I had a Journey song in my head so I downloaded the album from iTunes.
After getting my fill I did a search for the video and found it on YouTube.
Didn't know if it was going to be like I remembered.
It was all and more.
Um, can I keep my tray table down the entire flight?
The news reported this morning that a plan to bomb several planes between the UK and the US was uncovered and (hopefully) thwarted. The security lines at Heathrow were between 3 – 4 hours long because passengers were unable to bring any liquids through security and carry-on baggage was heavily restricted. Damn that sucks.
It’s been discussed that perhaps all passengers should be required to fly nude. This works for two reasons:
One: unless you cram the bomb up your ass, it would be very hard to smuggle on board.
Two: religious fanatics are not allowed by their god to see naked bodies and therefore will not fly
Three: (I just thought of a third) It has been scientifically proven that suicide bombers have small penises. While covering their shame with their hands, it will impossible for them to commit acts of terror.
I’m all for it. Except for the issue I might have (as illustrated below.)
It’s been discussed that perhaps all passengers should be required to fly nude. This works for two reasons:
One: unless you cram the bomb up your ass, it would be very hard to smuggle on board.
Two: religious fanatics are not allowed by their god to see naked bodies and therefore will not fly
Three: (I just thought of a third) It has been scientifically proven that suicide bombers have small penises. While covering their shame with their hands, it will impossible for them to commit acts of terror.
I’m all for it. Except for the issue I might have (as illustrated below.)
Film Girl
Handsome Joe was the realtor that handled the selling of the house we used to call home as well as the closing of the house we now call home. Joe has also played the role of “Good Cop” and was the second set of Bs in my B, B, B and B story. Something you may not know about Joe is that he thinks he is a better story teller than I am. Here I must disagree with Joe, but of course, the bear and the fox have been arguing for years as to who is smarter and more handsome.
One other detail about Joe is that he is never wrong. And that is mostly true. There is one time when Joe (almost) might admit to being wrong. I enjoy his admittance.
One of my two problems in college was that I never knew when to leave well enough alone. Most women of college age know that guys are dicks and idiots and that a man will spend the night with a young lady and never call again. It’s expected and probably desirable for both parties. I thought I was clever. I couldn’t just have a one night stand. I’d go back for seconds and thirds. Maybe I felt guilty or maybe I didn’t know what I was looking for or maybe I was just really horny. Either either, I would lay down a fog of personality and talk my way back in the door each time. Suckers? Maybe.
After a couple three nights, their once unconcerned feelings towards me would change. This is when mine would go in the opposite direction. Then things would end not so well. Badly. Hurt feelings. Name calling. Tears. I was only trying to be nice.
The second of my two problems in college was that I always seemed to leave some personal item at a girl’s house, usually after the third or forth visit and especially right before I would call things off. Things like a necklace or a pocket knife or a book. Stuff I really didn’t need, but hated leaving behind. What really sucked was that this gave the girl a focal point to call and leave messages on our machine:
“Hey, this is 19 Palmer. Neither Joe, Betsy, Amy, Paul, Doug or Chris can come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the beep.”
Beep – Hi Doug. You left your necklace over at my place. Come over and pick it up.
Beep – Hello Doug. Still got your necklace. Call me.
Beep – Doug, I can meet you somewhere neutral. The Pub? Let’s talk. I’ve got your necklace.
Beep – Goddamnit Doug. I’m going to throw this thing in the fucking trash if you don’t call me.
Beep- Sorry about that. Can we please talk? Do you want this back?
Delete all.
Fall quarter came and went. It took me the whole quarter, but I charmed a girl I really liked from my film class into taking me home with her. The next day, Film Girl made me breakfast and gave me all the perishables out of her refrigerator. The perfect hook up. We did not talk over winter break, but hooked up immediately that winter quarter as if we had not been separated at all. Sadly, after the second night together, I realized that I didn’t like her as much as I thought I did. I got a very distinct and creepy vibe from Film Girl that she realized she couldn’t spend another day without me. I had to get out. So I left. And I left a pocket knife behind.
A few weeks passed and I avoided her calls. Her calls started normal but quickly became creepy. “I have your knife, Doug.” Click. I could have ended it all quickly, but I do not have a spine and pretended to miss her messages and avoid her bars. After a week, I didn’t hear from her and thought she got the point.
Handsome Joe and I went to The Crystal one night that winter quarter. It wasn’t our usual hang out, but Joe was tracking a new girl and in the interest of getting Joe laid, we entered new territory. We were upstairs and Joe was playing pool with said quarry. I drank and watched.
“Hello Doug.” Oh shit.
“Hello Girl from my film class that I really wanted to hook up with but now that I have I have had second thoughts and just want to be friends, but I am too chickenshit to tell you all this.” Actually I probably just said, “Oh, hello!”
“Are you here picking up girls?”
“No, Joe and I are…”
And in a flat tone that was just above the jukebox, but clearly we both knew she was yelling when she said, “I KNOW YOUR TYPE. YOU ARE HERE PICKING UP GIRLS.”
“Um, I… err.”
She held out her hand and my pocket knife was in it. She had brought it to the bar. It had been my Dad’s knife. Nothing I’d hide in my ass for five years in a POW camp, but it was still special.
She was glaring and smiling and talking at the same time, “If you want it back you have to come and get it.”
With that, Joe interrupted. The hate melted off her face as she turned to Joe and her grimace turned into a smile. They traded perfectly sane hellos and she excused herself. Joe said something to the effect that I was going to hook up.
