Thursday, March 29, 2007
How I Roll
There are few absolute truths in an uncertain world. But perhaps this is one: You never forget your first.
How it felt to touch her. The nervousness and the uncertainty. Learning as you went. Realizing you could take her to places neither of you had been before.
I'm speaking, of course, of my first car.
It was February 1989. When I turned sixteen, my parents decided that I would get Mom's car and she would get something newer. So there it was, a black 1980 Chevrolet Monte Carlo. And it was all mine.
Sure, she had a few miles on her. How many, I'm not really sure, because the odomoter had broken long ago. But I knew it had power. A 3.8L V-6 under the hood. Vinyl seats. Wire wheel covers. (Stop drooling.)
I'll admit there were a couple of quirks, as there are bound to be with anyold classic car. There was a slight hesitation problem with the accelerator. It did not exactly have the lightning fast response one would hope for. It took a little sputtering and three or four seconds before those 229 cubic inches of raw Motor City power would kick in.
The Carlo also featured an AM/FM radio with the always-popular-but-never-practical cassette player with fast forward only, no rewind. So if I wanted to listen to a song again, I would have to flip the tape over and try to guess at how long to fast forward it. What einstein came up with this brilliant bit of cost-cutting ingenuity? How much extra does it cost to put a simple rewind button on there?
Then there was the speedometer. Or lack thereof. I drove by RPM's, much like NASCAR drivers do. Somehow I estimated that in high gear, 2000 RPM's equalled to 55 MPH, which was still the speed limit on most roads here in 1989. I have no idea how close I was, but I never got a ticket in that car.
Last but not least, for some reason the car would not stop running for a few seconds after you turned off the ignition. And by a few, I mean anywhere from five to twenty. Many days I remember pulling up to the Piggly Wiggly (my first job), turning off the car, taking out the keys, and getting nearly to the door before it would completely stop. Ironically, when I would crack it back up and start to back out, it would go dead if I didn't jam it from reverse into drive and give it gas all in less than 0.35 seconds.
There were good things about her, though. The cloth interior had come loose from the ceiling and hung fairly low. So, if I rolled the windows down, which I often did since the air didn't work, the wind would give it this super-cool rippling effect. Kinda like horizontal drapes flowing in front of an open window on a windy March afternoon. (Much like those in George Michael's "One More Try" video.) You might be surprised at how much attention this drew around town. Oh yeah! Everyone wanted to get a look at Bone in his sweet ride.
Oddly, I never had a date in that car. Talk about weird! Working at Piggly Wiggly, where my uniform consisted of a brown smock over a button-down shirt and one of those 80's solid colored nylon ties, and driving that marvel of modern machinery, one would think the ladies would have been all over me.
I drove the Carlo for five or six months, until I got a new job at another grocery store and a raise to $3.85 an hour. Then I could afford to get my own car. But I will always remember the black 1980 Monte Carlo. After all, you never forget your first.
(I thought it would be fun to do a series of posts, writing about each of the cars I've had. This was, obviously, part one.)
"I drive fastly, call me Jeff Gordon. In the black SS with the navigation..."
How it felt to touch her. The nervousness and the uncertainty. Learning as you went. Realizing you could take her to places neither of you had been before.
I'm speaking, of course, of my first car.
It was February 1989. When I turned sixteen, my parents decided that I would get Mom's car and she would get something newer. So there it was, a black 1980 Chevrolet Monte Carlo. And it was all mine.
Sure, she had a few miles on her. How many, I'm not really sure, because the odomoter had broken long ago. But I knew it had power. A 3.8L V-6 under the hood. Vinyl seats. Wire wheel covers. (Stop drooling.)
I'll admit there were a couple of quirks, as there are bound to be with any
The Carlo also featured an AM/FM radio with the always-popular-but-never-practical cassette player with fast forward only, no rewind. So if I wanted to listen to a song again, I would have to flip the tape over and try to guess at how long to fast forward it. What einstein came up with this brilliant bit of cost-cutting ingenuity? How much extra does it cost to put a simple rewind button on there?
Then there was the speedometer. Or lack thereof. I drove by RPM's, much like NASCAR drivers do. Somehow I estimated that in high gear, 2000 RPM's equalled to 55 MPH, which was still the speed limit on most roads here in 1989. I have no idea how close I was, but I never got a ticket in that car.
Last but not least, for some reason the car would not stop running for a few seconds after you turned off the ignition. And by a few, I mean anywhere from five to twenty. Many days I remember pulling up to the Piggly Wiggly (my first job), turning off the car, taking out the keys, and getting nearly to the door before it would completely stop. Ironically, when I would crack it back up and start to back out, it would go dead if I didn't jam it from reverse into drive and give it gas all in less than 0.35 seconds.
There were good things about her, though. The cloth interior had come loose from the ceiling and hung fairly low. So, if I rolled the windows down, which I often did since the air didn't work, the wind would give it this super-cool rippling effect. Kinda like horizontal drapes flowing in front of an open window on a windy March afternoon. (Much like those in George Michael's "One More Try" video.) You might be surprised at how much attention this drew around town. Oh yeah! Everyone wanted to get a look at Bone in his sweet ride.
