I'm on vacation in the Midwest. This is cause for concern for plumbers, cause for joy among organic meat herders, and cause for terror among toilets. I've lost track of the amount of meat sandwiches I have consumed in the last few days, but I haven't lost track of the number of shattered, post-apocalyptic, dystopian bathrooms I have left in my wake.
Three:
At a place called First Watch outside of Westlake, Ohio.
At Lady Chemisty's ancestral home in Iowa.
And, finally, at my expedition headquarters in Wisconsin.
The last one was so bad I had to retreat to the second floor until the gas dissipated. I saw three men huddled in a crater in the living room die when they removed their masks too early. President Obama is rumored to be debating the legality of declaring my butt a national threat.
I am worried for my family, as my parents, despite being rocks, tend to eat a high fiber diet. I am worried that some may not survive this coming week.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
A New Project for the Pork Snorkel Crew
Legal Disclaimer: Despite all similarities and a completely identical roster, the Pork Snorkel Crew is only loosely affiliated with Team Pork Cloud Mexico.
As chief scientist of the Pork Snorkel Crew, I am currently involved in researching a new breed of Oreos. My lab team and I will be attempting to assemble jumbo Oreos from regular and double stuffed varieties of the popular snack food. These enormous cookies will hopefully have diameters in excess of three inches, while remaining structurally strong enough to scoop soft-serve ice cream. These new Hand Oreos* should revolutionize everything, everywhere, and will probably win a Nobel Peace Prize after the cessation of the Toll Wars once the cookies are shipped to the Middle West.
As I have not received notice from the FDA to halt testing, human trials will begin in a little over two weeks.
* I will not be calling them HOreos.
As chief scientist of the Pork Snorkel Crew, I am currently involved in researching a new breed of Oreos. My lab team and I will be attempting to assemble jumbo Oreos from regular and double stuffed varieties of the popular snack food. These enormous cookies will hopefully have diameters in excess of three inches, while remaining structurally strong enough to scoop soft-serve ice cream. These new Hand Oreos* should revolutionize everything, everywhere, and will probably win a Nobel Peace Prize after the cessation of the Toll Wars once the cookies are shipped to the Middle West.
As I have not received notice from the FDA to halt testing, human trials will begin in a little over two weeks.
* I will not be calling them HOreos.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Two Things I Ruined With the Internet
There are probably more, but I stopped counting at two: Fringe, and the Hunger Games.
A few months ago, I was flipping through some links, probably on io9 or Chud, and read some article about the unanswered questions in the previous season of Fringe. I hadn't watched any episodes before, despite my interest, and figured that I would probably not get around to it until the series ended or was cancelled in some untimely fashion. The Old Lady and I have continued her policy of almost never checking the NetFlix queue, and one day disc one of season one of Fringe showed up. I wasn't really annoyed by the knowledge of the few tidbits that article had given me, but then I had to look up whether Fringe was still on the air since we don't get Fox on a regular basis with our previously-urban-now-decidedly-rural broadcast antenna. I couldn't find the information I wanted fast enough through other means, so I clicked through to Wikipedia. Suddenly, I found myself in an Arrested Westeros moment: I've made a huge mistake.
The truly moronic aspect of this story is that I ruined The Hunger Games in EXACTLY the same way about two months prior, and had resolved not to research anything I wanted to consume on Wikipedia. Books, movies, foods, etc, everything can be ruined forever.
The Hungus Games are probably in production now, or may even be available on Pay Per View at your local hotel.
A few months ago, I was flipping through some links, probably on io9 or Chud, and read some article about the unanswered questions in the previous season of Fringe. I hadn't watched any episodes before, despite my interest, and figured that I would probably not get around to it until the series ended or was cancelled in some untimely fashion. The Old Lady and I have continued her policy of almost never checking the NetFlix queue, and one day disc one of season one of Fringe showed up. I wasn't really annoyed by the knowledge of the few tidbits that article had given me, but then I had to look up whether Fringe was still on the air since we don't get Fox on a regular basis with our previously-urban-now-decidedly-rural broadcast antenna. I couldn't find the information I wanted fast enough through other means, so I clicked through to Wikipedia. Suddenly, I found myself in an Arrested Westeros moment: I've made a huge mistake.
The truly moronic aspect of this story is that I ruined The Hunger Games in EXACTLY the same way about two months prior, and had resolved not to research anything I wanted to consume on Wikipedia. Books, movies, foods, etc, everything can be ruined forever.
The Hungus Games are probably in production now, or may even be available on Pay Per View at your local hotel.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Rockstache at the 930 Club
Regarding my performance, my friends think I need to be more dynamic with my actions. There is definite room for improvement in my fingering, and strumming. Some kicks, and maybe a good leap into the air, out over the crowd, hopefully landing somewhere that doesn't involve on a person. Stage dives can be really lame if you aren't rocking out, but can really seal a legendary performance.
