I've been blogging for like a year now. Almost three thousand page views. I would bet at least ten percent of those were people intentionally looking at it. The number of posts has definately slowed, but I figured it would. Actually I thought I would have given up by now. A lot of the things I've been writing lately have been entirely too long to just put in blog. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on what you think of my writing, no one will probably ever see that stuff. Which I am okay with.
Well that being said, we shall see what this next year brings.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Dance like no one is watching
Every where I go i see that poem, on walls, on cards, tattooed on suburban house wives asses, dorm rooms of nuns in training and English majors.
Sing like no one can hear you,
ramble on like people care,
fart like no one is in the elevator with you,
drive it like it's stolen,
run like you just stabbed a pimp,
fuck like you're sterile,
drink like alcoholism doesn't run in your family
spit like baseball player,
scream like a murder victim,
keep blogging like people read this crap.
Sing like no one can hear you,
ramble on like people care,
fart like no one is in the elevator with you,
drive it like it's stolen,
run like you just stabbed a pimp,
fuck like you're sterile,
drink like alcoholism doesn't run in your family
spit like baseball player,
scream like a murder victim,
keep blogging like people read this crap.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Extended stay hotel at Christmas
For an out of town Christmas visit I stayed at one of those extended stay hotels. Usually rented by the week or month to business travelers it is like a regular hotel but is a bit bigger and has a small kitchenette. Weirdly, even though they offer really reasonable rates when the holidays come around, they are almost comepletely empty. I park and there were six cars total including mine in a hundred plus room hotel.
I can imagine the stories of those people.
Room 183-Single man in his forties. Drunk. He is here because this is where his ex-wife moved with his kids after the divorce. He really thought he was getting the better end of the deal when he left his wife. He would have a new and exciting single life. He is still half owner and manager of a small town grocery store with no prospects. All the ladies who would flirt with him when he was married now have no interest when there is the chance it will go further. His ex is the one with the new job, new house, new beau.
Room 216-Retired married couple visiting their two kids who both live here. When they retired they thought they would travel and spend time with the grandkids on the remainder of the family farm. The wife's fall off the icy back step put a quick end to that idea. She needs help walking now and he is diligently by her side. The week long visit turned into one day with the whole family and an afternoon and evening watching the children while their kids went out for supper and drinks together. Schedules didn't allow for more.
Room 230-a single woman in her thirties. Here to visit family. The two week stay is her layover between consulting jobs. Her parents, her two siblings, theirs spouses, and kids all live on the same block. They are very close. They never leave the city. They watch football and bsketball. Their kids play soccor. They get together once a week to play cards together. She has nothing in common with them.
Room 303- A mother in her sixties and a daughter who turner forty last week. They are here for a funeral. A mother's son and the daughter's brother. They recieved the news from the police. They hadn't heard from him in two years and that was a Christmas well wishing phone call. They had no idea of who he was or what his life was like. For the next two weeks they would find out as they go through the property remains of his life. The mother wishes she knew him better and the sister wishes she never knew him.
Room 345- A single man in his thirties with nothing left in his life. He is staring at the loaded gun in his hand. His other hand is resting on the provided bible. He is convinced one of these two things hold the answer but is still unsure which.
Room 140- Me. I am drowning my holiday depressions in a fine single malt playing Angry Birds on my iPad and watching Transformers on cable thinking I've got it pretty good.
I can imagine the stories of those people.
Room 183-Single man in his forties. Drunk. He is here because this is where his ex-wife moved with his kids after the divorce. He really thought he was getting the better end of the deal when he left his wife. He would have a new and exciting single life. He is still half owner and manager of a small town grocery store with no prospects. All the ladies who would flirt with him when he was married now have no interest when there is the chance it will go further. His ex is the one with the new job, new house, new beau.
Room 216-Retired married couple visiting their two kids who both live here. When they retired they thought they would travel and spend time with the grandkids on the remainder of the family farm. The wife's fall off the icy back step put a quick end to that idea. She needs help walking now and he is diligently by her side. The week long visit turned into one day with the whole family and an afternoon and evening watching the children while their kids went out for supper and drinks together. Schedules didn't allow for more.
Room 230-a single woman in her thirties. Here to visit family. The two week stay is her layover between consulting jobs. Her parents, her two siblings, theirs spouses, and kids all live on the same block. They are very close. They never leave the city. They watch football and bsketball. Their kids play soccor. They get together once a week to play cards together. She has nothing in common with them.
Room 303- A mother in her sixties and a daughter who turner forty last week. They are here for a funeral. A mother's son and the daughter's brother. They recieved the news from the police. They hadn't heard from him in two years and that was a Christmas well wishing phone call. They had no idea of who he was or what his life was like. For the next two weeks they would find out as they go through the property remains of his life. The mother wishes she knew him better and the sister wishes she never knew him.
Room 345- A single man in his thirties with nothing left in his life. He is staring at the loaded gun in his hand. His other hand is resting on the provided bible. He is convinced one of these two things hold the answer but is still unsure which.
Room 140- Me. I am drowning my holiday depressions in a fine single malt playing Angry Birds on my iPad and watching Transformers on cable thinking I've got it pretty good.
Friday, December 23, 2011
The new land.
I was informed last week that I would be going to Antarctica. I packed all my cold weather gear and camera equipment and waited. It was like this 90 % of the time. Pack and wait....
It was about two in the afternoon, three days after the call that a very obviously unmarked government vehicle pulled up in front of my house. It was parked out front for a good ten minutes before my phone rang. The dry voice asked if I was packed. I was. He told me to place everything I was taking in the garage on a blue tarp. I told him everything was already there. Good.
I walked out the front door with a light jacket on and my iPad in hand. I slipped into the back seat as the door opened for me. I closed the door and the driver peered at me in the rear view to inspect that I was ready to go. I smiled widely. I always smile at these guys. I thing it irritates them slightly. Only once had a woman picked me up. She looked at me the same way. So much for my charming nature.
After a long drive we pulled into an outskirts airstrip. The sign said International Airport. I guess a two seater to Canada makes it international. I would be taking a two seater to my destination. A Harrier.
Vertical takeoff always sounds cool, but it is pretty lame actually. I walked over to the jet and climbed up. In my seat was a manilla envelope, a flight suit and a digital tablet. I climbed back down and put on the flight suit, climbed back up and in. I buckled in and with a broad smile at the pilot we were off. Or up, I guess. I opened the envelope and took out the contract. Flipped through it quick (top secret...treason...blah blah blah) and signed the bottom. Standard. I flipped the iPad on and plugged my headset into it.
"The information contained on this device is for your eyes only..." the voice said.
"New narrator." I thought. Briefly wondering how one gets that job, if it is union, or have to audition...
The narrator told me I was headed to a local base, onto another plane, then onto a carrier, then a sub, and finally into a hot zone. Hot zone was their way of saying a well protected area. Very well protected. I perused through some grainy photos of an area with some blobs circled in red and labeled 'structure'. I will see it when I get there I thought. We were starting our descent.
Climbing out of the sub and onto a dock on the continent of Antarctica was a little surreal. I've been in subs before, but not a long trip. I had forgotten if it was day or night and stepping out of the sub I still couldn't tell. Day and night sometimes interchange here. The dock is a standard Army Corps of Engineers quick set up deal. It feels like you are walking across canoes that can hold up a tank. At the end of the dock I am met by several men in fatigues that tell their rank, but no their names. Two Sergents. Maybe. They lead me up an incline. As the ground starts to level off, I now understand what the photos were of. Structures. Several of them. Low arcing buildings buried in the ground. Older than anything I have seen.
I see the stuff I left in the garage in a crate, parachute strings still attached. I quickly start setting up cameras. They trust me because there are two things they know about me. I don't have any family and no close friends and I'm damn good at what I do.
I spend the next two weeks shooting buildings being excavated and tools being unearthed. These people set up for the changing weather and eventually were snowed in permanently. Twenty thousand years before the pyramids were built. As I'm packing up to leave the first real archeologists and anthropologists arrive. The Army always makes sure there is no alien technology to be found. Seriously. Unfortunately they usually wreck quite a bit of history. Aliens. Whatever.
The ride home is less interesting. Boat to Australia and a long flight home. I look in the garage and my stuff is there. In a crate. I walk into my living room a sit down in my Lazy Boy. I let out a sigh as my eyes close. My thoughts drift. I dream I am back on the sub. An alarm is going off. Everyone is running around. I get knocked down a flight of steps and jolt awake from the feeling of falling. The alarm sound is my phone is ringing. I sigh again as I answer the phone. At least I don't have to pack again.
It was about two in the afternoon, three days after the call that a very obviously unmarked government vehicle pulled up in front of my house. It was parked out front for a good ten minutes before my phone rang. The dry voice asked if I was packed. I was. He told me to place everything I was taking in the garage on a blue tarp. I told him everything was already there. Good.
I walked out the front door with a light jacket on and my iPad in hand. I slipped into the back seat as the door opened for me. I closed the door and the driver peered at me in the rear view to inspect that I was ready to go. I smiled widely. I always smile at these guys. I thing it irritates them slightly. Only once had a woman picked me up. She looked at me the same way. So much for my charming nature.
After a long drive we pulled into an outskirts airstrip. The sign said International Airport. I guess a two seater to Canada makes it international. I would be taking a two seater to my destination. A Harrier.
Vertical takeoff always sounds cool, but it is pretty lame actually. I walked over to the jet and climbed up. In my seat was a manilla envelope, a flight suit and a digital tablet. I climbed back down and put on the flight suit, climbed back up and in. I buckled in and with a broad smile at the pilot we were off. Or up, I guess. I opened the envelope and took out the contract. Flipped through it quick (top secret...treason...blah blah blah) and signed the bottom. Standard. I flipped the iPad on and plugged my headset into it.
"The information contained on this device is for your eyes only..." the voice said.
"New narrator." I thought. Briefly wondering how one gets that job, if it is union, or have to audition...
The narrator told me I was headed to a local base, onto another plane, then onto a carrier, then a sub, and finally into a hot zone. Hot zone was their way of saying a well protected area. Very well protected. I perused through some grainy photos of an area with some blobs circled in red and labeled 'structure'. I will see it when I get there I thought. We were starting our descent.
Climbing out of the sub and onto a dock on the continent of Antarctica was a little surreal. I've been in subs before, but not a long trip. I had forgotten if it was day or night and stepping out of the sub I still couldn't tell. Day and night sometimes interchange here. The dock is a standard Army Corps of Engineers quick set up deal. It feels like you are walking across canoes that can hold up a tank. At the end of the dock I am met by several men in fatigues that tell their rank, but no their names. Two Sergents. Maybe. They lead me up an incline. As the ground starts to level off, I now understand what the photos were of. Structures. Several of them. Low arcing buildings buried in the ground. Older than anything I have seen.
I see the stuff I left in the garage in a crate, parachute strings still attached. I quickly start setting up cameras. They trust me because there are two things they know about me. I don't have any family and no close friends and I'm damn good at what I do.
I spend the next two weeks shooting buildings being excavated and tools being unearthed. These people set up for the changing weather and eventually were snowed in permanently. Twenty thousand years before the pyramids were built. As I'm packing up to leave the first real archeologists and anthropologists arrive. The Army always makes sure there is no alien technology to be found. Seriously. Unfortunately they usually wreck quite a bit of history. Aliens. Whatever.
The ride home is less interesting. Boat to Australia and a long flight home. I look in the garage and my stuff is there. In a crate. I walk into my living room a sit down in my Lazy Boy. I let out a sigh as my eyes close. My thoughts drift. I dream I am back on the sub. An alarm is going off. Everyone is running around. I get knocked down a flight of steps and jolt awake from the feeling of falling. The alarm sound is my phone is ringing. I sigh again as I answer the phone. At least I don't have to pack again.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
DIY shows
DIY shows show some practical things to do around the house. I think I might start my own but it would show impractical things. Like how to make a zip gun, or saw off a shotgun to just above legal length. Or how to rig a car to explode. Or how to knock the valve off an oxygen tank and letting it fly without killing yourself. How to make a fertilizer bomb, or outrun the cops. Maybe a segment on drug manufacturing or safe cracking. Ooh, maybe armed car hijacking, that would be useful. A special show on blackmail and how to plant a bug or hide a camera.
An episode on computer hacking would be a must with a special section on Facebook account hacks. Maybe a couple episodes on abductions and ransom note writing. And a special on how to run numbers and Ponzi schemes. What could go wrong? Liability issues might be a problem...that would lead to the next episode on insurance scams. Nothing bad could possibly happen, nothing.
An episode on computer hacking would be a must with a special section on Facebook account hacks. Maybe a couple episodes on abductions and ransom note writing. And a special on how to run numbers and Ponzi schemes. What could go wrong? Liability issues might be a problem...that would lead to the next episode on insurance scams. Nothing bad could possibly happen, nothing.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Artists and creativity.
So I have this theory about creativity and artists. I was just reading an article that claims creative people tend to bend the rules. My theory actually takes this one step further. I would say to be a creative person you must bend the rules. Most great artists have some sort of social defect. Alcohol, drugs, sex, cats, depression, anxiety, something they take further than most people would. An extremist attitude is really about rule breaking and rule breaking is what it takes to stand out as an artist. There are many people who are good artists in the technical sense but few stand out as emotionally charged powerhouses.
Want to be a good artist? Break the rules.
Want to be a good artist? Break the rules.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Crystal skulls
In my family we have a rich tradition that I am proud to carry on. For nearly one hundred and forty years my family has been carving crystal. Crystal skulls to be exact. Our wages are paid by the areas of the world that need a greater tourism industry. There was a golden age of exploration created the golden age of adventure tourism also. My family has carved crystal for over five hundred years. Masters of the craft.
We started carving skulls upon request. A few mystical knick knacks for mystics were the first ones. Then as adventurers started returning for expeditions with large pieces of crystal wanting them carved into souvenirs. It was long before one was "discovered" in an expedition. Suddenly there were more and more being discovered all over the world and our business was booming. Everyone in our small shop was taking turns carving varieties of skulls so no two could be compared as too similar.
We were even asked to examine several of them to look for tool marks and evidence of age. It not only allowed us to check our work for any evidence of modern manufacture and clean off anything suspicious, it also allowed us to authenticate its age.
As the theories progressed we were being contacted by locals who knew expiditions were being mounted in their areas and we would provide. I had recently seen a special on TV about the mystery behind the crystal skulls. My favorite part is the lack of tool marks being evidence for authentication. Two words. Rock. Tumbler. The naivety of people will never cease to amaze me.
We started carving skulls upon request. A few mystical knick knacks for mystics were the first ones. Then as adventurers started returning for expeditions with large pieces of crystal wanting them carved into souvenirs. It was long before one was "discovered" in an expedition. Suddenly there were more and more being discovered all over the world and our business was booming. Everyone in our small shop was taking turns carving varieties of skulls so no two could be compared as too similar.
We were even asked to examine several of them to look for tool marks and evidence of age. It not only allowed us to check our work for any evidence of modern manufacture and clean off anything suspicious, it also allowed us to authenticate its age.
As the theories progressed we were being contacted by locals who knew expiditions were being mounted in their areas and we would provide. I had recently seen a special on TV about the mystery behind the crystal skulls. My favorite part is the lack of tool marks being evidence for authentication. Two words. Rock. Tumbler. The naivety of people will never cease to amaze me.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Knee deep
I am standing knee deep in water. It is ice cold. The darkness is the kind where your eyes create movement and forms. I can almost make out the outline of my hand if I hold it in front of my face. The cold is stabbing, causing flashes in front of my eyes adding to the paradolia of creatures swarming arond me. I am aware of things moving the water around me. I can feel the lapping of the water coming from all sides. I have tried to move, but the bottom is covered with broken machinery and bones. I am on the highest point I could scramble to and now I shiver and wait for the first bite to break the skin, creating a frenzy on my flesh. The continuous and uncontrolable shaking betrays my location.
Soon light will be breaking through the roof of this prisonous enclosure. I could find my way out. I could make it past the foulness surrounding me.
My right leg suddenly warms.
I know it is a poisonous bite that is causing the sensation.
I feel relief at the brief warmness, but knowing it is all pain from here to the end.
Soon light will be breaking through the roof of this prisonous enclosure. I could find my way out. I could make it past the foulness surrounding me.
My right leg suddenly warms.
I know it is a poisonous bite that is causing the sensation.
