I would rebuild one so that all of the insides would be turned around 180 degrees to make a "backwards-mobile".. can you imagine how cool it would be to see a car that looked like it was going in reverse down the freeway at 65mph?
It would need tinted windows so it would look like a normal car to the other people on the streets. But not too dark of a tint, otherwise the cops would pull me over... Although they'd probably be a little suspicious in the first place seeing a car going in reverse down the freeway.
Could you get pulled over for that, I wonder? If you're obeying all traffic laws and wearing a seat belt, I would think not.
Hm.
Maybe I'll start reading Chilton's Auto Repair Manuals extensively to see if they have a "how to turn the insides of a car backwards" section and let you know if I come up with anything.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Attn. Fla-Vor-Ice: I am your bitch
Aah, Fla-Vor-Ice.
Or as I like to call it: Popsicle Bacon.
Why are these things so f*&king good? Why is one never enough? I don't even really like the things or care what color I have. I'll decide to have one at random and 10 minutes later I find myself feeling slightly disoriented, hand propping head up on the table, sitting beside a sticky pair of scissors and a pile of 6-7 empty plastic wrappers that look like clear bacon. And every time my stomach yells at me. It screams "WHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY???????"
People say it's hard to quit drinking or smoking... whatever, man. You haven't had any real pain until you've tried quitting Fla-Vor-Ice.
To cat, From owner
Dear Devo:
Please start biting your nails so I don’t have to wrestle you to clip them.
---
You can massage my belly any time, just try and not block my view of the TV so much.
---
Why do you keep drinking out of every water source but your own (other people’s glasses of water, the bathtub, the toilet, etc.)?
---
Why do you run to the fridge every time you hear the door open and continue to stand there sniffing the inventory when the door closes on you and you have to struggle to get yourself out of it? This happens every time, and maybe it’s time to come up with another plan. You're going to get hurt doing this.
---
There are much more comfortable places to sleep than wiggling and balancing on my leg when I’m on the computer or playing my guitars. I don’t mind it at all, just letting you know.
---
I appreciate the fact that you eat spiders – it keeps me from having to squash them in a crumpled up paper towel.
---
Thanks for never peeing on the laundry pile.
---
When "people food" is out, do you really enjoy being locked in the bathroom instead of just controlling yourself and not swatting it with your paws? It’s time to embrace the fact that you have food allergies and can only eat what the doctor says you can: Purina UR crunchy food or canned meat paste.
---
Contrary to what you may think:
1) When the doorbell rings, it is not the Feline Grim Reaper coming to get you and suck you into the fiery bowels of Hell.
2) When the vacuum is on, it is not on to chase you down and suck you into the fiery bowels of Hell.
---
(Author's note: Cat Hell = swarms of vacuum cleaners with arms and hands which enable them to ring doorbells.)
---
Contrary to what I think:
Chances are you aren’t sitting at the computer reading this, because you’re a cat.
Please start biting your nails so I don’t have to wrestle you to clip them.
---
You can massage my belly any time, just try and not block my view of the TV so much.
---
Why do you keep drinking out of every water source but your own (other people’s glasses of water, the bathtub, the toilet, etc.)?
---
Why do you run to the fridge every time you hear the door open and continue to stand there sniffing the inventory when the door closes on you and you have to struggle to get yourself out of it? This happens every time, and maybe it’s time to come up with another plan. You're going to get hurt doing this.
---
There are much more comfortable places to sleep than wiggling and balancing on my leg when I’m on the computer or playing my guitars. I don’t mind it at all, just letting you know.
---
I appreciate the fact that you eat spiders – it keeps me from having to squash them in a crumpled up paper towel.
---
Thanks for never peeing on the laundry pile.
---
When "people food" is out, do you really enjoy being locked in the bathroom instead of just controlling yourself and not swatting it with your paws? It’s time to embrace the fact that you have food allergies and can only eat what the doctor says you can: Purina UR crunchy food or canned meat paste.
---
Contrary to what you may think:
1) When the doorbell rings, it is not the Feline Grim Reaper coming to get you and suck you into the fiery bowels of Hell.
2) When the vacuum is on, it is not on to chase you down and suck you into the fiery bowels of Hell.
---
(Author's note: Cat Hell = swarms of vacuum cleaners with arms and hands which enable them to ring doorbells.)
---
Contrary to what I think:
Chances are you aren’t sitting at the computer reading this, because you’re a cat.
Monday, September 27, 2004
The Pinto Chronicles Vol. 2
1. Downtown Minneapplesauce. Monday afternoon (9.27.04)
7th Street and Hennepin right next to the First Avenue nightclub. The air was.... Breathable. African American gentleman walking past the car exclaimed the following:
"Alright, rollin' in the mutha-fuckin' Pintooooo!"