Regarding the costume, I think the shirt was too big. I bought it back when I was really fat, say early season Biggest Loser contestant who isn't going to win because he didn't start out at somewhere north of 400 pounds, as opposed to late season Biggest Loser who isn't going to win because he didn't start out at somewhere north of 400 pounds. My arms look ok, though, all the tilling and pushups seem to be having some effect. The mustache could be bigger. Air Guitar is one area of the universe where facial will always be accepted and even respected.
So for next year, I'm aiming for two things: a six pack (instead of the mini keg) and a possibly fake giant mustache across my shoulder blades for maximum impact when I do some sort of spin-kick/guitar flip. Probably skinny jeans as well.
The oddest part of the evening was being asked, "hey, you're the guy who really knows how to play guitar right? I heard you're actually good at it." My response was, "Uh. No. I've held a guitar, and made noise come out of it, but there is no way you would ever call me good at it."
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Time for Another Fifteen?
I hope to surprise my father with another brief bit of in/fame on June 23. The Genius is taking the stage at the 930 Club. Without an instrument. Ahem, without a visible instrument. I am competing in the DC Regional of the US Air Guitar Competition under the nom de air of Rockstache. If you can make it, you better cheer for me.
Two of Genius Cousins have played the 930 Club, but they were in punk bands. Actual bands, with instruments and other people and stuff. I have this odd feeling they will not appreciate my performance.
Two of Genius Cousins have played the 930 Club, but they were in punk bands. Actual bands, with instruments and other people and stuff. I have this odd feeling they will not appreciate my performance.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Memories of Saturday Mornings Past
When I was but a young rock child living in Romania, we had no cartoons to watch. A great uncle, Basalt, took pity on me and my fellow pebbles, and sent us many a VHS tape* containing hours and hours of nature programs. Marty Stouffer's WIld America, PBS' Nature, and various Richard Attenborough narrated series entertained me when Romanian propaganda held no interest. Now, in the fullness of time, one third of the way around the circle of life, Richard Attenborough entertains me yet again:
* Kind of like a DVD that only goes one way, youngsters.
* Kind of like a DVD that only goes one way, youngsters.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Obilgatory Mother's Day Posting
My mother is great for many reasons, but the only one in my head right now is that she is always willing to try whatever crazy beers I bring home.
Getting Old?
Depending on which ex you talk to, I am either immature, not mature at all, completely immature, and terrible in bed generally cranky. I like to think that I am maturing slowly like fine wine, or whiskey, but I have these moments when I feel as old as my parents. I filed my taxes on time this year, I keep track of my bank balance with online banking, I pay bills on time. I am much more diligent about cleaning my cottage, and doing the dishes. And yet all this progress on the orderly life of a mature American feels wasted because I have been having the worst trouble figuring out Blogger's new dashboard, and am almost at the point of watching a video on the use and abuse of the new setup. It is almost as bad as the new Facebook, and by new I mean the changes made to Facebook in early 2009.
That whiff of smoke that I thought I smelled earlier is definitely not coming from my moustache. This is country living, I guess. I better go check that out. Someone is burning leaves or brush. I don't understand the need for this. Leaves can be composted or mulched into your turf, and brush can be tossed in the woods. Two items we have an abundance of in this area: room for generous compost piles or mounds, and woods.
That whiff of smoke that I thought I smelled earlier is definitely not coming from my moustache. This is country living, I guess. I better go check that out. Someone is burning leaves or brush. I don't understand the need for this. Leaves can be composted or mulched into your turf, and brush can be tossed in the woods. Two items we have an abundance of in this area: room for generous compost piles or mounds, and woods.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
The Time is Now
Every recession has had one, and now so must this recession. It is time for another cover of "Dancing in the Streets." Someone get on that.
Probably Sheryl Crow, Hootie, and the Crash Test Dummies.
Probably Sheryl Crow, Hootie, and the Crash Test Dummies.
CDC: Benicio Del Toro, Anne Hathaway, Hugo Weaving, Laurence Olivier, and the BBC
This dream is from a while back, and I can't verify that all of it makes sense, but I woke up feeling like a million bucks had just stampeded through my skull. It has been sitting in my drafts for about a year, but I think longer because it was cold. Also, we had watched "The Wolfman" in the week before this dream erupted.
I was hiking in the mountains of Tibet, and struggling. I wasn't prepared for the mountains to be so tall or rugged, in fact, I was basically dressed for some cross country jogging with a stop at a coffee shop in the middle. I was freezing, wet, and had assumed that I would die of exposure as the sun set.* Shortly after the nightfall, I stumbled into a village that looked completely un-Tibetan, rather Transylvanian. Small cottages, and townhouses made of timber and plastered straw, close together like they were huddling against the wind and drizzle.
* This is entirely unrelated to my girlfriend's tendency to steal all of the covers, all of the time.