I feel relief at the brief warmness, but knowing it is all pain from here to the end.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Giant pumpkins
It takes a special kind of person to really get into giant vegetables. Giant pumpkins are probably the most popular, but there are people who grow giant cucumbers, onions, celery, zucchini, and every other type of veg. It's a huge dollar and time investment and really so, at the end of the season someone can say they grew a sixteen pound onion. I really don't understand it. I'm going to go work on my giant ball of twine and try to make sense of it.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
I'm not going to prison
One of my biggest goals in life has been to not go to prison. There are some people who have no concern about going to jail. There are some who look at it as a right of passage. I am neither of those types of people. I carefully weigh in on every decision I make on the likelihood or a prison sentence. Okay, not every decision. Coke or Pepsi, not a game changer. Hit the gas or the brake? Sometimes. Rob the bank or just order new checks? Definately weighing odds.
I'm just too soft for jail.
I'm just too soft for jail.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Anything for a prize
So I realize that most people will do anything for a prize. In online games the prize is non tangable. In real life the prize could be anything. Bragging rights, a cookie, a million dollars, a punch in the gut, It really doesn't matter. People will do anything for any crappy prize.
Reality TV is full of these people. The money seems like incentive, but it really has nothing to do with money. They could be playing for five bucks and a kick in the breadbasket and there would still be a line in every major city of people trying to get on the show.
People feeling like they accomplished something is really what it is about. Otherwise there would be no games or competitions. If only that feeling would be as great for doing a good job, or getting good grades, or being a decent human being. shit.
I'm gonna go play some wii and set a personal record for Oreo eating.
Reality TV is full of these people. The money seems like incentive, but it really has nothing to do with money. They could be playing for five bucks and a kick in the breadbasket and there would still be a line in every major city of people trying to get on the show.
People feeling like they accomplished something is really what it is about. Otherwise there would be no games or competitions. If only that feeling would be as great for doing a good job, or getting good grades, or being a decent human being. shit.
I'm gonna go play some wii and set a personal record for Oreo eating.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
I was in an accident
I was in an accident this morning. For reals. I was rear ended by a guy who works as an insurance angent. There wasn't a lot of damage to either car but insurance guy wanted the police to come. They did and the guy didn't want to file a report. I didn't either. Why have the police come ouT if you don't want to file a report. Weird. I think the guy was hoping for something more.
Friday, October 28, 2011
I've been too busy to blog, but really it was bejeweled blitz.
I was gonna make up an excuse for not blogging in a while but really it was Bejeweled Blitz. That game is so addictive. I think I will play only a couple quick games, but then like two hours later I'm still sitting there lininG up stupid gems like it's gonna pay off big. It's not. Blogging isn't the only thing that has suffered. Sure, I may have missed a few appointments, a party or two, my wedding. It's not like I can't see those people anytime. Except my exfiance, she won't return my calls. I can only assume she is playing bejeweled Blitz.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Spacey type things
Every time I see a show about space is on I have to watch it. There is so much wonder and sights to behold. Everytime I see the earth-rise picture from the moon I get chills. Everytime I hear the quote "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." I just about fucking cry. The profound beauty of the universe is so fuckin mind blowing. The endless diversity and possibility. The complexity and simplicity all lying heavy on the event horizon of the human mind.
Shit...
I tried to get all artsy with my writing there. I'll try not to do that again.
Shit...
I tried to get all artsy with my writing there. I'll try not to do that again.
This weekend
I'm having a birthday party this weekend. It is inspired by Douglas Adams. It is also some asshole's idea that the world will end. I will incorporate this as a Restraunt At The End Of The Universe omen. Done and done. If you would like to stop in, please feel free.
Friday, October 14, 2011
If you take a badger to school...
If you take a badger to school it will probably bite someone and you will be sued. Seriously, why would you take a badger to school? Things badgers don't do: cuddle, smile, not bite, smell good. Badgers are mean and hateful animals.
No good comes from badgers. None. Evil. Grrrr.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
That time I burned that house down.
I am on my way home from work. I am taking a particularly curvy back road home. It is always less traffic and rarely any police on it. I enjoy corners. There are people who buy cars that go fast and that is fine. Fine for the kind of person who thinks pushing down hard with the right foot makes for a good driver. I am a corners type of driver. I don't care how a car handles or how fast it goes. I will work with what I have and make it. a challenge. I always take the curvy road even if it takes me longer to get someplace. The hazards are always a bit greater. I am hitting a 30mph corner at almost sixty-five. I am pushing the envelope even for me. My tires are squealing at a deafening pitch. I can feel it starting to break free. My water bottle rolls off the seat and under my feet. My front left tire hits a discarded aluminum can on the road. As it crushes under the weight of the car, the tire loses it's traction. The slip causes me to slide into the oncoming lane.
I had said that there were fewer police, I did not say none. Today would be one of the few times I encounter a police car on this road. The look on his face as I am screaming across his path is priceless. I do only what I can do in this situation. I flip him the double barrel birds. A bit of good luck is that instead of hitting a curb, I skidded up a driveway and into a parking lot. The bit of bad luck being the only two ways out of the parking lot are past the cop who was currently doing a u-turn to come after me, or down a pedestrian path along an old set of railroad tracks that run along the far side of the lot. Now when I say pedestrian path, what I mean is a walking trail. Beggars can't be choosers I guess.
My car is obviously not made for driving through tall grass. It is not fast and I can see in my rear view mirror police cars do pretty well especially after someone has pushed most of the grass down for them. I turn hard left and the car rolls up over the tracks. It jerks hard and the bottom scrapes but I make it over. I am pushing grass on the other side now and am coming to a bridge. The cop stayed on the other side probably not wanting to risk the damage and everyone knows, radios are faster than cars. There will be a lot of police bearing down on me soon. I decide to drop down the embankment onto the road below. The good bot of luck is that there are no cars coming, the bad bit of luck is the retaining wall that holds half o the embankment up. I turn hard left hoping for I'm not sure what. My right wheels hit the top edge of the retaining wall and barrel rolls over the edge and somehow my car lands on it's wheels. In my rear-view mirror I can see the officer's surprised face as he is looking at me and going nose first into the pavement. His face is quickly clouded by the expanding airbag and smoke. My car does not escape unscathed. As I'm driving away it is pulling to the left and has a hard time turning right. I can hear sirens approaching. I turn right into a neighborhood and look for an alley. I hang a left into an alley with some difficulty and some interesting grinding noises. I spy an open garage and pull in. I jump out and close the garage door. I slink between the houses and peer into the front yard. A for sale sign and foreclosure notice on the window. Several police cars fly by.
I decide to play it safe. I kick in the back door and walk to the front door. I wait for the street to empty and quickly gather a bunch of the old newspapers off the front porch. I place them in the middle of the living room carpet and light them on fire. I walk to where the stove used to be and turn on the gas. When people are forced out they rarely switch off the gas. The gas company doesn't care who's name it's in if no one is using gas. My luck holds and I can smell the acrid eggy smell immediately. I close all the doors I can between the gas and the fire. I can smell the crappy carpet catching on fire already and quickly vacate. I open the garage door and listen for police cars. I don't hear any so either they are patrolling quietly or have given up. I drive my car to the end of the alley. I quickly cross into the next ally and find an empty driveway. I back in behind the garage and wait.
Twenty minutes go by before I hear the muffled thud and feel the ground shake. Within seconds I hear sirens again. Lots of them. I wait for another five and hear the fire trucks pulling up. Now is my chance. I roll out of the spot and drive slowly away from the plume of smoke. I hit the street and drive off as if nothing happened.
I had said that there were fewer police, I did not say none. Today would be one of the few times I encounter a police car on this road. The look on his face as I am screaming across his path is priceless. I do only what I can do in this situation. I flip him the double barrel birds. A bit of good luck is that instead of hitting a curb, I skidded up a driveway and into a parking lot. The bit of bad luck being the only two ways out of the parking lot are past the cop who was currently doing a u-turn to come after me, or down a pedestrian path along an old set of railroad tracks that run along the far side of the lot. Now when I say pedestrian path, what I mean is a walking trail. Beggars can't be choosers I guess.
My car is obviously not made for driving through tall grass. It is not fast and I can see in my rear view mirror police cars do pretty well especially after someone has pushed most of the grass down for them. I turn hard left and the car rolls up over the tracks. It jerks hard and the bottom scrapes but I make it over. I am pushing grass on the other side now and am coming to a bridge. The cop stayed on the other side probably not wanting to risk the damage and everyone knows, radios are faster than cars. There will be a lot of police bearing down on me soon. I decide to drop down the embankment onto the road below. The good bot of luck is that there are no cars coming, the bad bit of luck is the retaining wall that holds half o the embankment up. I turn hard left hoping for I'm not sure what. My right wheels hit the top edge of the retaining wall and barrel rolls over the edge and somehow my car lands on it's wheels. In my rear-view mirror I can see the officer's surprised face as he is looking at me and going nose first into the pavement. His face is quickly clouded by the expanding airbag and smoke. My car does not escape unscathed. As I'm driving away it is pulling to the left and has a hard time turning right. I can hear sirens approaching. I turn right into a neighborhood and look for an alley. I hang a left into an alley with some difficulty and some interesting grinding noises. I spy an open garage and pull in. I jump out and close the garage door. I slink between the houses and peer into the front yard. A for sale sign and foreclosure notice on the window. Several police cars fly by.
I decide to play it safe. I kick in the back door and walk to the front door. I wait for the street to empty and quickly gather a bunch of the old newspapers off the front porch. I place them in the middle of the living room carpet and light them on fire. I walk to where the stove used to be and turn on the gas. When people are forced out they rarely switch off the gas. The gas company doesn't care who's name it's in if no one is using gas. My luck holds and I can smell the acrid eggy smell immediately. I close all the doors I can between the gas and the fire. I can smell the crappy carpet catching on fire already and quickly vacate. I open the garage door and listen for police cars. I don't hear any so either they are patrolling quietly or have given up. I drive my car to the end of the alley. I quickly cross into the next ally and find an empty driveway. I back in behind the garage and wait.
Twenty minutes go by before I hear the muffled thud and feel the ground shake. Within seconds I hear sirens again. Lots of them. I wait for another five and hear the fire trucks pulling up. Now is my chance. I roll out of the spot and drive slowly away from the plume of smoke. I hit the street and drive off as if nothing happened.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The end of the Mayan calender.
December 12, 2012 a missile was detonated.
It was the end of the Mayan calender and the end times prophecy were not coming true but the realization why the Mayans ha picked this date became apparent. A comet was approaching. It was big and would pass between the earth and the sun. It would cause an eclipse that would be brighter than anything ever seen. A near planet sized comet that would be brighter than the sun and causing a halo that would surely blind everything looking at it. A decision was made to attempt an alteration of the path of the comet to see if it could be done in the event a comet would be close to impacting the earth at some time in the future.
December 12, 2012 a missile was detonated diverting the path of the comet by .00163 degrees.
Two thousand years later...
Ochet looked up and cursed the sky in anger. He had neither cursed nor really felt this much anger in his 1200 Celion years. His world was in ruins and it was due to one thing. The comet. For nearly six hundred thousand years the comet had passed their planet and it was the instigator for their science based peaceful existence. All eyes turned to the comet looking for explanation of what it was. It took thousands of years of work to get a close look at it and to understand astronomy and physics. Now their world was falling apart. No comet. The explanations turned to speculation and now different beliefs were dissolving into conflict. A rise of superstition and fanaticism. Violence. Ochet wept for his race. Silently mourning.
It was the end of the Mayan calender and the end times prophecy were not coming true but the realization why the Mayans ha picked this date became apparent. A comet was approaching. It was big and would pass between the earth and the sun. It would cause an eclipse that would be brighter than anything ever seen. A near planet sized comet that would be brighter than the sun and causing a halo that would surely blind everything looking at it. A decision was made to attempt an alteration of the path of the comet to see if it could be done in the event a comet would be close to impacting the earth at some time in the future.
December 12, 2012 a missile was detonated diverting the path of the comet by .00163 degrees.
Two thousand years later...
Ochet looked up and cursed the sky in anger. He had neither cursed nor really felt this much anger in his 1200 Celion years. His world was in ruins and it was due to one thing. The comet. For nearly six hundred thousand years the comet had passed their planet and it was the instigator for their science based peaceful existence. All eyes turned to the comet looking for explanation of what it was. It took thousands of years of work to get a close look at it and to understand astronomy and physics. Now their world was falling apart. No comet. The explanations turned to speculation and now different beliefs were dissolving into conflict. A rise of superstition and fanaticism. Violence. Ochet wept for his race. Silently mourning.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Out into the ice flow.
So has anyone else noticed that Regis Philbin is even more irritating than regular? He is getting that old age unfunnyness. He is like John Madden now. Rambling on and on. I mean more so than usual. Here is what I don't get, a woman get old and she gets booted off the news or a talkshow. A stroke vctim can call a season of football and people call it noble. Harry Carey called a season of baseball and people called it 'his due'. I call it irritating. Don't get me wrong, I know people who have suffered a stroke and it can be heart wrenching, but I can't sit through a football game called by a person who is having trouble with putting together a coherent sentence.
Not to be too hard on John Madden because he is old, but he was cucking irritating before. Unfortunately Chris Collinsworth has taken up the role of 'Shut the fuck up' football announcer.
Not to be too hard on John Madden because he is old, but he was cucking irritating before. Unfortunately Chris Collinsworth has taken up the role of 'Shut the fuck up' football announcer.
Monday, October 3, 2011
There is this party...
So there is a party I go to whenever the invite hits my inbox. I wish I could say it's a big, fun, party. It is not. It is a sad party. Imagine if a shut-in had a party. It is that kind of party. Total invite list equals ten. Number that show up equals four. The same four that show up every time.
The conversation is light. The beer is good and we are wrapping up by 10:30. Unfortunately, it is a very tiring three hours of trying not to out do the hosts stories by talking of adventures of my own life. Like that time I went to that bar to see that band. Otlr the time I went to the zoo. Or went out to eat at a place that costs more than ten dollars each. Or that time I went out to a bar. Or walked around the block. Or left the house on a weekend. Shit.
The opposite of this is the parties that I go to that make ME feel like a shut in. The party with the two live bands, one of which gets airplay on the good local stations. The party where half the people are from a foreign country or lived in a foreign country. The party where the pro rugby player is talking to the pro skier about knee surgeries. The party where my story seems too lame to finish about half way through and I keep going hoping someone will say something other than "Yeah..." at the end.
I don't know which is worse.
The conversation is light. The beer is good and we are wrapping up by 10:30. Unfortunately, it is a very tiring three hours of trying not to out do the hosts stories by talking of adventures of my own life. Like that time I went to that bar to see that band. Otlr the time I went to the zoo. Or went out to eat at a place that costs more than ten dollars each. Or that time I went out to a bar. Or walked around the block. Or left the house on a weekend. Shit.
The opposite of this is the parties that I go to that make ME feel like a shut in. The party with the two live bands, one of which gets airplay on the good local stations. The party where half the people are from a foreign country or lived in a foreign country. The party where the pro rugby player is talking to the pro skier about knee surgeries. The party where my story seems too lame to finish about half way through and I keep going hoping someone will say something other than "Yeah..." at the end.
I don't know which is worse.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
It's not how you remember it
I was reading the Facebook post of a college friend. He was waxing on about a piece of art that he had made in class. How cool and sweet and well made it was. It was shit. Poorly made, awkward looking and visually unimpressive. It was shit. I know I said tha already but I want to press this point. It was shit.
So now I am questioning everything I did. I look back and think if the things I did in college were as cool as I thought they were. Some things I can say are not all that cool. Example: I have played the game of Risk exactly one time in my life. I played against a group of engineering students that had been playing once a week for over two years. I won in less than two hours. Cool? To me, yes. I jumped my car twenty-five feet. When it hit the ground it split the exhaust pipe. Cool? Maybe not. I juggled knives when I was really drunk. On a related note, I once got a hundred and seventy three stitches and a new lung. Cool? Half cool I would say. I gave myself a 'cool' shaver haicut. Not cool now. I had a theme party every year and people would get so drunk they were unable to walk home. Pretty cool. I made a hat out of beer can tabs. Cool? No. My collection of WWJD bracelets. Not cool. How I got them? Even less cool.
Take stock of your memories. If the coolest things you've done were in college, your memories are tainted by time. Sorry.
So now I am questioning everything I did. I look back and think if the things I did in college were as cool as I thought they were. Some things I can say are not all that cool. Example: I have played the game of Risk exactly one time in my life. I played against a group of engineering students that had been playing once a week for over two years. I won in less than two hours. Cool? To me, yes. I jumped my car twenty-five feet. When it hit the ground it split the exhaust pipe. Cool? Maybe not. I juggled knives when I was really drunk. On a related note, I once got a hundred and seventy three stitches and a new lung. Cool? Half cool I would say. I gave myself a 'cool' shaver haicut. Not cool now. I had a theme party every year and people would get so drunk they were unable to walk home. Pretty cool. I made a hat out of beer can tabs. Cool? No. My collection of WWJD bracelets. Not cool. How I got them? Even less cool.