2. Nicollet and 32nd. Sunday evening (9.26.04)
Man in his van next to me on one way street pops his head out of the window, not giving any thought to the road, and gawks at the car for a good 3-4 seconds until his van swerves.
3. Dinkytown, leaving Podium Music - Thursday afternoon (9.23.04)
Bunch of dirty hippies walking across the street. Hippy girl in the group cannot contain her enthusiasm for poop brown Pinto and yells out "FUCK YEAH, DUDE!"
7th Street and Hennepin right next to the First Avenue nightclub. The air was.... Breathable. African American gentleman walking past the car exclaimed the following:
"Alright, rollin' in the mutha-fuckin' Pintooooo!"
2. Nicollet and 32nd. Sunday evening (9.26.04)
Man in his van next to me on one way street pops his head out of the window, not giving any thought to the road, and gawks at the car for a good 3-4 seconds until his van swerves.
3. Dinkytown, leaving Podium Music - Thursday afternoon (9.23.04)
Bunch of dirty hippies walking across the street. Hippy girl in the group cannot contain her enthusiasm for poop brown Pinto and yells out "FUCK YEAH, DUDE!"
Brains are weird.
And not just because they are inside of our heads and really squishy.
Sometimes my brain is not unlike a messed up "Where's Waldo" illustration where the artist forgot to draw him in. Not knowing Waldo is not included in the artwork, I look all over for Waldo with a giant magnifying glass and after hours and hours of observation am still unable to find him. On top of that, I was looking with the magnifying glass outside in broad daylight, so I burned a big hole in the paper.
This is my brain:
This is my brain on confusion:
Got any questions?
Sometimes my brain is not unlike a messed up "Where's Waldo" illustration where the artist forgot to draw him in. Not knowing Waldo is not included in the artwork, I look all over for Waldo with a giant magnifying glass and after hours and hours of observation am still unable to find him. On top of that, I was looking with the magnifying glass outside in broad daylight, so I burned a big hole in the paper.
This is my brain:
This is my brain on confusion:
Got any questions?
Saturday, September 25, 2004
I've got D sized batteries coming out of my arse
My band Iced Ink (http://www.icedink.net) was chosen as one of the bands from Minnesota to be featured in this year's nation wide Zippo Hot Tour band competition. It has proven to be quite exciting thus far - it has landed us a bunch of great shows on great nights, and we recently found out we're being professionally filmed at our show in November. The footage is allegedly going to be broadcast on HDNET in the early part of 2005... cool!
They emailed all of the bands at one point and gave us a heads up to keep an eye on the mailbox for some promotional materials. Yesterday I received an extremely cumbersome beat to hell box from UPS from the Zippo headquarters. The top of the box looked as if it had been punched in, and for that I'd like to give a hats off to the delicate measures UPS takes with handling all of their packages... he he!
I slid the box over to a good spot on the floor and ripped that sucker open. Inside were tons of different sized fancy shmancy flyers advertising the shows. Also included were about 75-100 CDs they had pressed with all of the Minnesota bands to hand out to people for free and fish them into coming to see us.
Now here's where it gets interesting. Remember how I mentioned the box weighed a ton? Amongst the lake of Styrofoam peanuts, nice smelling flyers, and CDs were nine Maxell D sized battery 16 packs. Nothing else. No notes of what to do with them or why there were so many... or why they were there in the first place.
Are we supposed to give 1 D battery away with each of the free CDs? Do I throw them into the audience at our shows and yell "FREE BATTERIES!" as a token of our appreciation? I have no clue. There is such a ridiculous amount of D batteries in that box that I'm contemplating building a castle out of them.
Anyways, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Zippo for all of the stuff. Everything looks great, we'll do our best to hand every last flyer and CD out. I think I have an idea of what to do with the batteries.
Hey close family and friends: guess what you're getting for Christmas...?
They emailed all of the bands at one point and gave us a heads up to keep an eye on the mailbox for some promotional materials. Yesterday I received an extremely cumbersome beat to hell box from UPS from the Zippo headquarters. The top of the box looked as if it had been punched in, and for that I'd like to give a hats off to the delicate measures UPS takes with handling all of their packages... he he!
I slid the box over to a good spot on the floor and ripped that sucker open. Inside were tons of different sized fancy shmancy flyers advertising the shows. Also included were about 75-100 CDs they had pressed with all of the Minnesota bands to hand out to people for free and fish them into coming to see us.
Now here's where it gets interesting. Remember how I mentioned the box weighed a ton? Amongst the lake of Styrofoam peanuts, nice smelling flyers, and CDs were nine Maxell D sized battery 16 packs. Nothing else. No notes of what to do with them or why there were so many... or why they were there in the first place.