I stumbled through town and found the tavern near the central plaza. I could hear laughing and singing, so I struggled with the door until it opened and I fell onto the floor of the warm tavern. I was wearing running shoes, running shorts, a work out shirt, and a hoodie, all of which smelled of sweat and mud. As I looked around the room, everyone was dressed in Edwardian suits and dresses. I had wandered through the Himalayan mountains, and ended up in a Masterpiece Theater romance murder movie.
I was suddenly feverish and weak, so the mayor declared that he would house me until I was well. Some men and the local apothecary carried my to the mayor's villa, where the doctor and the mayor's daughter, played by Anne Hathaway gave me a bath and a nightgown. This was less interesting than it could have been.
The night before I arrived, a farmer had been murdered, and the town was out of sorts. A newly arrived painter played by Benicio del Toro was the current suspect, but the mayor had forbidden any investigation until the King's Prosecutor arrived in two days. The painter was known for saying strange things, and for acting "quite peculiar." Anne fell for me while she was nursing me back to health, but I tried to resist her protestations of undying love for reasons completely unknown to me. On the day the King's Prosecutor was due to arrive, I met Benicio. The artist was a little crazy, and a drug addict, but I thought he was basically harmless when I saw him flinch when I killed a beetle that was crawling on the table between us.
Hugo Weaving was the King's Prosecutor investigating the murder, and he was inclined to agree with most the townsfolk in their suspicions but it was something out side doing the killing. While Benicio, Anne, and I were strolling along the outskirts of town, I noticed a camera crew trying to hide in some bushes. I marched over and demanded to know what was going on. The BBC was filming the whole thing as a new quasi-reality show, and had worked me into the script as a free form theater project. They were shooting on location in Tibet for a Romanian-set story. I already had legions of fans.
I was hiking in the mountains of Tibet, and struggling. I wasn't prepared for the mountains to be so tall or rugged, in fact, I was basically dressed for some cross country jogging with a stop at a coffee shop in the middle. I was freezing, wet, and had assumed that I would die of exposure as the sun set.* Shortly after the nightfall, I stumbled into a village that looked completely un-Tibetan, rather Transylvanian. Small cottages, and townhouses made of timber and plastered straw, close together like they were huddling against the wind and drizzle.
* This is entirely unrelated to my girlfriend's tendency to steal all of the covers, all of the time.
I stumbled through town and found the tavern near the central plaza. I could hear laughing and singing, so I struggled with the door until it opened and I fell onto the floor of the warm tavern. I was wearing running shoes, running shorts, a work out shirt, and a hoodie, all of which smelled of sweat and mud. As I looked around the room, everyone was dressed in Edwardian suits and dresses. I had wandered through the Himalayan mountains, and ended up in a Masterpiece Theater romance murder movie.
I was suddenly feverish and weak, so the mayor declared that he would house me until I was well. Some men and the local apothecary carried my to the mayor's villa, where the doctor and the mayor's daughter, played by Anne Hathaway gave me a bath and a nightgown. This was less interesting than it could have been.
The night before I arrived, a farmer had been murdered, and the town was out of sorts. A newly arrived painter played by Benicio del Toro was the current suspect, but the mayor had forbidden any investigation until the King's Prosecutor arrived in two days. The painter was known for saying strange things, and for acting "quite peculiar." Anne fell for me while she was nursing me back to health, but I tried to resist her protestations of undying love for reasons completely unknown to me. On the day the King's Prosecutor was due to arrive, I met Benicio. The artist was a little crazy, and a drug addict, but I thought he was basically harmless when I saw him flinch when I killed a beetle that was crawling on the table between us.
Hugo Weaving was the King's Prosecutor investigating the murder, and he was inclined to agree with most the townsfolk in their suspicions but it was something out side doing the killing. While Benicio, Anne, and I were strolling along the outskirts of town, I noticed a camera crew trying to hide in some bushes. I marched over and demanded to know what was going on. The BBC was filming the whole thing as a new quasi-reality show, and had worked me into the script as a free form theater project. They were shooting on location in Tibet for a Romanian-set story. I already had legions of fans.
Thursday, February 09, 2012
I Disbelieve, and Roll a D20: Ancient Aliens
I was watching Stargate while working on a cover letter, and I had some additional fun watching the short film in the special features. I can’t really call it a documentary because the content has little evidence and too much speculation. The little feature is titled “Is There a Stargate?” and has both Erich von Daniken and Giorgio Tsoukalos talking about their beliefs.
These two gentlemen believe that humans were taught all the basics of culture from aliens roughly 10 to 12,000 years ago. They base their beliefs, which I won’t call theories, on the architectural accuracy of various ancient structures around the world. Since the pyramid is accurate to within a foot on all sides, and the ancient Egyptians didn’t have the latest laser surveying equipment, these things must have been built at the direction of aliens. Since the Nazca lines can’t be seen as a whole from the ground, they must have been built for aliens, or someone in a plane. The aliens will someday revisit their intellectual progeny, and usher us in to another new understanding of the universe. My problem with the alien explanation is that this premise removes all trace human ingenuity and imagination. Without the aliens, we would still be wandering the savannas and forests, gazing up at the night sky in fear. I refuse to believe that we would not have created art and discovered math without some intervention.
