I’m still trying to decide if I got the letter “i” the word “I” or the Roman numeral one.
Rob from www.cockeyed.com. is giving out link opportunities that are connected to a story in which every single word in the story is linked elsewhere. A very interesting idea. It might be a complete flop, but he thought of it and you’ve got to give the guy credit for that.
I got “I.”
As a bonus, he is auctioning off several words on e-bay. I bid on "sucks" but got immediately outbid. I’ll wait to the very end to snipe my word. If I do win, I’ll link it to the You Suck, Joe Show story.
You can read about it here on The Very Well Linked Story.
I chose the letter “I” because I am a day late and had to pick from the leftover “I”s the “am”s and the “of”s.
Since this is the letter “I” and I am all about me, I will dedicate this page to Doug.
Here are some things you do not know about Doug. Or things you do know about Doug and are afraid to share with your friends:
I have broken my arm twice.
I lost my virginity at 19.
I like going to Outland.
I have been friends with Russ since kindergarten.
I currently have tweleve secret crushes.
I have a list of three famous people I am allowed to sleep if I get the opportunity. They are: Christina Ricci, Leelee Sobieski and Melissa Joan Hart. (I just have to call home first.)
I have had one major concussion, one minor concussion and one major concussion.
I have broken several chairs in my lifetime.
I cannot say the word Woolworths.
Here’s to I!
Red Parked Better
We went to lunch at the Asian buffet today. There isn't any quicker physical turn around than going from starving to the bowel hiccupping, sick that this buffet induces. Still, we go once every two weeks. Time heals all wounds.
As we went in today, I noticed a blue SUV attempting to use the four wheel drive the guy paid an extra 4K for with the Avenger Package.
Looks like you almost got to the top of Everest there Mallory.
Two plates of non-MSG infused batter and sticky rice later, we came out to find blue SUV had left and Red SUV parked in his place.
Red parked better.
As we went in today, I noticed a blue SUV attempting to use the four wheel drive the guy paid an extra 4K for with the Avenger Package.
Looks like you almost got to the top of Everest there Mallory.
Two plates of non-MSG infused batter and sticky rice later, we came out to find blue SUV had left and Red SUV parked in his place.
Red parked better.
Third Leg - A self portrait
It's hard to remember when photos were ever taken on film without the ability to see what you took immediately. I kind of remember f-stops and film speed.
This is my sister Karen's foot and the other two are mine. I only took one shot and didn't know until three months later how well it turned out.
Them's some sexy feets.
Fake Identity Theft
When I was 18, I had one of the greatest fake IDs of all time. It was my older brother Steve’s license. It was so good that I didn't have to memorize the SS# or even the birth date because everyone thought it was real (it was) and mine (it wasn’t.)
The first time I used the ID was at a gas station on the outskirts of town. I was pretty nervous, but my friends were all giddy to get their hands on some beer. I went in, grabbed a six pack and put it on the counter. The girl behind the counter asked for ID. I handed it over. She looked at it for a second and said, “This isn't you. I went to school with Steve. You are not Steve.”
I wasn’t expecting that kind of shutdown. So I quickly came up with a brilliant excuse.
Not-Steve: “Steve is sick.”
Girl Behind Counter: “Why does he need beer if he is sick?”
Not-Steve: “I don’t know.”
Fortunately, she handed the ID back. My friends drove me to a quik-e mart (laughing all the way about the “Steve’s sick” line) and I bought a 12 pack without any problem. It was all downhill from there.
I used the ID in Lancaster, Columbus and at Ohio University. I was never turned down.
Being that I am a generous and kind friend, I decided to loan it to my friend Nick when he asked for it. Nick and some others were heading up to The Newport on the Ohio State campus. Nick is a handsome devil and looked enough like me and my brother to use the ID. I gave it to him and said, “Don’t lose it!”
He lost it.
As it turned out, Nick was buying beers for everyone. Instead of buying three or four at a time, he was buying one, giving it to an underager and going back for more, trying to hit up a different bartender each time. One of the bartenders caught on and asked Nick to show him the ID. With the ID in hand, the bartender said, “You can either let me confiscate this or we can find a cop and find out if this is really you.” Nick walked away.
No more ID. No more Doug drinky drinky.
I never saw it again.
Several months later, Steve called. He had been down from Toledo in Columbus visiting his girlfriend. They had gone on a double date with his girlfriend's sorority sister. All four were queued in line at a bar and pulling out their IDs. The other couple, a younger couple, had their fake IDs.
And dude had my brother’s ID. My fake ID.
I’m not good at math, but those odds are f’ing unbelievable. The bartender must had kept the ID and sold it. Asshole. A great scam I must admit.
So I said to Steve, did you take it back? No? Shit.
As an apology, Nick let me have his older brother’s Ohio University ID. Way back when, the OU IDs had your birthdate on them. It worked in one or two bars in Athens. But it wasn’t the same.
I turned 21 before Steve ever made it back to the DMV.
The first time I used the ID was at a gas station on the outskirts of town. I was pretty nervous, but my friends were all giddy to get their hands on some beer. I went in, grabbed a six pack and put it on the counter. The girl behind the counter asked for ID. I handed it over. She looked at it for a second and said, “This isn't you. I went to school with Steve. You are not Steve.”
I wasn’t expecting that kind of shutdown. So I quickly came up with a brilliant excuse.
Not-Steve: “Steve is sick.”
Girl Behind Counter: “Why does he need beer if he is sick?”
Not-Steve: “I don’t know.”
Fortunately, she handed the ID back. My friends drove me to a quik-e mart (laughing all the way about the “Steve’s sick” line) and I bought a 12 pack without any problem. It was all downhill from there.
I used the ID in Lancaster, Columbus and at Ohio University. I was never turned down.
Being that I am a generous and kind friend, I decided to loan it to my friend Nick when he asked for it. Nick and some others were heading up to The Newport on the Ohio State campus. Nick is a handsome devil and looked enough like me and my brother to use the ID. I gave it to him and said, “Don’t lose it!”
He lost it.
As it turned out, Nick was buying beers for everyone. Instead of buying three or four at a time, he was buying one, giving it to an underager and going back for more, trying to hit up a different bartender each time. One of the bartenders caught on and asked Nick to show him the ID. With the ID in hand, the bartender said, “You can either let me confiscate this or we can find a cop and find out if this is really you.” Nick walked away.
No more ID. No more Doug drinky drinky.
I never saw it again.
Several months later, Steve called. He had been down from Toledo in Columbus visiting his girlfriend. They had gone on a double date with his girlfriend's sorority sister. All four were queued in line at a bar and pulling out their IDs. The other couple, a younger couple, had their fake IDs.
And dude had my brother’s ID. My fake ID.
I’m not good at math, but those odds are f’ing unbelievable. The bartender must had kept the ID and sold it. Asshole. A great scam I must admit.
So I said to Steve, did you take it back? No? Shit.
As an apology, Nick let me have his older brother’s Ohio University ID. Way back when, the OU IDs had your birthdate on them. It worked in one or two bars in Athens. But it wasn’t the same.
I turned 21 before Steve ever made it back to the DMV.
Frozen Turd
My co-worker Angie is looking for a beater car for her daughter. She found this van on Craig’s list and thought it was funny. I have to agree.
B and B excitement quickly turned to scam disappointment
I love it when I see a company named B & B. (You can read why here-> B & B ). I don't care what product or service they are hawking; I'd buy it just to have the B & B label.
At least that's what I thought.
We got the postcard below in the mail today. (The entire rectangular graphic in the white area is actually the backside of the postcard with a little magnification added. Clicky to enlarge.)
I noticed the B & B Promotions in the address and got all happy. It was hard to see the address amongst all the Wal-Mart logos and smiley faces. Looks like the B & B Promotions hooked themselves up with a huge retailer. Of course, B & B is all about hooking up.
Then I noticed the small print:
"Some restrictions apply. Must be a homeowner to participate. Not affiliated with Wal-Mart."
So, basically, this is a scam of some sorts. I’m sure you call the 1-800 number and they will try to sell you insurance or a water purifier or a water purifying insurance policy.
I could give two shits about Wal-Mart, but this "Promotions" company is tainting the proud history of the letter B ampersand letter B. So, I am forwarding on a scan of the postcard to Wal-Mart suggesting they do something about this company that dares take the name of B & B in vain.
If you know of a B & B product that will get me out of my funk, please let me know.I READ YOU
At least that's what I thought.
We got the postcard below in the mail today. (The entire rectangular graphic in the white area is actually the backside of the postcard with a little magnification added. Clicky to enlarge.)
I noticed the B & B Promotions in the address and got all happy. It was hard to see the address amongst all the Wal-Mart logos and smiley faces. Looks like the B & B Promotions hooked themselves up with a huge retailer. Of course, B & B is all about hooking up.
Then I noticed the small print:
"Some restrictions apply. Must be a homeowner to participate. Not affiliated with Wal-Mart."
So, basically, this is a scam of some sorts. I’m sure you call the 1-800 number and they will try to sell you insurance or a water purifier or a water purifying insurance policy.
I could give two shits about Wal-Mart, but this "Promotions" company is tainting the proud history of the letter B ampersand letter B. So, I am forwarding on a scan of the postcard to Wal-Mart suggesting they do something about this company that dares take the name of B & B in vain.
If you know of a B & B product that will get me out of my funk, please let me know.
Pant Leg - Ketchikan, AK 1992
In the Summer of 1992, I worked in Ketchikan, AK as a retorter in a salmon canning factory. I worked with two other guys, Dan and Jim. This is a leg off of Dan's pants and several sayings that we had over the Summer. OK, Jeremy was in on it too. But he was in the can loft and the can loft is for pussies.
Click on the photo to go to my Flickr page and see the detail on the writing.
Public Shaming or Corporate Line Dance
I was recently the consumer of a service which was sub-par. Being passive/aggressive, I did nothing at the time of the transgression and am dealing with it now, two weeks later.
I have two options:
1. Public Shaming
In this instance, I would share my tale of woe with you, my virtuous readers, and make sarcastic comments about the failure of service. I’d mention how f’ed up the situation is and that the only way anything is going to change is if someone points a fiery brand at the problem in front of a large group of witnesses and shames the company into action.
2. Corporate Line Dance
This option involves communication and time. Write a letter to customer service and wait to see their response. Reply back and forth ad nauseum. This is where you attempt to get satisfaction through a corporate level change in policy or in hush-hush coupons.
For the sake of content, I’ll go with the Corporate Line Dance. This allows me to solve the problem without being a dick. It will also give me additional material for future writings.
I’ll let you know how it goes. Hopefully with copies of e-mails and such!
I have two options:
1. Public Shaming
In this instance, I would share my tale of woe with you, my virtuous readers, and make sarcastic comments about the failure of service. I’d mention how f’ed up the situation is and that the only way anything is going to change is if someone points a fiery brand at the problem in front of a large group of witnesses and shames the company into action.
2. Corporate Line Dance
This option involves communication and time. Write a letter to customer service and wait to see their response. Reply back and forth ad nauseum. This is where you attempt to get satisfaction through a corporate level change in policy or in hush-hush coupons.
For the sake of content, I’ll go with the Corporate Line Dance. This allows me to solve the problem without being a dick. It will also give me additional material for future writings.
I’ll let you know how it goes. Hopefully with copies of e-mails and such!