Are we supposed to give 1 D battery away with each of the free CDs? Do I throw them into the audience at our shows and yell "FREE BATTERIES!" as a token of our appreciation? I have no clue. There is such a ridiculous amount of D batteries in that box that I'm contemplating building a castle out of them.
Anyways, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Zippo for all of the stuff. Everything looks great, we'll do our best to hand every last flyer and CD out. I think I have an idea of what to do with the batteries.
Hey close family and friends: guess what you're getting for Christmas...?
Friday, September 24, 2004
Therapeutic sidewalk embellishing
I saw something painted on the sidewalk yesterday that made me laugh:
"I HATE YOU DAD"
I found it incredibly amusing for three reasons.
1) What exactly did dad do?
2) I highly doubt that phrase has ever been painted on a sidewalk anywhere else... it was one of those things that just kind of catches you off guard (kudos to the artist for that one)
and
3) The medium in which it was executed: white paint with a small paintbrush. The letters were only about an inch tall. Have you ever painted on any sort of concrete surface? That shit isn't easy... taking into consideration that the artist was making letters, that must have taken at least a good 2-3 minutes from start to finish.
This raised a few other questions - is the house the embellished sidewalk is in front of where these people live? Has "dad" seen it? Or is the home occupied by a completely different family that has nothing to do with it? If so, have they seen it, and do they think everyone that reads it thinks someone in that house hates Dad? What if there isn't even a Dad in the house and everyone who reads that thinks there is, and this makes the occupants feel like complete strangers are making them out to be spoiled brats?
Sometimes I think way too much.
"I HATE YOU DAD"
I found it incredibly amusing for three reasons.
1) What exactly did dad do?
2) I highly doubt that phrase has ever been painted on a sidewalk anywhere else... it was one of those things that just kind of catches you off guard (kudos to the artist for that one)
and
3) The medium in which it was executed: white paint with a small paintbrush. The letters were only about an inch tall. Have you ever painted on any sort of concrete surface? That shit isn't easy... taking into consideration that the artist was making letters, that must have taken at least a good 2-3 minutes from start to finish.
This raised a few other questions - is the house the embellished sidewalk is in front of where these people live? Has "dad" seen it? Or is the home occupied by a completely different family that has nothing to do with it? If so, have they seen it, and do they think everyone that reads it thinks someone in that house hates Dad? What if there isn't even a Dad in the house and everyone who reads that thinks there is, and this makes the occupants feel like complete strangers are making them out to be spoiled brats?
Sometimes I think way too much.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
The Pinto Chronicles Vol.I
Today I shall begin journaling the entertaining banter one receives while driving a poop brown shiny wood paneled 1974 Pinto around the Twin Cities Metro Area.
9.22.04
1) Approx. 3pm - Carload of African American gentlemen at a stoplight on 26th Street in South Minneapolis. Passenger seat occupant looks over and yells "yeah, baby!" at the car. I mention the fact that they were African American because I want to prove a point: driving a Pinto can bring us as people closer together, regardless of skin color. "Ebony and Ivory, live together in perfect harmony... side by side in my poop brown Ford Pinto.." If Pintos were still being made, the world would be a better place. "But don't the gas tanks explode?" everyone says. Yup - it's called natural selection... look it up. And try and not kill yourself while you're at it. Whoa; that would be pretty ironic.
2) Later that evening while cruising on 35W at approx. 60 MPH, I heard honking. It was strange to hear honking on a highway. Turns out it was a guy on my left in a big old pickup truck smiling and giving me the thumbs up. At first I thought he was hitting on me, but then I realized "oh yeah... it's the car, it's the car" and let out a sigh of relief.
to be continued..
9.22.04
1) Approx. 3pm - Carload of African American gentlemen at a stoplight on 26th Street in South Minneapolis. Passenger seat occupant looks over and yells "yeah, baby!" at the car. I mention the fact that they were African American because I want to prove a point: driving a Pinto can bring us as people closer together, regardless of skin color. "Ebony and Ivory, live together in perfect harmony... side by side in my poop brown Ford Pinto.." If Pintos were still being made, the world would be a better place. "But don't the gas tanks explode?" everyone says. Yup - it's called natural selection... look it up. And try and not kill yourself while you're at it. Whoa; that would be pretty ironic.
2) Later that evening while cruising on 35W at approx. 60 MPH, I heard honking. It was strange to hear honking on a highway. Turns out it was a guy on my left in a big old pickup truck smiling and giving me the thumbs up. At first I thought he was hitting on me, but then I realized "oh yeah... it's the car, it's the car" and let out a sigh of relief.
to be continued..
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
I'm alive and well... Where am I?