Oddly, I never had a date in that car. Talk about weird! Working at Piggly Wiggly, where my uniform consisted of a brown smock over a button-down shirt and one of those 80's solid colored nylon ties, and driving that marvel of modern machinery, one would think the ladies would have been all over me.
I drove the Carlo for five or six months, until I got a new job at another grocery store and a raise to $3.85 an hour. Then I could afford to get my own car. But I will always remember the black 1980 Monte Carlo. After all, you never forget your first.
(I thought it would be fun to do a series of posts, writing about each of the cars I've had. This was, obviously, part one.)
"I drive fastly, call me Jeff Gordon. In the black SS with the navigation..."
Labels: 80's, Bone, cars, high school, How I Roll
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
3 Word Wednesday XXIX
Welcome to Three Word Wednesday.
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Easily
Type
Shattered
Whenever I look back, it always amazes me how easily we fit together. I never recall any nervousness. No awkward minutes, or even seconds. Maybe it came too easily. We got to a point where I no longer knew where I stopped and where she began. I thought that a good thing. But now, looking back, I am not sure.
Whenever I look back, it always amazes me how I could have ever let her slip away. It seems impossible now, like something I would never do. But I know it is possible. And I know how shattered feels.
Whenever I look back, it always amazes me how long it has been. And how she continues to have a profound effect on my heart and my life, even after all this time. She is still the inspiration for many of the words I type.
Whenever I look back, I see her. And I smile, despite the emptiness that still remains. Sometimes she is smiling back at me. Sometimes she appears crestfallen. And I beat myself up one more time over mistakes for which I have already paid.
"Every step you take reminds you that she's walking on. And for all you know, this could be, the difference between what you need and what you want to be..."
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Easily
Type
Shattered
Whenever I look back, it always amazes me how easily we fit together. I never recall any nervousness. No awkward minutes, or even seconds. Maybe it came too easily. We got to a point where I no longer knew where I stopped and where she began. I thought that a good thing. But now, looking back, I am not sure.
Whenever I look back, it always amazes me how I could have ever let her slip away. It seems impossible now, like something I would never do. But I know it is possible. And I know how shattered feels.
Whenever I look back, it always amazes me how long it has been. And how she continues to have a profound effect on my heart and my life, even after all this time. She is still the inspiration for many of the words I type.
Whenever I look back, I see her. And I smile, despite the emptiness that still remains. Sometimes she is smiling back at me. Sometimes she appears crestfallen. And I beat myself up one more time over mistakes for which I have already paid.
"Every step you take reminds you that she's walking on. And for all you know, this could be, the difference between what you need and what you want to be..."
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
24 Recap:3/26/07
There's a fun, new post 'neath this one. I kinda got carried away writing last night/this morning :)
Today is also an important day in history. The urinal was patented on this date in 1866. And I, for one, am very thankful. I'm not sure I could survive if I had to sit to pee.
Recapping Day Six: 8:00 PM - 9:00 PM
In the aftermath of the raid on the drone pilot's compound, Bill tells Jack about VP Daniels plan for retalitation against Fayed's country. He says they have to find Gredenko within the hour, before Daniels launches the nuclear strike. Meanwhile, Nameless Drone Pilot Tron Controller Guy #1 dies.
Out at Gredenko's Desert Hideaway, Resort, and Nuclear Drone Launch Site, Fayed threatens Gredenko after they learn the latest nuke did not detonate. Gredenko tells Fayed he is the only one who can get him the targets he wants. You know, that whole "What Do I Have To Do To Put You In A Terrorist Attack Today" sales pitch. Gredenko calls some guy named Mark Hauser and says he needs security specs for something. Mark instructs his brother, Brady, to get the information. Brady goes to the computer.
At CTU, where Milo appears to just be watching Nadia on her live holding room webcam, Chloe is able to track the call and get Hauser's address. For some reason, she was unable to get Gredenko's location from the same call. He must have star sixty-sevened. They call Jack and he prepares to take a field team over. Meanwhile, an agent named Johnson tells Ricky Schroder that he found a load access module which the drone pilot used to get into CTU's system, meaning Nadia is innocent. He tells Ricky that won't look good after Ricky "led the witchhunt" on Nadia. Johnson promises he won't mention it to anyone, since Ricky helped him out in Denver.
Outside President Palmer's hospital room, Karen Hayes tells Sandra Palmer she needs her consent to bring Wayne out of his coma, so he can stop Daniels planned nuclear strike. In a recurring 24 theme, Sandra says no at first, but finally agrees.
In the bunker, Daniels is briefed and told that a 300 kiloton bomb will be detonated in the Middle East within the hour. That's roughly equal to 12 million sticks of dynamite, or 72 million M-80's. The meeting is interrupted when Daniels is given a message that Palmer is being brought out of the coma. He calls Palmer's doctor and threatens him. The doctor refuses to give in to Daniels' strongarm tactics.
Jack and the field team storm Hauser's lair. They shoot and wound Mark, who confesses he was looking up security specs for the Edgemont Nuclear Power Facility for Gredenko. Jack has Mark call Gredenko and tell him the information is ready, but that Mark can't meet him because he just got called into work. Who gets called into work at 8:30 at night? Where does he work? NORAD? Wal-Mart? Jack talks to Brady, who appears to be Autistic. It is determined that Brady will meet Gredenko across the street. Jack and the field team will be waiting!