Aliens that swoop in and teach us everything or inspire us out of our huts feels like a parent assembling the entire LEGO toy while the kid watches, or those parents who finish all their kid’s homework when the kid gives up because it is too hard. I hope that we can grow up enough as a species to get past our stupid insecurities and maybe stop killing each other, and ideas like this take the best parts of humanity away from us. Also, Tsoukalos’ hair is goofier than my moustache.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Like No Other Feeling in the World
...and I have felt every feeling, even if I will later deny this statement. There is nothing quite like being momentarily famous, even if I did not reach the level that Mr. Oats did. A few years ago, my father gave me a box set of The Onion books, specifically so I would point out the article in which I was a model and he could then bring them in to work. His PostIt note on the page said, "This is my son. What a way to waste your fifteen minutes of fame." Little did he know...
Saturday, January 28, 2012
CDC: Pandorum, Daybreakers, and Starship Troopers the Book
Daniel Craig - Vampire Law Enforcer in Starship Troopers power armor.
Hank Azaria - Vampire Bounty Hunter who has changed his views.
Javier Bardem - Vampire Bounty Hunter who has changed his views.
Scott Bakula - Vampire Law Enforcer in Starship Troopers power armor.
Marc Blucas - Vampire Law Enforcer in Starship Troopers power armor.
I wake up from suspended animation to a paradise world of free food, and sunshine. The air is clean and the earth looks healthy and wonderful. There are no people, but everything is well maintained. I wander around, eating and drinking all the fresh fruit and clean water a guy could want.
Vampires show up the first night, give me an awesome vacation of everything you could want, and then tell me about the sacrifice I need to make. The only humans left alive are in stasis from the old days. As these people wake up over the centuries, they are given an epic holiday, and then rendered down for their blood to keep the whole society alive. The society has advanced technologies, and can take one pint of human blood and replicate it into thousands of gallons, but they need periodic infusions of fresh blood. They estimate that there are less than three thousand humans left alive, and the vampire society needs that blood to survive until they can derive some synthetic proteins or blood, which could take another thousand years. I got the impression that the vampire scientists weren't working too hard on the problem. "There are millions of vampire scientists, artists, soldiers, politicians, citizens, etc, and they all need your sacrifice." I ask for another week of vacation.
The vampire authorities grant me request but assign me two minders to prevent me from killing myself, or running away. Javier Bardem and Hank Azaria (Hank Azaria trying to play a vampire badass surprisingly worked, and could make his career.) are my bounty hunter/minders and we go off and have a few great weeks together seeing the world's sights through my eyes, and at night. Eventually, in typical Hollywood fashion, I win them over, and they refuse to turn me in.
Javier and Hank use their katanas (OF COURSE) to slice up all the vampire guards, start Hulking-out vampire-style, getting huge spiky hands and long spiky ears, and then they put on their BadAssSuits and really fuck shit up. These suits protect them from daylight, and magnify their strength a little. The two former bounty hunters rip holes in walls, and let the sun shine in on all the vampire technicians and guards and scientists. These vampires don't sparkle, but explode, usually after a witty one-liner. Hank breaks outside and starts hitting things with cars. So the Vampire Department of Blood Retention's guards call in the big guns.
Daniel Craig suits up in power armor, pretty much straight out of Starship Troopers. Hank Azaria hits Daniel Craig's suit with a semi, and breaks the knee joints or something. The suit automatically sends for reinforcements while Daniel Craig lays about with the automatic grenade launchers, flamethrowers, and chainguns attached to his suit. His jump jets are offline, and his legs are embedded in the ground to his hips by all the cars and trucks that Hank Azaria is throwing at him.
Scot Bakula (wearing his Star Trek: Enterprise costume) and Marc Blucas (also wearing a Star Trek: Enterprise onesie) begin to suit up in larger suits of power armor, hitting toggles and switches and climbing down into the ten foot tall armor suits, while discussing the situation with the two former Bounty Hunters fighting against The Man. At this point, I woke up saying, "sweet."
Hank Azaria - Vampire Bounty Hunter who has changed his views.
Javier Bardem - Vampire Bounty Hunter who has changed his views.
Scott Bakula - Vampire Law Enforcer in Starship Troopers power armor.
Marc Blucas - Vampire Law Enforcer in Starship Troopers power armor.
I wake up from suspended animation to a paradise world of free food, and sunshine. The air is clean and the earth looks healthy and wonderful. There are no people, but everything is well maintained. I wander around, eating and drinking all the fresh fruit and clean water a guy could want.