I ripped that comment off from the classic 1986 KISS home video "eXposed". Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley were taking the camera crew through an old, dusty room full of KISS relics from the 70s. There was an Ace Frehley doll hanging from the ceiling with a tag on it and Paul Stanley jokingly grabbed on to the tag and said "..and this says 'I'm alive and well... where am I?'"
Granted this was a slight jab at Ace's fondness for a) being a bit of a space cadet and b) numbing himself (not necessarily in that order), ever since those words entered my 12 year old head, they've stuck there and played a very important role pretty much every day of my life since then. ("Ah HA!" I can hear some of you thinking)
This is the attitude we all need to have a little bit more of in our daily lives, myself included.
Last night after a cruise in the Awesome-Mobile, I was sitting at the stoplight off the South Lyndale exit from I94 and the car ahead of me was a purple Neon which was being operated by a very irate woman on her cell phone. There was a passenger in the vehicle who was on her cell phone as well (maybe they were talking to each other?) I don't like to judge a book by its cover, but I would go far enough to group these fine people in with the social classification many of today's younger people refer to as "Hoochie Mamas".
The driver was so incredibly angry with whomever she was talking to that she was holding her cell phone in front of her face like a walkie talkie and screaming her obscenity-laced feelings into it. It was very hard to not get out of my car, pry the cell phone out of her hands, stomp on it, tell her to shut the fuck up, and get back into my car. Why didn't I? I was afraid that she'd gouge my eyeballs out with her 4" long blue fingernails.
People like this need to take a step back and chill out. Life really isn't that bad.
Same goes for the guy in the DMV division of the DT Minneapolis courthouse that was getting pissy because his number was 98 and they were only on 65. Bring a book to read, dude. It's your own damn fault you're there in the first place, so suck it up like a big boy.
And the people at the intersection that I work next to every day. The people that honk at a car because they're behind it, it's making a left turn, and they can't get past them. I don't know how you get by without ever having to make a left turn at a stoplight when you drive unless no one is behind you, but do share the secret if you would be so kind.
Life sucks sometimes, plain and simple. But when you start having temper tantrums over petty, ridiculous circumstances that really aren't that bad, kick back, breathe a little bit, and try to save that anger and aggression for something worth while. Like when those god damned senior citizens in front of me at the grocery store lines waste my time digging through their pockets for coupons so they can save 35 cents on a jar of pasta sauce. Ha! Just kidding.
I'm alive and well... where am I?
I love exclaimation points!
I really do!
If you are a person who uses them on a regular basis like I do, hats off to you, my friend. Most of my favorite people I know use them a lot. You know who you are, darlings! Oh - look - an exclaimation point snuck into that last sentence! And there goes another one!
Exclaimation points ROCK! Green ones are even better.
!
If you are a person who uses them on a regular basis like I do, hats off to you, my friend. Most of my favorite people I know use them a lot. You know who you are, darlings! Oh - look - an exclaimation point snuck into that last sentence! And there goes another one!
Exclaimation points ROCK! Green ones are even better.
!
Monday, September 20, 2004
Headline: Madonna calls for world peace at meeting
I saw that headline today on my YAHOO! Home Page. Hm - slow news day, I guess! I found it to be so ridiculous that I couldn't even bring myself to click on it and read the story, nor do I think I ever will, so you'll have to take this journal entry with a grain of salt. My apologies if there is any sort of relevant and socially healing content in the article - rather than trying to justify it by reading it and trying to understand her cause, I'd rather be ignorant and spend 20 minutes bitching about it in today's journal entry.
Want to come with me? Keep reading.
Madonna: I do love you dearly. I must admit that I had a huge crush on you when "Like A Virgin" came out. I remember it was the selection of the month when I was a card carrying member of the Columbia Record and Tape Club. I purposely neglected to return the "DO NOT SEND ME THIS" card so the LP would be delivered to my doorstep and I could stare at the cover with oodles of impure thoughts (the record itself, as far as I was concerned back then, was only good for one thing: keeping the album cover from folding).
I understand you are a pioneer at what you do and you're on your 2 or 3 dozenth personal reinvention. Good for you. You look great, and I'm sure you could still give any female performer out there a run for her money.
And maybe you should stick to doing that. Do you really envision terrorist groups sitting around surfing the web, reading that headline, and thinking to themselves "Hmm... Now we've pissed Madonna off. This all has gone too far. Come on, people now - smile on your brother... get together everybody, try and love one another right now!"
Didn't think so.
In other words: please shut the hell up.
Here's the link to the story for those of you with the patience to read it:
http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20040920/ap_en_mu/israel_madonna_24
Want to come with me? Keep reading.