I love hot moms
Miss Sally had to work today while the rest of Columbus sat around in their pajamas for the second day.
Before she left, she gave me a Valentines Day gift. This T-shirt.
I love Miss Sally.
Greg took this photo. He's got to work on the composition and his f-stops are a bit muddy.
A Dignified Death for the Younglings
{Editors Note: This is part one of a three part series concerning bits of the Star Wars movie saga. Yes, I realize this is several years too late, but my son is almost ready to watch the films and these things need rehashed.}
If you don’t give a crap about the Star Wars movies, you can stop reading here. If you know Shaak Ti’s horoscope sign in relationship to the planet she was spawned on, you might want to stop reading as well. (I’m not that fanboyish.)
If you are still reading, you might be familiar with Anakin Skywalker’s complete turn to the dark side when he kills off all the “Younglings” at the Jedi Temple in Episode 3, Revenge of the Sith. It’s a major part of the film as he not only fully envelops himself in the dark side, but he kills off the next generation of Jedi.
I have a few problems with how this was all taken care of in the film. Or suggested. Or actually skipped over.
First off, a side note… who the crap came up with the term “Younglings?” Younglings sounds like these kids are in finishing school. These tots are future Jedi pricks and should be named so. Perhaps it is a way to knock them down a notch and deflate their egos. They should either be named something totally demoralizing (like Poopypants or Twinkle Yum-Yums) or give them a weird sounding name that is actually a foreign capital (like Yangons or Andorra la Vellas.)
In the film, the actual murder of the Jedi and the Jedi-in-training is treated mostly like a flashback when Obi-Won catches the 11 o’clock news and sees the replay on a video screen. It was a nice way of revealing a major plot point while keeping the film safe for all audiences (i.e. pussing out.)
I should have known this is how he would play out the scene. In Episode 2, Lucas didn’t even let us see Anakin kill off a whole tribe of dirty, stinking, mommy killing Sand People. If he can’t have the main character killing off some ugly aliens, he really doesn’t have a pair of Seeker Remotes in his underwear to pull off a really good slaughter scene.
I am not suggesting that we should have seen Anakin sauntering through the Jedi Temple killing everything like the Terminator in a Police Station. I am not in this for the blood shed. What I wanted to see was a bunch of kids working together in a hopeless battle to kill off a Jedi traitor and several battalions of Stormtroopers. These kids weren’t just in their rooms playing with Legos. They were in training to become Jedi. They should have immediately figured out what was going on and grouped together to fight off the invaders. They would have used the weapons at hand. Laying traps. Working in small groups to confuse and attack. Using their hide and seek hidey holes. Sacrificing themselves to save the others. They would have used trickery and their limited understanding of the force. And in the end, they would have all died. But at least Lucas could have given the kids some dignity.
But no. Instead, all we see are a couple of scared children, “huddled in a corner,” asking Anakin who is going to fight their battle for them. Anakin fires up his light saber and we are left to assume the obvious. Anakin is going to kill the children. Does having them fight back make him any less evil? I can see the argument that killing innocent children is more evil than killing kids that are fighting back. But these were not normal kids.
It should have been similar to the battles in the Ender’s Game novel. A group of outnumbered, out muscled kids kicking ass against extraordinary odds. Or Toy Soldier, where kids use their cunning, toy airplanes and the death of Wesley Crusher to hold out against kidnappers. Anyone remember TAPS? I’d even take a bit of the fucking Goonies where the kids fight off self doubt and puberty.
In the end of Sith, all the kids die. Because they had too. But they didn’t have to die cowering in a corner or slashed in the back as they ran in a panic. Give the kids some dignity. The least he could have done was have Yoda say they died fighting the best they could. Or hinted at how there was a last stand. Instead, we are left to remember these young kids as cowering innocents. And I think that is a travesty.
If you don’t give a crap about the Star Wars movies, you can stop reading here. If you know Shaak Ti’s horoscope sign in relationship to the planet she was spawned on, you might want to stop reading as well. (I’m not that fanboyish.)
If you are still reading, you might be familiar with Anakin Skywalker’s complete turn to the dark side when he kills off all the “Younglings” at the Jedi Temple in Episode 3, Revenge of the Sith. It’s a major part of the film as he not only fully envelops himself in the dark side, but he kills off the next generation of Jedi.
I have a few problems with how this was all taken care of in the film. Or suggested. Or actually skipped over.
First off, a side note… who the crap came up with the term “Younglings?” Younglings sounds like these kids are in finishing school. These tots are future Jedi pricks and should be named so. Perhaps it is a way to knock them down a notch and deflate their egos. They should either be named something totally demoralizing (like Poopypants or Twinkle Yum-Yums) or give them a weird sounding name that is actually a foreign capital (like Yangons or Andorra la Vellas.)
In the film, the actual murder of the Jedi and the Jedi-in-training is treated mostly like a flashback when Obi-Won catches the 11 o’clock news and sees the replay on a video screen. It was a nice way of revealing a major plot point while keeping the film safe for all audiences (i.e. pussing out.)
I should have known this is how he would play out the scene. In Episode 2, Lucas didn’t even let us see Anakin kill off a whole tribe of dirty, stinking, mommy killing Sand People. If he can’t have the main character killing off some ugly aliens, he really doesn’t have a pair of Seeker Remotes in his underwear to pull off a really good slaughter scene.
I am not suggesting that we should have seen Anakin sauntering through the Jedi Temple killing everything like the Terminator in a Police Station. I am not in this for the blood shed. What I wanted to see was a bunch of kids working together in a hopeless battle to kill off a Jedi traitor and several battalions of Stormtroopers. These kids weren’t just in their rooms playing with Legos. They were in training to become Jedi. They should have immediately figured out what was going on and grouped together to fight off the invaders. They would have used the weapons at hand. Laying traps. Working in small groups to confuse and attack. Using their hide and seek hidey holes. Sacrificing themselves to save the others. They would have used trickery and their limited understanding of the force. And in the end, they would have all died. But at least Lucas could have given the kids some dignity.
But no. Instead, all we see are a couple of scared children, “huddled in a corner,” asking Anakin who is going to fight their battle for them. Anakin fires up his light saber and we are left to assume the obvious. Anakin is going to kill the children. Does having them fight back make him any less evil? I can see the argument that killing innocent children is more evil than killing kids that are fighting back. But these were not normal kids.
It should have been similar to the battles in the Ender’s Game novel. A group of outnumbered, out muscled kids kicking ass against extraordinary odds. Or Toy Soldier, where kids use their cunning, toy airplanes and the death of Wesley Crusher to hold out against kidnappers. Anyone remember TAPS? I’d even take a bit of the fucking Goonies where the kids fight off self doubt and puberty.
In the end of Sith, all the kids die. Because they had too. But they didn’t have to die cowering in a corner or slashed in the back as they ran in a panic. Give the kids some dignity. The least he could have done was have Yoda say they died fighting the best they could. Or hinted at how there was a last stand. Instead, we are left to remember these young kids as cowering innocents. And I think that is a travesty.
300
I have not been so excited about a movie since The Phantom Menace came out. 300 comes out March 9th, 2007. I am assuming that 300 will not let me down like Menace did.
300 is a Frank Miller graphic novel turned major motion picture in the same style as Miller’s graphic novel, Sin City. I’d go into the detail of the historical significance, but I am bad at history and only average at determining awesomeness.
Let’s go down the movie awesomeness checklist:
Fights (check)
Skies blackened with arrows (check)
Hot chicks with somewhat see-through tunics (check)
Fight scenes mixing the sytles of Asian, Krav Maga and Conan (check)
Dismemberment (Check)
Fields of wheat (check)
Rhinos strapped with armor (check)
Dude getting ass thrown in the well (check)
Impossible odds (check)
Impossible landscape (check)
Impossible violence (check)
Two cowboys eating pudding and sucking dick (check)
I’m hoping my brother-in-law Tom is in town so we can go see the first showing. His whole family gets up for this type of event and I love being involved in their arguments of film style, CG and weapons fabrication.
300 is a Frank Miller graphic novel turned major motion picture in the same style as Miller’s graphic novel, Sin City. I’d go into the detail of the historical significance, but I am bad at history and only average at determining awesomeness.
Let’s go down the movie awesomeness checklist:
Fights (check)
Skies blackened with arrows (check)
Hot chicks with somewhat see-through tunics (check)
Fight scenes mixing the sytles of Asian, Krav Maga and Conan (check)
Dismemberment (Check)
Fields of wheat (check)
Rhinos strapped with armor (check)
Dude getting ass thrown in the well (check)
Impossible odds (check)
Impossible landscape (check)
Impossible violence (check)
Two cowboys eating pudding and sucking dick (check)
I’m hoping my brother-in-law Tom is in town so we can go see the first showing. His whole family gets up for this type of event and I love being involved in their arguments of film style, CG and weapons fabrication.
Mat Shot
There were several occasions when Stephanie, The Witch* and I got into trouble in Denver.
*The Witch has a name and it is Melissa. She really doesn’t appreciate me calling her The Witch. So from now on, I will use her real name because I am a nice guy.
There were several occasions when Stephanie, Melissa** and I got into trouble in Denver.
**I like The Witch better.
There were several occasions when Stephanie, The Witch and I got into trouble in Denver. None of us had any money and so we did cheap things like break into the Denver Botanic Gardens at night or play this game where I would take a shower and they would break into my apartment and scare the shit out of me. They will want you to know that I squeal like a little girl when startled.
It was May 13th, 1995, which is forever ago. Steph , The Witch and I were slumming from bar to bar in the LoDo. I think we ate dinner earlier and none of us were heavy with cash. We found our way to a newer bar called The Firehouse. We saddled up to the bar and the ladies anted some charm to get free drinks.
The bartender’s name was John. John Romero***.
***No. Not the Doom creator and video game visionary John Romero. This John Romero had very similar looks as Mr. Romero, but lacked a good bit of the pink stuff in his skull. It was as if God made two John Romero’s and only had time to make one whole brain before lunch break. Read on.
John served us our first round of beers. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Good looks. Somewhat charming. At one point he took my house keys off the bar, removed some random bottle opener key ring I’d picked up at another bar and replaced it with a newer, promotional one that the Firehouse was giving out. “There you go pal.” He tossed my old bottle opener into the trash. I faked a look of panic and said that was a gift from my dad. He went headfirst into the trash and retrieved my opener. My hero.
Into our second round, the girls and I realized that our drinking would be ceasing very soon as our funds were about gone. The girls poured on the charm and pried at John’s resolve to continue charging us for our drinks.
He gave in, kind of. John said that he would buy our drinks for the rest of the night if one of the girls would do a Mat Shot out of a dirty ashtray. Mat Shot? Sounds like a 2nd string quarterback’s name. We all looked each other and then asked John what a Mat Shot was. He pulled out the black, rubber mat that snuggled up in the narrow crevice on the back of a bar where the bartenders poured their drinks. Bartenders don’t give a shit and are sloppy. Splashed liquids are trapped in the bottom of the mat while the rubber fingers keep the glass bottom mostly dry. The liquids collect and are periodically dumped down the drain. Or into a shot glass, which is a standard Mat Shot. Or into an ash tray, which is what he did next.