Meanwhile, at As CTU Turns, Johnson tells Milo that Ricky has information that would clear Nadia. Milo confronts Ricky and accuses him of not reporting the information. They shove each other. Then Morris comes over and says Ricky gave the chip to him to analyze. Everything checked out. Nadia is cleared. Milo apologizes to Ricky. Ricky goes over to Johnson and tells him, "You've screwed with the wrong guy for the last time." I was on Silver Spoons when you were nothing!
Bill goes to apologize to Nadia. She starts to walk out and he talks her into staying. When she returns to her station, Milo tries to talk to her, but Nadia walks away. Milo follows her to a convenient quaint little out of the way place inside the ever-so-cavernous CTU, where he promptly checks her breath, for about six and a half seconds. I feel much safer knowing that people assigned to stop terrorists can still find a moment or two to make-out during the day.
At Coma Central, the doctor tells Sandra that Palmer is starting to have intercranial swelling again. Palmer begins to crash. Which, sadly, is the most excitement we've had to this point.
Across the street from Hauser's, Brady is wired and waiting. Gredenko arrives, gets out of the vehicle, and begins uploading the security specs. Jack hears Gredenko tell one of his men to shoot Brady as soon as the upload is complete. Just before he is about to, the field team shoots Gredenko with a tranquilizer gun and take out other two men who were with him. Brady is unharmed. Once Gredenko wakes up, Jack goes to question him. Gredenko says he will help find Fayed, but he wants amnesty in return.
Back at Shock & Awe HQ, Daniels gets word that CTU has Gredenko in custody, but gives the command to proceed with the nuclear strike anyway. The defense secretary returns and says they've just been ordered to stand down. Daniels asks where the order came from, and is told they came from President Palmer! He's out of the coma! Lisa hands Daniels the phone. It's Palmer, who says he is resuming his duties as President and that there is to be no hostile launch without his direct authorization. After they hang up, Daniels says, "I can't let him remain in power. Get me the Attorney General."
The good:
President Palmer being brought out of the coma just in time to stop the nuclear strike.
Jack and the field team capturing Gredenko.
No "mole" being found at CTU. It's been done to death. Besides, a Counter Terrorist Unit that averts terrorists attacks together, stays together.
Ricky not withholding the information about Nadia. I hate to say it, but when he told off Johnson, I kinda started to like him.
The bad:
In what is becoming an all too often occurrence this season, there was very little action. We're basically left each week waiting for the final ten or fifteen minutes of the show for the excitement.
I would have liked to have seen some cigar-cutter-finger-lopping interrogation action between Jack and Gredenko.
Best scene:
Palmer calling Daniels to stop the nuclear strike. "I am resuming my duties as Commander-in-Chief."
Random quote:
Nadia to Morris: "You have to admit this is not the best place to start a relationship."
Chloeisms:
"This is gonna be awkward... especially for you."
Questions:
Where is Jack's father?
Now that things are running a bit too smoothly at CTU, will the fact that Bill signed off on Fayed's release come back into play?
Why do they only refer to it as "Fayed's Country?" Is there some sort of obscure international Treaty of Fayed or something that says you can't make a TV show about launching a nuclear attack on a specific country? Has anyone ever read the fine print from that SALT agreement?
Will we ever actually see Audrey again? Or just hear stories about her? Kinda like on Happy Days when Richie joined the army. And they would act like he called, but we never saw or heard him.
"A tournament of lies. Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, and I decline. It's the end of the world as we know it..."
Today is also an important day in history. The urinal was patented on this date in 1866. And I, for one, am very thankful. I'm not sure I could survive if I had to sit to pee.
Recapping Day Six: 8:00 PM - 9:00 PM
In the aftermath of the raid on the drone pilot's compound, Bill tells Jack about VP Daniels plan for retalitation against Fayed's country. He says they have to find Gredenko within the hour, before Daniels launches the nuclear strike. Meanwhile, Nameless Drone Pilot Tron Controller Guy #1 dies.
Out at Gredenko's Desert Hideaway, Resort, and Nuclear Drone Launch Site, Fayed threatens Gredenko after they learn the latest nuke did not detonate. Gredenko tells Fayed he is the only one who can get him the targets he wants. You know, that whole "What Do I Have To Do To Put You In A Terrorist Attack Today" sales pitch. Gredenko calls some guy named Mark Hauser and says he needs security specs for something. Mark instructs his brother, Brady, to get the information. Brady goes to the computer.
At CTU, where Milo appears to just be watching Nadia on her live holding room webcam, Chloe is able to track the call and get Hauser's address. For some reason, she was unable to get Gredenko's location from the same call. He must have star sixty-sevened. They call Jack and he prepares to take a field team over. Meanwhile, an agent named Johnson tells Ricky Schroder that he found a load access module which the drone pilot used to get into CTU's system, meaning Nadia is innocent. He tells Ricky that won't look good after Ricky "led the witchhunt" on Nadia. Johnson promises he won't mention it to anyone, since Ricky helped him out in Denver.