Madonna: I do love you dearly. I must admit that I had a huge crush on you when "Like A Virgin" came out. I remember it was the selection of the month when I was a card carrying member of the Columbia Record and Tape Club. I purposely neglected to return the "DO NOT SEND ME THIS" card so the LP would be delivered to my doorstep and I could stare at the cover with oodles of impure thoughts (the record itself, as far as I was concerned back then, was only good for one thing: keeping the album cover from folding).
I understand you are a pioneer at what you do and you're on your 2 or 3 dozenth personal reinvention. Good for you. You look great, and I'm sure you could still give any female performer out there a run for her money.
And maybe you should stick to doing that. Do you really envision terrorist groups sitting around surfing the web, reading that headline, and thinking to themselves "Hmm... Now we've pissed Madonna off. This all has gone too far. Come on, people now - smile on your brother... get together everybody, try and love one another right now!"
Didn't think so.
In other words: please shut the hell up.
Here's the link to the story for those of you with the patience to read it:
http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20040920/ap_en_mu/israel_madonna_24
Saturday, September 18, 2004
I'll trade you a batch of sugar cookies for a 1974 Pinto station wagon
My grandpa was a genius mad scientist when it came to tinkering with cars and just about anything else he saw room for improvement on. He had a slight case (ha ha) of OCD from living through the depression and pretty much held on to everything he owned whether he needed it or not. Gramps passed away a few years ago (RIP, Freeman). To put it lightly, he had a few vehicles laying around in his garage: I believe he had a few vans, motorcycle(s), a moped, scooter, snowmobile, various cars, and approximately 90 cases of motor oil - yes, NINE ZERO cases. Because it's always good to have a little extra on hand.
Pardon the digression... so anyways, amongst his vast collection of transportation devices was a lovely brown 1974 Pinto station wagon with wood paneling, AM radio.. the works. I remember taking many trips in that car with his dogs and his toolboxes - I reckon that car got me to Iowa, Wisconsin, and even up to his cabin in Orr, MN where I recently misplaced a boat.
One thing led to another and the Pinto ended up living on my parent's land after he died. It was recently unearthed and cleaned out by my Aunt Cookie ("the Aunt who took me to see KISS in 6th Grade," as I like to introduce her), whose name the vehicle was under. Last week she made me the deal of a lifetime: "I'll trade you a batch of sugar cookies for a 1974 Pinto station wagon!"
I know my sugar cookies are pretty good, but I'm not too sure they're good enough to trade for a near mint 1974 Pinto (or are they?) I made the cookies, we met at the license bureau, paid the $17.50 for title transfer, and the deal was done. I was the proud new owner of a goofy old brown 1974 Pinto Squire wagon with wood paneling and "optional AM radio" as the Ford Pinto manual puts it.
AWESOME.
I went out to the awesome-mobile and it was sitting there ready for me. Everybody else was gone. Just me and Grandpa's Pinto in the parking lot. It was now time for the official first drive alone in the car, and boy was it going to be fun ripping down I94 in this thing and getting strange looks from everyone. I put the key in the ignition and prepared myself to fire that baby up.
I adjusted the mirrors, fastened my seatbelt, and turned the key. I was salivating with delight.
*click* Nothing. No juice. I tried a few more times. *click* *click*
No Pinto starty start. No fun ride. Micycle go from very happy to very sad. Can everyone say "buzz kill"?
Thankfully it was just a dead battery, and the car was right smack dab in the middle of a Sears parking lot. $60 later (for a new battery and a wrench with which to install it), I sat back in the car and put the key in - and this time it started right up.
WOOOOOO HA!
I drove home blasting the AM radio and lived happily ever after. Even though the car is 30 years old, it was kept in a garage for most of its life and only has 43K miles on it. I'm sure it runs just as good (if not better) than when Gramps drove it out of the new car lot in 1974 when I was only 1.
Cookie: if you're reading this - thanks once again.
Gramps: wherever you are, if you're reading this, don't worry - I won't slam the doors, I'll keep it clean, and I'll be easy on the breaks. I'll change the oil every 3,000 miles for you, too.
To the guy I saw today on Hennepin and 31st that looked like a stagehand for the Scorpions and stuck his thumbs up when I drove by and yelled "ALLLLRIGHT - PINTOOOOOOOOO!!!!!":
HELL YEAH, BROTHER.
Pardon the digression... so anyways, amongst his vast collection of transportation devices was a lovely brown 1974 Pinto station wagon with wood paneling, AM radio.. the works. I remember taking many trips in that car with his dogs and his toolboxes - I reckon that car got me to Iowa, Wisconsin, and even up to his cabin in Orr, MN where I recently misplaced a boat.
One thing led to another and the Pinto ended up living on my parent's land after he died. It was recently unearthed and cleaned out by my Aunt Cookie ("the Aunt who took me to see KISS in 6th Grade," as I like to introduce her), whose name the vehicle was under. Last week she made me the deal of a lifetime: "I'll trade you a batch of sugar cookies for a 1974 Pinto station wagon!"