Vampires show up the first night, give me an awesome vacation of everything you could want, and then tell me about the sacrifice I need to make. The only humans left alive are in stasis from the old days. As these people wake up over the centuries, they are given an epic holiday, and then rendered down for their blood to keep the whole society alive. The society has advanced technologies, and can take one pint of human blood and replicate it into thousands of gallons, but they need periodic infusions of fresh blood. They estimate that there are less than three thousand humans left alive, and the vampire society needs that blood to survive until they can derive some synthetic proteins or blood, which could take another thousand years. I got the impression that the vampire scientists weren't working too hard on the problem. "There are millions of vampire scientists, artists, soldiers, politicians, citizens, etc, and they all need your sacrifice." I ask for another week of vacation.
The vampire authorities grant me request but assign me two minders to prevent me from killing myself, or running away. Javier Bardem and Hank Azaria (Hank Azaria trying to play a vampire badass surprisingly worked, and could make his career.) are my bounty hunter/minders and we go off and have a few great weeks together seeing the world's sights through my eyes, and at night. Eventually, in typical Hollywood fashion, I win them over, and they refuse to turn me in.
Javier and Hank use their katanas (OF COURSE) to slice up all the vampire guards, start Hulking-out vampire-style, getting huge spiky hands and long spiky ears, and then they put on their BadAssSuits and really fuck shit up. These suits protect them from daylight, and magnify their strength a little. The two former bounty hunters rip holes in walls, and let the sun shine in on all the vampire technicians and guards and scientists. These vampires don't sparkle, but explode, usually after a witty one-liner. Hank breaks outside and starts hitting things with cars. So the Vampire Department of Blood Retention's guards call in the big guns.
Daniel Craig suits up in power armor, pretty much straight out of Starship Troopers. Hank Azaria hits Daniel Craig's suit with a semi, and breaks the knee joints or something. The suit automatically sends for reinforcements while Daniel Craig lays about with the automatic grenade launchers, flamethrowers, and chainguns attached to his suit. His jump jets are offline, and his legs are embedded in the ground to his hips by all the cars and trucks that Hank Azaria is throwing at him.
Scot Bakula (wearing his Star Trek: Enterprise costume) and Marc Blucas (also wearing a Star Trek: Enterprise onesie) begin to suit up in larger suits of power armor, hitting toggles and switches and climbing down into the ten foot tall armor suits, while discussing the situation with the two former Bounty Hunters fighting against The Man. At this point, I woke up saying, "sweet."
Thursday, January 26, 2012
CDC: Harry Morgan and some Nubian Goats
In every relationship, there comes a time when your brain reaches a total saturation point, filled to the core with information that you hopefully use for good. My saturated mind has decided to use the disorganized sea of data to produce some really odd dreams filled with things my girlfriend will hopefully find funny.
The dream starts as so many do, suddenly I pop into the action from another dream, which had involved a cab ride and molotov cocktails and street riots, and I find myself looking at a map of Iowa.
"It doesn't appear to be on this atlas, we need a specific map of Iowa, Nick!" I put down the map, and I am in the back of a light blue van filled with camping gear and our bicycles. Nick and Brandon are up front arguing over the route to the starting point of RAGBRAI, and Nick shouts back, "I know it isn't on that map, but see if you can find the larger city that it is a suburb of, it is a northern suburb!"
"I'll just use my phone."
"You'll never get a signal in time!" Nick and Brandon both shout back. I fiddle with my phone, and the thing tells me to take an immediate right turn. "Nick, take the next exit to Booming! That's it!"
"Ok, goddamit! I AM SO ANGRY!" Nick is not an angry person, but apparently Iowa has aggravated him to the point of fury. Brandon gets in on the long wordless scream of rage, and we crest the ridge to see a sprawling city of skyscrapers and the Missouri River. The exit takes us along the ridge, and all we can see in the valley are giant buildings that look like they were made with LEGOs from our vantage point. "I AM GOING TO SMASH ALL OF THAT IF WE CAN'T FIND THE STARTING POINT SOON! RAAAAR!" At this point, my map feature on my phone quits, so I just direct Nick and Brandon to take whichever roads seems right to me. Eventually, we stop at a roadside rest area on the ridge, and I go find a map. When I come out of the rest area, Nick and Brandon have walked down into the valley and are smashing every skyscraper flat like Godzilla and Mecha-Godzilla. The valley which had looked deep and broad was actually a trick of the eye, and the buildings were made of LEGOs. It was all a hoax, or an elaborate movie set. The haze of smog was from a small misting machine, the Missouri river a small creek. I walk the twenty feet to the nearest building, rip it out of its base, and throw it at Nick's head. The building explodes in a shower of sharp plastic, and this shakes Nick out of his rampage. After we both threw some buildings at Brandon, he snapped out of his rage as well.
The two of them got back in the van, and we drove on to the sleepy little suburb where RAGBRAI was allegedly starting. When we get there, the town is a ghost town. No one on the sidewalk, no one driving, no one in the windows of the old farmhouses. We pull over at an intersection, and notice that two of the houses on diagonally opposite corners look suspiciously similar and Nick says, "I am going to smash that house, this is another movie set. You suck at directions, Charles."