“Joe, she’s crazy.”
“Doug? What are you talking about?”
“Joe, SHE’S CRAZY. We have to get out of here.”
Joe couldn’t believe it. She’s good looking. She’s nice. You are drunk. She’s a great girl.
“JOE, WE HAVE TO LEAVE!”
Joe usually does not give in without a fight or a good argument. So, I told him about the knife and that Film Girl looked INSANE. He didn’t believe a word. But, being Joe, he humored me and said goodbye to his girl. We grabbed our coats and left the bar. As we walked down the street, I kept repeating how insane the Film Girl was acting. Joe kept shaking his head with disbelief.
For some reason that neither one of us can explain, we both turned and looked back towards the bar. We were about a block away and the sidewalk sloped back up to The Crystal. Perfectly silhouetted with a streetlight at her back, Film Girl stood outside the bar.
She thrust her fists down to her side, arched her back and threw her head backwards. The lighting was perfect. Her shadowed mouth opened and into the night air she screamed.
“DOUUUUUUUUUUUUG!”
The words turned to condensation against the cold night air. They shot out in great gouts of steam.
“DOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUG!”
Joe and I both ran.
Later. “Doug, that girl was crazy.”
If you mention this story to Handsome Joe, he won’t concede the fact that he was wrong. What he will do is tell the story again, but in his words. He will describe the night and the smells and the temperature. He will hold out his hand and you will see the knife in it. He will go on about her beauty and how not-insane Film Girl looked that night. He will act out her stance on the street and you will almost see the steam coming from his mouth silhouetted in the cold night air.
But I still think I tell the story better.
And I never got the knife back.
One other detail about Joe is that he is never wrong. And that is mostly true. There is one time when Joe (almost) might admit to being wrong. I enjoy his admittance.
One of my two problems in college was that I never knew when to leave well enough alone. Most women of college age know that guys are dicks and idiots and that a man will spend the night with a young lady and never call again. It’s expected and probably desirable for both parties. I thought I was clever. I couldn’t just have a one night stand. I’d go back for seconds and thirds. Maybe I felt guilty or maybe I didn’t know what I was looking for or maybe I was just really horny. Either either, I would lay down a fog of personality and talk my way back in the door each time. Suckers? Maybe.
After a couple three nights, their once unconcerned feelings towards me would change. This is when mine would go in the opposite direction. Then things would end not so well. Badly. Hurt feelings. Name calling. Tears. I was only trying to be nice.
The second of my two problems in college was that I always seemed to leave some personal item at a girl’s house, usually after the third or forth visit and especially right before I would call things off. Things like a necklace or a pocket knife or a book. Stuff I really didn’t need, but hated leaving behind. What really sucked was that this gave the girl a focal point to call and leave messages on our machine:
“Hey, this is 19 Palmer. Neither Joe, Betsy, Amy, Paul, Doug or Chris can come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the beep.”
Beep – Hi Doug. You left your necklace over at my place. Come over and pick it up.
Beep – Hello Doug. Still got your necklace. Call me.
Beep – Doug, I can meet you somewhere neutral. The Pub? Let’s talk. I’ve got your necklace.
Beep – Goddamnit Doug. I’m going to throw this thing in the fucking trash if you don’t call me.
Beep- Sorry about that. Can we please talk? Do you want this back?
Delete all.
Fall quarter came and went. It took me the whole quarter, but I charmed a girl I really liked from my film class into taking me home with her. The next day, Film Girl made me breakfast and gave me all the perishables out of her refrigerator. The perfect hook up. We did not talk over winter break, but hooked up immediately that winter quarter as if we had not been separated at all. Sadly, after the second night together, I realized that I didn’t like her as much as I thought I did. I got a very distinct and creepy vibe from Film Girl that she realized she couldn’t spend another day without me. I had to get out. So I left. And I left a pocket knife behind.
A few weeks passed and I avoided her calls. Her calls started normal but quickly became creepy. “I have your knife, Doug.” Click. I could have ended it all quickly, but I do not have a spine and pretended to miss her messages and avoid her bars. After a week, I didn’t hear from her and thought she got the point.
Handsome Joe and I went to The Crystal one night that winter quarter. It wasn’t our usual hang out, but Joe was tracking a new girl and in the interest of getting Joe laid, we entered new territory. We were upstairs and Joe was playing pool with said quarry. I drank and watched.
“Hello Doug.” Oh shit.
“Hello Girl from my film class that I really wanted to hook up with but now that I have I have had second thoughts and just want to be friends, but I am too chickenshit to tell you all this.” Actually I probably just said, “Oh, hello!”
“Are you here picking up girls?”
“No, Joe and I are…”
And in a flat tone that was just above the jukebox, but clearly we both knew she was yelling when she said, “I KNOW YOUR TYPE. YOU ARE HERE PICKING UP GIRLS.”
“Um, I… err.”
She held out her hand and my pocket knife was in it. She had brought it to the bar. It had been my Dad’s knife. Nothing I’d hide in my ass for five years in a POW camp, but it was still special.
She was glaring and smiling and talking at the same time, “If you want it back you have to come and get it.”
With that, Joe interrupted. The hate melted off her face as she turned to Joe and her grimace turned into a smile. They traded perfectly sane hellos and she excused herself. Joe said something to the effect that I was going to hook up.
“Joe, she’s crazy.”
“Doug? What are you talking about?”
“Joe, SHE’S CRAZY. We have to get out of here.”