I know my sugar cookies are pretty good, but I'm not too sure they're good enough to trade for a near mint 1974 Pinto (or are they?) I made the cookies, we met at the license bureau, paid the $17.50 for title transfer, and the deal was done. I was the proud new owner of a goofy old brown 1974 Pinto Squire wagon with wood paneling and "optional AM radio" as the Ford Pinto manual puts it.
AWESOME.
I went out to the awesome-mobile and it was sitting there ready for me. Everybody else was gone. Just me and Grandpa's Pinto in the parking lot. It was now time for the official first drive alone in the car, and boy was it going to be fun ripping down I94 in this thing and getting strange looks from everyone. I put the key in the ignition and prepared myself to fire that baby up.
I adjusted the mirrors, fastened my seatbelt, and turned the key. I was salivating with delight.
*click* Nothing. No juice. I tried a few more times. *click* *click*
No Pinto starty start. No fun ride. Micycle go from very happy to very sad. Can everyone say "buzz kill"?
Thankfully it was just a dead battery, and the car was right smack dab in the middle of a Sears parking lot. $60 later (for a new battery and a wrench with which to install it), I sat back in the car and put the key in - and this time it started right up.
WOOOOOO HA!
I drove home blasting the AM radio and lived happily ever after. Even though the car is 30 years old, it was kept in a garage for most of its life and only has 43K miles on it. I'm sure it runs just as good (if not better) than when Gramps drove it out of the new car lot in 1974 when I was only 1.
Cookie: if you're reading this - thanks once again.
Gramps: wherever you are, if you're reading this, don't worry - I won't slam the doors, I'll keep it clean, and I'll be easy on the breaks. I'll change the oil every 3,000 miles for you, too.
To the guy I saw today on Hennepin and 31st that looked like a stagehand for the Scorpions and stuck his thumbs up when I drove by and yelled "ALLLLRIGHT - PINTOOOOOOOOO!!!!!":
HELL YEAH, BROTHER.
Friday, September 17, 2004
Dear family: It's time to play "What was found at the cabin?"
I misplaced a boat on the lake a few weeks ago (to refresh your memory, read this journal entry).
Rumor has it the DNR called, the watercraft has been found and is A-OK. It's about a 5 hour drive up there and everyone in the family lives here in the city. I guess all we have to do now is wait for a day when the wind is blowing in the opposite direction so they can release it and send it back.
Or maybe everyone on that side of the lake can plug their fans in, stand in front of the boat, and point them at our cabin while everyone on our side of the lake can stand out on the shore with their Shop Vacs turned on...?
Rumor has it the DNR called, the watercraft has been found and is A-OK. It's about a 5 hour drive up there and everyone in the family lives here in the city. I guess all we have to do now is wait for a day when the wind is blowing in the opposite direction so they can release it and send it back.
Or maybe everyone on that side of the lake can plug their fans in, stand in front of the boat, and point them at our cabin while everyone on our side of the lake can stand out on the shore with their Shop Vacs turned on...?
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
thesoundofliquid-phobia
I don't know what it is, but the sound of pouring liquids drives me up the wall. Always has, always will. And the funny thing is, I've been surrounded by it for the past 2 years working at a coffee shop.
For example: When I hear the sound of hot water being poured into a cup for tea, every hair on my body stands up and I have this uncontrollable urge to jump towards the plopping, trickling water sound and scream at it, take the cup and punch, kick, hit, or crush it as soon as I can to make my delicate sonic torture end.
With every single cup of coffee I serve, while dispensing it I have to try and force myself to focus on another sound in the shop to take my mind off of the gurgling, splashy sound of the coffee stream swirling around in the cup that I'm holding. Sometimes I try and start a completely sterile, petty conversation with the customer to distract myself. The alternative? Listen to the sound, over time become completely disgusted, and end up taking a $40 air pot out back in the alley and hammering the shit out of it with a Louisville Slugger to get out that aggression.
Those little trickling desktop water fountains.. uuuuuuuuughghghg....
And don't even get me started on beer commercials that you hear on the radio. You know what sound I'm talking about - that thick stream of foamy, delicious, creamy, cold beer pouring into a cup... all recorded with a $4000 microphone to capture every god damn little refreshing, crispy nuance of liquid splashing into an icy, frosty mug. I kid you not - I have to change the radio station when I hear a beer commercial start up because I just KNOW that sound is coming. A beer commercial with no expensively recorded pouring beer sound would be like having the State Fair with no "this-and-that-on-a-stick" jokes: A) Both would never ever happen, and B) I would be the happiest man alive if they did.
