Ugly Sweater Party Toast 2012

This is the toast for the Third Annual Ugly Sweater Christmas Party! It was a great night of celebration and the best part, being around great people! For those of you who were unable to make it may you enjoy the toast upon my blog.........

Attention everyone, may I please have your attention!

To all you free loading Bastards! 

A toast for this special night, a night in which,

we are all

“SHINNING BRIGHT LIKE A DIAMOND

WE’RE BEAUTIFUL LIKE DIAMONDS IN THE SKY!”

I would like to thank you all for coming tonight

for the third annual wine and cheese ugly sweater Christmas Party.

It is always a special time, it being the holiday season, I just wanted to 

“MAKE YOU FEEL WANTED

I WANT TO CALL YOU MINE

AND NEVER LET YOU GO

CUS BABY I WANNA MAKE YOU FEEL WANTED!”

But tonight is more than SOME NIGHTS!

“WHAT DO I STAND FOR?

WHAT DO I STAND FOR?

MOST NIGHTS I DONT KNOW.... ANYMORE!”

Tonight is different. 

Tonight we are gathered, with ugly sweaters and all, 

Our wine in hand, soothing the blood within; warming the soul. 

It is a night that 

“YOU AND I GO HARD, AT EACH OTHER LIKE WE’ER GOING TO WAR!”

An ugly sweater war to be exact. 

May the best sweater win. Whoever that may be you might just feel like 

“STANDING IN THE HALL OF FAME

AND THE WORLDS GONNA KNOW YOUR NAME

CAUSE YOUR SWEATER WILL BURN LIKE THE BRIGHTER FLAME.

AND YOU WILL BE ON THE WALLS OF THE SWEATER HALL OF FAME!”

This moment will last for... well 5 minutes and I just want you to know, 

that even though we are together now, 

“WE ARE NEVER NEVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER

WE ARE NEVER NEVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER

WE ARE LIKE NEVER LIKE EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER

WE ARE NEVER EVER LIKE” ..... okay, maybe never

“BUT HERE’S MY NUMBER, SO CALL ME MAYBE?”

As the night goes on the moon passes overhead

Let us truly enjoy this gift of life, and don’t forget the cheese! 

“FOR THIS IS THE END 

HOLD YOUR BREATH AND COUNT TO TEN

FEEL THE EARTH MOVE AND THEN 

HEAR MY HEART BURST

LET THE SKY-FALL

WE WILL STAND TALL”

Until we can’t stand anymore because of the alcohol

Raid your glasses hight, raise them high

“SEXY LADY! GAGNAM STYLE!”

As we stand here together look right and look left

Stop that! You all remind me of 

“A HONEY BEE ON MY SCREEN DOOR

JUST A CREEP-IN, CREEP-IN, JUST A CREEP-IN!”

Cheers to tonight for

“IT’S NOT A JOURNEY, EVERY JOURNEY ENDS, BUT WE GO ON, 

MY LUCK, MY FATE, MY FORTUNE, CHENEL NO. 5.”

Oh and remember

“DONT WAKE ME UP

TOO MUCH LIGHT IN THIS WINDOW

ONLY COFFEE, NO SUGAR INSIDE MY CUP”

Cheers to Life, our future, and of course Ugly Sweaters! 

The Western Sky

As the sun sets in the Western Sky

the hay-bails let their shadows lie,

on the dry ground below. 

Birds of the prairie sing a nighttime lullaby 

as the sun scars the night sky with a red ember glow. 

The hay-bail shadows grow with each minute gone past

as the sun descends so fast.  

Beyond the distant lands it’s light sines bright, 

leaving the now in darkness; night.

As the sun sets in the Western Sky

The birds sing their nighttime lullaby and

await the morning once again. 

Another day gone by.

Flaming Spider Cello, Hockey and Strong Coffee!

Flaming Spider Cello, Hockey and Strong Coffee!

Warning one must be drinking coffee while reading this blog entry! Stop reading NOW and make your cup of coffee. Strong! Wait did you just keep reading! Make that damn cup of coffee! Anyway I had a great weekend in the metropolis of Minneapolis, MN! I was able to meet up with my Aunt and Uncle and a friend who I have been wanting to hang out with for a while now, Laura Nelson! It was a weekend packed with a few great adventures. As I left the city of Sioux Falls after sleeping off my hangover (not from alcohol), but from the previous night shift at the hospital, I was able to enjoy the last gleam of the setting sun as it evanesced behind an evolving wall of clouds. As the darkness crept across the land I thought of work, life and the weekend ahead.