Take stock of your memories. If the coolest things you've done were in college, your memories are tainted by time. Sorry.
Monday, September 26, 2011
An actual thought
I know I often ramble on and on about useless crap, but this one is an actual theory that will probably go on and on.
So here it is. The underdog story. The come from behind tale makes great tv and movies. It is rare. That's why we love the underdog. One in a million, baby!
When I hear people bitch about taxes and how they are going to pay unemployment, food stamps, daycare, rent assistance, etc., I wonder what the people bitching about are really worried about. They are worried that the poor are going to take things away from them. Things like money. Really though, is it the underdog that is going to get your money? No. It's the proven powerhouses that will take your money. It's the people with all the money already that people should worry about. They have shown that they can get peoples money. Politically it is a pretty clear line ideologically if not always in practice. Republicans tend to worry about the underdog taking what they have and Democrats tend to worry the people above them are going to take all their money.
My theory works like a poker game. Big stack controls the game and the betting. Big stack walks away at the end of the game with everyone's money. Short stack has to wait for the best hand before making a move. Short stack, even when everything is perfect does not make a big gain. Short stack has to wait for everything to be perfect ten times in a row to make it to big stack status. Rare.
So there is my theory. Don't worry about the people below you taking a small amount from you when it's the people taking large amounts from you that you should worry about.
So here it is. The underdog story. The come from behind tale makes great tv and movies. It is rare. That's why we love the underdog. One in a million, baby!
When I hear people bitch about taxes and how they are going to pay unemployment, food stamps, daycare, rent assistance, etc., I wonder what the people bitching about are really worried about. They are worried that the poor are going to take things away from them. Things like money. Really though, is it the underdog that is going to get your money? No. It's the proven powerhouses that will take your money. It's the people with all the money already that people should worry about. They have shown that they can get peoples money. Politically it is a pretty clear line ideologically if not always in practice. Republicans tend to worry about the underdog taking what they have and Democrats tend to worry the people above them are going to take all their money.
My theory works like a poker game. Big stack controls the game and the betting. Big stack walks away at the end of the game with everyone's money. Short stack has to wait for the best hand before making a move. Short stack, even when everything is perfect does not make a big gain. Short stack has to wait for everything to be perfect ten times in a row to make it to big stack status. Rare.
So there is my theory. Don't worry about the people below you taking a small amount from you when it's the people taking large amounts from you that you should worry about.
A good blog
I was reading the other day that to have a successful blog one must knock out about a thousand words a day. Holy shit! A thousand is a lot. I don't have time to write out a thou a day. I usually get out about fourteen words a day. I have been writing this blog since nineteen and seventy three and i have just over a hundred posts. that does not include the ones I erased because they were so offensive it would have had me banned from the blogging community, or the ones that went so tragically awry that people would get seizures reading them, or the ones that were so good that had they been published, I would have immediately become a Nobel prize winner in lit and then would have gone on to never quite meet the standard that had been set and my life would have become a downward spiral of horrid depression and drug use and I would have ended it all going out like James Dean mixed with Bob Hope and Amy Winehouse, (I don't know what that means), or the posts that just ramble on and on with ridiculous run on sentances...errr..yeah.
What I'm tying to say is I just don't think I have what it takes to be a successful blogger. My skills really lie elsewhere anyway. I'm good at watching TV and listening to music. I'm good at driving and shooting criminals. I'm good at making cupcakes, rapping, wrapping, alliteration, deliteration, safe cracking, knuckle cracking, fodue, finnial finessing, free style jazz and sledding. I'm good at making the girls cry,
and dressin' super fly,
drinkin' coke and Bacardi,
layin' down beats at a party,
I'm Enmelishment and I good at alot
you can't keep me down cuz I'm layin' down hot.
I'm sorry about that. I will never do that again. I promise.
What I'm tying to say is I just don't think I have what it takes to be a successful blogger. My skills really lie elsewhere anyway. I'm good at watching TV and listening to music. I'm good at driving and shooting criminals. I'm good at making cupcakes, rapping, wrapping, alliteration, deliteration, safe cracking, knuckle cracking, fodue, finnial finessing, free style jazz and sledding. I'm good at making the girls cry,
and dressin' super fly,
drinkin' coke and Bacardi,
layin' down beats at a party,
I'm Enmelishment and I good at alot
you can't keep me down cuz I'm layin' down hot.
I'm sorry about that. I will never do that again. I promise.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
My other racist story.
That last story was a bit touchy feely, and for that I am sorry. I wouldn't want to give the impression that I'm some sort of softy. So here is the story of the other time I met a racist.
I was at a wedding, (funny side story-I went to the town that the wedding was in and knowing the wedding was at a Holiday Inn I stopped in and asked if there was a wedding reception going on. The woman said the Breeze wedding was around back. I was actually looking for the Preese wedding but mis understood. So after walking around the hall for about 10 minutes an old woman asks me if I know where to put the gift envelopes and I say "I don't even thing I'm at the right wedding!" and she looks at me and says "You're a fucking idiot!". She didn't say that. She said "Jack and Amanda?" and I say no and I leave. Off to the other Holiday Inn. Ha!).
That was probably an abuse of parethases.
So I'm at the correct wedding and the reception is nice. Some friends of mine offer to let me stay in their room if I want to go to the bars with them. I say yes, we drink a lot, get back to the hotel and are all hanging out. I have to get something from the car and a cousin of the bride says "I'll go with you, I have to get something from my car, too.".
Now I don't know where or when we picked up this dude on our evenings revelry but he seemed friendly and was sporting a southern accent and that always make people seem kinder for some reason. We ride the elevator down to the parking lot. As we are walking across the parking lot he spies a fish shaped chrome stick on on the back of my car. It is actually an upsidedown fish skeleton, not a Jesus one. He inquires if I am a Christian. I reply I am not. He then asks if I am a ________. I don't understand the word. He says it again and adds the words white power. I look at him sideways. He then lays into song. I'm not kidding. It's some white supremist anthem. I say that I am not anything. I place no label on my self or others. He says something to the effect of how he don't care about that he just don't like ni... He does not get to finish the word. No of his own accord, but because my flattened hand and the chopping blow to his wind pipe. Sometimes you don't realize how strong you are and other times you wish you were stronger. This time is the latter. The look on his face is of pure astonishment. The gaping mouth, the hands over the throat, the eyes tearing up, it was over for this dude. No ambulance could get here fast enough to remedy this situation. I look at him. I almost feel bad. He drops to the concrete slab. I grab his arm and pull him to between the cars. I've got a little time to think this through. I reach into his pocket and pull out his keys. I press the unlock button. Ten cars down from me a car's lights flash. How convienient. I drag him over and put him in the trunk. Just a guy looking to connect I think to myself. me too.
I go back up to the room. We have a few more beers and no one asks about the racist dude. I fgure I will gave to do sonethng at this point. Everone knows I walked out with him. Just no one cared he didn't come back. At least utility the police start asking questions. Hmmm. This is a river town. Located on a beautiful but shallow river. Not deep enough to hide a car. How do I get rid of this dude. I fall asleep in a chair. I wake up early. Before anyone else is up I grab my shit and head to the car park. The elevator door opens and I see a police car. It looks as if someone was missing the dude. By the age of the couple standing next to the car I can only assume it's the dude's parents. Shit. I think of everythng except that his family was here. At his cousin's wedding. Dumb. I walk to my car and get in. I start it up and drop it in reverse. I back out and put it in drive. As I'm rolling forward, one of the officers puts up his hand to stop me. He is going to ask questions. He is going to know I'm lying. I pull up to him and stop. I press the window down button. The officer informs me I have a headlight out and should get it fixed. I say thanks and drive on. I pull out of the ramp and head home. I pack for a long trip, load up my guns, pack the car full. I figure at this point it might as well be the start of a spree. I check my maps and the Internet and head for the deep south. If I go, I'm gonna go out as a legend.
I was at a wedding, (funny side story-I went to the town that the wedding was in and knowing the wedding was at a Holiday Inn I stopped in and asked if there was a wedding reception going on. The woman said the Breeze wedding was around back. I was actually looking for the Preese wedding but mis understood. So after walking around the hall for about 10 minutes an old woman asks me if I know where to put the gift envelopes and I say "I don't even thing I'm at the right wedding!" and she looks at me and says "You're a fucking idiot!". She didn't say that. She said "Jack and Amanda?" and I say no and I leave. Off to the other Holiday Inn. Ha!).
That was probably an abuse of parethases.
So I'm at the correct wedding and the reception is nice. Some friends of mine offer to let me stay in their room if I want to go to the bars with them. I say yes, we drink a lot, get back to the hotel and are all hanging out. I have to get something from the car and a cousin of the bride says "I'll go with you, I have to get something from my car, too.".
Now I don't know where or when we picked up this dude on our evenings revelry but he seemed friendly and was sporting a southern accent and that always make people seem kinder for some reason. We ride the elevator down to the parking lot. As we are walking across the parking lot he spies a fish shaped chrome stick on on the back of my car. It is actually an upsidedown fish skeleton, not a Jesus one. He inquires if I am a Christian. I reply I am not. He then asks if I am a ________. I don't understand the word. He says it again and adds the words white power. I look at him sideways. He then lays into song. I'm not kidding. It's some white supremist anthem. I say that I am not anything. I place no label on my self or others. He says something to the effect of how he don't care about that he just don't like ni... He does not get to finish the word. No of his own accord, but because my flattened hand and the chopping blow to his wind pipe. Sometimes you don't realize how strong you are and other times you wish you were stronger. This time is the latter. The look on his face is of pure astonishment. The gaping mouth, the hands over the throat, the eyes tearing up, it was over for this dude. No ambulance could get here fast enough to remedy this situation. I look at him. I almost feel bad. He drops to the concrete slab. I grab his arm and pull him to between the cars. I've got a little time to think this through. I reach into his pocket and pull out his keys. I press the unlock button. Ten cars down from me a car's lights flash. How convienient. I drag him over and put him in the trunk. Just a guy looking to connect I think to myself. me too.
I go back up to the room. We have a few more beers and no one asks about the racist dude. I fgure I will gave to do sonethng at this point. Everone knows I walked out with him. Just no one cared he didn't come back. At least utility the police start asking questions. Hmmm. This is a river town. Located on a beautiful but shallow river. Not deep enough to hide a car. How do I get rid of this dude. I fall asleep in a chair. I wake up early. Before anyone else is up I grab my shit and head to the car park. The elevator door opens and I see a police car. It looks as if someone was missing the dude. By the age of the couple standing next to the car I can only assume it's the dude's parents. Shit. I think of everythng except that his family was here. At his cousin's wedding. Dumb. I walk to my car and get in. I start it up and drop it in reverse. I back out and put it in drive. As I'm rolling forward, one of the officers puts up his hand to stop me. He is going to ask questions. He is going to know I'm lying. I pull up to him and stop. I press the window down button. The officer informs me I have a headlight out and should get it fixed. I say thanks and drive on. I pull out of the ramp and head home. I pack for a long trip, load up my guns, pack the car full. I figure at this point it might as well be the start of a spree. I check my maps and the Internet and head for the deep south. If I go, I'm gonna go out as a legend.
Monday, September 19, 2011
So I met a racist.
This story mght be partially true.
When I was young I worked in a factory. It was full of people striving for a variety of means. Some people were bigots. I know, it's hard to believe that a factory would have in it's employment people of a small minded view of the world, but it's true. So one fine day as I am walking along with a coworker, on our way off of break back to the warehouse where I was a forklift driver, we say a generic greeting to a fellow coworker walking in the opposite direction. We get past him and my coworker says that the guy we just passed was getting married...to a black girl. I give him a sideways look. He looks at me and hurriedly says that he does not have a problem with black people at all, but he doesn't think white and blacks should marry. I am quiet for a second and the ask him if he is saying he would not fuck Tyra Banks. Now let me just say here that this was a while ago when Tyra was not all America's Next Top Model drama queen. Back when she was quiet. And interesting. So my coworker says something to the effect of hell yes he would. I then ask if given the chance that he would not marry Tyra? He replies that hell yes he would marry her. I look at him and calmly say "Maybe that is ho he sees his fiancé. She is his Tyra Banks. That's what being in love is."
He looks at me and very thoughtfully says "I would have never thought of it like that. Wow. You're right."
I look upon that moment as eradicating a bit of bigotry from the world. A moment I feel very proud of.
That coworker was Pablo Picasso. Not really, it was Ho Chi Mihn.
I'm kidding. It was Franklin Delano Roosavelt.
It wasn't FDR. It was Brett Favre. Not really. I don't actually remember the guys name. It was some fucking dumb redneck name. Whatever. The point is, is that he is now married to Tyra Banks. He's not. He's married to Elton John.
I guess what I'm tying to say, is that I felt like I made a difference in the world that day. It felt good.
When I was young I worked in a factory. It was full of people striving for a variety of means. Some people were bigots. I know, it's hard to believe that a factory would have in it's employment people of a small minded view of the world, but it's true. So one fine day as I am walking along with a coworker, on our way off of break back to the warehouse where I was a forklift driver, we say a generic greeting to a fellow coworker walking in the opposite direction. We get past him and my coworker says that the guy we just passed was getting married...to a black girl. I give him a sideways look. He looks at me and hurriedly says that he does not have a problem with black people at all, but he doesn't think white and blacks should marry. I am quiet for a second and the ask him if he is saying he would not fuck Tyra Banks. Now let me just say here that this was a while ago when Tyra was not all America's Next Top Model drama queen. Back when she was quiet. And interesting. So my coworker says something to the effect of hell yes he would. I then ask if given the chance that he would not marry Tyra? He replies that hell yes he would marry her. I look at him and calmly say "Maybe that is ho he sees his fiancé. She is his Tyra Banks. That's what being in love is."
He looks at me and very thoughtfully says "I would have never thought of it like that. Wow. You're right."
I look upon that moment as eradicating a bit of bigotry from the world. A moment I feel very proud of.
That coworker was Pablo Picasso. Not really, it was Ho Chi Mihn.
I'm kidding. It was Franklin Delano Roosavelt.
It wasn't FDR. It was Brett Favre. Not really. I don't actually remember the guys name. It was some fucking dumb redneck name. Whatever. The point is, is that he is now married to Tyra Banks. He's not. He's married to Elton John.
I guess what I'm tying to say, is that I felt like I made a difference in the world that day. It felt good.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Space travel. Pretty cool.
Can I just say that space travel is the coolest thing ever thought of. I read some Jules Verne, From The Earth To The Moon and thinking what an incredible thing. The way thy got there was a bit rough. Being shot out a huge cannon, not great for the internal organs I would gather. The current way seems really dubious to me too. Being strapped to the top of a rocket sounds pretty fucking scary. Really really scary. The long rail gun idea sounds like a safe alternative and I can't imagine it would be more expensive than the cost of rocket fuel. A bit easier on the atmosphere also. That's the way I did it. Twenty miles of track and a capsule with wings...and about a gigawatt of power to get me into space. About 1.3282 gigawatts actually. The first time I did it I didn't quite make it into orbit. Really close though. When they say close only counts in horseshoes, they might want to try a near earth orbit. Landing on a plateau near Agdoni in eastern Russia was not my intent for sure. But pretty impressive when knowing I took the long way. Getting out of Russia was a whole nother story. Needless to say my capsule did no come with me.
So my second try was far more successful. I got well into orbit. I'm glad I figured out a good steering method before I went. I used a mock-up in a pool with waterjets to simulate rockets to test out the actual steering method. Getting back into the atmosphere without burning up was a bit more tricky. After a quick rocket burst to get in, I had forward water jets that pushed water out the front. It created an area that was basically a steam insulation. The heat rolled away with the water and as a bonus it would leave an arc of shimmering ice pellets as the water re-froze in the upper atmosphere. From the ground it looked like I was on the front on a iridescent laser beam. Fucking magical.
Like I said, space travel is the coolest thing ever. At least he coolest thing I've ever done.
So my second try was far more successful. I got well into orbit. I'm glad I figured out a good steering method before I went. I used a mock-up in a pool with waterjets to simulate rockets to test out the actual steering method. Getting back into the atmosphere without burning up was a bit more tricky. After a quick rocket burst to get in, I had forward water jets that pushed water out the front. It created an area that was basically a steam insulation. The heat rolled away with the water and as a bonus it would leave an arc of shimmering ice pellets as the water re-froze in the upper atmosphere. From the ground it looked like I was on the front on a iridescent laser beam. Fucking magical.
