Saturday, December 31, 2011
Well that being said, we shall see what this next year brings.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
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
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
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
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
Want to be a good artist? Break the rules.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
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
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
Sunday, November 13, 2011
I'm just too soft for jail.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
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
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
I tried to get all artsy with my writing there. I'll try not to do that again.
Friday, October 14, 2011
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
Friday, September 9, 2011
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
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
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 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
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
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
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
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
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
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.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
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
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
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
Sunday, July 3, 2011
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
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."
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
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
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
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.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Damn, I miss college.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
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
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
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
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
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!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
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
"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
Friday, May 27, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Is mechanoidal a word?
It is now, human underling.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
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.
bottle of liquor
a gun and ammo
some comic books
change of clothes
a tv and DVD player
twelve pack of Shasta (grape)
fifteen gallons of gasoline
two hundred gallons of clean water
PVC tube of various size
a side of beef
These few items may mean the difference between life and death.
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
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
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
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.