There weren’t any butts in the ashtray, but it was full of residual ash. Now it was filled with residual ash and 23 different kinds of liquor. He pushed the ash tray in front of The Witch. She contemplated it for a minute. No drinks or free drinks? Mouth that tastes like mouth or mouth that tastes like ass? She said no. Steph didn’t even have to think about it and said no.
You can see where this is going.
Fortunately, the free beers for the rest of the night washed the ass out of my mouth. My journal says we got hammered. I can believe it. By the end of the night, we were mostly blotto and John ended up with one of the girl’s phone numbers.
Three months later we were lobbing smoke bombs into his front door and catching his couch on fire. It was doomed from the start.
BONUS JOHN INFORMATION
It wasn't that John was dumb. He just sometimes did and said things that weren't entirely that smart. He had enough gray matter to get through life, but his thought process was a little like watching a top spinning on gravel.
John used to create fireballs by spitting lighter fluid out of his mouth and igniting it. It was quite a sight and the intense heat helped to keep his Cro-Magnon eyebrows down to a manageable length. That night he did it at the Firehouse and almost caught some fabric banners on fire. He and Steph went to a Pearl Jam concert at Red Rocks and he got kicked out after exposing several people in the second and third row to hot, drippy fire. (I think I will be able to track down the video… stay tuned.)
Speaking of Pearl Jam… at the time, Pearl Jam had just come out with their Vs album. 99.99% of the world called it “versus.” John called it “V”-“S”. I believe he called their previous album “T”-“E”-“N.”
*The Witch has a name and it is Melissa. She really doesn’t appreciate me calling her The Witch. So from now on, I will use her real name because I am a nice guy.
There were several occasions when Stephanie, Melissa** and I got into trouble in Denver.
**I like The Witch better.
There were several occasions when Stephanie, The Witch and I got into trouble in Denver. None of us had any money and so we did cheap things like break into the Denver Botanic Gardens at night or play this game where I would take a shower and they would break into my apartment and scare the shit out of me. They will want you to know that I squeal like a little girl when startled.
It was May 13th, 1995, which is forever ago. Steph , The Witch and I were slumming from bar to bar in the LoDo. I think we ate dinner earlier and none of us were heavy with cash. We found our way to a newer bar called The Firehouse. We saddled up to the bar and the ladies anted some charm to get free drinks.
The bartender’s name was John. John Romero***.
***No. Not the Doom creator and video game visionary John Romero. This John Romero had very similar looks as Mr. Romero, but lacked a good bit of the pink stuff in his skull. It was as if God made two John Romero’s and only had time to make one whole brain before lunch break. Read on.
John served us our first round of beers. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Good looks. Somewhat charming. At one point he took my house keys off the bar, removed some random bottle opener key ring I’d picked up at another bar and replaced it with a newer, promotional one that the Firehouse was giving out. “There you go pal.” He tossed my old bottle opener into the trash. I faked a look of panic and said that was a gift from my dad. He went headfirst into the trash and retrieved my opener. My hero.
Into our second round, the girls and I realized that our drinking would be ceasing very soon as our funds were about gone. The girls poured on the charm and pried at John’s resolve to continue charging us for our drinks.
He gave in, kind of. John said that he would buy our drinks for the rest of the night if one of the girls would do a Mat Shot out of a dirty ashtray. Mat Shot? Sounds like a 2nd string quarterback’s name. We all looked each other and then asked John what a Mat Shot was. He pulled out the black, rubber mat that snuggled up in the narrow crevice on the back of a bar where the bartenders poured their drinks. Bartenders don’t give a shit and are sloppy. Splashed liquids are trapped in the bottom of the mat while the rubber fingers keep the glass bottom mostly dry. The liquids collect and are periodically dumped down the drain. Or into a shot glass, which is a standard Mat Shot. Or into an ash tray, which is what he did next.
There weren’t any butts in the ashtray, but it was full of residual ash. Now it was filled with residual ash and 23 different kinds of liquor. He pushed the ash tray in front of The Witch. She contemplated it for a minute. No drinks or free drinks? Mouth that tastes like mouth or mouth that tastes like ass? She said no. Steph didn’t even have to think about it and said no.
You can see where this is going.
Fortunately, the free beers for the rest of the night washed the ass out of my mouth. My journal says we got hammered. I can believe it. By the end of the night, we were mostly blotto and John ended up with one of the girl’s phone numbers.
Three months later we were lobbing smoke bombs into his front door and catching his couch on fire. It was doomed from the start.
BONUS JOHN INFORMATION
It wasn't that John was dumb. He just sometimes did and said things that weren't entirely that smart. He had enough gray matter to get through life, but his thought process was a little like watching a top spinning on gravel.
John used to create fireballs by spitting lighter fluid out of his mouth and igniting it. It was quite a sight and the intense heat helped to keep his Cro-Magnon eyebrows down to a manageable length. That night he did it at the Firehouse and almost caught some fabric banners on fire. He and Steph went to a Pearl Jam concert at Red Rocks and he got kicked out after exposing several people in the second and third row to hot, drippy fire. (I think I will be able to track down the video… stay tuned.)
Speaking of Pearl Jam… at the time, Pearl Jam had just come out with their Vs album. 99.99% of the world called it “versus.” John called it “V”-“S”. I believe he called their previous album “T”-“E”-“N.”
The Book of Mormon-cycle
This is for you ChePibe:
When you are done excercising, you can remove the bike from the stand and use it on your next Mission, if you choose to accept it.
When you are done excercising, you can remove the bike from the stand and use it on your next Mission, if you choose to accept it.
Roll out the Knitter
As with many of my writings, I try to protect the innocent with nicknames and plumes of nomness. It’s not their fault that I remember and record. Why should they suffer the burden of my writings and their friends’ internet searches on Google? With this tale I must reveal the name of the main character as it is an integral part of the story. This story involves my friend Knitter. (Pronounced like you would pronounce someone who knits stuff. A Knitter.) Here is a photo of him kissing a 40oz of Magnum at Chris and Karen’s wedding.
No, the story is not about how we snuck 32 bottles of different varieties of malt liquor into Chris and Karen’s wedding (to their dismay,) though it does involve another wedding and the consumption of malt liquors.
Let’s go back about X years to Ohio University and a crisp Spring Quarter Saturday night. Earlier that evening, we had a two 40oz party. The night would start with a trip to the Quik-e-mart and the purchase of two 40oz bottles of malt liquor. There was a time in my life where I could list off 12 – 18 varieties of malt liquor. Oh a whim, let’s see what I can pull out of my ass right now:
Colt 45
Cool Colt*
Lazer
Magnum
Red Bull
Schlitz
Crazy Horse
St. Ides
Mustang
Crap. That’s it. Well, I am from Lancaster and not Lorain.
(*Cool Colt was Colt 45 with spearmint flavoring added. I totally forgot about it until recently at a keg party when I didn’t have a cup and used an empty Rumple Minze bottle to drink from. Nothing like a drunk asshole with fresh breath.)
Back at the Quik-e-mart, you would pony up $3.87 of change and leave with two, mostly cold bottles of, hopefully not skunked, malt liquor. At 23 Palmer Street, we’d sit in the living room and drink down our two bottles of skunked malt liquor and watch public access television. Normally, you could drink one 40ozer and kick in a solid buzz that would last for a few hours and save you $10 up at the bars. Two 40ozers and you would stagger Uptown and try to hold down your cookies after eating $10 worth of beans and meat at the Burrito Buggy.
This night, Knitter continued to drink once we walked uptown and got himself good and solid hammered. And as we walked uphill/downhill home (we are talking about Athens, Ohio) Knitter decided to trip and fall down on the top of a hill. As he lay prone on the brick street, I realized that it would only take a little effort to get him rolling down the hill. I gave him a generous shove with both hands and he began to roll. Any normal person would have airplaned their arms out and stopped the momentum. Knitter tucked his arms in to minimize friction and continued to roll. As we chased/stumbled after Knitter, a song erupted from my mouth that went a little like this:
(To the tune of "Roll Out the Barrel.")
“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”
Everyone joined in on the song, (at least the first verse,) and we took turns rolling him down Mill Street. We got Knitter to the bottom of the hill and he shot upright and was able to walk a straight line back to Palmer Street. I think he slept for 38 hours after that.
Fast forward X – 3 years. We are all at a good friend’s wedding reception on Lake Erie. In a show of respect to the happily married couple, we drank our 40ozers out of plastic cups. I was very good friends with the groom, but did not know the bride or her family that well. I met her family at the wedding, but did not interact with them at the reception.
As it turned out, this patch of Lake Erie waterfront had a slope that was perfect for rolling drunk Polish guys down it. Knitter complied and once again we rolled him down the hill singing our now trademarked song:
“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”
You may not realize this, but drunk guys singing “Roll out the Knitter” may be misheard at a distance. It could have been the crashing of the 2” waves on the shore or the shitty sound system, but the brother of the bride thought he heard us singing something else that night. Here’s what he heard:
“Roll out the n*gger, we’ve got a n*gger of fun!”
And it turns out, that does not go over well at wedding receptions.
The in-law only shared this with a few of his family (not the bride) and kept it bottled in for several months. It came out months later at some family event as the brother of the bride finally released his discontent. Upon this revelation, it was quickly cleared up as to what was actually being said and the in-law felt a bit silly if not a lot silly.
It’s been a long while since I have had the opportunity to tread up/down the hills of Ohio University and longer since I have used leverage and gravity to propel my friend, laughing and grunting down a brick laden street. I haven’t had a 40ozer in years. But I still can sing the song:
“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”
No, the story is not about how we snuck 32 bottles of different varieties of malt liquor into Chris and Karen’s wedding (to their dismay,) though it does involve another wedding and the consumption of malt liquors.
Let’s go back about X years to Ohio University and a crisp Spring Quarter Saturday night. Earlier that evening, we had a two 40oz party. The night would start with a trip to the Quik-e-mart and the purchase of two 40oz bottles of malt liquor. There was a time in my life where I could list off 12 – 18 varieties of malt liquor. Oh a whim, let’s see what I can pull out of my ass right now:
Colt 45
Cool Colt*
Lazer
Magnum
Red Bull
Schlitz
Crazy Horse
St. Ides
Mustang
Crap. That’s it. Well, I am from Lancaster and not Lorain.
(*Cool Colt was Colt 45 with spearmint flavoring added. I totally forgot about it until recently at a keg party when I didn’t have a cup and used an empty Rumple Minze bottle to drink from. Nothing like a drunk asshole with fresh breath.)
Back at the Quik-e-mart, you would pony up $3.87 of change and leave with two, mostly cold bottles of, hopefully not skunked, malt liquor. At 23 Palmer Street, we’d sit in the living room and drink down our two bottles of skunked malt liquor and watch public access television. Normally, you could drink one 40ozer and kick in a solid buzz that would last for a few hours and save you $10 up at the bars. Two 40ozers and you would stagger Uptown and try to hold down your cookies after eating $10 worth of beans and meat at the Burrito Buggy.
This night, Knitter continued to drink once we walked uptown and got himself good and solid hammered. And as we walked uphill/downhill home (we are talking about Athens, Ohio) Knitter decided to trip and fall down on the top of a hill. As he lay prone on the brick street, I realized that it would only take a little effort to get him rolling down the hill. I gave him a generous shove with both hands and he began to roll. Any normal person would have airplaned their arms out and stopped the momentum. Knitter tucked his arms in to minimize friction and continued to roll. As we chased/stumbled after Knitter, a song erupted from my mouth that went a little like this:
(To the tune of "Roll Out the Barrel.")