Like I said, space travel is the coolest thing ever. At least he coolest thing I've ever done.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
I've been doing a lot of thinking...again.
Not really about anything useful. Just a lot of thinking. That is all.
Friday, September 9, 2011
You need to make a list
Before you die you should totally make a list. Really, here's the deal, not a bucket list (see previous post in that). A post death list. You never really know what crazy idea people will come up with after you are dead. Some people think Thais is what a will is for. Dumb. No one wants to listen to a will reading. The only reason people go to will readings is to hear what they got.
The list will need to cover important things like what kind of flowers you like, anything you want to be burned or buried with, turn ons, music choices, etc.. Feel free to tell people what you thought of them. Tell your coworker you always thought they were an idiot. Let your friend know he smoked too much pot. Tell your cousin she is a drunk and a slut and that is why she will never get married. Tell everyone your secrets. No shame once you are dead. Write about the time you threw up in the back of your car or when you flashed your teacher to get a better grade. Let your friend know his breath smells bad or your cousins had sex. You can certainly mention the good things, too. Like your spouse is great in bed (in case they are looking for a date already this might help them out.) or your mom was a good cook or you were always jelous of how good someone's beard looked. Once you are dead you can finally clear the air of the burdenous opinions of life.
Let people know you always hated Steely Dan. Picasso was a hack. Regis Philbin sounds high. Old picture creep you out. Tarintino Was too blatant. Ostriches creep you the fuck out cuz o them weird eyes. Popeyes chicken is better than KFc even though it comes out faster. Generic soda, even though irt sometimes tastes better, is still lame. You thought XTC had one good song. You think Betty White is still hot, you laugh when someone says ball peen hammer.Tee hee. Ben Folds is dull. People want to know these things. Let loose, you're dead.
The list will need to cover important things like what kind of flowers you like, anything you want to be burned or buried with, turn ons, music choices, etc.. Feel free to tell people what you thought of them. Tell your coworker you always thought they were an idiot. Let your friend know he smoked too much pot. Tell your cousin she is a drunk and a slut and that is why she will never get married. Tell everyone your secrets. No shame once you are dead. Write about the time you threw up in the back of your car or when you flashed your teacher to get a better grade. Let your friend know his breath smells bad or your cousins had sex. You can certainly mention the good things, too. Like your spouse is great in bed (in case they are looking for a date already this might help them out.) or your mom was a good cook or you were always jelous of how good someone's beard looked. Once you are dead you can finally clear the air of the burdenous opinions of life.
Let people know you always hated Steely Dan. Picasso was a hack. Regis Philbin sounds high. Old picture creep you out. Tarintino Was too blatant. Ostriches creep you the fuck out cuz o them weird eyes. Popeyes chicken is better than KFc even though it comes out faster. Generic soda, even though irt sometimes tastes better, is still lame. You thought XTC had one good song. You think Betty White is still hot, you laugh when someone says ball peen hammer.Tee hee. Ben Folds is dull. People want to know these things. Let loose, you're dead.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Went to the fair
The State Fair. The Minnesota State Fair. I enter my cumquats every year. I am the only entrant. I've won for six years in a row. They didn't used to have an cumquat category but a quick call from my lawyer fixed that. I don't actually have a lawyer, but if you call and do your best Wilford Brimley impersonation no one will question you. I've used the lawyer voice often and it works surprisingly well in many situations. So back to the cumquats. I had a challenger this year. It came in the form of a four foot nine inch Chinese woman. At the judging, she came over and looked me over, looked at my cumquats, looked at my tagboard display of six blue ribbons and said something under her breath. It sounded like 'pathetic' but I couldn't be sure.
The judges are the same ones who judge apples because nobody really knows what a cumquat tastes like anyway. Plus, with only one person to judge it's not like they needed to know what made a good cumquat. The heat was really on the judges this time. That woman is giving me the hairy eyeball from across the table. The three judges looked over the table. I didn't recognize any of the judges from previous years. In fact I have never seen the same judge twice which leads me to believe cumquat judging is like the initiation rite for judges. The judges looked over both bowls, picked up a few and gently squeezed, sniffed, and poked. All three took a hesitant bite. By the look on their faces I could see they probably had never had a cumquat before. They looked at me, looked at my competition, looked at my blue ribbons and went into a huddle.
I was intentionally avoiding the burning gaze from the other end of the table. The judge huddle broke. The eldest judge held a ribbon in each hand. A red and a blue. He walked to the other end of the table and handed her the red. The look on her face was a combination of disbelief and what ever the yang was to total happiness yin. The judge handed me the blue and quickly got out of range of what was about to happen next. I slowly looked at the woman. She squinted at me just like Clint Eastwood did in those old spaghetti westerns just before he shot someone. I actually stumbled backward a few feet. Here is a little know fact, a fact not known to anyone except me and the woman burning holes in soul with her eyes, my cumquats come from the Asian grocery down the street. I reached for my tagboard and saw her take a quick step toward me. That is all I remember before waking up two days later in the hospital. I seemed to be missing a tooth and was covered in bruises and clutching a blue ribbon in my hand. The one thing I know is that next year i will have seven blue ribbons on my tagboard, a replacement tooth and good chance at blue ribbon number eight.
The judges are the same ones who judge apples because nobody really knows what a cumquat tastes like anyway. Plus, with only one person to judge it's not like they needed to know what made a good cumquat. The heat was really on the judges this time. That woman is giving me the hairy eyeball from across the table. The three judges looked over the table. I didn't recognize any of the judges from previous years. In fact I have never seen the same judge twice which leads me to believe cumquat judging is like the initiation rite for judges. The judges looked over both bowls, picked up a few and gently squeezed, sniffed, and poked. All three took a hesitant bite. By the look on their faces I could see they probably had never had a cumquat before. They looked at me, looked at my competition, looked at my blue ribbons and went into a huddle.
I was intentionally avoiding the burning gaze from the other end of the table. The judge huddle broke. The eldest judge held a ribbon in each hand. A red and a blue. He walked to the other end of the table and handed her the red. The look on her face was a combination of disbelief and what ever the yang was to total happiness yin. The judge handed me the blue and quickly got out of range of what was about to happen next. I slowly looked at the woman. She squinted at me just like Clint Eastwood did in those old spaghetti westerns just before he shot someone. I actually stumbled backward a few feet. Here is a little know fact, a fact not known to anyone except me and the woman burning holes in soul with her eyes, my cumquats come from the Asian grocery down the street. I reached for my tagboard and saw her take a quick step toward me. That is all I remember before waking up two days later in the hospital. I seemed to be missing a tooth and was covered in bruises and clutching a blue ribbon in my hand. The one thing I know is that next year i will have seven blue ribbons on my tagboard, a replacement tooth and good chance at blue ribbon number eight.
Monday, August 29, 2011
It's easy to steal a bus
It's pretty easy to steal a bus. The driver often steps off the bus and leaves it running. It's really not the stealing part that hard, it's the driving part. I mean sure, straight line is pretty easy. A lot of the busses are automatics so you don't even have to shift. But really when you have police on your ass and you have a busfull of screaming casino goers and plus your cohorts are firing shots out the back blown out window and one shooting out the open side door and you have a blown outside rear tire and the sirens, I mean fuck! The sirens are so fucking loud when they are that close! Plus there is like eight of them and the bus feels like it's gonna roll right the fuck over every corner and it's worse when you curb it. On the up side, it's not like anyone is gonna run a bus off the road and with all the old people on board no one is shooting back and so you sideswipe a car or sixteen, big deal.
So, I guess what I'm saying is that it's easy but the get away is a bit tough. Prepare for some serious time.
So, I guess what I'm saying is that it's easy but the get away is a bit tough. Prepare for some serious time.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
When you hear a bang
When you hear a bang and you think it's a car. Or a firecracker. Or a gun.
When you hear a whizzing sound above you and you think it's a bug. Or a toy. Or a bullet.
Bang. Off in a burst of smoke. Up at an angle over the head of the intended. Past the corner of a house. Past an open window of a bedroom where a girl is braiding her hair in a cracked mirror. Past the eves of the next house. Over the roof tops of the next block. And the next. Over the parking lot of the convienience store where several people are turning toward the sound of the exploding propellant. Block after block. The zenith. The slow return to earth. The slowing generates a low buzz. Over rooftops and sloping below the eves. Over a picnic table in a backyard full of friends drinking wine. They look up hearing the buzz. Over fences and into a yard. Landing at the feet of a couple in lawn chairs. A small sound enough for a dog to lift an ear.
When you hear a bang it is a gun.
When you hear a whizzing sound above you and you think it's a bug. Or a toy. Or a bullet.
Bang. Off in a burst of smoke. Up at an angle over the head of the intended. Past the corner of a house. Past an open window of a bedroom where a girl is braiding her hair in a cracked mirror. Past the eves of the next house. Over the roof tops of the next block. And the next. Over the parking lot of the convienience store where several people are turning toward the sound of the exploding propellant. Block after block. The zenith. The slow return to earth. The slowing generates a low buzz. Over rooftops and sloping below the eves. Over a picnic table in a backyard full of friends drinking wine. They look up hearing the buzz. Over fences and into a yard. Landing at the feet of a couple in lawn chairs. A small sound enough for a dog to lift an ear.
When you hear a bang it is a gun.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Here is my problem
My problem is that when events of the day are depressing and things in my life are stressful I have no desire to write. I really want to write about how Michelle Bachmann and her gay husband are perfect examples of what is wrong with disillusioned America and it's selfish pathetic pettiness. But that is not really what this blog is about. I want to write about the new bible thumper we hired at work and how that person fucking irritates me. That is not really what this blog is about either. It's supposed to be happy funny funtime carchase blog. Dammit.
I'm should go out for a drive. Get my car and hit a hundred. That usually clears my head. I think people would be suprised how many times I hit a hundred miles per hour in a year. And where I do it may suprise people. It's usually coming down a long onramp onto a freeway. And school zones. And church parking lots. And side streets, zoos, malls, football fields, and velodromes. Come to think of it, I don't think I drive anywhere under a hundred. That would certainly explain the bad gas milage. Hmm...
So anyway, I think I need to get out a little more. I am taking a week vacation and plan to go on some local tours and see some museums. There is always a chance of mayhem at a museum. I wonder if a tour bus cam go a hundred. I'll have to test that theory.
I'm should go out for a drive. Get my car and hit a hundred. That usually clears my head. I think people would be suprised how many times I hit a hundred miles per hour in a year. And where I do it may suprise people. It's usually coming down a long onramp onto a freeway. And school zones. And church parking lots. And side streets, zoos, malls, football fields, and velodromes. Come to think of it, I don't think I drive anywhere under a hundred. That would certainly explain the bad gas milage. Hmm...
So anyway, I think I need to get out a little more. I am taking a week vacation and plan to go on some local tours and see some museums. There is always a chance of mayhem at a museum. I wonder if a tour bus cam go a hundred. I'll have to test that theory.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
About craigslist.
So my big plan was to do an interesting post about Craigslist. Some sort of chase, or fight, or something exciting. But I got nothing. I could not come up with any scenario that would cause enough excitement. It's craigslist. It's all a little creepy at best. The only thing I could think of were creepy things. Maybe something will pop into my head. Fucking Craigslist.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
So, Craigslist. Yeah.
I find craigslist kinda weird. I like it but it brings out the people who would probably not leave the house normally. I also find it weird when people contact you to tell you they have found the samething you are selling, but at a better price. Probably hoping you drop your price and repost. I also think it's weird when they put something up for sale and a higher price that new. They obviously have the Internet. Google that shit, people.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Authority and me
Authority and me. We don't get along. We never have and probably never will. Yesterday, for instance, I pulled in front of an unmarked police vehicle. He was going slow, and me being the horribly impatient driver that I am, sped up, flipped the signal and pulled in front of him. He then speeds up behind me and me thinking "speed up now, asshole, not when there is no one in front of you, but when you have someone to follow. Fucking sheep.". What I should have been thinking was "Is that a spotlight attached to the side of that SUV? It sure is. I bet that is an unmarked police vehicle.".
I pull up to a stop light. To give you a bit of local color here, I am crossing into downtown Minneapolis on the Cetral Avenue bridge. Stopping at the stop light at the end of the bridge leaves the car still on the bridge. Waiting there, the bridge moves under the car from the weight of the passing and stopping cars. Not only is the feelin unsettling, but from that location the view of the 35W bridge is afforded. The new one that replaced the one that collapsed during rush hour and killed thirteen people. It is am unpleasant feeling all around.
The SUV pulls up next to me A full car lenghten and a half away from the car in front of him. I am trying to ignore him. He honks his horn. I look over. He has his window down and is leaning out. I lower the passenger window and he asks if my signals are working. I say they are working just fine. *cough* pig *cough*. He looks at me hard. I see his doo opening as the light turns green. I check my rear view mirror. Nothing. I throw it in reverse and punch it. As I quickly hit forty miles per hour (that's KPH for metric users) in reverse I see him trying desparately to negotiate a u turn on a bridge with a car behind him, two lanes of oncoming traffic, and while screaming into a CB with a great amount of failure. I hit the brakes, turn hard right swinging the front end left and around, at about one hundred and twenty degrees I jamb it in drive and punch the gas pedal down. The inertia carries me around and at the one eighty I have lost only five miles per hour which I quickly make up. I blow through the first light and make a hard right onto University Ave. I will be heading through the UofM campus and that could be problematic. I am up to seventy in no time. I can see flashing lights in my rear view. I have a very good head start. It won't be long before I lose what I have gained. I hang a quick left and another onto fourth. I slow to normal speed and pretend like nothing has happened. I look left and see two squads headed after me in the oppsite direction. I get back up to Central Ave. and turn left.four blocks later I am on the bridge again. I pull up to the stop light at the end of the bridge. I notice an SUV pull up next to me. I am trying to ignore him. He honks his horn. I look over. He is leaning out his window. I lower my passenger window. He leans out and asks me if my respect for authority is broken. I tell him it is. He tells me to get it fixed or next time it will be a ticket. I nod, raise the window and drive smoothly away as the light turns green.
I pull up to a stop light. To give you a bit of local color here, I am crossing into downtown Minneapolis on the Cetral Avenue bridge. Stopping at the stop light at the end of the bridge leaves the car still on the bridge. Waiting there, the bridge moves under the car from the weight of the passing and stopping cars. Not only is the feelin unsettling, but from that location the view of the 35W bridge is afforded. The new one that replaced the one that collapsed during rush hour and killed thirteen people. It is am unpleasant feeling all around.
The SUV pulls up next to me A full car lenghten and a half away from the car in front of him. I am trying to ignore him. He honks his horn. I look over. He has his window down and is leaning out. I lower the passenger window and he asks if my signals are working. I say they are working just fine. *cough* pig *cough*. He looks at me hard. I see his doo opening as the light turns green. I check my rear view mirror. Nothing. I throw it in reverse and punch it. As I quickly hit forty miles per hour (that's KPH for metric users) in reverse I see him trying desparately to negotiate a u turn on a bridge with a car behind him, two lanes of oncoming traffic, and while screaming into a CB with a great amount of failure. I hit the brakes, turn hard right swinging the front end left and around, at about one hundred and twenty degrees I jamb it in drive and punch the gas pedal down. The inertia carries me around and at the one eighty I have lost only five miles per hour which I quickly make up. I blow through the first light and make a hard right onto University Ave. I will be heading through the UofM campus and that could be problematic. I am up to seventy in no time. I can see flashing lights in my rear view. I have a very good head start. It won't be long before I lose what I have gained. I hang a quick left and another onto fourth. I slow to normal speed and pretend like nothing has happened. I look left and see two squads headed after me in the oppsite direction. I get back up to Central Ave. and turn left.four blocks later I am on the bridge again. I pull up to the stop light at the end of the bridge. I notice an SUV pull up next to me. I am trying to ignore him. He honks his horn. I look over. He is leaning out his window. I lower my passenger window. He leans out and asks me if my respect for authority is broken. I tell him it is. He tells me to get it fixed or next time it will be a ticket. I nod, raise the window and drive smoothly away as the light turns green.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
That last post was pretty politely condescending.
I hope no one reads only that post of mine and thinks I'm the type to put antimacassars on my chairs. Don't fucking judge me for knowing what an antimacassar is. It doesn't make me a southern belle or some old cookie making hag. Not that I can't make cookies. Because I can. Damn fine cookies.
I really don't know what I'm worried about. It' not like I have some sort of style I follow. I won't do another post like that last one ever again. I promise.