"I'll just unload the stuff, this is where it is supposed to be." I walk around the house on the opposite corner from the one Nick wants to smahs, and I see goats in the windows. Nubian goats. "Those are Nubian goats. Hey guys, check out this house! It is full of Nubian goats!" The house is one of those old farmhouses that you see in New England or Iowa or wherever that are about 50 feet wide with a porch and some decorative woodwork, and then they stretch back over the property for about half a mile of addons, additions, extra rooms, and hallways all of different width and building materials. Goats are looking out of every window of this house.
One of the windows opens, and out come the goats. They flood out of the window in a cascade of bleating hoof, fur, and horn. When they stand up, the goats give this little shake and look at us like, "We do this every day." The goats all start wandering off. A last goat gives a warning bleat and we look up to see this large goat on the roof of the porch looking down at us. We have a second to ponder life's many mysteries before this goat leaps off the roof like a gazelle, and lands on Nick's head like a rhinoceros.
Nick and Brandon dust themselves off, and say that they are gonna bike a "quick fifty to get their heads in order." So I pull out my bike to check it over on the lawn of this house. I am checking the tires and gears and whatnot when I hear a throat cleared behind me. I turn around to see Harry Morgan standing there, looking at me strangely.
"Good morning, son. What are you doing on my lawn?"
"Uh, I'm working on my bike. We're here for RAGBRAI, but we seem to be early."
"Oh, right, RAGBRAI. They moved it to the next town up the river."
"Well, I will get our stuff together and we'll get off your lawn, sorry, sir."
"Why do you keep referring to yourself as we?"
"Oh, Nick and Brandon took off on an easy fifty, they'll be back in an hour or so."
"Okay, well, you have a good time on the ride."
"Uh, sir, Mr, Morgan? You probably get this a lot, but do you mind if I?"
"Sure, sure."
At this point, we both stood upright and I saluted him, he returned the salute, and said, "Dismissed!"
We both turned away to our respective duties, but then Harry Morgan asked, "say you haven't seen any goats around here, have you?"
"Yes! A whole mess of Nubian goats fell out of this house just a few minutes ago."
"Nubians, you say? Those are not the goats I'm looking for."
"Oh, sorry, Mr. Morgan."
"I suppose I'll find them someday. Have a fun ride!"
The dream starts as so many do, suddenly I pop into the action from another dream, which had involved a cab ride and molotov cocktails and street riots, and I find myself looking at a map of Iowa.
"It doesn't appear to be on this atlas, we need a specific map of Iowa, Nick!" I put down the map, and I am in the back of a light blue van filled with camping gear and our bicycles. Nick and Brandon are up front arguing over the route to the starting point of RAGBRAI, and Nick shouts back, "I know it isn't on that map, but see if you can find the larger city that it is a suburb of, it is a northern suburb!"
"I'll just use my phone."
"You'll never get a signal in time!" Nick and Brandon both shout back. I fiddle with my phone, and the thing tells me to take an immediate right turn. "Nick, take the next exit to Booming! That's it!"
"Ok, goddamit! I AM SO ANGRY!" Nick is not an angry person, but apparently Iowa has aggravated him to the point of fury. Brandon gets in on the long wordless scream of rage, and we crest the ridge to see a sprawling city of skyscrapers and the Missouri River. The exit takes us along the ridge, and all we can see in the valley are giant buildings that look like they were made with LEGOs from our vantage point. "I AM GOING TO SMASH ALL OF THAT IF WE CAN'T FIND THE STARTING POINT SOON! RAAAAR!" At this point, my map feature on my phone quits, so I just direct Nick and Brandon to take whichever roads seems right to me. Eventually, we stop at a roadside rest area on the ridge, and I go find a map. When I come out of the rest area, Nick and Brandon have walked down into the valley and are smashing every skyscraper flat like Godzilla and Mecha-Godzilla. The valley which had looked deep and broad was actually a trick of the eye, and the buildings were made of LEGOs. It was all a hoax, or an elaborate movie set. The haze of smog was from a small misting machine, the Missouri river a small creek. I walk the twenty feet to the nearest building, rip it out of its base, and throw it at Nick's head. The building explodes in a shower of sharp plastic, and this shakes Nick out of his rampage. After we both threw some buildings at Brandon, he snapped out of his rage as well.
The two of them got back in the van, and we drove on to the sleepy little suburb where RAGBRAI was allegedly starting. When we get there, the town is a ghost town. No one on the sidewalk, no one driving, no one in the windows of the old farmhouses. We pull over at an intersection, and notice that two of the houses on diagonally opposite corners look suspiciously similar and Nick says, "I am going to smash that house, this is another movie set. You suck at directions, Charles."