Joe couldn’t believe it. She’s good looking. She’s nice. You are drunk. She’s a great girl.
“JOE, WE HAVE TO LEAVE!”
Joe usually does not give in without a fight or a good argument. So, I told him about the knife and that Film Girl looked INSANE. He didn’t believe a word. But, being Joe, he humored me and said goodbye to his girl. We grabbed our coats and left the bar. As we walked down the street, I kept repeating how insane the Film Girl was acting. Joe kept shaking his head with disbelief.
For some reason that neither one of us can explain, we both turned and looked back towards the bar. We were about a block away and the sidewalk sloped back up to The Crystal. Perfectly silhouetted with a streetlight at her back, Film Girl stood outside the bar.
She thrust her fists down to her side, arched her back and threw her head backwards. The lighting was perfect. Her shadowed mouth opened and into the night air she screamed.
“DOUUUUUUUUUUUUG!”
The words turned to condensation against the cold night air. They shot out in great gouts of steam.
“DOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUG!”
Joe and I both ran.
Later. “Doug, that girl was crazy.”
If you mention this story to Handsome Joe, he won’t concede the fact that he was wrong. What he will do is tell the story again, but in his words. He will describe the night and the smells and the temperature. He will hold out his hand and you will see the knife in it. He will go on about her beauty and how not-insane Film Girl looked that night. He will act out her stance on the street and you will almost see the steam coming from his mouth silhouetted in the cold night air.
But I still think I tell the story better.
And I never got the knife back.
Doug, white, looks inside old bible
A few years ago, Miss Sally received an old, leather bound bible after her grandmother passed away. The movie prop kind with gold lettering and yellowed pages. It contained not only the word of God, but several articles, photos, hand written prayers and even a pressed flower. Nothing was labeled, which is heartbreaking because you know that these items had significance, but they are now almost worthless.
But I am not here to shit in your coffee. I'm here to tell you the fun stuff.
It seems that Miss Sally's grandmother found an article in the newspaper interesting enough to cut out and place in the bible. The aged newsprint relates how Christmas only falls on a Sunday about once every 11 years. Nice. Those were the good old days. (click to enlarge)
But flip the article over and the fun begins. Here it is: (click to enlarge)
Wow! There was actually a sense of humor back in ye olden days.
When I first read the article, I was struck how the word "colored" was used. Obviously it was to state that the person mentioned was black, but even though the article doesn't have any whities in it, you know they aren't going to write, "Then along came Jonas Brown, white, and the real fun started."
I did not realize when I first read the article that it was satire. Real events, I'm sure, but written to make a simple stabbing fill a full column and to poke a little fun at all involved. Luckily today, our professional journalists do not make up parts of the news to sensationalize or create a more interesting story.
The article is cut off at the end and we do not know if poor Alonzo Moore, colored, survived the stabbing. I can only hope that the Brown Collection Agency is still a thriving business and helping whities, yellows, redskins and them sand people to reclaim owed monies.
But I am not here to shit in your coffee. I'm here to tell you the fun stuff.
It seems that Miss Sally's grandmother found an article in the newspaper interesting enough to cut out and place in the bible. The aged newsprint relates how Christmas only falls on a Sunday about once every 11 years. Nice. Those were the good old days. (click to enlarge)
But flip the article over and the fun begins. Here it is: (click to enlarge)
Wow! There was actually a sense of humor back in ye olden days.
When I first read the article, I was struck how the word "colored" was used. Obviously it was to state that the person mentioned was black, but even though the article doesn't have any whities in it, you know they aren't going to write, "Then along came Jonas Brown, white, and the real fun started."
I did not realize when I first read the article that it was satire. Real events, I'm sure, but written to make a simple stabbing fill a full column and to poke a little fun at all involved. Luckily today, our professional journalists do not make up parts of the news to sensationalize or create a more interesting story.
The article is cut off at the end and we do not know if poor Alonzo Moore, colored, survived the stabbing. I can only hope that the Brown Collection Agency is still a thriving business and helping whities, yellows, redskins and them sand people to reclaim owed monies.
Scavenger Hunt
I am a slob and here is some anecdotal evidence.
After several days of oppressive heat, the weather turned and I had all my windows down on my way to work this morning. As I zoomed along at 75 mph, something flew in the driver’s side window and smacked me upside the temple. Fortunately, the part of my brain controlling the car wasn’t affected by the sudden jolt as it was wrapped in a blanket of Miller Light residue from Skully’s last night. I had one of those moments where you cover up a wound with your hand and hold it there hoping that the cut isn’t there and isn’t about ready to spurt all over the place. I slowly peeled my hand back to reveal a reddish area that was a nickel sized blemish and not mangled flesh. Phew.
Now I’m just pissed that something nickel sized flew in my car and hit me. So I start searching my car for the culprit.
A penny? A ball bearing? A washer? A stick? A rock? A box of Nerds? A French fry that would require carbon dating? A pencil? A pen? A bolt? A key? Another key? A coffee lid? An ABBA tape? A quarter? A lighter?
Well, it could have been any of these items because that’s what I found within an arm’s reach of the driver’s seat. I am a slob.
Do not feel bad for Miss Sally. Within the confines of her realm (everywhere that is not my car) her cleanliness reigns and her loyal subject keeps his squalor tidy. She’s got me trained.
I think I’ll spend a few hours and clean it tonight. Maybe it if I set a small fire in the backseat, the fire department will hose it out for me.