I really don't know what I'm worried about. It' not like I have some sort of style I follow. I won't do another post like that last one ever again. I promise.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Making money at blogging
So, i decided a while ago to monetize my blog. Which, if you are unfamiliar, means that if people click on the ads I will make a bit of money. So far no one has clicked on an ad. Don't get me wrong, I am not asking anyone to needlessly click on ads. After seeing some of the ads, I wouldn't click on them either. I find it odd that people even bother looking at the stuff on the side of the page anyway. Merely an observation. I am not judging anyone for not ad clicking. I mean I am happy to judge, just not for something like ad clicking.
The funny thing is, now that i have talked about ads and ad clicking, there will probably be an ad for advertising schools or ad making or making money by monetizing your blog.
Don't click on them.
The funny thing is, now that i have talked about ads and ad clicking, there will probably be an ad for advertising schools or ad making or making money by monetizing your blog.
Don't click on them.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Dear blog,
Today was a wonderful day. It started well with a delightful Twitter conversation with some of my BFFs. Then Dave M got in on it and ruined the conversation. He ruins everything, (bless his misguided heart) that big jerk. I suppose he can't help it being Greek and all. Later in the day one of my neighbeors needed to borrow a ladder. I was more than happy to oblige. She can use any help she can get you know her being single and all at her age. I mean I hope she finds love some day, and she is seeing a fine gentalman and all but he is an import(bless his heart) and probably can't be trusted. I felt better later when I got asked to play poker by some other BFFs. Golly I love to play poker. We sat and gossiped like nobody's business! At least not our business! Tee hee. It really is a nice time. The buy in is small, the chatter polite, and the fun eeeeenoromous. Except I lost. We did get to try many fine libations though and that always eases the blow of losing money to people (bless their hearts) who are totally undeserving.
After that wonderful and exciting day I am bushed. I am gonna snuggle in to bed between my fine linens and think of how fortunate I am, especially in relation to all the fine people (bless their hearts) I know who don't have the blessings I do.
Goodnight.
After that wonderful and exciting day I am bushed. I am gonna snuggle in to bed between my fine linens and think of how fortunate I am, especially in relation to all the fine people (bless their hearts) I know who don't have the blessings I do.
Goodnight.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Yeah, I know.
I know I haven't posted in a while. I've been on a bit of a vacation and spending my time off unwisely, as one should.
I did go and see Tim Minchin play at the Pantages in Minneapolis. I did not start any fights or wreck anything or get arrested. Someone should give me a medal. The show was fantastic.
I did go to my family reunion at which I spend much of my time drunk. I kinda have to. I an the only lib in a camp full republicans. The weird thing is many of the things they support are the things that democrats support and the things they don't like are things libertarians don't like. They want protection for the environment and renewable energy and recycling. And hate the 'man' all up in their business. Also I'm vey confused by their concern for the environment but think climate change is a scam. Crazy.
I also went to a drinking skeptically meet up, played poker, burnt down a school, robbed a taco stand, helped NATO bomb Libya, eradicated a spy ring, deported a suspected drug kingpin, imported Chinese iPhone knockoffs, and perfomed in a burlesque show under the name Jiggles L'Amour. It was a good three weeks.
I did go and see Tim Minchin play at the Pantages in Minneapolis. I did not start any fights or wreck anything or get arrested. Someone should give me a medal. The show was fantastic.
I did go to my family reunion at which I spend much of my time drunk. I kinda have to. I an the only lib in a camp full republicans. The weird thing is many of the things they support are the things that democrats support and the things they don't like are things libertarians don't like. They want protection for the environment and renewable energy and recycling. And hate the 'man' all up in their business. Also I'm vey confused by their concern for the environment but think climate change is a scam. Crazy.
I also went to a drinking skeptically meet up, played poker, burnt down a school, robbed a taco stand, helped NATO bomb Libya, eradicated a spy ring, deported a suspected drug kingpin, imported Chinese iPhone knockoffs, and perfomed in a burlesque show under the name Jiggles L'Amour. It was a good three weeks.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
My Antiques Roadshow adventure.
So I went to the Antiques Roadshow in Minneapolis at the convention center. It is a nice generic facility that seems to serve it's purpose. I walked up to the guest desk and proclaimed my presence. I was given a lanyard with a badge proclaiming I was a guest. I was told to follow a gentleman with slight limp. I followed him into the hall where I could see five hundred people waiting in a zig zagging queue. I was told that I would not have to wait in that line, I would be going right to the front. I walked past sneering line waiters smiling as big as I could. I was told to pick one of six tables to receive my tickets for my goods that I brought for appraisal. I step up to a table and am asked what I have brought. A nineteen twenties lamp and a turn of the century pocket watch. I get a ticket for decorative arts and one ticket for watches and clocks. I take my tickets and walk inside. It is set up like a hub. A large center area that is walled in by fabric banners. Inside the ring are the appraisers with their backs to the wall and the center of the ring are tables set up with cameras in the very center pointing out. Outside the ring are the lines to get inside. Lines inside are about five deep, lines outside are anywhere from none to fifty deep depending on the items.
I wheel my lamp around to the decorative arts line. Not a soul! Right to the front of the line and right to a table. I hoist the lamp up and the appraiser tells me it's 1920's alabaster American knock off of an Italian nouveau lamp. Two to four hundred at auction. Bleh. I leave the table mildly disappointed. I walk out of the inner ring and to the watch and clock line. Lots of watches, no clocks in the line. Six people ahead of me. Six people takes thirty-five minutes to get into the line inside the inner circle. I am looking around and I see a woman at furniture table. She is holding a chair. I have the exact chair at home. Sort of nouveau. Sleek curvilinear lines with some pretty ornamentation at the top. Garage sale find in college. Three bucks for it. There was another one at the sale, but I only wanted one.
I am fourth in this line and I haven't moved if fifteen minutes. The woman with the chair is being escorted to one of the filming tables.
My interest turns to the chair lady. I move up one space in line. I am watching very closely as the other appraisers gather around the table and they apply makeup to the chair lady. I move up one more spot. I am getting anxious to hear the conversation. They are focusing the cameras and getting close ups of the chair to be edited in later. My watch gets placed on the table. The appraiser tells me it's a 1910 gold plated broach watch. Worth two hundred and fify. I thank him and turn to watch the chair ladies appraisal. I can hear her telling the guy she found it at a rummage sale for three bucks. He is telling her that it is a Frank Lloyd Wright prototype. The only one known to exist. Usually all prototype furniture was destroyed so it couldn't be copied or the design elements stolen. Chair lady is getting flushed. The appraiser's hand are very slightly shaking. They talk a bit about elements. About the number on the bottom. Number 2. Meaning there is a number one very probably made, but who knows where that might be.
I know where that might be. I know exactly where that number one might be.
The appraiser tells chair lady her if number one is found her chair is still in the three to four hundred thousand dollar range. If it is the only one, maybe a million. Now most people would be happy to hear that about a chair. I see a chance to double my money. The chair lady is sliding to the floor, fainting. I am stepping forward pulling my lamp out of its basket and up over my head. As everyone is turning to attend to chair lady I bring the lamp down on the chair as hard as I can. It blows into pieces. I grab the ornate splat and run. No one reacts. All eyes are on the shattered chair. I push my way through the crowd out of the inner ring and bolt for the exit. I bust through the door and see nothing but hallways. The backstage area is a maze of corridors. I am running down a hall and am jumping through every door makes exit. I hear an alarm sounding. At a dead run I hit a door that leads to the dock. I feel the heat of the pavement hit my face and pull the air out of my collapsing lungs. The first hundred degree day of the year is not a day best chosen for this. I break for the open chain link gate opposite the door and the over pass right on the other side. It is starting to close before I get down the four steps to the asphalt. I can make this.
I get three quarters of the way across the lot and sweat is stinging my eyes so badly I can hardly see. I can make the gate. I hear yelling behind me. Lots of it. I can make the gate. Forty feet and it's looking thin. I can make the gate. Ten feet and I am second guessing. I throw the splat and land it under the gate wheel. I keep my head forward and turn my shoulders to make the jump through the gate. I tear open my shirt on the latch making it through. The splat is shuddering along the ground under the wheel. The gate closes and the splat splits apart. Unrepairable. That's all I needed.
I look up and see over a dozen guards and employees running to the gate. I don't think I have time to waste. I turn and run. My chest is stinging. I look down and see I did not just tear my shirt. I tore my skin. Not as easy to repair as the shirt by the amount of blood, I'm guessing.
I look back and see the gate starting to open. I am making a break for the hood on the other side of the freeway. I am starting to slow. I look over the side of the overpass at the traffic. It's moving about 25mph and I see a truck coming. I know shit that happens in movies rarely works in real life but I am out of option. I watch as the truck passes under the bridge. I count to three and jump over the rail. I hit the top of the trailer and roll. This may have worked! I slow my roll enough to see the trail of blood I have left across the to of the trailer. I have not slowed my roll enough to stop myself from rolling off he back end of the trailer. I should have counted to two. I look over my shoulder to see the dump-truck tailgating the semi. The drivers eyes are growing incredibly wide as I am falling.
I hear the sound of brakes. Loud. I am bouncing off the freeway and feel the bumper of the dump-truck pushing me along. Silence. Stopped. I am very broken. But alive. I hear the sound of tires screeching. The dump-trucks coworker, the one texting while driving, the one coming up fast behind, the one that doesn't stop in time. The chain reaction shows me my face growing larger in the chrome bumper. My eyes getting bigger as the bumper gets closer. One foot less and I would have been a millionaire.
I wheel my lamp around to the decorative arts line. Not a soul! Right to the front of the line and right to a table. I hoist the lamp up and the appraiser tells me it's 1920's alabaster American knock off of an Italian nouveau lamp. Two to four hundred at auction. Bleh. I leave the table mildly disappointed. I walk out of the inner ring and to the watch and clock line. Lots of watches, no clocks in the line. Six people ahead of me. Six people takes thirty-five minutes to get into the line inside the inner circle. I am looking around and I see a woman at furniture table. She is holding a chair. I have the exact chair at home. Sort of nouveau. Sleek curvilinear lines with some pretty ornamentation at the top. Garage sale find in college. Three bucks for it. There was another one at the sale, but I only wanted one.
I am fourth in this line and I haven't moved if fifteen minutes. The woman with the chair is being escorted to one of the filming tables.
My interest turns to the chair lady. I move up one space in line. I am watching very closely as the other appraisers gather around the table and they apply makeup to the chair lady. I move up one more spot. I am getting anxious to hear the conversation. They are focusing the cameras and getting close ups of the chair to be edited in later. My watch gets placed on the table. The appraiser tells me it's a 1910 gold plated broach watch. Worth two hundred and fify. I thank him and turn to watch the chair ladies appraisal. I can hear her telling the guy she found it at a rummage sale for three bucks. He is telling her that it is a Frank Lloyd Wright prototype. The only one known to exist. Usually all prototype furniture was destroyed so it couldn't be copied or the design elements stolen. Chair lady is getting flushed. The appraiser's hand are very slightly shaking. They talk a bit about elements. About the number on the bottom. Number 2. Meaning there is a number one very probably made, but who knows where that might be.
I know where that might be. I know exactly where that number one might be.
The appraiser tells chair lady her if number one is found her chair is still in the three to four hundred thousand dollar range. If it is the only one, maybe a million. Now most people would be happy to hear that about a chair. I see a chance to double my money. The chair lady is sliding to the floor, fainting. I am stepping forward pulling my lamp out of its basket and up over my head. As everyone is turning to attend to chair lady I bring the lamp down on the chair as hard as I can. It blows into pieces. I grab the ornate splat and run. No one reacts. All eyes are on the shattered chair. I push my way through the crowd out of the inner ring and bolt for the exit. I bust through the door and see nothing but hallways. The backstage area is a maze of corridors. I am running down a hall and am jumping through every door makes exit. I hear an alarm sounding. At a dead run I hit a door that leads to the dock. I feel the heat of the pavement hit my face and pull the air out of my collapsing lungs. The first hundred degree day of the year is not a day best chosen for this. I break for the open chain link gate opposite the door and the over pass right on the other side. It is starting to close before I get down the four steps to the asphalt. I can make this.
I get three quarters of the way across the lot and sweat is stinging my eyes so badly I can hardly see. I can make the gate. I hear yelling behind me. Lots of it. I can make the gate. Forty feet and it's looking thin. I can make the gate. Ten feet and I am second guessing. I throw the splat and land it under the gate wheel. I keep my head forward and turn my shoulders to make the jump through the gate. I tear open my shirt on the latch making it through. The splat is shuddering along the ground under the wheel. The gate closes and the splat splits apart. Unrepairable. That's all I needed.
I look up and see over a dozen guards and employees running to the gate. I don't think I have time to waste. I turn and run. My chest is stinging. I look down and see I did not just tear my shirt. I tore my skin. Not as easy to repair as the shirt by the amount of blood, I'm guessing.
I look back and see the gate starting to open. I am making a break for the hood on the other side of the freeway. I am starting to slow. I look over the side of the overpass at the traffic. It's moving about 25mph and I see a truck coming. I know shit that happens in movies rarely works in real life but I am out of option. I watch as the truck passes under the bridge. I count to three and jump over the rail. I hit the top of the trailer and roll. This may have worked! I slow my roll enough to see the trail of blood I have left across the to of the trailer. I have not slowed my roll enough to stop myself from rolling off he back end of the trailer. I should have counted to two. I look over my shoulder to see the dump-truck tailgating the semi. The drivers eyes are growing incredibly wide as I am falling.
I hear the sound of brakes. Loud. I am bouncing off the freeway and feel the bumper of the dump-truck pushing me along. Silence. Stopped. I am very broken. But alive. I hear the sound of tires screeching. The dump-trucks coworker, the one texting while driving, the one coming up fast behind, the one that doesn't stop in time. The chain reaction shows me my face growing larger in the chrome bumper. My eyes getting bigger as the bumper gets closer. One foot less and I would have been a millionaire.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Online build projects
So, here's the problem with online build it yourself projects. You really never know what you are building. I've done a lot of these projects and most have turned out good. Some are duds, but certainly not Napoleon Dynamite Internet Time Machine type duds.if you don't get the reference, where the fuck have you been? So I get plans to build a steam powered airship. Now this may seem complicated, but I have several degrees in engineering and physics, so it's complicated, but certainly not undoable.
I unfurl the plans (a steal at $249.00 plus free shipping!) and take a look. I realize pretty quick that it is not the set of plans I ordered. Well, there goes my steamship invasion force for taking the Galapagos. I pour over the plans and see the problem. It was mislabeled. It looks like a good project anyway, so I start to build. After two months and very little accomplished I realize I am in this one for the long haul. Three quarters of the way through I start to wonder if I should finish this project. It is calling for pretty hefty amounts of power. 25,000 kilowatts constant with a peak of 2 megawatts. I can get the power, it's the funneling of it that is tough. I build several substations in a perimeter around my house and tap into the grid supplying the two closest cities and the nuke power plant twenty miles away. That done, the next parts I have to dig through the trash of several experimental aircraft graveyards and grab a particle accelerator from the Bevatron, a local particle accelerator lab that is being dismantled. They won't miss it. The last part is a three mile diameter solar collection array that isn't used for the heat, but strictly for the light intensity. All of this seems to focus on a point where all these things come together.
Fourteen years in and I am ready to fire it up. I pick a nice sunny day and flip the switch. The solar array is generating beam of light wit a focal point of about three inches. It's hot. The air smells like it's burning. I flip the switch to power a donut shaped bridge rectifier that surround the beam of light. I can hear a crackling sound. I flip the switch and start firing particles into the mix at near light speed.
Everything is weirdly quiet. I think it is nullifying sound waves. I look around and see that it is nullifying all waves. Light is starting to shift inward toward it. I am only able to stare in amazement. I can tell the process is slowing to a stop. I reach over and flip the switches off. At the focal point of this massive energy pool is a quarter sized shimmery ball.
I walk to it and can see into it. It is a peephole to somewhere else. I get close and gaze into it. I see forms, vaguely humanoid. Several of the peering back at me. I can see one of them is holding a large tube, it points it at the hole and pushes something out the end. I see whatever it is is falling out of the hole. They are tiny metal bugs. They start to propagate quickly and some start dismantling my project. The bugs are feeding parts back through the hole. They are stealing everything they can dismantle. The hole fluctuates in size to accommodate the large pieces. There are millions of them already and multiplying fast.
I am telling you this so when they get to where you are you will know where they came from. Sorry about that. I really liked this planet.