Is there a cure for this? Hypnosis? Ear plugs? Meditation? Pills? Do share if you have an answer.
Watch out for "Sounds I Hate Volume II": Loud Eaters.
For example: When I hear the sound of hot water being poured into a cup for tea, every hair on my body stands up and I have this uncontrollable urge to jump towards the plopping, trickling water sound and scream at it, take the cup and punch, kick, hit, or crush it as soon as I can to make my delicate sonic torture end.
With every single cup of coffee I serve, while dispensing it I have to try and force myself to focus on another sound in the shop to take my mind off of the gurgling, splashy sound of the coffee stream swirling around in the cup that I'm holding. Sometimes I try and start a completely sterile, petty conversation with the customer to distract myself. The alternative? Listen to the sound, over time become completely disgusted, and end up taking a $40 air pot out back in the alley and hammering the shit out of it with a Louisville Slugger to get out that aggression.
Those little trickling desktop water fountains.. uuuuuuuuughghghg....
And don't even get me started on beer commercials that you hear on the radio. You know what sound I'm talking about - that thick stream of foamy, delicious, creamy, cold beer pouring into a cup... all recorded with a $4000 microphone to capture every god damn little refreshing, crispy nuance of liquid splashing into an icy, frosty mug. I kid you not - I have to change the radio station when I hear a beer commercial start up because I just KNOW that sound is coming. A beer commercial with no expensively recorded pouring beer sound would be like having the State Fair with no "this-and-that-on-a-stick" jokes: A) Both would never ever happen, and B) I would be the happiest man alive if they did.
Is there a cure for this? Hypnosis? Ear plugs? Meditation? Pills? Do share if you have an answer.
Watch out for "Sounds I Hate Volume II": Loud Eaters.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Gravy forks and jimble jumbles
Stress is like a white painted carpet cleaning van walking down the dirt road: when Rumplestiltskin wakes his chili powder donut stumps, the cabbage moustache eats the Big League Chew.
Wednesday, September 8, 2004
Dear Family: It's time to play "What's Missing From The Cabin?"
Dear Family,
I will give you 3 guesses to figure out what disappeared from the cabin during my stay there over Labor Day Weekend. Hmm... whatever could it be?
You know I love you all dearly. Wow Mom, you look great today! What a nice blouse that is! Dad... I always thought you were the best! Your homemade booya always taste so delicious! What great parents I have. They're always so understanding, funny, and so good looking!
Which is why I'm such a great son that never does anything wrong. Never have. Well, there was that one time in 6th grade when me and my buddy Troy almost burnt down the entire nature preserve behind Crestview Elementary School while lighting entire books of matches. Ha ha! Good times! And that one time when Dad caught me and my dear friend Todd smoking out in the tool shed in 7th grade. Gosh, wasn't that just a riot?
Nope. I've never done anything wrong other than that. Well... maybe all those D's and F's and unexcused absences from school. And perhaps I accidentally taped over a couple of your movies when I couldn't find blank VHS tapes for Headbangers Ball. And that one time when I spent Dad's coin collection on Garbage Pail Kids. Oh - and those couple of times during the summer of 10th grade, the "summer of recreational deployment" when I came home at 4am. I was just trying to find out who I was. Boy, I sure learned a lot about myself during that time!
But that's it, really! Other than that, I'm an innocent little angel. Right? Which leads me back to this fun little game for us to play that I invented: "What's Missing From The Cabin?" Gosh, isn't this fun?! Tee hee!
If you guessed that 1 pound of turkey bacon is missing (which by the way contains 65% less fat than regular bacon), you are indeed correct. However, something slightly larger and a bit more expensive disappeared as well. Something... how shall I say... "buoyant".
I will give you a few more clues:
- It is something that is usually found by the dock chained to a tree.
- It is something that you usually see fishermen sitting in when they are out on the lake.
- It is something that I had tied to the dock and assumed would be there the next morning.
- It rhymes with the word "throat". And coincidentally, it also rhymes with "float".
Don't you just love games? They're so fun!
Wednesday, September 1, 2004
The Lost Short Stories Vol II: "Mr. Punkie"
"Mr Punkie"
Mr. Punkie was a happy little hamster. He ran in his wheel all the live long day, and slept in his warm little nest he made in the corner of his cage when he was tired.
When he was thirsty or hungry, he always had a fresh supply of cool water and the finest nutritionally enhanced rodent pellets money could buy.
One day, Rick, Mr. Punkie's owner, brought home some hamster friends for Mr. Punkie. Their names were Fluffy, Poof, and Bootsie."May we try your running wheel?" Fluffy asked.
“Sure you may try my wheel!" Mr. Punkie exclaimed. "But one at a time. I think my wheel is really swell, and Rick would be really sore with us if we were to break it."