After several days of oppressive heat, the weather turned and I had all my windows down on my way to work this morning. As I zoomed along at 75 mph, something flew in the driver’s side window and smacked me upside the temple. Fortunately, the part of my brain controlling the car wasn’t affected by the sudden jolt as it was wrapped in a blanket of Miller Light residue from Skully’s last night. I had one of those moments where you cover up a wound with your hand and hold it there hoping that the cut isn’t there and isn’t about ready to spurt all over the place. I slowly peeled my hand back to reveal a reddish area that was a nickel sized blemish and not mangled flesh. Phew.
Now I’m just pissed that something nickel sized flew in my car and hit me. So I start searching my car for the culprit.
A penny? A ball bearing? A washer? A stick? A rock? A box of Nerds? A French fry that would require carbon dating? A pencil? A pen? A bolt? A key? Another key? A coffee lid? An ABBA tape? A quarter? A lighter?
Well, it could have been any of these items because that’s what I found within an arm’s reach of the driver’s seat. I am a slob.
Do not feel bad for Miss Sally. Within the confines of her realm (everywhere that is not my car) her cleanliness reigns and her loyal subject keeps his squalor tidy. She’s got me trained.
I think I’ll spend a few hours and clean it tonight. Maybe it if I set a small fire in the backseat, the fire department will hose it out for me.
Two lists
It’s interesting what you find when you are unpacking boxes covered in dust.
I once created two lists: one of words that sounded good and one of words that sounded bad. Good words don’t essentially have to have good feelings attached to them and bad words don’t have to be about bad things. They are words that, to my ear, sound good and sound bad. The list started small, but never really grew.
GOOD WORDS
Smuckers
savor
cram
Judge Ito
Tang
slab
Camus
crelm
smock
kack
freaky
grim
zip cord
creamy
boisterous
Testaverde
caulk
mucous
smegma
(excretion)
(parenthesis)
(MOIST)
BAD WORDS
crust
discharge
phlegm
scab
puss
feltcher
yeast
Woolworths
Hmmm. It seems that most the words on the bad list are bodily functions or excretions. Ooh… excretions. That’s a good word. I’ll add that in parenthesis. OOOH! Parenthesis!!! Another good one! I’ll quit now.
Feel free to add your own.
I once created two lists: one of words that sounded good and one of words that sounded bad. Good words don’t essentially have to have good feelings attached to them and bad words don’t have to be about bad things. They are words that, to my ear, sound good and sound bad. The list started small, but never really grew.
GOOD WORDS
Smuckers
savor
cram
Judge Ito
Tang
slab
Camus
crelm
smock
kack
freaky
grim
zip cord
creamy
boisterous
Testaverde
caulk
mucous
smegma
(excretion)
(parenthesis)
(MOIST)
BAD WORDS
crust
discharge
phlegm
scab
puss
feltcher
yeast
Woolworths
Hmmm. It seems that most the words on the bad list are bodily functions or excretions. Ooh… excretions. That’s a good word. I’ll add that in parenthesis. OOOH! Parenthesis!!! Another good one! I’ll quit now.
Feel free to add your own.
Thanks
We moved to our new home on Saturday. It was 93 degrees and the heat index was in the hundreds. Fortunately, Kit let us all borrow his extremely damp t-shirt to towel our brow and to suck a few drop of sweet sweet Kit nectar from its cotton folds.
I think I just made myself sick.
Thanks to:
Russ- who brought steaming hot White Castle coffee on a 90 degree day (he was also the first to arrive and the last to leave.)
Kit – for the above mentioned shirt and for taking on the role of load foreman
Carl and Toni – for making the beds and not running away when my dad started telling stories.
Erik- who made fun of all my stuff and hit on my 8 month pregnant wife
Chris- Thanks for not stealing anything
Josh and Sarah – Josh, thanks for trying to keep up with Sarah and not pointing out that my porn collection consists of one very used VHS tape. Sarah, you can have your VHS tape back.
Greg – for showing up in a collard shirt and always volunteering to lift the heavy stuff
Jessica and Dan- What doesn’t destroy a relationship, only makes it stronger
Cheri – Thanks for watching Greg and for helping Miss Sally
Meshelle – For taking 3 laps around 270 before realizing that it doesn’t dead end into Cleveland Ave. It’s the thought that counts! (Sorry I didn’t answer my phone.)
Mom and Dad- “When we moved into the house on Beck’s Knob we only planned on staying for two years… “ Thanks for driving up and the kind words about the new digs.
Thanks friends!
I think I just made myself sick.
Thanks to:
Russ- who brought steaming hot White Castle coffee on a 90 degree day (he was also the first to arrive and the last to leave.)
Kit – for the above mentioned shirt and for taking on the role of load foreman
Carl and Toni – for making the beds and not running away when my dad started telling stories.
Erik- who made fun of all my stuff and hit on my 8 month pregnant wife
Chris- Thanks for not stealing anything
Josh and Sarah – Josh, thanks for trying to keep up with Sarah and not pointing out that my porn collection consists of one very used VHS tape. Sarah, you can have your VHS tape back.
Greg – for showing up in a collard shirt and always volunteering to lift the heavy stuff
Jessica and Dan- What doesn’t destroy a relationship, only makes it stronger
Cheri – Thanks for watching Greg and for helping Miss Sally
Meshelle – For taking 3 laps around 270 before realizing that it doesn’t dead end into Cleveland Ave. It’s the thought that counts! (Sorry I didn’t answer my phone.)