“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”
Everyone joined in on the song, (at least the first verse,) and we took turns rolling him down Mill Street. We got Knitter to the bottom of the hill and he shot upright and was able to walk a straight line back to Palmer Street. I think he slept for 38 hours after that.
Fast forward X – 3 years. We are all at a good friend’s wedding reception on Lake Erie. In a show of respect to the happily married couple, we drank our 40ozers out of plastic cups. I was very good friends with the groom, but did not know the bride or her family that well. I met her family at the wedding, but did not interact with them at the reception.
As it turned out, this patch of Lake Erie waterfront had a slope that was perfect for rolling drunk Polish guys down it. Knitter complied and once again we rolled him down the hill singing our now trademarked song:
“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”
You may not realize this, but drunk guys singing “Roll out the Knitter” may be misheard at a distance. It could have been the crashing of the 2” waves on the shore or the shitty sound system, but the brother of the bride thought he heard us singing something else that night. Here’s what he heard:
“Roll out the n*gger, we’ve got a n*gger of fun!”
And it turns out, that does not go over well at wedding receptions.
The in-law only shared this with a few of his family (not the bride) and kept it bottled in for several months. It came out months later at some family event as the brother of the bride finally released his discontent. Upon this revelation, it was quickly cleared up as to what was actually being said and the in-law felt a bit silly if not a lot silly.
It’s been a long while since I have had the opportunity to tread up/down the hills of Ohio University and longer since I have used leverage and gravity to propel my friend, laughing and grunting down a brick laden street. I haven’t had a 40ozer in years. But I still can sing the song:
“Roll out the Knitter, we’ve got a Knitter of fun!
Boom, gah, kablitter, we’ve got the Knitter on the run.”
Kipley Matthew Eastep (Kip Eastep)
Kipley Matthew Eastep (Kip Eastep), 40, died on Friday, February 2, 2007. He was born on January 16, 1967 to Larry Eastep and Phyllis (Gullette) Eastep in Columbus, Ohio.
Kip graduated from West High School where he was voted "Most Intelligent" of his class, was honorary "Mayor for a Day" of Columbus, and received many awards. Kip earned his BS in Political Science from Ohio University, where he participated in the OU Singers and received departmental honors on his thesis. After graduation, he attended the University of Cincinnati Law School and received his JD degree, and practiced law in both McConnelsville and Columbus for the next fifteen years. Active in his community, Kip attended Westgate United Methodist Church where he sang in the choir. He was a member of the Dublin Kiwanis, the Ohio Republican's Club and the Masonic Order.
Kip is preceded in death by maternal grandparents Vernon and Oma Gullette and paternal grandparents Hubert and Virginia Eastep. He is survived by his parents; sister, Lia; aunts, Jo Gullette, Patti (Clay) Miller, Shirley Eastep; uncle Frank Eastep; and cousins, Jennifer Jones, Jeff Eastep, Rhonda Stacey, Victoria Whitman, J.R. Stacey and Tracy Schoenholtz.
Kip Eastep, lifelong Republican, lover of knowledge, books, epic Academy Award winning films, Frank Sinatra music, cards, oatmeal cream pies and dill pickles, will be forever missed.
Friends and family may call Monday, February 5, 2007 from 5-8 p.m. at SCHOEDINGER HILLTOP CHAPEL, 3030 W. Broad St. Funeral service will be held Tuesday, February 6, 2007 at 11 a.m. at Westgate United Methodist Church, 61 S. Powell Ave., Columbus, OH 43204. Interment Alton Cemetery. Persons wishing to make donations in lieu of flowers may do so to Westgate United Methodist Church.
Kip graduated from West High School where he was voted "Most Intelligent" of his class, was honorary "Mayor for a Day" of Columbus, and received many awards. Kip earned his BS in Political Science from Ohio University, where he participated in the OU Singers and received departmental honors on his thesis. After graduation, he attended the University of Cincinnati Law School and received his JD degree, and practiced law in both McConnelsville and Columbus for the next fifteen years. Active in his community, Kip attended Westgate United Methodist Church where he sang in the choir. He was a member of the Dublin Kiwanis, the Ohio Republican's Club and the Masonic Order.
Kip is preceded in death by maternal grandparents Vernon and Oma Gullette and paternal grandparents Hubert and Virginia Eastep. He is survived by his parents; sister, Lia; aunts, Jo Gullette, Patti (Clay) Miller, Shirley Eastep; uncle Frank Eastep; and cousins, Jennifer Jones, Jeff Eastep, Rhonda Stacey, Victoria Whitman, J.R. Stacey and Tracy Schoenholtz.
Kip Eastep, lifelong Republican, lover of knowledge, books, epic Academy Award winning films, Frank Sinatra music, cards, oatmeal cream pies and dill pickles, will be forever missed.
Friends and family may call Monday, February 5, 2007 from 5-8 p.m. at SCHOEDINGER HILLTOP CHAPEL, 3030 W. Broad St. Funeral service will be held Tuesday, February 6, 2007 at 11 a.m. at Westgate United Methodist Church, 61 S. Powell Ave., Columbus, OH 43204. Interment Alton Cemetery. Persons wishing to make donations in lieu of flowers may do so to Westgate United Methodist Church.
The Most Awesome Ice Scraper Ever
I live in a house with a garage in Ohio. I think I am cool because I do not have to scrape my windows on the average winter morning. But someday I will become that homeowner who fills his garage with worthless crap and squeezes his car out onto the driveway.
When that day comes, I will be prepared to face the frost filled mornings because I own the Ultimate Ice Scraper.
About 15 years ago, I purchased a state of the art ice scraper. It was a new twist on an old technology. A strip of brass was inserted into a plastic handle. Because brass is softer than glass, it cannot scratch it. The creators of this miracle device even guaranteed that it would not scratch glass or they would pay for your windshield.
This ice scraper worked like the dickens. It would plow through the toughest ice and scrape right to the glass. Never a scratch! I loved my ice scraper.
Some idiots tried to break up ice on their windshields by pounding the windshield with the edge of the brass. Needless to say, windshields cracked. The manufacturer shrugged. People sued. And they stopped making the ice scraper.
Suckers! I still had mine. It still worked like a champ and except for an unusually thin handle, mine would last forever.
So, forever expired one cold day after work. As I was scraping thick ice off my windshield, the handle snapped and the brass end went flying into the snow. I madly dug through the snow and found the end of the scraper. There was a little bit of handle left, but not enough to hold on to for that quality scraping leverage.
As my tears froze to the windshield, a co-worker gave me her spare Hoppy brand plastic shitty ice scraper and told me to keep it. Thanks.
I spent 15 minutes scraping my tears off the windshield and I think it was actually my hot, cursing breath that finally melted the ice. The Hoppy brand plastic shitty ice scraper wasn’t set correctly in its handle and I couldn’t tear into the ice.
In the car I examined my brass scraper. There was no way I’d be able to glue it. It was done for. I also looked at the Hoppy brand ice scraper. Its two part construction was laughable. The plastic scraper wasn’t setting right in the handle and I was able to pop it right out.
And in a rare moment of genius.. I slipped the brass blade into the Hoppy handle.
It fit! It held! By some impossible chance they nested together as if they were meant to be! I suddenly realized that the original brass handle was flawed. It wasn’wasn't long enough and it wasn’t thick enough. My creation was The Ultimate Scraper. I was so happy you might have thought that I just pulled it out of a stone and become king. I jumped out of the car and scraped the windows again. Great leverage. Curved handle to fit in my hand. The power of brass slicing through the ice. The perfect ice scraper.
The garage isn’t full of crap yet so I haven’t had the chance to use my scraper. But maybe I’ll leave it out next week, just to let the kid stretch his legs.
You can still purchase the original brass scraper. But it's not going to be the same.
When that day comes, I will be prepared to face the frost filled mornings because I own the Ultimate Ice Scraper.
About 15 years ago, I purchased a state of the art ice scraper. It was a new twist on an old technology. A strip of brass was inserted into a plastic handle. Because brass is softer than glass, it cannot scratch it. The creators of this miracle device even guaranteed that it would not scratch glass or they would pay for your windshield.
This ice scraper worked like the dickens. It would plow through the toughest ice and scrape right to the glass. Never a scratch! I loved my ice scraper.
Some idiots tried to break up ice on their windshields by pounding the windshield with the edge of the brass. Needless to say, windshields cracked. The manufacturer shrugged. People sued. And they stopped making the ice scraper.
Suckers! I still had mine. It still worked like a champ and except for an unusually thin handle, mine would last forever.
So, forever expired one cold day after work. As I was scraping thick ice off my windshield, the handle snapped and the brass end went flying into the snow. I madly dug through the snow and found the end of the scraper. There was a little bit of handle left, but not enough to hold on to for that quality scraping leverage.
As my tears froze to the windshield, a co-worker gave me her spare Hoppy brand plastic shitty ice scraper and told me to keep it. Thanks.
I spent 15 minutes scraping my tears off the windshield and I think it was actually my hot, cursing breath that finally melted the ice. The Hoppy brand plastic shitty ice scraper wasn’t set correctly in its handle and I couldn’t tear into the ice.
In the car I examined my brass scraper. There was no way I’d be able to glue it. It was done for. I also looked at the Hoppy brand ice scraper. Its two part construction was laughable. The plastic scraper wasn’t setting right in the handle and I was able to pop it right out.
And in a rare moment of genius.. I slipped the brass blade into the Hoppy handle.
It fit! It held! By some impossible chance they nested together as if they were meant to be! I suddenly realized that the original brass handle was flawed. It wasn’wasn't long enough and it wasn’t thick enough. My creation was The Ultimate Scraper. I was so happy you might have thought that I just pulled it out of a stone and become king. I jumped out of the car and scraped the windows again. Great leverage. Curved handle to fit in my hand. The power of brass slicing through the ice. The perfect ice scraper.
The garage isn’t full of crap yet so I haven’t had the chance to use my scraper. But maybe I’ll leave it out next week, just to let the kid stretch his legs.
You can still purchase the original brass scraper. But it's not going to be the same.
Thank you, previous home owners
Thank you, previous home owners. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to spend my weekend (and I am taking tomorrow off work) attempting to paint the living room. Twenty hours of work later and I just put on my first coat of paint. You did some amazing things when you painted the living room that wonderful Soylent Green color.
For future reference, here are some prep and painting tips:
1. Remove wallpaper before painting
2. If you do remove the wallpaper, remove it all and do not leave the paper backing stuck to the wall and paint over it.
3. When you do remove the wallpaper, take it all the way down to the paint and then STOP. Do not scrape any further. If you see a dark empty space, you have removed too much.
4. It was a good idea to fill in the holes with spackle. It’s also a good idea to sand those areas down. Especially those built up a quarter inch from the surface.
5. If you are a good painter, you can cut in the edges without tape. If you are an OK painter, you tape every single edge. If you are you, use tape, paint over tape, and leave the painted tape on wall.
6. When finished with a brush, some wash it out. Most just throw them away. A very rare few might throw it in the return air vent. You are a rare few.