The other hamsters instantly waddled to the wheel in excitement. "Yippieeeee!" Bootsie said. "I can't wait!"All three of them squeezed onto the wheel, and this made Mr. Punkie feel very uneasy. But they quickly got the wheel spinning, and it didn't appear to be unstable at all!
"Join in, Mr. Punkie!" exclaimed Poof, running short of breath. "It's real fun and we like you! We all really want you to help make it go FASTER! WEEEEEEEEEE!!!""I better not, that looks a little dangerous," Mr. Punkie said."Aw, come on, Punkie!" the others insisted. "It's really keen!"
"Well....." Mr. Punkie thought. It sure did look like fun. However, if the wheel was broken as a result of this, who knew when Rick would be able to fix it or buy a new one?
"Aw, gee; what the heck," Mr. Punkie said and walked towards the spinning wheel. It was squeaking louder as he approached, and he saw their little hamster footsies going at a million miles an hour. Jumping on this while it was moving so fast was going to be a challenge indeed!
"Jump Punkie! Jump!" Poof screamed. It looked like they were having soooo much fun!
Mr. Punkie took a deep breath and few steps back. He ran towards the spinning wheel which his three new friends were having the time of their lives on. Unfortunately, Mr. Punkie's head got caught in between the strip of metal on the side of the wheel which held it on its axel and the wheel stand, causing the wheel to come to a halt. The weight of all his friends exerted so much pressure on his poor little noggin that he was strangled to death.
"Oh no!" the others cried. They got off the wheel, sniffed poor Mr. Punkie's remains for a few minutes, and ate him.
The End
This story was inspired by my job at a pet store in high school. More often than not, I'd come in to feed the animals in the morning and find a half-eaten hamster in the cage and the other 6-7 hamsters laying around it with full bellies and content looks on their faces. There is a certain charm to the notion of cute, cuddly furry little rodents adored by little girls that eat each other's corpses. Also, crowded running wheel strangulation was a rather common means of accidental death amongst "Pets 4 U"'s hamster supply.
Mr. Punkie was a happy little hamster. He ran in his wheel all the live long day, and slept in his warm little nest he made in the corner of his cage when he was tired.
When he was thirsty or hungry, he always had a fresh supply of cool water and the finest nutritionally enhanced rodent pellets money could buy.
One day, Rick, Mr. Punkie's owner, brought home some hamster friends for Mr. Punkie. Their names were Fluffy, Poof, and Bootsie."May we try your running wheel?" Fluffy asked.
“Sure you may try my wheel!" Mr. Punkie exclaimed. "But one at a time. I think my wheel is really swell, and Rick would be really sore with us if we were to break it."
The other hamsters instantly waddled to the wheel in excitement. "Yippieeeee!" Bootsie said. "I can't wait!"All three of them squeezed onto the wheel, and this made Mr. Punkie feel very uneasy. But they quickly got the wheel spinning, and it didn't appear to be unstable at all!
"Join in, Mr. Punkie!" exclaimed Poof, running short of breath. "It's real fun and we like you! We all really want you to help make it go FASTER! WEEEEEEEEEE!!!""I better not, that looks a little dangerous," Mr. Punkie said."Aw, come on, Punkie!" the others insisted. "It's really keen!"
"Well....." Mr. Punkie thought. It sure did look like fun. However, if the wheel was broken as a result of this, who knew when Rick would be able to fix it or buy a new one?
"Aw, gee; what the heck," Mr. Punkie said and walked towards the spinning wheel. It was squeaking louder as he approached, and he saw their little hamster footsies going at a million miles an hour. Jumping on this while it was moving so fast was going to be a challenge indeed!
"Jump Punkie! Jump!" Poof screamed. It looked like they were having soooo much fun!
Mr. Punkie took a deep breath and few steps back. He ran towards the spinning wheel which his three new friends were having the time of their lives on. Unfortunately, Mr. Punkie's head got caught in between the strip of metal on the side of the wheel which held it on its axel and the wheel stand, causing the wheel to come to a halt. The weight of all his friends exerted so much pressure on his poor little noggin that he was strangled to death.
"Oh no!" the others cried. They got off the wheel, sniffed poor Mr. Punkie's remains for a few minutes, and ate him.
The End
This story was inspired by my job at a pet store in high school. More often than not, I'd come in to feed the animals in the morning and find a half-eaten hamster in the cage and the other 6-7 hamsters laying around it with full bellies and content looks on their faces. There is a certain charm to the notion of cute, cuddly furry little rodents adored by little girls that eat each other's corpses. Also, crowded running wheel strangulation was a rather common means of accidental death amongst "Pets 4 U"'s hamster supply.
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