Mom and Dad- “When we moved into the house on Beck’s Knob we only planned on staying for two years… “ Thanks for driving up and the kind words about the new digs.
Thanks friends!
Photo Follow-up
I recently mentioned Swedish Fish and the
JESUS
ISREAL sign.
Shorty and I had a business trip to Dayton this morning. On the way back, we stopped at a REAL gas station (no pecan logs here and 23 varieties of beef jerky.) There we bought Swedish Fish!
I also took a crappy photo of the JESUS ISREAL sign.
It was a productive day.
JESUS
ISREAL sign.
Shorty and I had a business trip to Dayton this morning. On the way back, we stopped at a REAL gas station (no pecan logs here and 23 varieties of beef jerky.) There we bought Swedish Fish!
I also took a crappy photo of the JESUS ISREAL sign.
It was a productive day.
Large Pizza with Swedish Fish and Mentos
The call came at 10:00am on Saturday morning and I was soon to be giddy as a school girl. Erik was able to go to Stu’s with me. We would leave at 3:00pm.
Erik asked if he should bring anything. My mind raced back to a story Kit told about his packing for a dudes’ trip to Chicago. Kit’s wife was on a conference call in the kitchen. Kit came down stairs and said, “I’m all packed and ready to go!” In his right hand he held a tooth brush, in his left, a box of condoms. Her brow furrowed and she glared right through him. She silently, though brusquely, beckoned him over. He stepped forward and she swiped the toothbrush out of his hand. “Now you’re ready.”
So I told Erik to bring a toothbrush and condoms.
I drove to Erik’s and threw my bag in his car (though for the entire 21 hour adventure, I only opened it to pull out my camera and later the TUMS.) He pulled out his bag and said, “I brought a condom like you told me.” Really? “I didn’t want to forget it so here…” He turned his bag over to reveal a condom safety pinned right through the middle to his bag. Nice. The trip was off to a banner start.
As we drove, I phoned Stu to tell him I was on my way. Stu only thought I was driving over. I thought it would be a surprise if we didn’t tell Stu that Erik was coming. Except that I kept saying things like, “ We’ll be there in two hours,” and “Where do we park.”
"Who’s we?" Stu’s no dummy. He said they would be on the roof waiting for we.
Along 70, we stopped to buy beef jerky, the required fare of road trips. It was at a combo BP/Dairy Queen/Stuckey’s. I forgot that Stuckey’s was like a firecracker stand that only sells pecan logs. It seemed the store went out and bought a bunch of crap from 7-11 and Cracker Barrel and then put “Stuckey’s” sticker’s over the manufacturers’ names. We chose two varieties of jerky, sodas and Gatorade, mints and a big old bag of Swedish fish.
I was double giddy at this point because Swedish fish are formed from the nectar of flowers that grow in heaven. Like liquid sex molded into red fishies. As we drove off, I popped one in my mouth and it tasted like sugar turd. These were knock off Ju-Ju fish. Fuckers. Fortunately, this was the worst part of the entire trip. (Unless you are Bob.)
We passed a billboard that said “JESUS IS REAL” except that the JESUS was at the top and IS REAL was at the bottom and those letters were crammed so close together that it looked like it said:
JESUS
ISREAL
I thought it was an interesting misspelled religious dichotomy. Erik thought it was a sign that I should repent.
Wow, we haven’t even made it to Stu’s yet. Oh, here we are.
We parked, grabbed out bags and went up and out on the rooftop deck. Stu and his wife Ann Marie as well as Stu’s sister Sarah and husband Dave were there. Stu also had four of his work buddies over. Everyone was drinking and preparing to head over to the Broad Ripple Street Festival to see Margot & The Nuclear So and So’s. Any band with a name that long can’t be good, so I wasn’t very excited, though Stu said they were really good. Stu almost won a Grammy, so I was willing to give them a listen.
**Sidebar** On the drive back, I was discussing with Erik how I was extremely happy that he came on the trip, but that (no offense to Erik) the trip would have still been fun without him, just different, as you always have a great time with Stu. This led us to two discussions. One: without Erik there, the Mentos and Diet Coke (about to be mentioned) would never have happened. Two: if Stu is a catalyst for fun and exciting stuff to happen, does this mean that every day of his life is fun and exciting to the people around him and thus to him as well? Does Stu always have a great time because he is with Stu?
Somewhere between the roof and the street fair, Erik brought up the Mentos / Diet Coke 2 –liter video that’s been zipping around the internet. Only a few of the people at the party had seen or heard of the fun stuff you can do with those two items. Erik thought it might be interesting if we did some Mentos related hands on activities later.
We headed over to the street fair and ate meat and shrimp and crabcakes while waiting for the concert to start. Anne Marie, Erik and I discussed religion while Erik and I took sideways glances over at the two chicks in old school roller skates and very small skirts. Margot & The Nuclear So and So’s came on a we listened.
They really sounded great. Hold that. For part of the show, they sounded like frozen pea soup. Their music was awesome. Really awesome. The dude running the board was not smart or there were technical difficulties. I don’t know anything about music, but some instruments were too loud at times and some vocals were non existent. I also thought someone let their epileptic/autistic 17 year old on stage with a tambourine, but it turned he was a dude in the band. I downloaded the album as soon as I got home. Take a listen if you get the chance.
