Amoeblog

Happy Martinmas

or St. Martin's Day or Martinstag or Martlemass
Children on St. Martin's Day

Today is the feast day of Martin of Tours. Martin was a Roman soldier who gave part of his cloak to a naked homeless man. According to some, he gave the rest of his clothes to another naked man and rode Lady Godiva-style through the late autumn winds. God miraculously warmed the earth for him, which is why it gets warm after being cold this time of year (known by a few as "St. Martin's Summer"). That night, Martin dreamed that Jesus came to him, scantily clad in the portion of his cloak which he'd given to the naked guy. When Martin awoke from his homo-erotic dream, he decided to devote himself to Christ and was baptized at 18.



Eventually he became a bishop in Tours. He didn't want to be a bishop so he hid in a goose pen. The geese betrayed him with honking and that is why we traditionally eat goose today, a sort of revenge best served fairly hot.



In Tours he gained a reputation for his iconoclastic violence, destroying the polytheistic art objects and ancient, historic temples of the indigenous Druidic religion like some medieval representative of the Taliban. He even went a little nuts and cut down trees, to the locals' dismay. On one occasion, a druid consented that he could cut down the tree if he stood where it was likely to fall. He did so and, of course, the tree fell in another direction. The druids were impressed.

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Posted by Eric Brightwell on November 11, 2008 at 09:10pm | Post a Comment

(In which Amoeba goes on a field trip to see Hall & Oates.)


Resistance is futile - John Oates & Daryl Hall

Normally, when I get off work at Amoeba Music on Friday evenings, I rush home, remove most clothing, scold my cat for not accomplishing anything while I was gone, fix myself a salad and watch some DVD (right now it’s the original “Twilight Zone”, season 3) before attending to any writing projects I have, after which I cuddle up with my iPod and listen to David Sedaris until I either fall asleep, or the Grays abduct me for a night of cavity-probing and “Small Wonder” re-runs (they love that show).


"May I please have some Oreos and a cool glass of your DNA sample?"

However, last Friday night I was abducted in a different way.

Logan had called me earlier and asked me what I was “doing” that night and I, like a fool, said I had no plans. (My boyfriend was in Canada at the Toronto Film Festival.)

“Well,” she said, sounding particularly devious, “You’re coming with me and Karen and some other Amoebites to see Hall & Oates at the Hollywood Bowl.”

She paused then, and I think she was waiting for me to squeal with delight. Instead, I quietly waited for a punchline to what was obviously a whimsical joke. When no punchline came and I realized she was telling the truth, I started to choke.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I think you gave me throat cancer,” I answered.

What had started as a moment of fantasy between a few co-workers had organically morphed into a large-scale field trip to the Hollywood Bowl. Karen had managed to secure a bevy of tickets and transportation. (I think she has mafia ties.)

Posted by Job O Brother on September 14, 2007 at 11:01pm | Comments (1)

(In which Job goes to the hospital instead of blogging.)

PART TWO of 3

As I waited with my boyfriend, Corey, in the Emergency Room loading dock, nurses, aides, cleaning people and, I think, some illegal immigrants would rush through. The energy was frenetic. It was like someone spliced together all the link and filler scenes from a TV medical drama, and edited out the entertaining parts where you find out the doctor’s sleeping with the wife of the man who runs the hospital who is an alcoholic/pill addict and, even more tragic, votes Republican.

We learned that Corey had appendicitis. They wanted to perform surgery that night. Our plans to play poker and go dancing would, in all likelihood, have to be cancelled.


A cute picture of my boyfriend, Corey

Corey is a self-professed control-freak, and this would reveal itself in many ways. He would grill anyone who entered our room with the same battery of questions, to which he would receive, more or less, the same answers. I didn’t ask why, but I secretly theorized that he was waiting for one of them to “slip up” and say something like, “Well, you may be feeling discomfort because your uterus is over-extended,” to which Corey could then raise his pointed finger and exclaim, “Ah, ha! Got you! I’m a boy and I don’t have a uterus! Because of my hysterectomy last year.”

My boyfriend won’t find that joke funny, but he’s all cripple from surgery, so I’m safe.

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Posted by Job O Brother on May 28, 2007 at 09:24pm | Comments (2)