THE PIT — Thirty-one years old and still doing this shit.

Last night, my friend-to-the-blog Kris invited me to support our buddies in the band “HELLBENDER” at a local music show. It was a DIY event held in a community arts space with a hilarious name with all the proceeds going to a beloved friend of the social circle.

There was a point in my life where I would go to house shows or local shows every weekend, but I was a geeky 18-year-old with lots of energy then. I’ve been more in the habit of stadium shows and bar bands instead, for some reason.

Last night, it felt like I was back. And in a way, after so much off-and-on with COVID, it felt like everyone in attendance felt like they were back. Continue reading →

THE OTHER SIDE OF LITTLE FIVE — Last Friday night (~1 a.m. Saturday morning), four people were shot across two downtown Bloomington locations: First came the news of three people shot at Kalao, a new rum bar/nightclub with an exotic atmosphere in the former Japonee building on North Walnut Street, and then reports of another person shot outside the public library on our beloved Kirkwood Avenue.

Thankfully, each of the wounded victims survived, but police still don’t know if the events are related.

Moments before gunshots broke out, my housemates and I had been driving around the greater Bloomington area to people-watch and get a few laughs in. I waved at people and talked to them in funny voices, and was generally reveling in as much fun as a nearly 32-year-old could have on a night that looks like the Apocalypse. I was nearing my fill, and the car crew dropped me off at the house so I could get some rest.

The moment I crawled into bed, I got this haunting series of messages:

Two of my fall-semester students work at Kalao.

My heart sank. My jaw fell. My blood began to go numb. I fell back in bed and closed my eyes. Please God, don’t let my students die.

Rarely, if ever, had we so brazenly and openly encountered live gunfire in the densest stretch of the city, let alone during the busiest part of the year. It was our worst fears, actualized, yet again, after all the sad things that have already happened here before in the form of missing and murdered students.

These shootings were a another emotional setback to our attempted best efforts as Bloomingtonians and IU alumni to take care of young residents during a volatile weekend.

And so it was that I stayed up until 5 a.m., listening to a free police scanner app, hoping my Kalao students were still alive, maybe even home safe themselves, as the rest of downtown panicked between a lack of public messaging and other bars locking down for immediate safety.

Doesn’t feel like it has to be this way.

I’ve lived in Bloomington for 13 years now. Our best efforts still seem to land us in the darkest timeline, if only momentarily, with each passing April.

I’m extremely grateful nobody is dead, and that my students at Kalao are seemingly OK (physically, at least), but it’s safe to say this past weekend was a scary time for Bloomington.

All I want is for everyone to have a good, safe time during Little 500. My attitude may seem simplistic, but it doesn’t seem like our current reality has to be so difficult.

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-moose

NEAR DOWNTOWN, BLOOMINGTON — I’d like to announce a new writing format here at Moose on the Loose called “Morning Coffee,” where I set to exercising my creative muscles every day. I’m going to share whatever concepts and thought-debris enter my mind while I’m having my breakfast caffeine (usually, black coffee from the home drip machine), and share the results for your perusal.

As usual, I do have a mailbag where you can share your thoughts to discuss here on the blog as well.

But that’s enough shilling for now — it’s coffee time:

Springtime in Bloomington

Warmer weather and the natural changes that come with it are in full-force here in B-Town:

I recently counted something to the tune of 220 daffodils in my backyard, mostly around the persimmon tree standing in the middle of everything. A few are tucked beside the shed, in an eerily straight line for an organic growth pattern. They were shining brightest a week ago, but they’ve since wilted after some 3 or 4 consecutive days of surprise sleet storms. The yellow bastards are still hanging around, but seeming a tad depressed at the weather’s volatility (so say us all).

Two mourning doves quietly made a nest in an unused hanging flowerpot on our porch a few weeks back, where they’ve been diligently managing an unknown number of eggs. The nest sits directly above our trash and recycling cans, so we’re doing our best around the house not to be complete assholes by slamming lids or breaking dozens of beer bottles at once while they’re trying to rest with their kids. They used to skitter at the horrific sound when the nest was being built, but they’re more unshakeable now in the late gestation process. One of the housemates told me the eggs hatched over the weekend, but I haven’t had time to look — I’ll give the new family some privacy as they spend its first days together.

The deer are back, too. Bloomington’s urban deer phenomenon makes it common to see small family units in the near-downtown parks, and in the city itself with some frequency. From what I’ve seen around my post, the deer are nomadic grazers who tend to follow the brushy overgrowth greens of a north-south power line that separates properties in lieu of a consistent alley. This gives the deer a seemingly nonstop source of food (and shade), and perhaps a more organized pathway to finding quaint, lush garden beds for their snacking perusal.

Tooth and Nail

I’ve got some dental work coming up on Friday morning, and I’m slowly becoming more candy-dipped in dread about it. By this point, I should be enough of a “tough guy” at face value to manage some cavity fillings: I’m proud of how I’ve been able to handle tattoos, piercings, stitches, and a particularly invasive inpatient surgery that had me on my ass in March 2017.

I don’t know what it is about the dentist that extrapolates the dread, though. Maybe it’s the whirring machinery in one’s mouth. Maybe it’s the passive-aggressive “advice” given by a professional who must also remind you, like your mother did countless times, to brush your teeth before bed.

There’s some sort of stigma about getting cavities that really makes me feel like an idiot. People who never get cavities are the equivalent of straight-A students, and the rest of us who have imperfect mouths inevitably get some little “uh-oh!” taunt/remark from someone who thinks they know better. I swear to God, this is a thing. (Can you tell I’m all worked up in my head about getting dental work done?)

Anyways, plugging four (4) holes in my mouth and dropping $300 is apparently the very first thing I gotta do this Little 500 weekend. Hell of a start to an otherwise sun-drenched party session in my neighborhood. I don’t think my mouth will be aching too much to enjoy a cold beer, but that’s not the way I wanted to kick things off.

Sliding Into a Deal

With the cost of everything worth anything going up so much in the past few months due to some variety of horror-induced inflation, I’ve been using the keen eye for bargains I inherited from my mother when it comes to cheap eats around town to save some money where I can.

The local Arby’s does the 2-5 p.m. “Happy Hour” deal where all sliders, small fries, small drinks, cookies, and shakes are $1 a piece (instead of $2 or whatever they normally are). I’m the sort of guy who can eat the same thing every day, so I get three buffalo sliders (a chicken tender slathered in Frank’s RedHot and placed on a bun) and fill up on “wings.” It’s a surprising amount of food for $3.24 after tax.

My closest Kroger also runs a $5 chicken lunch meal deal, which comes with two tenders the size of small mugs and two sides. I’m buddy-buddy with the person who runs the deli counter, and she usually fills up my sides (mac and cheese; mashed potatoes) beyond the capacity of what should be attainable by a thick plastic food container. This all comes with a roll and free dipping sauces, and it’s usually enough to keep me fed all day on a single meal, if I get it for lunch.

I’ve also been a big proponent of picking up pizzas when possible in lieu of delivery. It’s crazy how quickly a $7.99 two-topping special can become something like $21.99 after delivery and tip, especially on apps like DoorDash and UberEats. At that rate, I’d rather just pick it up, tell the folks who made the food “thank you” to their faces, and tip $2 for their time.

I would feel more guilty about regularly being such a thrifty shitbag if these places were an independent restaurant or locally sourced joint, but they’re not: we’re talking basic food service products from massive corporations.

The food’s probably going to kill me anyway, and I’m here talking about saving a few pennies. Don’t listen to what I say. I don’t make sense like that sometimes.

It’s whatever. I’m fine.

I just need another cup of coffee, it seems.

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-moose