I unfurl the plans (a steal at $249.00 plus free shipping!) and take a look. I realize pretty quick that it is not the set of plans I ordered. Well, there goes my steamship invasion force for taking the Galapagos. I pour over the plans and see the problem. It was mislabeled. It looks like a good project anyway, so I start to build. After two months and very little accomplished I realize I am in this one for the long haul. Three quarters of the way through I start to wonder if I should finish this project. It is calling for pretty hefty amounts of power. 25,000 kilowatts constant with a peak of 2 megawatts. I can get the power, it's the funneling of it that is tough. I build several substations in a perimeter around my house and tap into the grid supplying the two closest cities and the nuke power plant twenty miles away. That done, the next parts I have to dig through the trash of several experimental aircraft graveyards and grab a particle accelerator from the Bevatron, a local particle accelerator lab that is being dismantled. They won't miss it. The last part is a three mile diameter solar collection array that isn't used for the heat, but strictly for the light intensity. All of this seems to focus on a point where all these things come together.
Fourteen years in and I am ready to fire it up. I pick a nice sunny day and flip the switch. The solar array is generating beam of light wit a focal point of about three inches. It's hot. The air smells like it's burning. I flip the switch to power a donut shaped bridge rectifier that surround the beam of light. I can hear a crackling sound. I flip the switch and start firing particles into the mix at near light speed.
Everything is weirdly quiet. I think it is nullifying sound waves. I look around and see that it is nullifying all waves. Light is starting to shift inward toward it. I am only able to stare in amazement. I can tell the process is slowing to a stop. I reach over and flip the switches off. At the focal point of this massive energy pool is a quarter sized shimmery ball.
I walk to it and can see into it. It is a peephole to somewhere else. I get close and gaze into it. I see forms, vaguely humanoid. Several of the peering back at me. I can see one of them is holding a large tube, it points it at the hole and pushes something out the end. I see whatever it is is falling out of the hole. They are tiny metal bugs. They start to propagate quickly and some start dismantling my project. The bugs are feeding parts back through the hole. They are stealing everything they can dismantle. The hole fluctuates in size to accommodate the large pieces. There are millions of them already and multiplying fast.
I am telling you this so when they get to where you are you will know where they came from. Sorry about that. I really liked this planet.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Day 4of my first CON
Day 4: I struck the party room I designed. Picked up art I bought in the auction and went home. And slept. The End.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Day three of my first CONvergence.
On day three of my first CON I realized a few more things. Like don't use a bathroom stall after a Brony (it's a guy who likes my little pony). There are things you never want to see in your life.
Also, don't spend too much time talking to one person. Things will get weird fast.
Also, a con rave is like trying to get most of these people to talk without a costume on. Awkward at best.
Also, there is some fantastic art for sale. really good stuff if you like kitten in wizard garb or topless women on dragons.
Also, steampunk can be dome really well, or it can be someone in renaissance festival wear with a different hat and welding goggles.
Also, Rainbow Brite is hot in real life. Even if she might really be a dude.
Also, don't spend too much time talking to one person. Things will get weird fast.
Also, a con rave is like trying to get most of these people to talk without a costume on. Awkward at best.
Also, there is some fantastic art for sale. really good stuff if you like kitten in wizard garb or topless women on dragons.
Also, steampunk can be dome really well, or it can be someone in renaissance festival wear with a different hat and welding goggles.
Also, Rainbow Brite is hot in real life. Even if she might really be a dude.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Day two of my first convergence.
I overheard this conversation.
1: "Frakking right!"
2: "You should say 'frakking'."
1: "I did say frakking."
2: "Oh, I thought you said fricking."
1: "No, I said frakking."
2: "Oh."
me: "Shut the fuck up."
Also, telling PZ Myers he is "doing god's work." gets you a punch in the breadbasket. He doesn't look all that tough, but he will put you down Tyson style. Minus the raping part. Also, Mike Tyson jokes don't go real far anymore.
Also, drunk CON goers tend to be as horrible as drunks everywhere else. Maybe not get drinks from every party room and mix it all in one flask. I'm not trying to tell you how to live, but maybe someone should.
It is a frakking good time.
1: "Frakking right!"
2: "You should say 'frakking'."
1: "I did say frakking."
2: "Oh, I thought you said fricking."
1: "No, I said frakking."
2: "Oh."
me: "Shut the fuck up."
Also, telling PZ Myers he is "doing god's work." gets you a punch in the breadbasket. He doesn't look all that tough, but he will put you down Tyson style. Minus the raping part. Also, Mike Tyson jokes don't go real far anymore.
Also, drunk CON goers tend to be as horrible as drunks everywhere else. Maybe not get drinks from every party room and mix it all in one flask. I'm not trying to tell you how to live, but maybe someone should.
It is a frakking good time.
Friday, July 1, 2011
1'st Convergence: day 1
So I got to CONvergence and checked in. So I did. I wandered around for a while, hit the vendor booths and a couple of panels. Pretty standard stuff. Then I saw it.
My nemesis. Pikachu. Mother fucker must die.
Back-story here is that when I was young I was at a Pokemon get together and tragedy struck.I was in the final round and had nearly defeated my opponent when she dropped Pikachu on my sorry ass and before I had time to adjust, it was over. I had lost. The event was so traumatic that whenever I see Pikachu I flip out. It was either that or the time a guy dressed as Pikachu broke into my house and murdered my family in front of me and then painted me yellow and kept me in his basement for three years as his Pikachu Jr. slave. Probably losing the game though.
So, back to the story, I see Pikachu from across the room. My eyes fixed upon him, welling with tears, squint menacingly. I start with a walk, to jog, to run, to full on shoulder down locomotion. Pikachu sees me, but it is too late. Jolly little bastard can't react fast enough. My juggernaut inertia and resolve plow into it and we are airborne. We hit the ground a full fifteen feet from the impact site and the thunderclap is enormous. The shockwave scatters video, role playing and board gamers alike. I bounce off Pikachu and land on all fours ready to pounce again. Pikachu is down for the count. I jump to its side and put a boot to its guts screaming "Who's you daddy now, Pika, Pika, Pikachu?!?"
I have bested my nemesis. I put my foot on its head, hand on the knee, and look around. "Well?" I ask the crowd. My hands are doing the up wave to encourage the applause. None.
I look around and see a group of lightweights headed toward me with Con employee badges on. I could take them at one or two at a time but a group of seven or eight is a little much. I break into a run. I head for the pool area at a full run and dodge through a party room. I clip a couple of geeks on the way through and am through the door. I push off a hall way wall and head up the steps. I figure the gap between the pursuers will give me a chance to fight them off if I have to.
I turn right and head down the hall, reach the end and turn again. If I can lose them long enough I may be able to make a quick change and fool them into thinking I had left. I look ahead and see more heading from around the corner. They split up and were using knock off Star Trek communicators to trap me. It worked...almost.I jump into a party suite. There are black lights and a Skepchick logo painted on the floor. Nice. I head for the balcony. There is an ottoman right up against the rail. I look over and see Rebecca Watson drinking a shot out of a test tube served by a lovely woman in a lab coat. Hot. I step on the ottoman and onto the rail. I am free falling into a group dressed as the X-men getting their picture taken by the video game booths. I land hard splaying the group asunder. I am up and running. or trying to. I have a Wolverine claw stuck in my leg. In my artery. And there is blood. lots of it. It is not a clean would. It is a bleeder. I look up and see Pikachu looking at me as I start to stumble. As I fall. I am losing consciousness. I can feel the foot of Pikachu on my head and hear the applause. MY applause! Pikachu, you have bested me again.
My nemesis. Pikachu. Mother fucker must die.
Back-story here is that when I was young I was at a Pokemon get together and tragedy struck.I was in the final round and had nearly defeated my opponent when she dropped Pikachu on my sorry ass and before I had time to adjust, it was over. I had lost. The event was so traumatic that whenever I see Pikachu I flip out. It was either that or the time a guy dressed as Pikachu broke into my house and murdered my family in front of me and then painted me yellow and kept me in his basement for three years as his Pikachu Jr. slave. Probably losing the game though.
So, back to the story, I see Pikachu from across the room. My eyes fixed upon him, welling with tears, squint menacingly. I start with a walk, to jog, to run, to full on shoulder down locomotion. Pikachu sees me, but it is too late. Jolly little bastard can't react fast enough. My juggernaut inertia and resolve plow into it and we are airborne. We hit the ground a full fifteen feet from the impact site and the thunderclap is enormous. The shockwave scatters video, role playing and board gamers alike. I bounce off Pikachu and land on all fours ready to pounce again. Pikachu is down for the count. I jump to its side and put a boot to its guts screaming "Who's you daddy now, Pika, Pika, Pikachu?!?"
I have bested my nemesis. I put my foot on its head, hand on the knee, and look around. "Well?" I ask the crowd. My hands are doing the up wave to encourage the applause. None.
I look around and see a group of lightweights headed toward me with Con employee badges on. I could take them at one or two at a time but a group of seven or eight is a little much. I break into a run. I head for the pool area at a full run and dodge through a party room. I clip a couple of geeks on the way through and am through the door. I push off a hall way wall and head up the steps. I figure the gap between the pursuers will give me a chance to fight them off if I have to.
I turn right and head down the hall, reach the end and turn again. If I can lose them long enough I may be able to make a quick change and fool them into thinking I had left. I look ahead and see more heading from around the corner. They split up and were using knock off Star Trek communicators to trap me. It worked...almost.I jump into a party suite. There are black lights and a Skepchick logo painted on the floor. Nice. I head for the balcony. There is an ottoman right up against the rail. I look over and see Rebecca Watson drinking a shot out of a test tube served by a lovely woman in a lab coat. Hot. I step on the ottoman and onto the rail. I am free falling into a group dressed as the X-men getting their picture taken by the video game booths. I land hard splaying the group asunder. I am up and running. or trying to. I have a Wolverine claw stuck in my leg. In my artery. And there is blood. lots of it. It is not a clean would. It is a bleeder. I look up and see Pikachu looking at me as I start to stumble. As I fall. I am losing consciousness. I can feel the foot of Pikachu on my head and hear the applause. MY applause! Pikachu, you have bested me again.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Gosh golly, I've been busy.
Oh, for heaven's sake, I've been a busy little beaver, for sure. Lots of things to be done before Convergence this next week. For pete's sake I'm working my bee-hind off getting things together to make those happy little souls all the happier! Those precious little geeks and geekesses, bless their little hearts, they just want to have the best gosh darn...fuck it! I really can't even type another word of that. I always picture the secretary from Ferris Bueller's Day Off when that soft language comes out. *shudders*
I do have a lot of crap to do this week. Posts will be again short and shitty as usual once Convergence is done. Suck it.
I do have a lot of crap to do this week. Posts will be again short and shitty as usual once Convergence is done. Suck it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Look at this!
So, some of the traffic that comes through on my blog is diverted here from Google related sites. Stuff that provides tool to web developers and pages like that. Sometimes I get traffic from Singapore or Russia or other non-English speaking countries. I think, because so much of the web developed early on in America, much of the tool development comes from America. So, anyway, these sites offer blogs to look at while stuff is loading, which sends people to look at my crap. People who speak some, little or limited English. I can't imagine what these people think when they read my blog. Like, "what a pile of crap!" or "I don't under Stand any of this." or "This is why we hate America!" or "I'm gonna find this guy and eat his head!". That last one may have lost something in translation. Touché people from another country.
Translators
Here is what I think is wrong with scientists and their shit. They can't tell us what it means. Literally and practically. Great, you science people made a great discovery and it is awesome...to you. Then you try to tell the world and what comes out is blah blah tech blah protons blah hemoglobin (tee hee that word sounds dirty) blah riboflavin anemia blah de blah blah. Then, all the hype disappears along with the funding.
What needs to be done is a translator needs to be hired. And a PR person. And a props person. And an ideas person.
Science invests billions into research and let's the ideas die on the vine. What they need to do is put some of that money into a translator to make it understandable to the average ass hat like me. Then get an ideas person to come up with practical applications that people can get excited about. Realistic ideas that can be achieved in a year, two years, and five years out. Hire the props person to make a cool model of what it is. Build a giant DNA strand, a pretend teleporter, a giant laser, a mockup of a space telescope array for the moon, what the hell ever. People like something they can look at in three dimensions. And make it shiny. People love shiny crap. Then get the PR person to make it sound exciting even if it boring and/or dumb. Fuck, if Pajama Jeans sell, anything will if promoted well enough. Them sit back and watch the funding dollars pour in.
Simple.
What needs to be done is a translator needs to be hired. And a PR person. And a props person. And an ideas person.
Science invests billions into research and let's the ideas die on the vine. What they need to do is put some of that money into a translator to make it understandable to the average ass hat like me. Then get an ideas person to come up with practical applications that people can get excited about. Realistic ideas that can be achieved in a year, two years, and five years out. Hire the props person to make a cool model of what it is. Build a giant DNA strand, a pretend teleporter, a giant laser, a mockup of a space telescope array for the moon, what the hell ever. People like something they can look at in three dimensions. And make it shiny. People love shiny crap. Then get the PR person to make it sound exciting even if it boring and/or dumb. Fuck, if Pajama Jeans sell, anything will if promoted well enough. Them sit back and watch the funding dollars pour in.
Simple.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Member that time? Member, member?
Hey, member that time in college? When we were drunk and you kicked the side view mirror off that car? Member? Member that time we were at the bar and you almost got into that fight? Member that time we were drunk in the park and we were rolling bums? Member that time we skipped class to get high in the parking lot? Member that time you almost won the Nobel prize? Member that time we heckled the Pope? Member that time drove the Paris to Dakkar road rally and we were totally drunk? Member that time we hot air ballooned so we could spit on people? Member that time we talked lime Canadians? Member that time we went to the casino and lost our student loan money? Member when we had to make it back by giving blow jobs in the park? Member when we flipped and burned that cop car? Member when we would drive real slow through the rich neighborhoods in my crappy car just to sweat the rich folks? Member when we rushed the stage at Lillith Fair and flashed the audience? Member when you failed that math quiz? Member that time we went to the hospital after that knife fight? Member that? Member?
Damn, I miss college.
Damn, I miss college.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Got some things
Got some things. Issues, if you will. I don't understand human nature. I just don't get it. I don't get when people say they know and love someone who is gay but don't think they should be allowed to marry. I don't understand when people put the word the in front of groups of people. Like The Jews or The Blacks or The Scientists. It's something I call people out on now. I don't understand how facts do not convince people of global warming. I need to do a public service announcement like the "It gets better" campaign. Only I would call it the "Fuck You" campaign.
Fuck You for being a bigot
Fuck You for thinking equality for someone else means inequality for you
Fuck You for not believing a consensus of scientists
Fuck You for belittling someone's emotions
Fuck You for being ashamed
Fuck You for being proud
Fuck You for living beyond your means
Fuck You for thinking your income is a status
Fuck You for supporting hate
Fuck You for picking religion over science
Fuck you for not having faith in humanity
Fuck You for being a glutton
Fuck You for thinking none of this applies to you
Fuck You for being sedentary in your thoughts
Fuck You for making excuses
Fuck You for letting someone else take the blame
Fuck You for taking someone elses credit
Fuck You for not saying thanks
I like it. It seems a bit over the top though. Maybe a bit preachy? I think it would quickly degrade into F U for being a hominid or F U for being Quasimodo or Quatzequatel or Quing Quong or some such thing. But maybe that would be for the better.
Fuck You for being a bigot
Fuck You for thinking equality for someone else means inequality for you
Fuck You for not believing a consensus of scientists
Fuck You for belittling someone's emotions
Fuck You for being ashamed
Fuck You for being proud
Fuck You for living beyond your means
Fuck You for thinking your income is a status
Fuck You for supporting hate
Fuck You for picking religion over science
Fuck you for not having faith in humanity
Fuck You for being a glutton
Fuck You for thinking none of this applies to you
Fuck You for being sedentary in your thoughts
Fuck You for making excuses
Fuck You for letting someone else take the blame
Fuck You for taking someone elses credit
Fuck You for not saying thanks
I like it. It seems a bit over the top though. Maybe a bit preachy? I think it would quickly degrade into F U for being a hominid or F U for being Quasimodo or Quatzequatel or Quing Quong or some such thing. But maybe that would be for the better.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
That last post seemed a bit off.
I think it took a turn in the middle somewhere. I may rewrite it. I may not. Probably not since I can't read. I can write, but not read sad but true. Little known disease called triplexia. Not really. I can read words. But not numbers. All my maths have to be spelled out. It's called numeroclepsia. It's not really. I can read numbers just fine. I mean I could if I had eyes. But I don't. Or a mouth. But I have three noses that act as eyes and a mouth but sadly I am unable to smell. That's just dumb. Who would believe that.