Outside President Palmer's hospital room, Karen Hayes tells Sandra Palmer she needs her consent to bring Wayne out of his coma, so he can stop Daniels planned nuclear strike. In a recurring 24 theme, Sandra says no at first, but finally agrees.
In the bunker, Daniels is briefed and told that a 300 kiloton bomb will be detonated in the Middle East within the hour. That's roughly equal to 12 million sticks of dynamite, or 72 million M-80's. The meeting is interrupted when Daniels is given a message that Palmer is being brought out of the coma. He calls Palmer's doctor and threatens him. The doctor refuses to give in to Daniels' strongarm tactics.
Jack and the field team storm Hauser's lair. They shoot and wound Mark, who confesses he was looking up security specs for the Edgemont Nuclear Power Facility for Gredenko. Jack has Mark call Gredenko and tell him the information is ready, but that Mark can't meet him because he just got called into work. Who gets called into work at 8:30 at night? Where does he work? NORAD? Wal-Mart? Jack talks to Brady, who appears to be Autistic. It is determined that Brady will meet Gredenko across the street. Jack and the field team will be waiting!
Meanwhile, at As CTU Turns, Johnson tells Milo that Ricky has information that would clear Nadia. Milo confronts Ricky and accuses him of not reporting the information. They shove each other. Then Morris comes over and says Ricky gave the chip to him to analyze. Everything checked out. Nadia is cleared. Milo apologizes to Ricky. Ricky goes over to Johnson and tells him, "You've screwed with the wrong guy for the last time." I was on Silver Spoons when you were nothing!
Bill goes to apologize to Nadia. She starts to walk out and he talks her into staying. When she returns to her station, Milo tries to talk to her, but Nadia walks away. Milo follows her to a convenient quaint little out of the way place inside the ever-so-cavernous CTU, where he promptly checks her breath, for about six and a half seconds. I feel much safer knowing that people assigned to stop terrorists can still find a moment or two to make-out during the day.
At Coma Central, the doctor tells Sandra that Palmer is starting to have intercranial swelling again. Palmer begins to crash. Which, sadly, is the most excitement we've had to this point.
Across the street from Hauser's, Brady is wired and waiting. Gredenko arrives, gets out of the vehicle, and begins uploading the security specs. Jack hears Gredenko tell one of his men to shoot Brady as soon as the upload is complete. Just before he is about to, the field team shoots Gredenko with a tranquilizer gun and take out other two men who were with him. Brady is unharmed. Once Gredenko wakes up, Jack goes to question him. Gredenko says he will help find Fayed, but he wants amnesty in return.
Back at Shock & Awe HQ, Daniels gets word that CTU has Gredenko in custody, but gives the command to proceed with the nuclear strike anyway. The defense secretary returns and says they've just been ordered to stand down. Daniels asks where the order came from, and is told they came from President Palmer! He's out of the coma! Lisa hands Daniels the phone. It's Palmer, who says he is resuming his duties as President and that there is to be no hostile launch without his direct authorization. After they hang up, Daniels says, "I can't let him remain in power. Get me the Attorney General."
The good:
President Palmer being brought out of the coma just in time to stop the nuclear strike.
Jack and the field team capturing Gredenko.
No "mole" being found at CTU. It's been done to death. Besides, a Counter Terrorist Unit that averts terrorists attacks together, stays together.
Ricky not withholding the information about Nadia. I hate to say it, but when he told off Johnson, I kinda started to like him.
The bad:
In what is becoming an all too often occurrence this season, there was very little action. We're basically left each week waiting for the final ten or fifteen minutes of the show for the excitement.
I would have liked to have seen some cigar-cutter-finger-lopping interrogation action between Jack and Gredenko.
Best scene:
Palmer calling Daniels to stop the nuclear strike. "I am resuming my duties as Commander-in-Chief."
Random quote:
Nadia to Morris: "You have to admit this is not the best place to start a relationship."
Chloeisms:
"This is gonna be awkward... especially for you."
Questions:
Where is Jack's father?
Now that things are running a bit too smoothly at CTU, will the fact that Bill signed off on Fayed's release come back into play?
Why do they only refer to it as "Fayed's Country?" Is there some sort of obscure international Treaty of Fayed or something that says you can't make a TV show about launching a nuclear attack on a specific country? Has anyone ever read the fine print from that SALT agreement?
Will we ever actually see Audrey again? Or just hear stories about her? Kinda like on Happy Days when Richie joined the army. And they would act like he called, but we never saw or heard him.
"A tournament of lies. Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, and I decline. It's the end of the world as we know it..."
Riding In Cars With Boys
Hanging out with Little Joe and Wolfgang is kinda like watching Robin Williams on a talk show. I'm never quite sure what to expect, but I know I'll most likely be entertained. And sometimes scared.
The first weekend of Spring felt like the first weekend of Summer. So LJ, Wolfgang, and I took advantage by heading up to Kinlock Falls Sunday afternoon. Despite temperatures which had been in the 80's seemingly for a week, the water was slightly frigid. I found that out the first time I jumped in, leaving me yelping like a little girl. It was like millions of tiny pin pricks on my delicate, milky white skin. Nature's own little accupuncture therapy, if you will.