In the middle of my home improvement, Kit stopped over and brought McDonalds. We sat, hunched over in the kitchen at a temporarily relocated coffee table and swapped John B stories. Later, he helped to sand down the walls and clean up.
Thanks Kit.
Idiots.
For future reference, here are some prep and painting tips:
1. Remove wallpaper before painting
2. If you do remove the wallpaper, remove it all and do not leave the paper backing stuck to the wall and paint over it.
3. When you do remove the wallpaper, take it all the way down to the paint and then STOP. Do not scrape any further. If you see a dark empty space, you have removed too much.
4. It was a good idea to fill in the holes with spackle. It’s also a good idea to sand those areas down. Especially those built up a quarter inch from the surface.
5. If you are a good painter, you can cut in the edges without tape. If you are an OK painter, you tape every single edge. If you are you, use tape, paint over tape, and leave the painted tape on wall.
6. When finished with a brush, some wash it out. Most just throw them away. A very rare few might throw it in the return air vent. You are a rare few.
In the middle of my home improvement, Kit stopped over and brought McDonalds. We sat, hunched over in the kitchen at a temporarily relocated coffee table and swapped John B stories. Later, he helped to sand down the walls and clean up.
Thanks Kit.
Idiots.
Take Back the Night
My friends know me for the sexist pig that I am or rather can be. I am OK with that. Somewhere in the dark, ichor filled cavern that is my soul, I think that I am actually a much nicer guy than that. It’s just so hard to see through the profanity and lust.
For example, being the nice guy that I am, I went to the Take Back the Night march at Ohio University with my friend Chris and his then girlfriend (now wife) Karen. At the time, the march was for women only and Chris did not want to be left standing behind by himself. So I went along. I didn’t think anything of it.
No less than three times during the night, I was accused by people I knew that I was there to pick up chicks. I explained that I was there for Chris’ sake and to support the march. You usually don’t hear much laughing at Take Back the Night, but I did after that explanation.
At the direction of a very loud woman, the women gathered and started the march while the men were left behind. Someone dressed in a lot of black gathered us all up and we formed a discussion circle. The moderator opened up the discussion with the topic of how we could comfort our friends after the march. It opened my eyes to the release of emotion that some of the women would be feeling after the march and I started to understand the whole of the march and why it was so important to some.
And then someone else crushed that empowerment by suggesting that all feminine and masculine forms of words should be banned and that only gender neutral words be allowed in all languages. Oh Christ. The moderator was only able to rope in that thread in the conversation by stepping in the middle of the circle and raising his voice.
In an extremely odd moment, a guy took advantage of the following silence to thank everyone for coming out. He noted that he saw a lot of friends in the circle. He said he was nervous. He paused and nodded. He said felt a lot of positive energy flowing through the men and that was great. And he said that he just wanted to say that he was bi-sexual.
Silence again. He sat there and nodded. More silence. Finally a very effeminate guy in the back of the circle yelled, “Good for you!”
Chris kept elbowing me to see if I was taking it all in or maybe to see if I was going to laugh. The self outing was followed up by a discussion about gayness and bisexualism and his statement that, “I’m not 50% straight and 50% gay… I’m 100% bi-sexual.” Thank the lord that the march returned and the women came over to pick up their friends, sheepish boyfriend, sheepish boyfriend’s friend and now bi-sexual friend.
As we walked uptown, small groups of women huddled together. Comforting each other. Tearing up pieces of paper with the names of the men that hurt them.
I’ll always remember the silence after the dude came out of the closet. You could hear the marching women chanting in the distance.
For example, being the nice guy that I am, I went to the Take Back the Night march at Ohio University with my friend Chris and his then girlfriend (now wife) Karen. At the time, the march was for women only and Chris did not want to be left standing behind by himself. So I went along. I didn’t think anything of it.
No less than three times during the night, I was accused by people I knew that I was there to pick up chicks. I explained that I was there for Chris’ sake and to support the march. You usually don’t hear much laughing at Take Back the Night, but I did after that explanation.
At the direction of a very loud woman, the women gathered and started the march while the men were left behind. Someone dressed in a lot of black gathered us all up and we formed a discussion circle. The moderator opened up the discussion with the topic of how we could comfort our friends after the march. It opened my eyes to the release of emotion that some of the women would be feeling after the march and I started to understand the whole of the march and why it was so important to some.
And then someone else crushed that empowerment by suggesting that all feminine and masculine forms of words should be banned and that only gender neutral words be allowed in all languages. Oh Christ. The moderator was only able to rope in that thread in the conversation by stepping in the middle of the circle and raising his voice.
In an extremely odd moment, a guy took advantage of the following silence to thank everyone for coming out. He noted that he saw a lot of friends in the circle. He said he was nervous. He paused and nodded. He said felt a lot of positive energy flowing through the men and that was great. And he said that he just wanted to say that he was bi-sexual.
Silence again. He sat there and nodded. More silence. Finally a very effeminate guy in the back of the circle yelled, “Good for you!”
Chris kept elbowing me to see if I was taking it all in or maybe to see if I was going to laugh. The self outing was followed up by a discussion about gayness and bisexualism and his statement that, “I’m not 50% straight and 50% gay… I’m 100% bi-sexual.” Thank the lord that the march returned and the women came over to pick up their friends, sheepish boyfriend, sheepish boyfriend’s friend and now bi-sexual friend.
As we walked uptown, small groups of women huddled together. Comforting each other. Tearing up pieces of paper with the names of the men that hurt them.
I’ll always remember the silence after the dude came out of the closet. You could hear the marching women chanting in the distance.
Goodnight Cannibal
I read books with my kid every night. As he looks for books to read, he usually asks, “What book do you want to read?” Whichever one I pick, he says that he doesn’t want to read that one and continues to search in his collection of 1,543 books for the one which is stuck between the bookcase and the wall. Looking for two books to read each night takes longer than actually reading them. Especially if I read the first page and then accidentally skip to the last. Hey, it works with Atlas Shrugged.
One book I like and one that you might remember fondly from your childhood is Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown with pictures by Clement Hurd. Basically it is a story about a rabbit stalling so that he doesn’t have to go to sleep.
The little rabbit in the story says goodnight to all the things in his room as he slowly doses off.
But there is one thing to which he does not say goodnight.
It’s a black and white painting of a rabbit fishing. It’s hanging behind the old woman whispering hush.
It’s cute. The rabbit even has waders on. That’s really cute. And the rabbit has a carrot on the end of his line as bait.
A carrot?
Yes. A carrot. Because if you take a close look, you will see that the fisherrabbit is fishing for BUNNIES!
Look!!!!
What the hell is up with that? That’s cannibalism! Or Rabbitbalism. He’s going to catch him, swoop him up with the net, shove him in his wicker fish (bunny) creel, take him home and eat him. Hopefully he’ll at least cook the cute little bastard.
I could understand it if perhaps the bunny was the runt of the litter and the momma rabbit had to eat it… that is natural. This is cruel and I just don’t get what the hell Clement Hurd was trying to illustrate.
Which is why I’ve taken to pointing it out to my son and telling him that he has two choices in life: either he can be the fisherrabbit or he can be the rabbit in the stream. After he stops crying, I hug him and comfort him with promises of carrots for breakfast.
One book I like and one that you might remember fondly from your childhood is Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown with pictures by Clement Hurd. Basically it is a story about a rabbit stalling so that he doesn’t have to go to sleep.
The little rabbit in the story says goodnight to all the things in his room as he slowly doses off.
But there is one thing to which he does not say goodnight.
It’s a black and white painting of a rabbit fishing. It’s hanging behind the old woman whispering hush.
It’s cute. The rabbit even has waders on. That’s really cute. And the rabbit has a carrot on the end of his line as bait.
A carrot?
Yes. A carrot. Because if you take a close look, you will see that the fisherrabbit is fishing for BUNNIES!
Look!!!!
What the hell is up with that? That’s cannibalism! Or Rabbitbalism. He’s going to catch him, swoop him up with the net, shove him in his wicker fish (bunny) creel, take him home and eat him. Hopefully he’ll at least cook the cute little bastard.
I could understand it if perhaps the bunny was the runt of the litter and the momma rabbit had to eat it… that is natural. This is cruel and I just don’t get what the hell Clement Hurd was trying to illustrate.
Which is why I’ve taken to pointing it out to my son and telling him that he has two choices in life: either he can be the fisherrabbit or he can be the rabbit in the stream. After he stops crying, I hug him and comfort him with promises of carrots for breakfast.
Draw to the right
This is the last Meshell - Shorty - Doug napkin drawing post. I swear. Really!
This was one of the first sketches we did which was to draw the person on your right. I thought it would be interesting to see everyone's perspective from the left side. That's why I drew mine like this:
Of course, I was wrong. Meshell drew Shorty as he looks at others. Other chicks that is.
And Shorty just drew my face. The joke being that my head is too big to fit on a single piece of paper.
Asshole. His head is exactly the same as mine. Too big.
Feel free to e-mail me sketches of yourself. I'll post you along with a 17 word description of who I think you are.holyjuan@gmail.com
This was one of the first sketches we did which was to draw the person on your right. I thought it would be interesting to see everyone's perspective from the left side. That's why I drew mine like this:
Of course, I was wrong. Meshell drew Shorty as he looks at others. Other chicks that is.
And Shorty just drew my face. The joke being that my head is too big to fit on a single piece of paper.
Asshole. His head is exactly the same as mine. Too big.
Feel free to e-mail me sketches of yourself. I'll post you along with a 17 word description of who I think you are.
Buckeyes e-mail from Carpanza
> >From: Carpanza
> >To: Holy Juan
> >Subject: Buckeyes
> >Date: Tue, 9 Jan 2007 11:02:28 -0600
> >What the hell happened?
> From: frankkenstein56@hotmail.com
> To: Carpanza
> Subject: RE: Buckeyes
> Date: Tue, 9 Jan 2007 21:09:46 -0500
>
> COMPLETE SYSTEM FAILURE
> BOOT DISK UNREADABLE
From : Carpanza
Sent : Tuesday, January 9, 2007 11:47 PM
To : Frank Stein
Subject : RE: Buckeyes
Have you tried rebooting?
I figured you were in a drunken stupor trying desperately to make the memories go away. There'll be a lot of crying yourself to sleep and sitting alone bawling in the john at work. You just can't drink enough to make the Buckeye's loss any less painful. You turn to hard drugs. Every time you see a sweater vest you can't stop thinking about what that bad man did to you. You think about changing your name to Kane and walking the earth, like in Kung Fu. You quit caring anymore. Just when you think it couldn't get any worse, you see a Gator... you fall to pieces and it's more painful than ever.
Don't go down that path man! Choose life! Just let this comfort you.... at least you're not a Gopher's fan.
> >To: Holy Juan
> >Subject: Buckeyes
> >Date: Tue, 9 Jan 2007 11:02:28 -0600
> >What the hell happened?
> From: frankkenstein56@hotmail.com
> To: Carpanza
> Subject: RE: Buckeyes
> Date: Tue, 9 Jan 2007 21:09:46 -0500
>
> COMPLETE SYSTEM FAILURE
> BOOT DISK UNREADABLE
From : Carpanza
Sent : Tuesday, January 9, 2007 11:47 PM
To : Frank Stein
Subject : RE: Buckeyes
Have you tried rebooting?