Friday:

I was able to find my way to where Laura and her homies call home. Laura somehow new that I enjoy COFFEE! Mmmmm ... the coffee was like a materialistic monkey who had so many bananas he was in monkey Heaven. ( OK, so that was weird description of what coffee tastes like) anyway, the homies came home one by one. It has yet to fail me, especially when I hang out with college students, to want to go back. Relive the days. The time of my life. As Darkness approached the City, She became afraid and turned on Her lights. It was time for some orchestra! How does one describe the talent of so many musicians? Incredible! First off, the building. It is three tiers tall and wide open. The ceiling, in my opinion, looked like ice cubes had been dumped in cement, frozen in random places, not melting. Just there to jounce the sound around. As the performance began our ears, or shall I say, the ears of those there that night became alive. Just imagine what each individuals tympanic membrane would look like vibrating to so many different sound waves. The most impressive part was the cello soloist. His name was Anthony Ross. As I sat there watching and listening to his performance I could not stop watching his hands. There would simply not be any sound coming from his inanimate instrument unless it was for this hand to glide the bow across each string which, was of coarse, pushed down by each finger from his other hand. As I sat there watching these intricate motions I thought to myself, “How would I describe this in words?” Well, here it goes:

As his left hand moved up and down the fingerboard, in complete incarceration to each command of nerve running its coarse, from brain to finger it resembled a spider. Spinning his web. Intricate and to perfection. Waiting for the unwary visitor, or in this case, the perfect touch of string to allow the perfect sound to catch the listeners ear, making his purpose complete. Filling his satisfaction and that of the surrounding crowd. This was the cello being played to perfection by Anthony Ross. As Laura put it, “He plays the cello fervently as if there is a flame under his chair.” It was quite the show, which now leaves me with an appreciation for the orchestra. Being able to watch them live is, in my opinion, something we should all do in our lives. It brings it more to life, which will lead you to appreciate it when you hear it on the radio. After the show we went to a party which was a great time. Always enjoy some drinks, music, and a little swing dancing thrown in.

Saturday:

Saturday was yet another day full of adventure. We went to the Green Spoon for lunch and I probably ate the BEST wrap I have EVER had! http://www.greenspooncafe.com/ After lunch it was windy. No Really Windy...but we faced the weather and went on a short walk around the campus. Indeed we had more to do that day! Off to the MIA (http://www.artsmia.org/). Art is the World’s time capsule. To be able to see so much talent of artists in one place really brings one to reality. Allowing one to witness the creativity of the entire world in one place. There is so much creativity in this world now and in the past, we cannot simply wrap our minds around it. To even think of what is to come, cannot be brought to actuality. To see paintings of long ago and those of the present, was well worth our time and I intend to go back.

The end of the day involved eating dinner with my Aunt and Uncle and a Wild game. It was a great hockey game, but sadly, the Wild could not outscore their opponents, thus ending in defeat. Saturday was once again a great adventure and not a moment was wasted. Truly an enjoyable day.

Sunday:

It was the last day of my time in the Cities, so Laura made some delicious pancakes. Oh, so good and of course you can not forget the coffee! We went to Mass at the Basilica of St. Mary, http://www.mary.org/.

My patron Saint is Saint John the Apostle. As we made our way to a pew, guess what statue was directly in front of us? The crucifixion of Christ, while his mother Mary and the Apostle John looked up from below with looks of frozen woebegone. Yet, little did they know it was an act that would change the world.

Well, I hope you enjoyed the story of my weekend. I would like to thank Laura Nelson for a great weekend of adventures and hope for more to come!

(I hope you enjoyed your coffee too!)

Addicus Moore: Immortal Stone

Addicus made his way down the two flights of stairs to the street. Each squeaked with an uncomfortable groan. Addicus didn’t mind the stairs. He could hear those who where coming and going and it added character to his place. As he stepped outside, the warm rays of the sun hit him instantly. The clouds, previously overhead, had vanished, evaporated from the heat. It was turning out to become an agreeable day for a morning stroll. Addicus paused and took a deep breath of air and started on his walk.

There is a park called Immortal Stone a few blocks away where Addicus goes to brood on his thoughts. This park is located the park on Stone Way Dr. The park was created before Addicus was born. The founder was a man by the name of Oscar Mandel. Oscar Mandel became very fond of art. He was a widowed man whose spouse, Marian, had died of a brain tumor. She was an art teacher at the local school and she had always been fond of collecting art; a borderline hoarder. Oscar would scowl at times when she would bring some random piece home from school or the local art fairs in town. In response she had always told her husband,

“Art is a time capsule. It preserves the human experience. Art my dear, tells a unique story. One that we can look back on and wonder what was happening to inspire that work or art can even inspire us or heal us in difficult times.”

He would grumble back, “Art is a time capsule, but our house is the capsule!” We are going to need a bigger place if you keep bringing this stuff home.” In response she would tell him she would sell some of it eventually, but the day came when she was diagnosed with the brain tumor. The tumor took over her brain fast. She passed away about three months after her diagnosis. After that Oscar continued her legacy of the love of art and created this place; Immortal Stone. He used most of their life savings to create the park. He placed local artists work throughout the park, each piece having a unique story to tell.