As we were leaving, I ran into a girl I knew but couldn't remember her name. (That's not selective memory. That's just bad memory.) We chatted for a few minutes. Meanwhile, LJ had been talking to this guy about the location of another swimming hole, deeper in the forest. We decided we'd look for it.
About a quarter of a mile up the road, I heard a beeping noise, then looked over and said, "Uhh, why does that say low fuel?"
LJ replied, "Oh... uh... I forgot about that. Yeah. We're not going to The Blue Hole today."
So there we were, on a gravel road deep inside the national forest, with LJ's instrument panel reading that we had 27 miles of gas remaining. And I'm estimating it is about 25 miles back to the store. LJ didn't think it was that far and said he was confident we had plenty of gas. Wolfgang and I began to berate LJ. I asked him why he didn't get gas before we left town, especially since I had him stop at a store on the way so that I could get a Mountain Dew!
I should probably mention here that LJ has a history of running out of gas. (And being in wrecks. And staying up for forty-eight straight hours and hallucinating. But those are other stories for another time.) For some illogical reason, he seems to enjoy pushing the limits and seeing just how far his car will go.
I was even riding with him once when, after ignoring my continuous pleas to stop, he ran out of gas in a rather unsavory area of town. In that particular instance, he said not to worry, that the car would restart at least twice after it first ran out of gas. Which would indicate he had done that at least once before. Amazingly enough, it did, and we coasted into the next gas station.
Anyway, back to Sunday. We got back to the store with three miles of gas remaining. Just as we were about to pull in, Wolfgang yelled from the back seat, "Keep going! I want to see how far we could have made it!" Ugh.
They dropped me off at my car. As we pulled back onto the highway, I saw the top start to go up on Little Joe's convertible. He started down the highway with the top standing straight up in the air, almost perfectly vertical. I had no idea what they were doing, but he pulled into someone's driveway. I honked and continued past. My phone rang. It was Wolfgang. I answered but couldn't even manage to say hello. For like twenty seconds, there's nothing but laughter on both ends.
We met back up at LJ's later that night. I walked into the kitchen to get something and noticed three pairs of solid white Reeboks sitting heel-to-toe by the garage door. I nearly pulled out my phone to take a picture. (They were kinda like these except without the navy.) Here were these three pairs of shoes from the 1980's, identical except for the amount of wear.
What?
Does he just keep buying the same style over and over? And if so, where does he still find them? Or did he buy them all in 1989? And why three pairs? Maybe they were the last three pairs ever made, so he wanted to stock up on them. Or maybe he rotates them, like tires, so that they last longer.
So many questions. So few answers...
Again, I never know what to expect, and sometimes I'm scared.
"So put me on a highway, and show me a sign, and take it to the limit one more time..."
The first weekend of Spring felt like the first weekend of Summer. So LJ, Wolfgang, and I took advantage by heading up to Kinlock Falls Sunday afternoon. Despite temperatures which had been in the 80's seemingly for a week, the water was slightly frigid. I found that out the first time I jumped in, leaving me yelping like a little girl. It was like millions of tiny pin pricks on my delicate, milky white skin. Nature's own little accupuncture therapy, if you will.
As we were leaving, I ran into a girl I knew but couldn't remember her name. (That's not selective memory. That's just bad memory.) We chatted for a few minutes. Meanwhile, LJ had been talking to this guy about the location of another swimming hole, deeper in the forest. We decided we'd look for it.
About a quarter of a mile up the road, I heard a beeping noise, then looked over and said, "Uhh, why does that say low fuel?"
LJ replied, "Oh... uh... I forgot about that. Yeah. We're not going to The Blue Hole today."
So there we were, on a gravel road deep inside the national forest, with LJ's instrument panel reading that we had 27 miles of gas remaining. And I'm estimating it is about 25 miles back to the store. LJ didn't think it was that far and said he was confident we had plenty of gas. Wolfgang and I began to berate LJ. I asked him why he didn't get gas before we left town, especially since I had him stop at a store on the way so that I could get a Mountain Dew!
I should probably mention here that LJ has a history of running out of gas. (And being in wrecks. And staying up for forty-eight straight hours and hallucinating. But those are other stories for another time.) For some illogical reason, he seems to enjoy pushing the limits and seeing just how far his car will go.
I was even riding with him once when, after ignoring my continuous pleas to stop, he ran out of gas in a rather unsavory area of town. In that particular instance, he said not to worry, that the car would restart at least twice after it first ran out of gas. Which would indicate he had done that at least once before. Amazingly enough, it did, and we coasted into the next gas station.
Anyway, back to Sunday. We got back to the store with three miles of gas remaining. Just as we were about to pull in, Wolfgang yelled from the back seat, "Keep going! I want to see how far we could have made it!" Ugh.
They dropped me off at my car. As we pulled back onto the highway, I saw the top start to go up on Little Joe's convertible. He started down the highway with the top standing straight up in the air, almost perfectly vertical. I had no idea what they were doing, but he pulled into someone's driveway. I honked and continued past. My phone rang. It was Wolfgang. I answered but couldn't even manage to say hello. For like twenty seconds, there's nothing but laughter on both ends.