"I'll just unload the stuff, this is where it is supposed to be." I walk around the house on the opposite corner from the one Nick wants to smahs, and I see goats in the windows. Nubian goats. "Those are Nubian goats. Hey guys, check out this house! It is full of Nubian goats!" The house is one of those old farmhouses that you see in New England or Iowa or wherever that are about 50 feet wide with a porch and some decorative woodwork, and then they stretch back over the property for about half a mile of addons, additions, extra rooms, and hallways all of different width and building materials. Goats are looking out of every window of this house.
One of the windows opens, and out come the goats. They flood out of the window in a cascade of bleating hoof, fur, and horn. When they stand up, the goats give this little shake and look at us like, "We do this every day." The goats all start wandering off. A last goat gives a warning bleat and we look up to see this large goat on the roof of the porch looking down at us. We have a second to ponder life's many mysteries before this goat leaps off the roof like a gazelle, and lands on Nick's head like a rhinoceros.
Nick and Brandon dust themselves off, and say that they are gonna bike a "quick fifty to get their heads in order." So I pull out my bike to check it over on the lawn of this house. I am checking the tires and gears and whatnot when I hear a throat cleared behind me. I turn around to see Harry Morgan standing there, looking at me strangely.
"Good morning, son. What are you doing on my lawn?"
"Uh, I'm working on my bike. We're here for RAGBRAI, but we seem to be early."
"Oh, right, RAGBRAI. They moved it to the next town up the river."
"Well, I will get our stuff together and we'll get off your lawn, sorry, sir."
"Why do you keep referring to yourself as we?"
"Oh, Nick and Brandon took off on an easy fifty, they'll be back in an hour or so."
"Okay, well, you have a good time on the ride."
"Uh, sir, Mr, Morgan? You probably get this a lot, but do you mind if I?"
"Sure, sure."
At this point, we both stood upright and I saluted him, he returned the salute, and said, "Dismissed!"
We both turned away to our respective duties, but then Harry Morgan asked, "say you haven't seen any goats around here, have you?"
"Yes! A whole mess of Nubian goats fell out of this house just a few minutes ago."
"Nubians, you say? Those are not the goats I'm looking for."
"Oh, sorry, Mr. Morgan."
"I suppose I'll find them someday. Have a fun ride!"
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Closing Time?
I had to get my car* inspected the other day, so I cruised by a mechanic's shop. It was 4:15 in the afternoon and the shop's sign said they closed at 5:30. I asked the guy behind the desk if they performed state inspections, and he said, "sure do, but not after 4."
"Uh, ok. And you close at 5:30?"
"Yes, we do."
"What time do you open in the morning?" I asked as I fixed his face in my memory.
"7 am."
"See you then."
Working in the restaurant industry has made me rather sensitive to bullshit like this. If a bunch of jerks walk in five or less minutes before closing and I deny them service, I would gf such an earthly. Yelp and Chowhound and Facebook would burst into flames with the scorn. If you sit a table and tell them the kitchen closes in five minutes, and they order some apps, and then ask for entrees forty minutes later, there goes all hope of a tip. But if a mechanic says that he doesn't do inspections after four with no posted sign to that effect, I've just got to smile and thank his lazy ass.
If that same mechanic then tells you his shop opens at 7, and doesn't open that shop until 7:50, Yelp isn't going to care. But Heaven help a waiter that refuses to sit a table of people 5 minutes before closing.
* Thanks for the loan, GeniusFather.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
A Holiday Pun
The Russian Ballet Company is in DC this week performing the Nutcracker, and a co-worker expressed a desire to take her daughter to see the show. I said that the last time I had seen the Russian Ballet perform I couldn't understand the dancing.
She gave me a flat stare in response.
Zing!
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
The 12 Steps of Holiday Angst
Please note that the years are only estimates based on a small sample size.
1. Bewilderment. Years 0 to 3. "Why is my food giver and poop cleaner putting this itchy hat on my head?" Let's dress the kid up for some cute pictures that will only get lost in the electronic sea of pictures on several hard drives. These pictures will only be missed if said hard drives are irrevocably destroyed.
2. Glee! Years 3.1 to 12. "DO YOU KNOW WHY CHRISTMAS IS GREAT!? BECAUSE YOU GET NEW TOYS!!!!" As related to me by a young cousin.
3. Irritation. Years 12.1 to 22. "Man, Christmas is so lame. I just wanna hang out with my friends, play video games, and not be in school. I never get what I really want anyway, no one understands me. I don't wanna go look at lighting displays or sing carols or whatever." Or at least, you don't want to admit that you like doing these things with your family. You don't make it easy for your family to understand you, either, since you barely speak to them.
4. Aggravation. Years 22.1 to Infinity (for some). "I fucking HATE Christmas! The music is so repetitive! I hate the way THEY play it immediately after Halloween! ARGH! And I'm too broke to buy anything cool for people anyway, this blows. I'll just go get drunk like I do every week, and not think about how much money I've spent on booze this past year." Let's not forget your $25 a week mocha habit, either.