I figured you were in a drunken stupor trying desperately to make the memories go away. There'll be a lot of crying yourself to sleep and sitting alone bawling in the john at work. You just can't drink enough to make the Buckeye's loss any less painful. You turn to hard drugs. Every time you see a sweater vest you can't stop thinking about what that bad man did to you. You think about changing your name to Kane and walking the earth, like in Kung Fu. You quit caring anymore. Just when you think it couldn't get any worse, you see a Gator... you fall to pieces and it's more painful than ever.
Don't go down that path man! Choose life! Just let this comfort you.... at least you're not a Gopher's fan.
Decisions, decisions
I drew the first sketch. Meshell fleshed it out.
I'm not sure what the sketch was supposed to represent. If this was some kind of Sophie's Choice, I'd have to take out the mouse. And then the cat.
I'm not sure what the sketch was supposed to represent. If this was some kind of Sophie's Choice, I'd have to take out the mouse. And then the cat.
Napkin canvases
Last night, Meshell, Shorty and I got together at B Hamptons to get a drink. During one of Shorty’s five trips outside to talk on the phone (i.e. smoke), Meshell and I started doodling on napkins. When Short got back, he joined in.
Most of what we drew is, well, disgusting if not a crime against good taste.
We ended up playing a game where everyone wrote down a noun and a verb ending with “ing” on their napkin. The napkin was passed to the right and the person would have to draw what was written on the napkin. I think I can show you those without embarassing anyone. (I'm not really sure how Meshell and I both chose to use the word "house" as our noun. Drinking ESP.)
House Stealing - by Short
House Killing - by Meshell
Tit Fucking - by Doug
By the end of the night, we had a huge stack of napkins filled with ink and sin. I shoved them all in my jacket pocket with promises of scanning them all when I got home. On my way to work this morning, I wondered for about five minutes why my jacket wasn't fitting right.
Most of what we drew is, well, disgusting if not a crime against good taste.
We ended up playing a game where everyone wrote down a noun and a verb ending with “ing” on their napkin. The napkin was passed to the right and the person would have to draw what was written on the napkin. I think I can show you those without embarassing anyone. (I'm not really sure how Meshell and I both chose to use the word "house" as our noun. Drinking ESP.)
House Stealing - by Short
House Killing - by Meshell
Tit Fucking - by Doug
By the end of the night, we had a huge stack of napkins filled with ink and sin. I shoved them all in my jacket pocket with promises of scanning them all when I got home. On my way to work this morning, I wondered for about five minutes why my jacket wasn't fitting right.
HolyJuan’s 2007 Predictions
I hate people who make vague predictions. You’ll see them popping up over the next couple of days. “A major weather event will strike the East Coast causing death and destruction.” Or bland, technological predictions, “Vista will be as buggy as Windows 95/98/2000/ME/XP. People will still be using XP in 2010 rather then upgrading.”
The theory (mine at least) is to make very specific and outrageous predictions that will happen within a small time frame. Leave a little bit of wriggle room so that if things don’t come out exactly as predicted, you can still point to the parts of your guess that were dead on.
Though I don’t condone the use of it, you might want to throw in a dead ringer prediction that anyone could have guessed. I suggest adding a sprinkling of details that make your dead ringer stand out.
It’s also a good idea to predict things that are not going to happen.
HolyJuan’s 2007 Predictions
1. Harrison Ford will die on location in Java while filming the, now final, Indiana Jones film. The accident will be off set, but he will be in costume.
2. A rogue wave kills over 200 after it strikes a cruise liner this summer. This incident is made more painful when it is revealed the Captain called passengers on the deck to witness the wave as it traveled towards the ship.
3. Bird Flu will not have an effect on the world’s population… this year.
4. Scarlett Johansson will overdose on heroine. It will not kill her, but she will disappear from the public eye for the rest of the year.
5. Britney Spears will get back together with K-Fed over the children.
6. Britney Spears will dump K-Fed twenty days later when he reveals that he has gotten some other tramp knocked up.
7. Congress will introduce a bill requiring that all pornography on the internet will need to be re-located under new .sex website address. The only positive thing that will come out of this failed resolution is a better definition of pornography.
8. A World of Warcraft serial killer will emerge, not online, but in real life. As a Paladin, he will kill off 13 Hoard players. Many victims will not be found for days as they rarely come out of their rooms anyways.
$. The number nine will be struck from the world’s vocabulary and replaced with the dollar sign.
10. I will publish my first book, “The Tales of Allen Knob.” The 10 people that read it will suggest the other 6,525,170,254 people in the world stay as far away as possible from it.
The theory (mine at least) is to make very specific and outrageous predictions that will happen within a small time frame. Leave a little bit of wriggle room so that if things don’t come out exactly as predicted, you can still point to the parts of your guess that were dead on.
Though I don’t condone the use of it, you might want to throw in a dead ringer prediction that anyone could have guessed. I suggest adding a sprinkling of details that make your dead ringer stand out.
It’s also a good idea to predict things that are not going to happen.
HolyJuan’s 2007 Predictions
1. Harrison Ford will die on location in Java while filming the, now final, Indiana Jones film. The accident will be off set, but he will be in costume.
2. A rogue wave kills over 200 after it strikes a cruise liner this summer. This incident is made more painful when it is revealed the Captain called passengers on the deck to witness the wave as it traveled towards the ship.
3. Bird Flu will not have an effect on the world’s population… this year.
4. Scarlett Johansson will overdose on heroine. It will not kill her, but she will disappear from the public eye for the rest of the year.
5. Britney Spears will get back together with K-Fed over the children.
6. Britney Spears will dump K-Fed twenty days later when he reveals that he has gotten some other tramp knocked up.
7. Congress will introduce a bill requiring that all pornography on the internet will need to be re-located under new .sex website address. The only positive thing that will come out of this failed resolution is a better definition of pornography.
8. A World of Warcraft serial killer will emerge, not online, but in real life. As a Paladin, he will kill off 13 Hoard players. Many victims will not be found for days as they rarely come out of their rooms anyways.
$. The number nine will be struck from the world’s vocabulary and replaced with the dollar sign.
10. I will publish my first book, “The Tales of Allen Knob.” The 10 people that read it will suggest the other 6,525,170,254 people in the world stay as far away as possible from it.
Doug and Doug
genuine- free from hypocrisy or dishonesty; sincere
There’s nothing special about Dougs. Dougs are almost the same as any Tom, Bob or Brian. You’ve got all types of Dougs, but it seems that all Dougs are one notch down from everyone else. The best looking Doug could never be as good looking as the best looking Tom. (Check out the Google photo search for Doug. Good grief! Is that Doug Henning on a rainbow?) The smartest Doug would never be as smart as the smartest Brian. But damnit, we’ve got a sense of humor. Dougs are funny. Dougs have personality. Dougs get the last girl at the party, but at least we are not jerking off at the end of the night like the Pauls and the Teds.
I was just flipping through some collections of Flickr photos. I searched for photos of Dougs. Again, mostly not especially good looking guys doing not especially interesting stuff.
But then I found a photo of a Doug that worked for the BBC. Doug had recently died. His friend, nanavut, memorialized him by saying the following:
“Doug Graham, a gentle soul sitting at the rear of this photo; a friend and colleague of mine and many others at the BBC died November 22nd, aged 26.
I remember him for his enthusiasm and positive outlook on life, no matter all the difficulties he himself suffered through. He knew how to see the bright side of everything.
Quick to make friends, genuine in his relationships, kind, and always full of positive energy - Doug taught me alot.
I hope you will remember him along with me.”
And I was sad for their loss. And his loss. And the passing of such a young person.
And then I realized that no one would ever describe me as being genuine. No one would remember me for my positive outlook on life and that I might know which side was the bright one.
And then I did a re-realization. I’m an awful bastard. A heartless ass. A real jerk.
And you know what? Thank God for that.
Thank God there’s someone to cross the line and joke about the awful thing you are thinking, but won’t say. Thank God there’s someone who can point out the bridesmaids that will be getting too drunk or that the first two pews are filled with four divorced couples. That funerals are the best places to laugh. And thank God there’s someone who can thank God knowing full well that he has no faith in His/Her existence. There is humor in everyday life and I want to exploit it to make myself feel better to forget my failings and endless doubt.
Which is good for you, my friend. Otherwise I’d be doing something good and positive instead of writing this.
So from the son of a bitch Doug to the genuine Doug Graham: You were surrounded by people that laughed with you, respected you and loved you. It wasn’t a long enough battle, but in the end you won. Thank you for sharing with me the opportunity to reflect upon my life.
Now, did they bury you in the wheel chair or did you get wheels put on the outside of the coffin?
There’s nothing special about Dougs. Dougs are almost the same as any Tom, Bob or Brian. You’ve got all types of Dougs, but it seems that all Dougs are one notch down from everyone else. The best looking Doug could never be as good looking as the best looking Tom. (Check out the Google photo search for Doug. Good grief! Is that Doug Henning on a rainbow?) The smartest Doug would never be as smart as the smartest Brian. But damnit, we’ve got a sense of humor. Dougs are funny. Dougs have personality. Dougs get the last girl at the party, but at least we are not jerking off at the end of the night like the Pauls and the Teds.
I was just flipping through some collections of Flickr photos. I searched for photos of Dougs. Again, mostly not especially good looking guys doing not especially interesting stuff.
But then I found a photo of a Doug that worked for the BBC. Doug had recently died. His friend, nanavut, memorialized him by saying the following:
“Doug Graham, a gentle soul sitting at the rear of this photo; a friend and colleague of mine and many others at the BBC died November 22nd, aged 26.
I remember him for his enthusiasm and positive outlook on life, no matter all the difficulties he himself suffered through. He knew how to see the bright side of everything.
Quick to make friends, genuine in his relationships, kind, and always full of positive energy - Doug taught me alot.
I hope you will remember him along with me.”
And I was sad for their loss. And his loss. And the passing of such a young person.
And then I realized that no one would ever describe me as being genuine. No one would remember me for my positive outlook on life and that I might know which side was the bright one.
And then I did a re-realization. I’m an awful bastard. A heartless ass. A real jerk.
And you know what? Thank God for that.
Thank God there’s someone to cross the line and joke about the awful thing you are thinking, but won’t say. Thank God there’s someone who can point out the bridesmaids that will be getting too drunk or that the first two pews are filled with four divorced couples. That funerals are the best places to laugh. And thank God there’s someone who can thank God knowing full well that he has no faith in His/Her existence. There is humor in everyday life and I want to exploit it to make myself feel better to forget my failings and endless doubt.
Which is good for you, my friend. Otherwise I’d be doing something good and positive instead of writing this.
So from the son of a bitch Doug to the genuine Doug Graham: You were surrounded by people that laughed with you, respected you and loved you. It wasn’t a long enough battle, but in the end you won. Thank you for sharing with me the opportunity to reflect upon my life.
Now, did they bury you in the wheel chair or did you get wheels put on the outside of the coffin?
Mystery Spot
Greg and I went to the Columbus Zoo on Christmas Eve day. It was the least crowded I had ever seen the Zoo. Both for people and animals. There were no crowds and only about 40% of the animals were out and visible. It was still fun to get Greg out and give Miss Sally time to wrap presents.
While we were at the zoo, we stopped in at Bob and Evelyn's Roadhouse in the Australia area. Bob and Evelyn's Roadhouse is the entry to the nocturnal animal building. Inside, there is a huge relief map of Australia on the wall that I built with my own two hands.