Out of town guest
This is what happens when you miss a call. The call goes to voice mail, then you forget you got a call because you're busy. After a long day at work you look at your phone and remembered yo let that call go. It's from your friend from college you haven't seen in years. Listening to the message you realize you are going to have a visitor. For the weekend. There goes your plans. You would have said something about meeting up for supper or go out for drinks, but now it is for the weekend and a guest on the couch. I go home and pull out some blankets. And wait. Two hours after the appointed time the door bell rings. I put on my best fake smile. Greetings, handshakes and a hug ensue. Come ins, a quick tour, and the small talk about renovations and remodeling. Sit downs, beers, and more small talk. Chit chat chit chat whaaaa? Getting divorced, need to find a new job, affair with the bosses secretary, boss was the father in law, DUIs, and needing a new start. Wow. Me. Flabbergasted. Ummmmm...sure, sure, sure. Heavier dutied drinks, drunken glory days memories, drunken crying, and to bed.
Next day a fresh start involving a tour around town, a good lunch, and a walk around the lake for a little head clearing. Two days later the job search and apartment search begin. It goes well with a few hopes. And no to working where I work, even temporarily. Two weeks and one interview. More drinking and less small talk. Two days later and the police are knocking on my door. I turn around and see the lack of a suitcase by the sofa. I'm thinking that maybe it's been good we haven't seen much of each other since college. Grifter, conman, professional thief, and part-time bookie. My phone is vibrating in my pocket. Am I missing anything? No. Just another phone call.
Next day a fresh start involving a tour around town, a good lunch, and a walk around the lake for a little head clearing. Two days later the job search and apartment search begin. It goes well with a few hopes. And no to working where I work, even temporarily. Two weeks and one interview. More drinking and less small talk. Two days later and the police are knocking on my door. I turn around and see the lack of a suitcase by the sofa. I'm thinking that maybe it's been good we haven't seen much of each other since college. Grifter, conman, professional thief, and part-time bookie. My phone is vibrating in my pocket. Am I missing anything? No. Just another phone call.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Got pulled over by the cops this morning.
On my way to work this morning I got pulled over by the police. I was at a four way stop and was turning left. Everyone was taking turns but going really slow. I stopped , waited for the guy to my right to go. Slowly, he pulls away from the stop sign. Crosses the intersection and I pull in behind him quickly. My tires chirp a bit as I round the corner. To my left is a cop parked. He was hidden from view by the building and put his lights on immidiately. He does a u turn and I am just about to turn into my parking ramp at the end of the block when he catches up to me. I pull over. He gives me a ticket for speed too fast for conditions. $142.00.
So those of you who have read my blog before are asking "Where is the action? The burning cop cars, the imminant death?". This is an actual true story from my life. Sad, but true. My job as a bounty hunter/test pilot-boring same old same old. My time in the marines as a sniper/lion trainer-dull. I can't tell you why I was a lion trainer in the Marines, but believe me, it is dredfully bland. I spent my childhood in the West Bank in Israel, moved to Germany as the wall was coming down, and went to high school in Japan at an Anime school for mutants and robot. Bland. This is why I don't tell you about my life. It's dull.
So those of you who have read my blog before are asking "Where is the action? The burning cop cars, the imminant death?". This is an actual true story from my life. Sad, but true. My job as a bounty hunter/test pilot-boring same old same old. My time in the marines as a sniper/lion trainer-dull. I can't tell you why I was a lion trainer in the Marines, but believe me, it is dredfully bland. I spent my childhood in the West Bank in Israel, moved to Germany as the wall was coming down, and went to high school in Japan at an Anime school for mutants and robot. Bland. This is why I don't tell you about my life. It's dull.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Spending the day on the couch
So I am giving myself a lazy day. I am determined to stay on the couch as much as possible. I have food and drink and movies. Sigh. Lots of time to think about my life. I haven't really done alot with my life. Nothing really memorable. Maybe a bucket list is a good idea. I would start by getting off this fuckin couch. Second: probably getting a good meal. Third: have a drink that costs more than 100 bucks an ounce. Fourth: be in a movie. Fifth: steal a baby. 6) rob a store 7) eat cheese til I'm full 8) play Pac Man again. 9)see U2 live. 10)shiv a prisoner from a rival gang. 11) punch a Disney chacter at Disney world. 12)throw out a first pitch at a baseball game. 13) finish a puzzle. 14) finish a book. 15) learn woodburning. 16) get a tatoo. 17) tatoo someone else. 18) ride in a submarine. 19) try heroin. 20) fly a plane 21) hijack a plane. 22) make a few prank phone calls 23) bomb a church 24) dance in the rain. 25) burn a police car.
That is a good start to a list. I think I'll get started on that right now I've got about four pounds of cheese in the fridge. Number seven, check!
That is a good start to a list. I think I'll get started on that right now I've got about four pounds of cheese in the fridge. Number seven, check!
Friday, June 3, 2011
Today I have my evaluation at work
Today is my yearly evaluation at work. I have decided to take the offensive this year. Instead of being complacent and accepting what I am told about my performance as a dutiful worker, I'm going in, guns blazing. I gonna start every sentence with either "You know what your problem is?" or "And how is that my fault?"
I'll let you know how it goes.
My review went well. Here is one thing I learned. When they have a criticism, turn it around on them. Project not done in a timely manner? Well, management did not give you the proper tools to finish it on time. Something didn't work right? Obviously lack of maintenance played a big role. You punched a coworker? Obviously management didn't catch the warning signs to prevent it. You've stolen 100,000 bucks from a client? Um, maybe, um...oh, they wouldn't cover your gambling addiction with the second rate health care they provide you with. Follow that one up with a lawsuit. I finished my review off with a claim of religious discrimination. I'm an atheist so I went with "every time I sneeze I am subjected to a blessing from some god! I will not tolerate it!"
I ended up with a raise, an extra week of vacation and a new boss...me!
Ta-daa!
I'll let you know how it goes.
My review went well. Here is one thing I learned. When they have a criticism, turn it around on them. Project not done in a timely manner? Well, management did not give you the proper tools to finish it on time. Something didn't work right? Obviously lack of maintenance played a big role. You punched a coworker? Obviously management didn't catch the warning signs to prevent it. You've stolen 100,000 bucks from a client? Um, maybe, um...oh, they wouldn't cover your gambling addiction with the second rate health care they provide you with. Follow that one up with a lawsuit. I finished my review off with a claim of religious discrimination. I'm an atheist so I went with "every time I sneeze I am subjected to a blessing from some god! I will not tolerate it!"
I ended up with a raise, an extra week of vacation and a new boss...me!
Ta-daa!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
My UFO story
I live out in the country. My closest neighbor is better than a couple forties away. In the country, a forty is a forty acre parcel of land. Not beer. It is really late and I've been out listening to a friend extol the negative virtues of being in an unstable relationship. I am tired but can't sleep because of the caffeine in my whiskey cokes. I eat some smoked fish and drink a ginger ale to calm the stomach. Ten minutes of late night TV is enough and I am off to bed. I lay with my eyes half closed. The room is in a very slight spin. I am thankful to be horizontal.
I am drifting off into the nether and through my closed lids I can see a very bright light. As I bolt up from the bed my ears are filled with the sound of air being sucked out of the room. I glance out the window in time to see a blindingly bright light race into to sky. I stumble backwards and fall against the wall. All I can see is a sunspot for the next ten minutes. I stumble to the bathroom and put water in my eyes. They itch like I have welder's flash. I can barely make out my form in the mirror. It's like looking through jello. I grab eye drops and put them in. I empty the bottle. I sit until I can read the label on the toothpaste. I am shaking and sweating. I get up and head into the spare bedroom, open the closet and grab my 30-30...and some extra shells. I go back to the bedroom and get dressed in the dark. I keep looking out the window trying to see something. I think I see a lump or movement out of the corner of my eye, but they have yet to clear up totally. I still see a sunspot. Not bad, but enough to keep me from focusing completely. I move to the living room to get a better view. I can finally focus enough to see a shape out in the field. There are wisps of smoke rising off or it with a faint glow being emitted. I put on my hunting vest and my Holden Caufield hat, grab a flashlight and open the front door. I can smell burning alfalfa and scorched earth. I take the safety off and step off the porch. The gravel of my driveway is loud under foot. I realize that my ears are ringing...only it's not in my head. It's coming from out in the field. I step out onto the dew covered grass.
I am halfway to the lump when I think I see something move. I stop. My breathing seems louder than it has ever been. My heart is beating in a stilted rhythm. I am looking as hard as I can but see nothing. I am almost up to the lump and realize it is a crater. The lump is the edge of the crater about forty feet across. It is on the backside of a small hill and I could only see the top edge. I look down into it illuminated by a quarter moon and the stars. I see the ground all around move. It did not impact. It is burrowing. I can feel the ground twisting under my feet. It is nearly already covered. I flip the flashlight on and shine it down into the hole. The twisting stops. Right near the center I can still see the polished silver body of the ship. There is a hatch opening. I am leaning backward to run and I feel a shooting pain up through my foot. I look down and see a barbed spike protruding through the top of my boot. Barbs are spreading out and covering my foot. I can't lift my foot off the ground. I point the gun down and shoot. I hit one of the barbs and nothing. The barbs are becoming tendrils wrapping their way up my leg. I lever action the spent shell out and fire at the hub in the center. Working up to my knee. Fire again. Up my thigh. Fire again. Around my waist. Fire again. Crawling up my chest. Fire again. Around my neck. Fire again. Down my arms and over my head. Click. Empty. I feel the tendrils pulling me under the earth. Into the ship. Into a sealed bag. All the air is sucked out of the bag and my lungs. I feel the label being attached over my face as I'm blacking out. Specimen 5367.
I sit up. The sun beaming through my open window. My crumpled clothes on the floor along with broken beer bottle shards. I look down and see a cut on my foot. I shut my eyes to stop the headache. It doesn't comply. I hold them closed til I fall back asleep.
I am drifting off into the nether and through my closed lids I can see a very bright light. As I bolt up from the bed my ears are filled with the sound of air being sucked out of the room. I glance out the window in time to see a blindingly bright light race into to sky. I stumble backwards and fall against the wall. All I can see is a sunspot for the next ten minutes. I stumble to the bathroom and put water in my eyes. They itch like I have welder's flash. I can barely make out my form in the mirror. It's like looking through jello. I grab eye drops and put them in. I empty the bottle. I sit until I can read the label on the toothpaste. I am shaking and sweating. I get up and head into the spare bedroom, open the closet and grab my 30-30...and some extra shells. I go back to the bedroom and get dressed in the dark. I keep looking out the window trying to see something. I think I see a lump or movement out of the corner of my eye, but they have yet to clear up totally. I still see a sunspot. Not bad, but enough to keep me from focusing completely. I move to the living room to get a better view. I can finally focus enough to see a shape out in the field. There are wisps of smoke rising off or it with a faint glow being emitted. I put on my hunting vest and my Holden Caufield hat, grab a flashlight and open the front door. I can smell burning alfalfa and scorched earth. I take the safety off and step off the porch. The gravel of my driveway is loud under foot. I realize that my ears are ringing...only it's not in my head. It's coming from out in the field. I step out onto the dew covered grass.
I am halfway to the lump when I think I see something move. I stop. My breathing seems louder than it has ever been. My heart is beating in a stilted rhythm. I am looking as hard as I can but see nothing. I am almost up to the lump and realize it is a crater. The lump is the edge of the crater about forty feet across. It is on the backside of a small hill and I could only see the top edge. I look down into it illuminated by a quarter moon and the stars. I see the ground all around move. It did not impact. It is burrowing. I can feel the ground twisting under my feet. It is nearly already covered. I flip the flashlight on and shine it down into the hole. The twisting stops. Right near the center I can still see the polished silver body of the ship. There is a hatch opening. I am leaning backward to run and I feel a shooting pain up through my foot. I look down and see a barbed spike protruding through the top of my boot. Barbs are spreading out and covering my foot. I can't lift my foot off the ground. I point the gun down and shoot. I hit one of the barbs and nothing. The barbs are becoming tendrils wrapping their way up my leg. I lever action the spent shell out and fire at the hub in the center. Working up to my knee. Fire again. Up my thigh. Fire again. Around my waist. Fire again. Crawling up my chest. Fire again. Around my neck. Fire again. Down my arms and over my head. Click. Empty. I feel the tendrils pulling me under the earth. Into the ship. Into a sealed bag. All the air is sucked out of the bag and my lungs. I feel the label being attached over my face as I'm blacking out. Specimen 5367.
I sit up. The sun beaming through my open window. My crumpled clothes on the floor along with broken beer bottle shards. I look down and see a cut on my foot. I shut my eyes to stop the headache. It doesn't comply. I hold them closed til I fall back asleep.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Young peoples
Probably the most annoying thing about young people is they think that before they found a show or music that was good, no one else saw it. The other day on Twitter (follow me @Enmelishment) someone tweets 'I just watched Fletch with Chevy Chase. It was good! You should see it.' Really? Fletch? Never heard of it. Now I understand on Twitter you don't know who your audience is but this happens in real life, too.
"Hey, did you know The A-team movie is based on a TV show?". "Paul Mcartney was in a band?". "Did you ever see Monty Python? It's this old comedy show from England.". "have you read Ender's Game?". "I was reading up on Ben Franklin/Copernicus/Michaelangelo /Akenaten /Atilla The Hun/Shakespeare/Picasso/ Bob Hope /Jesus /Marie Curie /King Henry VII/Vishnu/ Quetzocotal / Elvis... ever hear of them?"
Fucking shut up.
"Hey, did you know The A-team movie is based on a TV show?". "Paul Mcartney was in a band?". "Did you ever see Monty Python? It's this old comedy show from England.". "have you read Ender's Game?". "I was reading up on Ben Franklin/Copernicus/Michaelangelo /Akenaten /Atilla The Hun/Shakespeare/Picasso/ Bob Hope /Jesus /Marie Curie /King Henry VII/Vishnu/ Quetzocotal / Elvis... ever hear of them?"
Fucking shut up.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Memorial day weekend
This weekend is Memorial Day weekend. The weekend we remember all the men and women who served in the armed forces. We celebrate by grilling and killing foreigners. We don't kill them here. We kill them where they live. Otherwise it would ruin the grilling. Often we go to cabins on lakes. Around here it is kind of the real beginning or summer. And it is the start of white clothes wearing season. And snipe hunting season, and butt crack/muffin top/beer belly season. And dudes driving around shirtless which is just weird. And cold lake swimming season. And mosquito/West Nile virus season. And Deer tick/Lymes disease season. And sunburn season which is exceptionally bad because for eight months we hide our skin, getting it as pasty white as possible. It gets so white that the outer layer becomes translucent and will actually magnify the rays of the sun increasing the burn potential by a factor of four. People from the northern U.S. and Canada have actually start steaming on especially sunny days. Also outside baseball, camping, bon fire, badminton, block buster movie, pot growing, water balloon, grandma out of the attic and into the basement (cuz the attic gets too hot), allergy, sweaty, badger fighting, Renaissance festival, murder ball, sidewalk chalking, cop car burning, soccer rioting season. Let's get to it.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Hate being stressed
I really hate being stressed for no other reason than it makes me less creative. It's like a desert inside my head. A big big desert. A really big one. And dry. A big dry desert in my head. Really really dry. Super dry desert area in my head. Dry. Desert. Area. Head. Inside. Dry.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
I think a change is coming
I think we are on the verge of a tipping point. The old religions are in decline and science is the new religion. Now all I have to say is 'did god make this smartphone?'i w get the answer 'god made the people who made the cell phone!' and I say ' why didn't god just make the cell phone? save a step. Why not make it a thousand years ago. Why is it humans need to adapt and create our future?' A quick poke to the chest usually ends the discussion. The new generation is waiting for the baby boomers to die. The new generation is more involved in technology and it will usurp the religious movement. It will hold out in the poor countries and where religion is used as a wedge between the rich and poor. But even these societies will fall. Soon will be the time me and my robot army will ascend to its rightful place as leaders of the new technological free world. Logic will be the law and my dominance will be rooted firmly in it. No one will be able to refute me. I will become part of the machine, the ghost in shell. I am preparing already. I have bought up all the remaining Speak and Spells, TI99s, Intelivisions and Simons in the word and have linked them to form a supercomputer of infinite power. It will spell the ruin of all y'all! Red blue green red yellow die die die! Thou will tremble from the stuttery voice and my mechanoidal form! Bwah ha ha ha ha!
Is mechanoidal a word?
It is now, human underling.
Is mechanoidal a word?
It is now, human underling.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
When aliens attack
There is a show on National Geographic channel called 'When Aliens Attack'. Not only is there wild speculation but it also includes dramatically enacted scenes that show situation room type scenarios. It is horrible. It is so bad I squirm while watching. The situation room enactments are shot on crappy video with mediocre computer graphics.