We decided to head back to Stu’s to drink beer that wasn’t $4 a cup. On the way, we stopped at Krogers and bought $55 worth of diet coke and Mentos. Instead of buying a bunch of 2-liter bottles, we settled for the 16oz bottles so that we could experiment. We also bought floss and more beer. The floss was to assist with dropping the Mentos in the Coke. The beer was beer.
Back at Stu’s, we gathered a drill, various bits and tape together. Holes were drilled through the Mentos (and kinda through the countertop) and the floss tied them together in a mostly straight bunch. We tried different variations of holes in the caps and tested them outside. It was no Fountains at Bellagio, but we had a lot of interesting results.
The best was when Stu suggested a duel. We taped one 16 bottle to one guy’s head and another bottle to a guy’s back with the help of a back brace. They stood 10 feet apart and we pulled the floss. The head attached bottle worked great.
The back attached bottle shifted positions and basically shot ¾ the bottle into the back of the guy’s head.
Revolutionary War Reenactment Purists would have been disappointed.
While the Mentos thing was dying down, some of Stu’s work buddies began to catch quarters off their elbows. See photos for details.
THE STACK
THE CATCH
We circled up and started going around, starting with one. As the coins increased, more and more dropped out. I lost at 11. The winner caught 13. That was the standing record. Everyone tried to get 15 and we all failed. Our rules were that you had to catch every quarter for it to count. We then went for a second round and this time The Dark Horse (my nickname for the night) finished first with 13 coins. I was challenged to break the record with 15. I stacked them and without a flinch, caught them. Someone suggested I do 16, but I stacked on 20.
And caught them.
Then 25. Caught. The crowd were going wild!
Silence. 30 stacked.
30 CAUGHT! In the moment we were all carrying on like this all meant something. And for the moment, it did. High fives. Cries of disbelief and awe. I think I saw Erik tear up a little.
At the time, it seemed like I couldn’t fail. I was a GOD!
I stacked 35… they were hard to position. They were up. I quickly snapped my arm down and my hand grasped shut.
A defiant quarter tipped off my finger and shot into the darkness. 34 caught, but you had to catch them all.
I tried several times in vain to break that record. I couldn’t even catch 15. Could have been the drink or the ten minutes it took to find enough quarters in the dark. I’m not sure if it is a reflection on the quality of my life, but that was the proudest moment I ever had in my life. Oh wait. My marriage was first, then the catching 30 quarters. Oh. First my marriage, then Greg being born, then the quarters. (Ad nauseam, a la Steve Martin’s A Holiday Wish 1991.)
That done, we went inside and took our blood sugar. Sarah was checking hers and I asked if I could check mine. We borrowed the safety pin used to attach the condom to Erik’s bag and heated it up with a match. It seemed too easy to draw blood. My blood sugar was at 108. Erik ponied up with claims that he could beat mine. He registered 123. Ha! One of us won depending on who you ask.
We then left for the bar, our pockets jingling with quarters, our poked fingers just starting to fight off the infection from the poorly cleaned pin. We went to the Broad Ripple Tavern, which is exactly 57 feet from Stu’s apartment. Stu’s buddy is a manager, but wasn’t working that night. This turned out poorly for Bob. As we stood in line with the other intoxicated cattle, Bob was looked over and told he was too drunk to come in. Bob debated the point with the gentleman at the door. The gentleman at the door countered. Bob riposted. Stu intervened with some clever dialogue concerning why Bob should be let in. A second gentleman came to the door and interjected. Bob redoubled his efforts. The second gentleman brought over an officer of the law to suggest the Bob kindly leave the premises. Bob established his position with the officer. The officer took Bob’s words to heart and told him to leave or he would be arrested. Bob conceded his defeat and walked away. And that was that.
Until five minutes later when Bob tried again to talk his way in the bar and he was promptly handcuffed and taken away. Bob lost the debate.
At the time, we were all in between bars, leaving the one Bob couldn’t get into and going to one with a less stringent Bob’s Drunk Policy. None of us knew he had been arrested. So we kept drinking. Sorry Bob.
We finished up the night and headed back to Stu’s. In transit, we stopped at doorway that was pretending it was a restaurant that sold Gyros. Erik’s meat was cut fresh from the slab. My was dredged from a pot sitting on a burner. Erik’s melted in his mouth. Mine was part gravel and part lava rock. Unsatisfied, I stated that I needed pizza. Stu pointed me towards a general direction. I went to the general direction and did not find pizza. Luckily Stu was still in the parking lot with Erik and he walked me to the pizza joint.
Inside, it was packed with people in the ORDER HERE line. Stu walked right up to the PICK UP area which was much emptier.
“Order for Stephens,” he demanded of the pizza dude.
Pizza dude looked at the monitor. Frowned. Looked at the boxes waiting to go out. No Stephens. “Sorry buddy. No order for Stephens.”
“Impossible. Look again.”
Pizza dude took a casual glance at the monitor. “Sir, there was not an order for Stephens. What pizza did you order?”
“Large. Cheese. Check again, please.”
Pizza dude looked at the boxes. Nothing.
“Sir, there is no pizza for Stephens and there is no large cheese.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” Then pizza dude stopped. Looked at a box and said, “How long ago did you order it?”
“About half an hour.”
“This pepperoni has been sitting here for two hours.”
“We’ll take it.”
Pizza dude picked up the box and started to ring us up. Stu added, “Don’t forget the breadsticks.”
Minutes later we gorged on pizza and breadsticks dipped in thick garlic butter. I stayed awake long enough to pass out on the couch. Anne Marie had put a sheet over the couch. I’m sure it protected the couch from me rather than me from the couch.