At the time, we were designing and constructing a large number of painted signs. Patrick, with Dragonfly Design, was using sign board for most of these signs. Signboard is a 4’x8’ sheet of treated plywood with a paper coating on one side. It’s a great surface for painting and can be made weatherproof. I decided it would be great for the Australia map.
I hung two 4’x 8’ sheets of the signboard on a wall and projected an image of Australia on them. I traced. It’s tough to trace a line from a ladder and most of the eastern coast was free handed when my body eclipsed the overhead projector. I took the sheets off the wall and jigsawed the Australia from the scrap.
I attached the two sheets to each other and got out a 1 gallon can of Bondo. Earlier I had asked Ray if I could use Bondo to make a relief map. Ray said, "Oh yeah. Bondo will stick to anything." For those of you who are not familiar with Bondo, it is normally used with car repair to fill in dents. It’s got a lot of other uses because it will stick to about anything. The plan was to lay down a coat of Bondo over the whole map to create texture and then apply more Bondo later to create the mountains.
Bondo will stick to about anything... except signboard. When I went in the next day to add mountains to the map, I noticed that the Bondo was flaking off in some spots. And then as I touched it, it peeled off in a lot more spots. The paper side of signboard is too glossy and smooth to allow Bondo to stick. I told Ray this and Ray said, “Oh, you didn’t tell me you were applying it to signboard. It won’t stick to that.”
I chipped off all the Bondo (which actually did stick to some of the areas) and sanded the paper surface off the plywood. Re-applied Bondo. Let dry overnight. Go to Automotive store and buy more Bondo. Added mountains. More drying. Added bigger mountains. Sanded off the sharp points (points sharp enough to slice my hand several times.) Dragonfly Design painted the whole map and added borders, text and landmarks. We threw on some postcards and little plastic animals and hung the monstrosity in the nocturnal building. It is a thing of beauty.
What I have not mentioned was Allen’s idea to hide magnets in the map. During the Bondo phase, I drilled out three holes, filled them with rare earth magnets and covered them in Bondo. Dragonfly added the text “Mystery Spot” with an arrow.
As you can see, the magnets are strong enough to hold up my car keys.
For the time that creating the map took and all the sweat and blood and tears, I still love the Mystery Spot the most. It is a beautiful map, but because there is a simple, little secret that only a few people know about and even fewer will find on their own is such a wonderful treat.
**** *******
Author's note:
As a bonus, here is a photo of the DON'T ASK - NO WONKAS sign from a previous blog.
While we were at the zoo, we stopped in at Bob and Evelyn's Roadhouse in the Australia area. Bob and Evelyn's Roadhouse is the entry to the nocturnal animal building. Inside, there is a huge relief map of Australia on the wall that I built with my own two hands.
At the time, we were designing and constructing a large number of painted signs. Patrick, with Dragonfly Design, was using sign board for most of these signs. Signboard is a 4’x8’ sheet of treated plywood with a paper coating on one side. It’s a great surface for painting and can be made weatherproof. I decided it would be great for the Australia map.
I hung two 4’x 8’ sheets of the signboard on a wall and projected an image of Australia on them. I traced. It’s tough to trace a line from a ladder and most of the eastern coast was free handed when my body eclipsed the overhead projector. I took the sheets off the wall and jigsawed the Australia from the scrap.
I attached the two sheets to each other and got out a 1 gallon can of Bondo. Earlier I had asked Ray if I could use Bondo to make a relief map. Ray said, "Oh yeah. Bondo will stick to anything." For those of you who are not familiar with Bondo, it is normally used with car repair to fill in dents. It’s got a lot of other uses because it will stick to about anything. The plan was to lay down a coat of Bondo over the whole map to create texture and then apply more Bondo later to create the mountains.
Bondo will stick to about anything... except signboard. When I went in the next day to add mountains to the map, I noticed that the Bondo was flaking off in some spots. And then as I touched it, it peeled off in a lot more spots. The paper side of signboard is too glossy and smooth to allow Bondo to stick. I told Ray this and Ray said, “Oh, you didn’t tell me you were applying it to signboard. It won’t stick to that.”
I chipped off all the Bondo (which actually did stick to some of the areas) and sanded the paper surface off the plywood. Re-applied Bondo. Let dry overnight. Go to Automotive store and buy more Bondo. Added mountains. More drying. Added bigger mountains. Sanded off the sharp points (points sharp enough to slice my hand several times.) Dragonfly Design painted the whole map and added borders, text and landmarks. We threw on some postcards and little plastic animals and hung the monstrosity in the nocturnal building. It is a thing of beauty.
What I have not mentioned was Allen’s idea to hide magnets in the map. During the Bondo phase, I drilled out three holes, filled them with rare earth magnets and covered them in Bondo. Dragonfly added the text “Mystery Spot” with an arrow.
As you can see, the magnets are strong enough to hold up my car keys.
For the time that creating the map took and all the sweat and blood and tears, I still love the Mystery Spot the most. It is a beautiful map, but because there is a simple, little secret that only a few people know about and even fewer will find on their own is such a wonderful treat.
**** *******
Author's note:
As a bonus, here is a photo of the DON'T ASK - NO WONKAS sign from a previous blog.
Spelling list
I have attached below a list of spelling atrocities that we've received from our guys in the field.
On the left is their spelling. On the right is the correct spelling. (At least what we thought they meant to say.) We started the list off with “fule” and squeezed the rest in.
I am not pointing the finger at anyone or assigning any kind of guilt. I, too, am a horrible speller. I am fortunate enough to be at a computer where I have beeping and red underlines to warn me when I am not using i before e. My guys in the field fill out their paper work in the dark after ten hours of work. They don't have time to get out the dictionary and check for the correct spelling of the word "pay."
As a matter of fact, you'll notice a few of the words have asterisk next to them. These are words I have misspelled as well. Especially mileage.
You will also notice that “definitely” has a double asterisk next to it. That is because as I added it to the list and incorrectly spelled it in the translation column. My co-workers noticed this and started a separate list of things I have spelled wrong while mocking others.
The words “rite” or “write” or “right” were used interchangeably and incorrectly so often that they were retired from the list after the first week.
On the left is their spelling. On the right is the correct spelling. (At least what we thought they meant to say.) We started the list off with “fule” and squeezed the rest in.
I am not pointing the finger at anyone or assigning any kind of guilt. I, too, am a horrible speller. I am fortunate enough to be at a computer where I have beeping and red underlines to warn me when I am not using i before e. My guys in the field fill out their paper work in the dark after ten hours of work. They don't have time to get out the dictionary and check for the correct spelling of the word "pay."
As a matter of fact, you'll notice a few of the words have asterisk next to them. These are words I have misspelled as well. Especially mileage.
You will also notice that “definitely” has a double asterisk next to it. That is because as I added it to the list and incorrectly spelled it in the translation column. My co-workers noticed this and started a separate list of things I have spelled wrong while mocking others.
The words “rite” or “write” or “right” were used interchangeably and incorrectly so often that they were retired from the list after the first week.
The roll to clean-up ratio
It seems pretty late in the season for toilet papering, but that has not stopped the roaming gangs of teenagers in my neighborhood from raining down their hormone infused, single ply streams of terror.
The neighbor behind me got it two weeks ago and another down the street got it this weekend. It was probably a revenge papering. I’d imagine a teen could wake up one morning with a single sheet of TP in their bed from the neighborhood teen Don as a message to cut it out. Of course, the teenage guys would all ready have hundreds of crusty, crumpled sheets of tissue paper in their beds and wouldn’t notice.
I have three siblings, so our house got nailed a couple of times while we were in high school. I wasn’t exactly popular so the blame usually went to my sisters or older brother. I still had to help clean up. Our house would probably have been hit more often, but we lived way out in the middle of nowhere. Good for clandestine raids. Bad for the time and effort it took to get there.
But I know for sure that on one occasion our house got TP’d by a few of my admirers.
I woke up that Saturday morning without a hangover. I remember this because I wasn’t smart enough or possibly dumb enough to start drinking until late in my senior year. Dad directed me to look outside. The trees by the road had a nice coating of paper. They had not taken the time to work inwards towards the house. There wasn’t any additional material like shaving cream or malicious plastic forks in the lawn. Looked like a drive by TP'ing. Stick to the road, unload for a few minutes and drive off. Not a 100 roll job, but decent work. You could tell there were girls involved because they wrapped one of the tree trunks. Only girls would spend the time wrapping a tree trunk. A trunk wrap takes a longer time to apply, but it has a visual appeal. To the homeowner, or homeowner’s son, it only takes ten seconds to clean up. Not worth the roll to clean-up ratio that TP connoisseurs expect.
I grabbed some garbage bags and headed outside. About 45 minutes later I was done. All I needed was a rake and a stick to get most of it down. There was a smattering of paper still stuck in the higher branches, but you can never get it all.
Inside dad asked me a particularly loaded question, “What did you do to those girls to make them want to TP the house?”
Knowing this was a trap, I answered back with a question, “What girls?”
“The four girls that were here last night.”
Did he watch them from the window? How’d he know it was four girls? Did he invite them in for late night coffee?
The answer, without going through too many quotation marks, was that he counted them when the Sheriff brought them to the door.
A few of my female admirers schemed to TP my house. They had just gotten started when a Sheriff drove by. They all scattered, but in the middle of nowhere, it’s hard to scatter far without having to jump a fence or fall in a drainage ditch. The sheriff gathered them together and brought them to the front door. I was asleep, but dad wasn’t. He answered the door and the Sheriff explained that he caught the girls white handed. He wondered if dad wanted him to stay and help supervise the girls cleaning up their mess.
“No. Doug probably deserves it. He can clean it up in the morning.”
The girls were allowed to leave with repeated promises of reform.
At school the next Monday, the girls laughed and laughed and laughed. They said that when my dad lofted the “deserves it” line, they all chimed in with stories about me TP'ing them and that I did deserve it.
When Greg turns 16, he and I are going to load up the 2012 Honda Goya with 1000 rolls of TP and travel the country tracking down those four girls. We’ll show them what for.
Brenda
Kate
Lisa
Susan
No tree wrapping for us.
The neighbor behind me got it two weeks ago and another down the street got it this weekend. It was probably a revenge papering. I’d imagine a teen could wake up one morning with a single sheet of TP in their bed from the neighborhood teen Don as a message to cut it out. Of course, the teenage guys would all ready have hundreds of crusty, crumpled sheets of tissue paper in their beds and wouldn’t notice.
I have three siblings, so our house got nailed a couple of times while we were in high school. I wasn’t exactly popular so the blame usually went to my sisters or older brother. I still had to help clean up. Our house would probably have been hit more often, but we lived way out in the middle of nowhere. Good for clandestine raids. Bad for the time and effort it took to get there.
But I know for sure that on one occasion our house got TP’d by a few of my admirers.
I woke up that Saturday morning without a hangover. I remember this because I wasn’t smart enough or possibly dumb enough to start drinking until late in my senior year. Dad directed me to look outside. The trees by the road had a nice coating of paper. They had not taken the time to work inwards towards the house. There wasn’t any additional material like shaving cream or malicious plastic forks in the lawn. Looked like a drive by TP'ing. Stick to the road, unload for a few minutes and drive off. Not a 100 roll job, but decent work. You could tell there were girls involved because they wrapped one of the tree trunks. Only girls would spend the time wrapping a tree trunk. A trunk wrap takes a longer time to apply, but it has a visual appeal. To the homeowner, or homeowner’s son, it only takes ten seconds to clean up. Not worth the roll to clean-up ratio that TP connoisseurs expect.