We met back up at LJ's later that night. I walked into the kitchen to get something and noticed three pairs of solid white Reeboks sitting heel-to-toe by the garage door. I nearly pulled out my phone to take a picture. (They were kinda like these except without the navy.) Here were these three pairs of shoes from the 1980's, identical except for the amount of wear.
What?
Does he just keep buying the same style over and over? And if so, where does he still find them? Or did he buy them all in 1989? And why three pairs? Maybe they were the last three pairs ever made, so he wanted to stock up on them. Or maybe he rotates them, like tires, so that they last longer.
So many questions. So few answers...
Again, I never know what to expect, and sometimes I'm scared.
"So put me on a highway, and show me a sign, and take it to the limit one more time..."
Labels: fashion, friends, kinlock, little joe, wolfgang
Friday, March 23, 2007
Y-Chromosomitis
I received an IM from a friend the other night that read simply:
"Why no T-Bone?"
No "hello." No "hi, how are you?" Just those four words. Yet immediately, I not only recognized it as a line from Seinfeld, but I knew the specific episode and scene it came from, as well as who said it.
Granted, that was an easy one, since that is the episode my name, Bone, was derived from. (By the way, thanks Renee for explaining that on another blog. I love my readers!) But it's not the first time this has happened.
I can pretty much do that with any Seinfeld line. Yet someone has to tell me when their birthday is at least five times before I can remember it.
I can name at least eight current pro bowlers off the top of my head, and recognize them when I see them on TV. And I don't even watch bowling all that much. (Except apparently I do.) Yet I have trouble remembering much of anything any female said to me even twenty-four hours ago. Or five minutes ago.
How can this be? Well, I have come up with a theory. You may want to sit down for this. You know, if you normally read my blog standing up...
I think I may have selective memory.
(Pause to wait for gasps of disbelief to subside.)
Please don't let this negatively affect your opinion of me. I'm still same old rugged, General Hospital-watching, 24-recapping, Seinfeld-quoting, Jason Morgan-esque ladies man you've come to know and love. But, I do have a problem. And admitting it is the first step to recovery.
Now... what were we talking about?
Oh, yes... bowling!
No, seriously. I've also come to believe my selective memory could be partly due to the fact that, at times, I may also have selective hearing.
I know, I know. This is almost impossible to believe. It's like hearing that Rosie O'Donnell hangs upside down for fun. But let me give you an example:
If I'm watching sports (or Letterman, or poker, or You've Got Mail) and a girl calls, I would venture to guess that I fail to comprehend anywhere from 50-75% of what she is saying. If it's a really exciting game, or Alabama is playing, that number could be as high as 99%. (I would say 100, but I normally eventually hear them saying my name repeatedly when they realize I'm distracted.)
Why do I do this? In my opinion, it basically comes down to two simple facts. I have a short attention span. And, I can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Sure, sometimes I fake it, who doesn't? Like with the television and phone calls. But in reality, only one thing or the other is getting thru. And if I'm listening to her, then I'm missing the game. And, well, obviously...
Now one might ask, "Bone, why do you specify when a girl calls, and not a guy?" Well, with guys, conversations tend to be short and have a specific point. Let's look at a couple of examples of guy conversations:
Example one:
"Hello."
"Are you watching this?"
"Yeah."
"Did you see that crap call!?"
"Yeah."
"That's terrible!"
"I agree."
"Alright, I'll call you back."
"Alright."
Example two:
"Hello."
"Hey, I'm not gonna be able to make it tonight. Sheena and I got back
together."
"Oh. Alright. That's cool."
"So, uh... I guess I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah. Later."
In these examples, notice how a short attention span wouldn't really come into play. I can usually pay attention to the first three or four things someone says when they call. But after that, it's all downhill, swiftly and steeply.
Contrariwise, with women, there's often a lot of "how was your day" and "guess what happened to me today" kind of stuff. Conversations can, on occasion, begin to wander aimlessly, dragging on sometimes for hours.
It stands to reason that if I don't even hear half of what she says, there's no way I can be expected to remember it. So selective hearing leads to selective memory, and that, I believe, is what I have.
When I mentioned this newfound realization--epiphany, if you will--to a couple of women, their responses were surprisingly uniform. Of course you do, you're a man.
Yes friends, aparently my selective memory and selective hearing are only symptoms of a much more serious, terminal condition, known as being a man.
"I'm only a man in a funny red sheet. And it's not easy. It's not easy to be me..."
"Why no T-Bone?"
No "hello." No "hi, how are you?" Just those four words. Yet immediately, I not only recognized it as a line from Seinfeld, but I knew the specific episode and scene it came from, as well as who said it.
Granted, that was an easy one, since that is the episode my name, Bone, was derived from. (By the way, thanks Renee for explaining that on another blog. I love my readers!) But it's not the first time this has happened.
I can pretty much do that with any Seinfeld line. Yet someone has to tell me when their birthday is at least five times before I can remember it.
I can name at least eight current pro bowlers off the top of my head, and recognize them when I see them on TV. And I don't even watch bowling all that much. (Except apparently I do.) Yet I have trouble remembering much of anything any female said to me even twenty-four hours ago. Or five minutes ago.
