begged me for a gig. We have a huge following they said. Huge fucking waste of a night".

Max normally had meritorious dexterity at drawing really cool talent to Stereofish. Touring bands like the Ramones, The Misfits, The English Beat and other indie music icons all performed at Sterofish at some point in their careers. We were reputed to be a disinfected version of CBGB's. Max was also proficient at selecting community talent, insuring bills were paid by booking bands that drew crowds. He hated it when they didn't come through.

"I am not in the mood for shit bands tonight but I have an idea. Follow me". I directed Max to accompany me to the office, where I pointed to the electrical panel with implicit purpose, "Play along".

Max choked on his laughter as I shut power to the stage. Then, with mock austerity, he returned to the bar and addressed FSL with an improvised apology.

" Sorry guys, this is really embarrassing, it happens all the time. The power has gone out. It's a chronic electrical problem. It usually takes some time to get it going again. Anyway, we're gonna need to pack it in, security reasons. Sorry."
We laughed our asses off as the bands were leaving.