In the morning, we said out goodbyes and drove back to Columbus. Somehow, neither Erik nor I were hungover.
---- -------
See photos of the night at Flickr
Coin catching web site HERE
Listen to Margot and the Nuclear So and So's on MySpace HERE
Diet Coke and Mentos - Double Squirt on YouTube
Erik asked if he should bring anything. My mind raced back to a story Kit told about his packing for a dudes’ trip to Chicago. Kit’s wife was on a conference call in the kitchen. Kit came down stairs and said, “I’m all packed and ready to go!” In his right hand he held a tooth brush, in his left, a box of condoms. Her brow furrowed and she glared right through him. She silently, though brusquely, beckoned him over. He stepped forward and she swiped the toothbrush out of his hand. “Now you’re ready.”
So I told Erik to bring a toothbrush and condoms.
I drove to Erik’s and threw my bag in his car (though for the entire 21 hour adventure, I only opened it to pull out my camera and later the TUMS.) He pulled out his bag and said, “I brought a condom like you told me.” Really? “I didn’t want to forget it so here…” He turned his bag over to reveal a condom safety pinned right through the middle to his bag. Nice. The trip was off to a banner start.
As we drove, I phoned Stu to tell him I was on my way. Stu only thought I was driving over. I thought it would be a surprise if we didn’t tell Stu that Erik was coming. Except that I kept saying things like, “ We’ll be there in two hours,” and “Where do we park.”
"Who’s we?" Stu’s no dummy. He said they would be on the roof waiting for we.
Along 70, we stopped to buy beef jerky, the required fare of road trips. It was at a combo BP/Dairy Queen/Stuckey’s. I forgot that Stuckey’s was like a firecracker stand that only sells pecan logs. It seemed the store went out and bought a bunch of crap from 7-11 and Cracker Barrel and then put “Stuckey’s” sticker’s over the manufacturers’ names. We chose two varieties of jerky, sodas and Gatorade, mints and a big old bag of Swedish fish.
I was double giddy at this point because Swedish fish are formed from the nectar of flowers that grow in heaven. Like liquid sex molded into red fishies. As we drove off, I popped one in my mouth and it tasted like sugar turd. These were knock off Ju-Ju fish. Fuckers. Fortunately, this was the worst part of the entire trip. (Unless you are Bob.)
We passed a billboard that said “JESUS IS REAL” except that the JESUS was at the top and IS REAL was at the bottom and those letters were crammed so close together that it looked like it said:
JESUS
ISREAL
I thought it was an interesting misspelled religious dichotomy. Erik thought it was a sign that I should repent.
Wow, we haven’t even made it to Stu’s yet. Oh, here we are.
We parked, grabbed out bags and went up and out on the rooftop deck. Stu and his wife Ann Marie as well as Stu’s sister Sarah and husband Dave were there. Stu also had four of his work buddies over. Everyone was drinking and preparing to head over to the Broad Ripple Street Festival to see Margot & The Nuclear So and So’s. Any band with a name that long can’t be good, so I wasn’t very excited, though Stu said they were really good. Stu almost won a Grammy, so I was willing to give them a listen.
**Sidebar** On the drive back, I was discussing with Erik how I was extremely happy that he came on the trip, but that (no offense to Erik) the trip would have still been fun without him, just different, as you always have a great time with Stu. This led us to two discussions. One: without Erik there, the Mentos and Diet Coke (about to be mentioned) would never have happened. Two: if Stu is a catalyst for fun and exciting stuff to happen, does this mean that every day of his life is fun and exciting to the people around him and thus to him as well? Does Stu always have a great time because he is with Stu?
Somewhere between the roof and the street fair, Erik brought up the Mentos / Diet Coke 2 –liter video that’s been zipping around the internet. Only a few of the people at the party had seen or heard of the fun stuff you can do with those two items. Erik thought it might be interesting if we did some Mentos related hands on activities later.
We headed over to the street fair and ate meat and shrimp and crabcakes while waiting for the concert to start. Anne Marie, Erik and I discussed religion while Erik and I took sideways glances over at the two chicks in old school roller skates and very small skirts. Margot & The Nuclear So and So’s came on a we listened.
They really sounded great. Hold that. For part of the show, they sounded like frozen pea soup. Their music was awesome. Really awesome. The dude running the board was not smart or there were technical difficulties. I don’t know anything about music, but some instruments were too loud at times and some vocals were non existent. I also thought someone let their epileptic/autistic 17 year old on stage with a tambourine, but it turned he was a dude in the band. I downloaded the album as soon as I got home. Take a listen if you get the chance.
We decided to head back to Stu’s to drink beer that wasn’t $4 a cup. On the way, we stopped at Krogers and bought $55 worth of diet coke and Mentos. Instead of buying a bunch of 2-liter bottles, we settled for the 16oz bottles so that we could experiment. We also bought floss and more beer. The floss was to assist with dropping the Mentos in the Coke. The beer was beer.
Back at Stu’s, we gathered a drill, various bits and tape together. Holes were drilled through the Mentos (and kinda through the countertop) and the floss tied them together in a mostly straight bunch. We tried different variations of holes in the caps and tested them outside. It was no Fountains at Bellagio, but we had a lot of interesting results.
The best was when Stu suggested a duel. We taped one 16 bottle to one guy’s head and another bottle to a guy’s back with the help of a back brace. They stood 10 feet apart and we pulled the floss. The head attached bottle worked great.