The problem really is our plan for defense. There is really only one outcome. We would be wiped out. Does there really need to be a two hour show on that? No. No there does not.
The problem really is our plan for defense. There is really only one outcome. We would be wiped out. Does there really need to be a two hour show on that? No. No there does not.
Here's a list
Here's a list of things you should carry in your car in case of emergency.
A map
a flashlight
candles
toilet paper
an epipen
bottle of liquor
a knife
a hammer
rope
tent stakes
cards
a tarp
duct tape
a gun and ammo
some comic books
change of clothes
a tv and DVD player
a badger
twelve pack of Shasta (grape)
beads
magnafying glass
matches
another badger
fifteen gallons of gasoline
two hundred gallons of clean water
Macgyver
PVC tube of various size
Elvis collectables
a side of beef
vegtable seeds
a lighter.
These few items may mean the difference between life and death.
A map
a flashlight
candles
toilet paper
an epipen
bottle of liquor
a knife
a hammer
rope
tent stakes
cards
a tarp
duct tape
a gun and ammo
some comic books
change of clothes
a tv and DVD player
a badger
twelve pack of Shasta (grape)
beads
magnafying glass
matches
another badger
fifteen gallons of gasoline
two hundred gallons of clean water
Macgyver
PVC tube of various size
Elvis collectables
a side of beef
vegtable seeds
a lighter.
These few items may mean the difference between life and death.
heavy machinery.
So I am looking out my window at work a road crew fix a large section of road. A quick Google search turns up the results I'm looking for. Even a video. Nice. I work late and watch the road crew pack up and leave. The backhoe loader glistening in the setting sun. Waiting for her new captain to commandeer her. The sun dips below the horizon and I change into my casual clothes. I head down the stairs and across the street. I linger until there is a lull in traffic and jump the short chain link fence and crouch down in the grass on he other side. I pull out my wrist rocket and a ball bearing. One shot and the window on the door pops. The peoples of safety glass fall and bounce it's way to the ground. I slide down the little embankment and up to the side of the machine. I reach up through the broken window and open the door, climb up and get inside.
The layout is exactly as it was in the video. Two joysticks, steering wheel, levers and gauges. I spin the seat around so the backhoe is at my back, scoop at the front. I kick the case off the steering column and expose all the wiring for the key and starter. I pull the green and the purple one and twist them together, yank the red and touch it to the twisted knot and she starts right up. I pull the lever to raise the levelers, flip on the lights, lift the scoop, throw it into gear, and go! It moves slowly and a bit to the right. I pull it out of gear. Release the emergency brake and put it back into gear an go!
Maybe the exclamation point is a little much. By go, I mean 25 mph down the side of the freeway. I bounce along the side of the road and turn the radio on. Radar Love by Golden Earring. Hmm...does not quite fit the bill. I flip to the classical station and keep on rolling (bouncing) along. I take the first exit ramp and head down into a residential neighborhood. I keep riding along for about five miles and realize I have no idea where I'm going. What does one do in a backhoe loader when you have nothing to dig up or push. I come to a berm where they block a road into a neighbor hood so they don't get traffic cutting through. This give me an idea. There is a road that is blocked off that would cut a good five minutes off my drive if it were open. I head for it. I take out road barricades on the way. I get to the spot and I easily remove the barricade. This is awesome. No, it's actually kind of boring.
I look back down at the computer screen and the video of the front end loader in action. Not very exciting. In the right hand column there is a video of a tank. I click on it. Now that looks cool!
The layout is exactly as it was in the video. Two joysticks, steering wheel, levers and gauges. I spin the seat around so the backhoe is at my back, scoop at the front. I kick the case off the steering column and expose all the wiring for the key and starter. I pull the green and the purple one and twist them together, yank the red and touch it to the twisted knot and she starts right up. I pull the lever to raise the levelers, flip on the lights, lift the scoop, throw it into gear, and go! It moves slowly and a bit to the right. I pull it out of gear. Release the emergency brake and put it back into gear an go!
Maybe the exclamation point is a little much. By go, I mean 25 mph down the side of the freeway. I bounce along the side of the road and turn the radio on. Radar Love by Golden Earring. Hmm...does not quite fit the bill. I flip to the classical station and keep on rolling (bouncing) along. I take the first exit ramp and head down into a residential neighborhood. I keep riding along for about five miles and realize I have no idea where I'm going. What does one do in a backhoe loader when you have nothing to dig up or push. I come to a berm where they block a road into a neighbor hood so they don't get traffic cutting through. This give me an idea. There is a road that is blocked off that would cut a good five minutes off my drive if it were open. I head for it. I take out road barricades on the way. I get to the spot and I easily remove the barricade. This is awesome. No, it's actually kind of boring.
I look back down at the computer screen and the video of the front end loader in action. Not very exciting. In the right hand column there is a video of a tank. I click on it. Now that looks cool!
Monday, May 23, 2011
That last post and the rupture
That last post was pretty long. I think I have some sort of style developing with the fiction stuff.
I feel bad for all the people who thought the world was going to end and then it didn't. I talked to Jesus about it an he said he didn't know when it was going to happen. His dad won't tell him. I told him to tell his dad a little notice would be nice. I would tell him myself, and I know he understands what I'm saying, but he refuses to answer in anyhing but his own language that only he knows. If you try to talk to him he does the 'I can't understand what you are saying' motion with his hands. What a jerk.
I feel bad for all the people who thought the world was going to end and then it didn't. I talked to Jesus about it an he said he didn't know when it was going to happen. His dad won't tell him. I told him to tell his dad a little notice would be nice. I would tell him myself, and I know he understands what I'm saying, but he refuses to answer in anyhing but his own language that only he knows. If you try to talk to him he does the 'I can't understand what you are saying' motion with his hands. What a jerk.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
So last night's fire was mostly an accident.
So I'm sitting at the bar last night and several cop cars pull up in front of the apartment complex across the street. The police get out of their cars and file into the front door. It looks like a standard domestic call where one of the parties has a warrant out. This happens a lot in the neighborhood I drink in. No one judges here. I see that only one officer is left outside guarding the four squads.
Now it is fair to say that by this time of the night I have drank more than I needed to and my judgment, while normally sketchy at best is reduced to a quivering, weeping child in the recess of my mind. I stand up and start walking toward the lone officer. In my mind I call him Rookie. He is gonna have a lot, and I mean a LOT of paperwork to do by the end of this evening. I make like I'm walking past him nonchalantly. As I get within a few feet I drop my keys and stagger a bit. He reaches out to steady me as I pretend to fall forward as I'm bending over to pick up the keys. I grab the keys with one hand and do a leap forward into him. He goes backward and down in a heap fast. I'm on him and have his gun and keys off his belt in less than a second. One quick stunning punch to the side of the neck and I have time to walk to the car, look over and give a smile, a wink, and a nod to the officer on the ground. pulling his radio to his mouth and I can hear the words "Officer down" roll coarsely out of his mouth as I shut the door.
I pull out onto the street and wait. The three other officers come running out of the building, one going to help the down officer and the other two come up to the car. Just as they reach me and are pulling out their guns, I put the gas pedal to the floor. They both stop cold in their tracks, and after moving the car ahead fifty feet as fast as it will go, I slam on the brakes. They are not moving and neither am I. They both start to move closer to the car, guns drawn and pointing at me. They get within twenty feet and I start the car rolling forward at the same pace they are walking. They both stop. I stop. I wait. I hear sirens coming. I punch it.
I am down the block and around the corner in no time. Flipping all the sirens and light on and turning the camera on the dash on so when they review the footage it will show how much fun I had. I check the rear view and nothing. I turn off the lights and siren and I hang a quick right and head for the nearest police station on a side street. I am within two blocks and I hear the sirens. I turn toward the sound and see three squads go by ahead of me. I flip on the lights and sirens. I accelerate and quickly catch up and pull in right behind them. The chatter on the radio is overwhelming at this point. I follow them as they turn onto the street that the apartment is on. We pull up and the police ahead of me pull in and park. Six squads and the ambulance is just pulling up. I turn off the siren and slow down to a waking speed. I see the officer I tackled sitting half in the front of a squad. Another cop is on one knee next to him trying to get a description. They both look up at me as I'm rolling past. I give a mocking salute. I see both their mouths open slowly, eyes going wide. I don't stick around.
My right foot suddenly weighs a hundred pounds as I realize I'm starting to sober up enough to feel the gravity of this situation. I am heading for the closest freeway and starting to consider my options. They are getting limited pretty quickly. I turn the dashboard camera around to record all the action going on behind me. Two squads closing fast and another dozen on the way. I hit the on ramp to the freeway and start making a plan. It may be a bit late for making a plan, but I am sobering up fast and I need a plan. The freeway is pretty empty and I'm quickly up to over a hundred. I can see three squads behind me now and I have to exit soon or face spike strips. I hit the next exit and see a green light at the intersection at the top. I hit the brakes hard and hang a right. I am on a road that goes straight to an old auto plant through a blue collar neighborhood. I am hoping I can make it to the auto plant and do a jump and run into the woods on the other side. I am coming up fast on the auto plant; four more blocks and I have a chance. A car t-bones me as I blow through a stoplight. I am off course bad and am skidding sideways through a gas station parking lot. I break a pump clean off and think that I am glad for emergency shut offs for gas pumps because otherwise there would be a lot more gasoline catching on fire right now. I think this as I am sliding into the propane grill tank refill station.
The waitress is standing next to me. And asking again if I want another one. I blink several time as my stare is broken. Across the street the police hauling a woman out of the apartment in cuffs. A man is holding a bloody towel against his side as an ambulance pulls up. Yeah, I'll have another. Thanks.
Now it is fair to say that by this time of the night I have drank more than I needed to and my judgment, while normally sketchy at best is reduced to a quivering, weeping child in the recess of my mind. I stand up and start walking toward the lone officer. In my mind I call him Rookie. He is gonna have a lot, and I mean a LOT of paperwork to do by the end of this evening. I make like I'm walking past him nonchalantly. As I get within a few feet I drop my keys and stagger a bit. He reaches out to steady me as I pretend to fall forward as I'm bending over to pick up the keys. I grab the keys with one hand and do a leap forward into him. He goes backward and down in a heap fast. I'm on him and have his gun and keys off his belt in less than a second. One quick stunning punch to the side of the neck and I have time to walk to the car, look over and give a smile, a wink, and a nod to the officer on the ground. pulling his radio to his mouth and I can hear the words "Officer down" roll coarsely out of his mouth as I shut the door.
I pull out onto the street and wait. The three other officers come running out of the building, one going to help the down officer and the other two come up to the car. Just as they reach me and are pulling out their guns, I put the gas pedal to the floor. They both stop cold in their tracks, and after moving the car ahead fifty feet as fast as it will go, I slam on the brakes. They are not moving and neither am I. They both start to move closer to the car, guns drawn and pointing at me. They get within twenty feet and I start the car rolling forward at the same pace they are walking. They both stop. I stop. I wait. I hear sirens coming. I punch it.
I am down the block and around the corner in no time. Flipping all the sirens and light on and turning the camera on the dash on so when they review the footage it will show how much fun I had. I check the rear view and nothing. I turn off the lights and siren and I hang a quick right and head for the nearest police station on a side street. I am within two blocks and I hear the sirens. I turn toward the sound and see three squads go by ahead of me. I flip on the lights and sirens. I accelerate and quickly catch up and pull in right behind them. The chatter on the radio is overwhelming at this point. I follow them as they turn onto the street that the apartment is on. We pull up and the police ahead of me pull in and park. Six squads and the ambulance is just pulling up. I turn off the siren and slow down to a waking speed. I see the officer I tackled sitting half in the front of a squad. Another cop is on one knee next to him trying to get a description. They both look up at me as I'm rolling past. I give a mocking salute. I see both their mouths open slowly, eyes going wide. I don't stick around.
My right foot suddenly weighs a hundred pounds as I realize I'm starting to sober up enough to feel the gravity of this situation. I am heading for the closest freeway and starting to consider my options. They are getting limited pretty quickly. I turn the dashboard camera around to record all the action going on behind me. Two squads closing fast and another dozen on the way. I hit the on ramp to the freeway and start making a plan. It may be a bit late for making a plan, but I am sobering up fast and I need a plan. The freeway is pretty empty and I'm quickly up to over a hundred. I can see three squads behind me now and I have to exit soon or face spike strips. I hit the next exit and see a green light at the intersection at the top. I hit the brakes hard and hang a right. I am on a road that goes straight to an old auto plant through a blue collar neighborhood. I am hoping I can make it to the auto plant and do a jump and run into the woods on the other side. I am coming up fast on the auto plant; four more blocks and I have a chance. A car t-bones me as I blow through a stoplight. I am off course bad and am skidding sideways through a gas station parking lot. I break a pump clean off and think that I am glad for emergency shut offs for gas pumps because otherwise there would be a lot more gasoline catching on fire right now. I think this as I am sliding into the propane grill tank refill station.
The waitress is standing next to me. And asking again if I want another one. I blink several time as my stare is broken. Across the street the police hauling a woman out of the apartment in cuffs. A man is holding a bloody towel against his side as an ambulance pulls up. Yeah, I'll have another. Thanks.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Went for a bike ride.
I've been feeling a little out of shape lately so I decided to go for a bike ride. I used to bike everywhere in high school and college but didn't keep up with it after I started working real jobs.
I have a thirty five year old bicycle. It is French. It has gears and brakes because I'm not a lesbian or an asshole. I love riding around the neighborhood and riding around town. I wear my helmet even though I hate it. Bike helmets are possibly the ugliest thing you can put on your head. I call it my birth control helmet because no one would get laid wearing one. I still wear it because I like the thinking process and it protects it from stopping.
So I gt on my bike and start off down the street. I turn onto a side street that runs quite a way even though it is pretty stop and go. Here is one of my pet peeves as a biker-people who want the rights of both a pedestrian and a car. Don't blow through a stop light and then yell at a car for using a turn lane. And for fuck sake stop for pedestrians in a cross walk.
So I get on my bike and start riding. Oh here's another thing, if it is night and you are riding your bike at night have a light and don't wear all black clothes. I can't be blamed for hitting you. Even if I do see you. That's why it's called Dar-WIN! You lose.
So I get on my bike and start riding. It's a nice night and I'm makin pretty good time. And the other thing is you have arms, use them to signal intent. Just swerving into traffic does not tell me where you are going. Hells bells. You'll be goin' straight under my Chevy if you don't use some hand signals. Damn. And stay off the sidewalk. You have wheels, stay on the road. Balls alive.
So I'm on the bike and I'm making good time. I have my bottle full of vodka for hydration. I left the house half in the bag because you have to be pretty drunk to get on the road with all those crazy drivers.
So I'm pretty hammered and I'm peddling down the road and I'm not sure what happened next but I'm told it was dark and I was wearing my ninja outfit and swerved to avoid some pedestrians that were on the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic. So at least with all the physical therapy I should be able to get into shape.
I have a thirty five year old bicycle. It is French. It has gears and brakes because I'm not a lesbian or an asshole. I love riding around the neighborhood and riding around town. I wear my helmet even though I hate it. Bike helmets are possibly the ugliest thing you can put on your head. I call it my birth control helmet because no one would get laid wearing one. I still wear it because I like the thinking process and it protects it from stopping.
So I gt on my bike and start off down the street. I turn onto a side street that runs quite a way even though it is pretty stop and go. Here is one of my pet peeves as a biker-people who want the rights of both a pedestrian and a car. Don't blow through a stop light and then yell at a car for using a turn lane. And for fuck sake stop for pedestrians in a cross walk.
So I get on my bike and start riding. Oh here's another thing, if it is night and you are riding your bike at night have a light and don't wear all black clothes. I can't be blamed for hitting you. Even if I do see you. That's why it's called Dar-WIN! You lose.
So I get on my bike and start riding. It's a nice night and I'm makin pretty good time. And the other thing is you have arms, use them to signal intent. Just swerving into traffic does not tell me where you are going. Hells bells. You'll be goin' straight under my Chevy if you don't use some hand signals. Damn. And stay off the sidewalk. You have wheels, stay on the road. Balls alive.
So I'm on the bike and I'm making good time. I have my bottle full of vodka for hydration. I left the house half in the bag because you have to be pretty drunk to get on the road with all those crazy drivers.
So I'm pretty hammered and I'm peddling down the road and I'm not sure what happened next but I'm told it was dark and I was wearing my ninja outfit and swerved to avoid some pedestrians that were on the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic. So at least with all the physical therapy I should be able to get into shape.
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