I grabbed some garbage bags and headed outside. About 45 minutes later I was done. All I needed was a rake and a stick to get most of it down. There was a smattering of paper still stuck in the higher branches, but you can never get it all.
Inside dad asked me a particularly loaded question, “What did you do to those girls to make them want to TP the house?”
Knowing this was a trap, I answered back with a question, “What girls?”
“The four girls that were here last night.”
Did he watch them from the window? How’d he know it was four girls? Did he invite them in for late night coffee?
The answer, without going through too many quotation marks, was that he counted them when the Sheriff brought them to the door.
A few of my female admirers schemed to TP my house. They had just gotten started when a Sheriff drove by. They all scattered, but in the middle of nowhere, it’s hard to scatter far without having to jump a fence or fall in a drainage ditch. The sheriff gathered them together and brought them to the front door. I was asleep, but dad wasn’t. He answered the door and the Sheriff explained that he caught the girls white handed. He wondered if dad wanted him to stay and help supervise the girls cleaning up their mess.
“No. Doug probably deserves it. He can clean it up in the morning.”
The girls were allowed to leave with repeated promises of reform.
At school the next Monday, the girls laughed and laughed and laughed. They said that when my dad lofted the “deserves it” line, they all chimed in with stories about me TP'ing them and that I did deserve it.
When Greg turns 16, he and I are going to load up the 2012 Honda Goya with 1000 rolls of TP and travel the country tracking down those four girls. We’ll show them what for.
Brenda
Kate
Lisa
Susan
No tree wrapping for us.
British Christmas Card
A few years ago, Sally's good friend Dana was dating a British guy. We piled on the standard British jokes. She took it all in stride. That Christmas (before she dumped the bloke) she sent us this card (I cut and pasted the inside on to the bottom of the outside.)
As a bonus, here is Dana and me at a Holloween party a few months before the Christmas card. We were putting Rolos on our teeth and talking in British accents.
As a Super Bonus, here is Miss Sally wearing the Superman costume that I wore this year (with Super Extra Bonus Top and Bottom Comparison) That is also John as The Hulk.
As a bonus, here is Dana and me at a Holloween party a few months before the Christmas card. We were putting Rolos on our teeth and talking in British accents.
As a Super Bonus, here is Miss Sally wearing the Superman costume that I wore this year (with Super Extra Bonus Top and Bottom Comparison) That is also John as The Hulk.
My effect on people
I am not that bad of a person. Sometimes I come off that way. Many who only know me from social situations would never guess that I am a caring husband and responsible father when I am at home and not out drinking. I think my greatest attribute is my ability to find the perfect moment to quickly say something which to others is witty, but to the receiver of said wit, is grating and offensive.
Here's an example with photographic evidence:
The following photo was taken at Carl and Toni's wedding. You've got (L to R) Miss Sally, Beth, Dana and Leslie. It was taken by Dana's husband, Rod.
Off camera to the left of Rod, is me. Back a little. (You'll be able to figure out the trajectory in just a moment.)
I cannot remember exactly what I said, but it was to Dana and Rod took this second photo right after I said it.
You can see from the photo that three of the four people in the photo found what I said to be amusing.
I sometimes think to myself, is being egotistical, self absorbed and selfish such a bad thing? I can answer only as one with those qualities can: of course it isn't such a bad thing... for me.
I end with the timeless words of Dana's grandfather Mike, "I love me. Who do you love?"
Here's an example with photographic evidence:
The following photo was taken at Carl and Toni's wedding. You've got (L to R) Miss Sally, Beth, Dana and Leslie. It was taken by Dana's husband, Rod.
Off camera to the left of Rod, is me. Back a little. (You'll be able to figure out the trajectory in just a moment.)
I cannot remember exactly what I said, but it was to Dana and Rod took this second photo right after I said it.
You can see from the photo that three of the four people in the photo found what I said to be amusing.
I sometimes think to myself, is being egotistical, self absorbed and selfish such a bad thing? I can answer only as one with those qualities can: of course it isn't such a bad thing... for me.
I end with the timeless words of Dana's grandfather Mike, "I love me. Who do you love?"
Money Gram Directions
Hello Scammer!
I have your IP address as well as the location of the computer you are using.
The authorities have been notified.
Have a good day!
HolyJuan
I have your IP address as well as the location of the computer you are using.
The authorities have been notified.
Have a good day!
HolyJuan
Mistake
I think I made a mistake by giving my co-workers my blog site address. I had to share the video our boss made. It was easier to give them this address than search through the 12,328 hits for Santa and Letter on YouTube.
Now they will know when I've been out (last night,) what I was doing (drinking, darts and Skully's) and that I will be late into the office due to something besides the malaria I've contracted 16 times this year.
What that does give me is the opportunity to communicate to the office without having to use that pesky e-mail technology.
Hey Team,
Please let Lori know that I will be in by 10:00am. The malaria medicine is kicking in. Where are we going for lunch today?
Thanks,
Doug
Now they will know when I've been out (last night,) what I was doing (drinking, darts and Skully's) and that I will be late into the office due to something besides the malaria I've contracted 16 times this year.
What that does give me is the opportunity to communicate to the office without having to use that pesky e-mail technology.
Hey Team,
Please let Lori know that I will be in by 10:00am. The malaria medicine is kicking in. Where are we going for lunch today?
Thanks,
Doug
www.therealsantaletter.com
Do you have a friend that owns their own business or is an entrepreneur? Or do you have the friend who comes up with crazy ideas and says that they are going to make a lot of money as they try to combine a cork screw with a garage door opener?
Somehow, I have both. And they are the same person.
My boss is a partner in our company. He can talk the pants off a Mennonite and sell them to a quadriplegic. Because his accent is a combination between Dominican, Cuban and Puerto Rico Suave, he is able to charm both men and women alike. He knows thousands of people in the industry and they can’t forget him.
My boss also gets some really insane ideas which, in his mind, cannot fail. Like opening a Halloween haunted house. Sure, a haunted house can make some heavy change. But come on. Just because someone else is making money at something does not mean that you can jump right in and do the same. Most haunted houses start off as haunted apartments and work their way up.
He recently had another brainstorm. And this time he went through with it.
www.therealsantaletter.com
You go to the website, input your kid’s name and city, and pay them $6. (That is very cheap, claims my boss.) Later (hopefully before Christmas) a letter arrives with Santa’s signature suggesting he’ll be stopping by your house in ANYTOWN, USA to drop off gifts.
It is cheaper than the other Santa letters out there, so he’s got a point. He knows a mass mailer that is taking care of the website, printing and postage. All he has to do is sit back and wait for that Santa dough to start rolling in.
Or he could make a video for YouTube.
I’m not sure if this is an advertisement or the beginnings of a snuff film.
That is Shorty you hear laughing in the background.
Merry Chri$tmas!
Somehow, I have both. And they are the same person.
My boss is a partner in our company. He can talk the pants off a Mennonite and sell them to a quadriplegic. Because his accent is a combination between Dominican, Cuban and Puerto Rico Suave, he is able to charm both men and women alike. He knows thousands of people in the industry and they can’t forget him.
My boss also gets some really insane ideas which, in his mind, cannot fail. Like opening a Halloween haunted house. Sure, a haunted house can make some heavy change. But come on. Just because someone else is making money at something does not mean that you can jump right in and do the same. Most haunted houses start off as haunted apartments and work their way up.
He recently had another brainstorm. And this time he went through with it.
www.therealsantaletter.com
You go to the website, input your kid’s name and city, and pay them $6. (That is very cheap, claims my boss.) Later (hopefully before Christmas) a letter arrives with Santa’s signature suggesting he’ll be stopping by your house in ANYTOWN, USA to drop off gifts.
It is cheaper than the other Santa letters out there, so he’s got a point. He knows a mass mailer that is taking care of the website, printing and postage. All he has to do is sit back and wait for that Santa dough to start rolling in.
Or he could make a video for YouTube.
I’m not sure if this is an advertisement or the beginnings of a snuff film.
That is Shorty you hear laughing in the background.
Merry Chri$tmas!
Ohio State v. Florida
I don’t know much about sports. I do like to watch. I like to drink and get excited when Ohio State does well. I wear a Detroit Tigers hat, but couldn’t tell you anyone on their team in the past 10 years (except I remember Alan Trammel from Nintendo RBI Baseball.) Basically, I end up at a sporting event to drink or eat wings. The rest is just the heel on the loaf of bread.
But all of a sudden, I have an opinion. Everyone else does too, but mine is right.
The BCS is flawed. It is flawed because there is human input into it. If it were all stats and wins and losses, it would be too mechanical. If it were all human input, it would probably go down to the teams with the most revenue potential. The BCS tries to be a little of both and seems to be about 75% right, 1/3rd of the time. But, we don’t have a playoff system and the BCS is the stepuncle that we have to go to the zoo with.
What’s my opinion? It’s great that the BCS is flawed.
Today, coaches and sporticos will use their human judgment and vote for Florida. Michigan will cry and pout and point fingers and use the word “shoulda” a hundred times, but they would do the same thing if they were in Ohio State’s 12-0 shoes. No one, except everyone in Michigan, wants to see a replay. No one wants to see a team that came in second in the Big Ten go to the championship. And no one wants to see a possible Michigan win create a one to one tie. Fortunately, the system is flawed and because of that flaw, we will get an unflawed decision.
Florida (from what other people tell me I should believe) had a pretty tough schedule. They won their division. They have better uniforms than Michigan. I can’t see why they shouldn’t play Ohio State.
My prediction: lots of bitching and moaning from the team up north. And an Ohio State win vs Florida in the 2006 National Championship: 38 – 20.
Suck it, BCS. Suck it, Michigan.
But all of a sudden, I have an opinion. Everyone else does too, but mine is right.
The BCS is flawed. It is flawed because there is human input into it. If it were all stats and wins and losses, it would be too mechanical. If it were all human input, it would probably go down to the teams with the most revenue potential. The BCS tries to be a little of both and seems to be about 75% right, 1/3rd of the time. But, we don’t have a playoff system and the BCS is the stepuncle that we have to go to the zoo with.
What’s my opinion? It’s great that the BCS is flawed.
Today, coaches and sporticos will use their human judgment and vote for Florida. Michigan will cry and pout and point fingers and use the word “shoulda” a hundred times, but they would do the same thing if they were in Ohio State’s 12-0 shoes. No one, except everyone in Michigan, wants to see a replay. No one wants to see a team that came in second in the Big Ten go to the championship. And no one wants to see a possible Michigan win create a one to one tie. Fortunately, the system is flawed and because of that flaw, we will get an unflawed decision.
Florida (from what other people tell me I should believe) had a pretty tough schedule. They won their division. They have better uniforms than Michigan. I can’t see why they shouldn’t play Ohio State.
My prediction: lots of bitching and moaning from the team up north. And an Ohio State win vs Florida in the 2006 National Championship: 38 – 20.
Suck it, BCS. Suck it, Michigan.
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