How can this be? Well, I have come up with a theory. You may want to sit down for this. You know, if you normally read my blog standing up...
I think I may have selective memory.
(Pause to wait for gasps of disbelief to subside.)
Please don't let this negatively affect your opinion of me. I'm still same old rugged, General Hospital-watching, 24-recapping, Seinfeld-quoting, Jason Morgan-esque ladies man you've come to know and love. But, I do have a problem. And admitting it is the first step to recovery.
Now... what were we talking about?
Oh, yes... bowling!
No, seriously. I've also come to believe my selective memory could be partly due to the fact that, at times, I may also have selective hearing.
I know, I know. This is almost impossible to believe. It's like hearing that Rosie O'Donnell hangs upside down for fun. But let me give you an example:
If I'm watching sports (or Letterman, or poker, or You've Got Mail) and a girl calls, I would venture to guess that I fail to comprehend anywhere from 50-75% of what she is saying. If it's a really exciting game, or Alabama is playing, that number could be as high as 99%. (I would say 100, but I normally eventually hear them saying my name repeatedly when they realize I'm distracted.)
Why do I do this? In my opinion, it basically comes down to two simple facts. I have a short attention span. And, I can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Sure, sometimes I fake it, who doesn't? Like with the television and phone calls. But in reality, only one thing or the other is getting thru. And if I'm listening to her, then I'm missing the game. And, well, obviously...
Now one might ask, "Bone, why do you specify when a girl calls, and not a guy?" Well, with guys, conversations tend to be short and have a specific point. Let's look at a couple of examples of guy conversations:
Example one:
"Hello."
"Are you watching this?"
"Yeah."
"Did you see that crap call!?"
"Yeah."
"That's terrible!"
"I agree."
"Alright, I'll call you back."
"Alright."
Example two:
"Hello."
"Hey, I'm not gonna be able to make it tonight. Sheena and I got back
together."
"Oh. Alright. That's cool."
"So, uh... I guess I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah. Later."
In these examples, notice how a short attention span wouldn't really come into play. I can usually pay attention to the first three or four things someone says when they call. But after that, it's all downhill, swiftly and steeply.
Contrariwise, with women, there's often a lot of "how was your day" and "guess what happened to me today" kind of stuff. Conversations can, on occasion, begin to wander aimlessly, dragging on sometimes for hours.
It stands to reason that if I don't even hear half of what she says, there's no way I can be expected to remember it. So selective hearing leads to selective memory, and that, I believe, is what I have.
When I mentioned this newfound realization--epiphany, if you will--to a couple of women, their responses were surprisingly uniform. Of course you do, you're a man.
Yes friends, aparently my selective memory and selective hearing are only symptoms of a much more serious, terminal condition, known as being a man.
"I'm only a man in a funny red sheet. And it's not easy. It's not easy to be me..."
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
3 Word Wednesday #28
Welcome to Three Word Wednesday.
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Lounged
Slice
Knot
Arriving home from school, Karen twisted her key in the door. The cave-like darkness of the apartment provided an extreme contrast to the sunshiny spring afternoon. Setting her books on the table, she walked straight to the bedroom, flung open the door and put on the light.
Justin was lying there shirtless, watching Montel. There were several bottles on the table beside the bed, along with a half-eaten slice of pizza.
"I thought you were going to look for a job today!"
"I'm waiting to hear back from a couple of applications I filled out."
"Oh, whatever!" she huffed and turned to leave.
"Turn off the light."
"Turn it off yourself!" she slammed the door.
Karen went and stood at the front door, looking out as she picked at the hole in the screen. Anytime she would stand here, she would always think how someday she was going to leave. Everything beyond that door represented freedom, from this place, this relationship, and all her discontent. She had hopes and dreams. Or at least, she once had. Now she could barely remember what they were.
Justin didn't seem to aspire to much of anything beyond this. He had worked a handful of part-time jobs, but never stayed at any one of them for more than a couple of months. And he hadn't worked at all in six weeks. Now he just lounged around the house, not even getting out of bed before 2 PM most days.
They had been dating for thirteen months, if you could call it dating. They hadn't been on anything even slightly resembling date since her brother got them tickets to a basketball game. And that was in January. Yet here she was, still.
What kept her here? Everytime she thought about leaving, she would get a knot in her stomach. Her throat would become parched. And she would always lie and tell herself that she never knew what tomorrow held in store.
Walking back to the bedroom, Karen opened the door to find Justin in the exact same position as before. And the knot in her stomach gone.
"She burns all her notes. And she knows, she's been here too few years to feel this old..."
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Lounged
Slice
Knot
Arriving home from school, Karen twisted her key in the door. The cave-like darkness of the apartment provided an extreme contrast to the sunshiny spring afternoon. Setting her books on the table, she walked straight to the bedroom, flung open the door and put on the light.
Justin was lying there shirtless, watching Montel. There were several bottles on the table beside the bed, along with a half-eaten slice of pizza.
"I thought you were going to look for a job today!"
"I'm waiting to hear back from a couple of applications I filled out."
"Oh, whatever!" she huffed and turned to leave.
"Turn off the light."
"Turn it off yourself!" she slammed the door.