The back attached bottle shifted positions and basically shot ¾ the bottle into the back of the guy’s head.
Revolutionary War Reenactment Purists would have been disappointed.
While the Mentos thing was dying down, some of Stu’s work buddies began to catch quarters off their elbows. See photos for details.
THE STACK
THE CATCH
We circled up and started going around, starting with one. As the coins increased, more and more dropped out. I lost at 11. The winner caught 13. That was the standing record. Everyone tried to get 15 and we all failed. Our rules were that you had to catch every quarter for it to count. We then went for a second round and this time The Dark Horse (my nickname for the night) finished first with 13 coins. I was challenged to break the record with 15. I stacked them and without a flinch, caught them. Someone suggested I do 16, but I stacked on 20.
And caught them.
Then 25. Caught. The crowd were going wild!
Silence. 30 stacked.
30 CAUGHT! In the moment we were all carrying on like this all meant something. And for the moment, it did. High fives. Cries of disbelief and awe. I think I saw Erik tear up a little.
At the time, it seemed like I couldn’t fail. I was a GOD!
I stacked 35… they were hard to position. They were up. I quickly snapped my arm down and my hand grasped shut.
A defiant quarter tipped off my finger and shot into the darkness. 34 caught, but you had to catch them all.
I tried several times in vain to break that record. I couldn’t even catch 15. Could have been the drink or the ten minutes it took to find enough quarters in the dark. I’m not sure if it is a reflection on the quality of my life, but that was the proudest moment I ever had in my life. Oh wait. My marriage was first, then the catching 30 quarters. Oh. First my marriage, then Greg being born, then the quarters. (Ad nauseam, a la Steve Martin’s A Holiday Wish 1991.)
That done, we went inside and took our blood sugar. Sarah was checking hers and I asked if I could check mine. We borrowed the safety pin used to attach the condom to Erik’s bag and heated it up with a match. It seemed too easy to draw blood. My blood sugar was at 108. Erik ponied up with claims that he could beat mine. He registered 123. Ha! One of us won depending on who you ask.
We then left for the bar, our pockets jingling with quarters, our poked fingers just starting to fight off the infection from the poorly cleaned pin. We went to the Broad Ripple Tavern, which is exactly 57 feet from Stu’s apartment. Stu’s buddy is a manager, but wasn’t working that night. This turned out poorly for Bob. As we stood in line with the other intoxicated cattle, Bob was looked over and told he was too drunk to come in. Bob debated the point with the gentleman at the door. The gentleman at the door countered. Bob riposted. Stu intervened with some clever dialogue concerning why Bob should be let in. A second gentleman came to the door and interjected. Bob redoubled his efforts. The second gentleman brought over an officer of the law to suggest the Bob kindly leave the premises. Bob established his position with the officer. The officer took Bob’s words to heart and told him to leave or he would be arrested. Bob conceded his defeat and walked away. And that was that.
Until five minutes later when Bob tried again to talk his way in the bar and he was promptly handcuffed and taken away. Bob lost the debate.
At the time, we were all in between bars, leaving the one Bob couldn’t get into and going to one with a less stringent Bob’s Drunk Policy. None of us knew he had been arrested. So we kept drinking. Sorry Bob.
We finished up the night and headed back to Stu’s. In transit, we stopped at doorway that was pretending it was a restaurant that sold Gyros. Erik’s meat was cut fresh from the slab. My was dredged from a pot sitting on a burner. Erik’s melted in his mouth. Mine was part gravel and part lava rock. Unsatisfied, I stated that I needed pizza. Stu pointed me towards a general direction. I went to the general direction and did not find pizza. Luckily Stu was still in the parking lot with Erik and he walked me to the pizza joint.
Inside, it was packed with people in the ORDER HERE line. Stu walked right up to the PICK UP area which was much emptier.
“Order for Stephens,” he demanded of the pizza dude.
Pizza dude looked at the monitor. Frowned. Looked at the boxes waiting to go out. No Stephens. “Sorry buddy. No order for Stephens.”
“Impossible. Look again.”
Pizza dude took a casual glance at the monitor. “Sir, there was not an order for Stephens. What pizza did you order?”
“Large. Cheese. Check again, please.”
Pizza dude looked at the boxes. Nothing.
“Sir, there is no pizza for Stephens and there is no large cheese.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” Then pizza dude stopped. Looked at a box and said, “How long ago did you order it?”
“About half an hour.”
“This pepperoni has been sitting here for two hours.”
“We’ll take it.”
Pizza dude picked up the box and started to ring us up. Stu added, “Don’t forget the breadsticks.”
Minutes later we gorged on pizza and breadsticks dipped in thick garlic butter. I stayed awake long enough to pass out on the couch. Anne Marie had put a sheet over the couch. I’m sure it protected the couch from me rather than me from the couch.
In the morning, we said out goodbyes and drove back to Columbus. Somehow, neither Erik nor I were hungover.
---- -------
See photos of the night at Flickr
Coin catching web site HERE
Listen to Margot and the Nuclear So and So's on MySpace HERE
Diet Coke and Mentos - Double Squirt on YouTube
Must read weekend
What a tremendous weekend. I was only able to write about ½ of the story before I collapsed. (Collapsed = ate a cheese stick and fell asleep in front of the TV watching re-runs of The Man Show.)
I will post tonight. Really. Hold your horses.
Until then, check out Margot and the Nuclear So and So's
I will post tonight. Really. Hold your horses.
Until then, check out Margot and the Nuclear So and So's
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