Addicus came to the park quite often not only because of its convenient location, but for a more deeper reason than that. It was because of the artwork scattered about it, the people he watched discretely wandering through the labyrinth of pathways through the park. It was the help of these individuals that helped to inspire his work. Everyone has a story only they can tell. Addicus entertains himself by imagining what their stories could tell, but only God knows each page of man’s story.

Addicus was enjoying his morning walk. His headache started to dissipate and he could clearly think again. The main thought in question was what he wanted to write about. This was always the most difficult time for Addicus, starting from scratch to create new characters, a new plot, a new ending. He called it his time of axonal injury; his writing coma. His mind was occluded to any ideas; he needed some divine inspiration, a revelation. Some transient thoughts flowed from the deep matter of his brain, but was unsure of what he wanted to bring to fruition. Thus, the reason he was headed to his secret place in Immortal Stone.

Addicus took in his surroundings. There was slight breeze this morning. The movement past his skin was keeping his body cool in the warming sun. He could feel the air brush past the hair on his arms as each nerve ending related the feeling to his brain. With each step the gravel under his feet crunched and rattled. The grass waved at Addicus as he walked passed, occasionally trying to reach out and touch him, enslaved by the wind, obeying its every command. As he made his way down the pathway Addicus came to the first statue. It was a depiction of a women splitting in three directions. At first one would think she was a three headed monster standing in your path, but as you looked closer to this grotesque piece of art, you would find one looking at a women’s life. Starting from the left you see an innocent childlike head. The expressions of her face were that of a newborn; eyes squinted shut, mouth open in an unending scream welcoming her to this earthly world, not that of the womb. Her body was smaller in comparison with the rest of the statue. As Addicus continued to observe this piece of art he came to the middle women. This women was the most beautiful piece of the statue. Her hair flowing over her shoulders, smooth and sleek, seeming to fall perfectly as nature had intended it to do, her physical appearance matured from the latter. Addicus stared into her frozen lifeless eyes and saw what the sculptor had intended to portray. It was the beauty of a women in her prime. The physical, emotional, and even spiritual aspects of the women poured out of the stone like it had life moments before Addicus had arrived. Then the last part of this sculpture brought out the damage that Time can do to the human body. Years of Time’s wear and tear on us as it does the rocks on the bottom of a stream, or the canyons in which wild waters flow. The decay of physical beauty had taken their turn on the last portion of the women sculpture. Her hair now short and ragged, not flowing smoothly as it had just previously done. The skin on her face now scared with age, was weak, having lost its elastic rigidity. The wrinkles and droopy eye lids and other effects of time contorted her facial features and physical beauty. It even seemed to Addicus that her color was off, almost paler than before. In her old age the sculptor gave her a sense of finality. One that acknowledged that she was content with the life she lived, before and even now, at her end. She had accepted her next stage of life which would be the inevitable death we all will face one day. Addicus stared at her eyes wondering what he would see in them. It was the look of wisdom. A wisdom that one only receives after fighting Time itself in this world.

Addicus was always impressed with the creativity artists bring to the world. They grasp the reality of life and freeze it into the reality of their art. He would enjoy that gift, but that was not his. His gift was to that of pen and paper, not of molding clay. He continued on the pathway and as he was walking a squirrel was wondering aimlessly in front of him on the grass. Frantically trying to remember where he buried his last nut; having no success.

The next statue that he came upon was much less complex than the three headed women. It was of a dog. A simple looking dog much resembling a golden retriever. His tongue hanging loosely out of his mouth. A dog-like grin with of course a tennis ball at this side. Addicus felt the dog was looking directly at him, waiting for him to pick up the ball and heave it out across the green field for him to chase. Addicus looked back up from the frozen dog and noticed the squirrel had found his nut, but was now being attacked by his squirrel friend to fight for the long lost golden nugget.

Addicus made his way further down the path and finally arriving to one of his favorite places to reflect and write the ideas in his head. It was a simple bench. The bench was surrounded by a wooden lattice fence. It was in a circular shape and it changed with the times of the season. Spring brought out the vines that would race to the top, growing, growing, growing and eventually creating a wall that would shade him from the beating sun overhead. In the fall the leaves would turn a crimson bronze and eventually fall from their threshold back to the earth and blow away in the breeze. It was here that Addicus enjoyed to think, to ponder his thoughts. It was where he let his mind run wild with ideas and thoughts. Addicus took out his gel tipped pen and his trusty notepad and began to write. He wrote down what he was feeling, what thoughts jumped into his mind. As the sun overhead moved across the sky, Addicus Moore was starting to form an idea in his mind that would eventually make it to the screen on his computer back at his loft. It is to be hoped that that one day the dead symbols on his paper become a reality on the stage.