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
Monday, September 20, 2004
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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