5. Acceptance. Years 22.1 to Infinity (for some). "OKay, so Christmas is really commercial, and all about spending money you don't have to stimulate the economy for the Capitalists to rake in even more money from the workers, but it doesn't have to be. My family and I have just turned it into this little celebration of another year's end. Sure, we buy each other stuff, but not because of any other reason than we love and respect each other. I try to find something that I think my family would like, and just really enjoy seeing their expressions of joy. You know, it may be stupid and pedantic, but we've changed it so Christmas means something special, not just the day some kid was born without adequate medical care in the Middle East." That is a fine sentiment, but could you try saying that without being a smug cobag?
6. Rebounding Joy. Years 22.1 to Infinity(for some). "I don't care about getting gifts anymore, but I do love watching my kids tear into presents. I hope they stay like this forever. I'm still glad I paid extra for a hybrid car." I hope you like ties because that is all you are getting from your kids until they are mature enough to see that you are a person, and not just their parent.
7. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Great eggnog, Eddie!" Nothing wrong with a libation or four here and there.
8. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Great eggnog, Clark!" You're not driving, right?
9. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "If I had a rubber hose, I would beat you..." If you do it right, you can make tire tracks looks like reindeer tracks. We carry this secret to our graves.
10. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "The carols are in my head! THEY'RE IN MY HEAD!" Put the electric drill down.
11. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Macy's parade sure is good this year." This stage is also known as senility.
12. Death. Years Far away, I hope. "Christmas isn't quite the same without grandpa reading 'Twas the Night Before Christmas." Yeah, your father hasn't quite found his rhythm yet.
1. Bewilderment. Years 0 to 3. "Why is my food giver and poop cleaner putting this itchy hat on my head?" Let's dress the kid up for some cute pictures that will only get lost in the electronic sea of pictures on several hard drives. These pictures will only be missed if said hard drives are irrevocably destroyed.
2. Glee! Years 3.1 to 12. "DO YOU KNOW WHY CHRISTMAS IS GREAT!? BECAUSE YOU GET NEW TOYS!!!!" As related to me by a young cousin.
3. Irritation. Years 12.1 to 22. "Man, Christmas is so lame. I just wanna hang out with my friends, play video games, and not be in school. I never get what I really want anyway, no one understands me. I don't wanna go look at lighting displays or sing carols or whatever." Or at least, you don't want to admit that you like doing these things with your family. You don't make it easy for your family to understand you, either, since you barely speak to them.
4. Aggravation. Years 22.1 to Infinity (for some). "I fucking HATE Christmas! The music is so repetitive! I hate the way THEY play it immediately after Halloween! ARGH! And I'm too broke to buy anything cool for people anyway, this blows. I'll just go get drunk like I do every week, and not think about how much money I've spent on booze this past year." Let's not forget your $25 a week mocha habit, either.
5. Acceptance. Years 22.1 to Infinity (for some). "OKay, so Christmas is really commercial, and all about spending money you don't have to stimulate the economy for the Capitalists to rake in even more money from the workers, but it doesn't have to be. My family and I have just turned it into this little celebration of another year's end. Sure, we buy each other stuff, but not because of any other reason than we love and respect each other. I try to find something that I think my family would like, and just really enjoy seeing their expressions of joy. You know, it may be stupid and pedantic, but we've changed it so Christmas means something special, not just the day some kid was born without adequate medical care in the Middle East." That is a fine sentiment, but could you try saying that without being a smug cobag?
6. Rebounding Joy. Years 22.1 to Infinity(for some). "I don't care about getting gifts anymore, but I do love watching my kids tear into presents. I hope they stay like this forever. I'm still glad I paid extra for a hybrid car." I hope you like ties because that is all you are getting from your kids until they are mature enough to see that you are a person, and not just their parent.
7. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Great eggnog, Eddie!" Nothing wrong with a libation or four here and there.
8. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Great eggnog, Clark!" You're not driving, right?
9. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "If I had a rubber hose, I would beat you..." If you do it right, you can make tire tracks looks like reindeer tracks. We carry this secret to our graves.
10. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "The carols are in my head! THEY'RE IN MY HEAD!" Put the electric drill down.
11. Booze. Years 21 to Infinity. "Macy's parade sure is good this year." This stage is also known as senility.
12. Death. Years Far away, I hope. "Christmas isn't quite the same without grandpa reading 'Twas the Night Before Christmas." Yeah, your father hasn't quite found his rhythm yet.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
19 Days Later
How did I let 19 days disappear between posts of any substance? Like cash at a farmer's market, these are the days of our lives. I'll have to file this one under an apology for not posting, and an apology for fulsome not posting.
I could try to make an excuse, but who would care? I'm not working under a deadline, but that might help. I'm still drifting, but I am straining toward the shore. Maybe this paddle could be useful.
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