Karen went and stood at the front door, looking out as she picked at the hole in the screen. Anytime she would stand here, she would always think how someday she was going to leave. Everything beyond that door represented freedom, from this place, this relationship, and all her discontent. She had hopes and dreams. Or at least, she once had. Now she could barely remember what they were.
Justin didn't seem to aspire to much of anything beyond this. He had worked a handful of part-time jobs, but never stayed at any one of them for more than a couple of months. And he hadn't worked at all in six weeks. Now he just lounged around the house, not even getting out of bed before 2 PM most days.
They had been dating for thirteen months, if you could call it dating. They hadn't been on anything even slightly resembling date since her brother got them tickets to a basketball game. And that was in January. Yet here she was, still.
What kept her here? Everytime she thought about leaving, she would get a knot in her stomach. Her throat would become parched. And she would always lie and tell herself that she never knew what tomorrow held in store.
Walking back to the bedroom, Karen opened the door to find Justin in the exact same position as before. And the knot in her stomach gone.
"She burns all her notes. And she knows, she's been here too few years to feel this old..."
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
24 Recap: 3/19/07
As you may have heard, Lindsay is reportedly out of rehab and looking for a boyfriend who is more mature and settled. Um, does that just scream "Bone" or what?
Recapping this week's episode of 24, also known as Day Six: 7:00 PM - 8:00 PM...
Outside Moscow 90210, Jack is checked out by a medic who says he has floating rib fragments that could cause internal bleeding. Ricky Schroder takes Jack off the case and sends him back to CTU. Meanwhile at CTU, Bill is on the phone with VP Daniels, and tells him that Gredenko has five RQ2 Aerial Drones he is planning to use to carry the nukes. RQ2? Isn't that the morning after pill?
Out at Gredenko's Desert Hideaway, Resort, and Nuclear Drone Launch Site, Gredenko tells Fayed they have to hurry because the Americans are on the way. Fayed says there is only one drone ready. Gredenko says they must launch that one now and leave. He phones his remote drone pilot and tells him to take off. The drone pilot, who we will come to know as Victor, pulls out a cool flight stick--which kinda looks like the old Tron joystick--and launches drone number one.
Back at As the Counter Terrorist Unit Turns, Morris somehow loses track of the drone on satellite. Milo--who has evidently become Morris' unofficial AA sponsor--becomes suspicious and tells Chloe to check his breath. Chloe walks over to Morris and plants one on him.
Morris: "What was that for?"
Chloe: "Just checking your breath."
Morris: "Got to love this place."
Chloe proclaims that Morris is clean. I know this is random, but I just suddenly got the feeling Milo would have been great in Red Dawn. Wolverines!!
Meanwhile, Jack has arrived and sees Marilyn--who has apparently just been standing in some room for the past couple of hours--and stops to chat. Marilyn tries to, ahem, check Jack's breath, but he turns away. She says she always regretted the way things ended between them. Which I'm thinking is Marilyn-ese for "Josh is your son."
Jack tells Marilyn he can't let her check his breath until he finds out what's going on with Audrey. Marilyn can't believe Jack hasn't already heard, and tells him Audrey was killed in a car wreck in China! Audrey is dead?!?! Jack. Is. Stunned. He storms over to Chloe's station and demands to know why she didn't tell him about Audrey. Chloe looks uncomfortable. Then again, when does she not?
Hello! We have terrorists to catch, people!
When Buchanan tells Daniels they've lost track of the drone, Daniels tells his assistant to assemble a meeting of the Joint Chiefs. Karen, who we find out is National Security Adviser, makes it back in time for the meeting. Daniels says if another nuclear bomb goes off in the US, he will launch a nuclear strike against Fayed's country. Karen objects. After the meeting, Karen and Tom argue.
Chloe discovers there's a leak at CTU, which is allowing Victor to block their tracking satellites. Bill orders everyone's computers checked. Ricky tells Chloe to check Nadia's first. Chloe says it looks like that's where the leak is coming from. Nadia is taken to holding where Ricky interrogates her. And by interrogates, I mean chokes and makes her cry. Meanwhile, Morris finds the drone pilot's address, which turns out to be just three blocks from CTU. Bill prepares to send a team over when Jack happens by and asks to be on point. Which is CTU speak for "in charge."
Karen goes to visit President Palmer. The doctor tells her they had to induce a coma. She asks if he can bring Palmer out of the coma for a matter of national security. The doctor says not without consent of the family, because it would endanger Palmer's life. The camera pans to a tearful Sandra Palmer, watching her brother thru a window.
A field team, led by Jack, storms the drone pilot's compound, shooting the pilot and two other guys. Jack takes control of the joystick, which now looks more like Flight Similator than Tron. Now I love Jack, but shouldn't Ricky Schroder be playing the video game? I mean, this is the role he was born to play! Jack sees that San Francisco is the target and is told he has less than four minutes to steer the drone away from the city. He manages to do so and Chloe finds an industrial park where Jack can land it. The suitcase nuke does not detonate.
Buchanan calls Daniels and tells him they were able to divert the drone, but that while it did not detonate, radioactive material was released. Despite objections from Tom and Karen, Daniels tells his Defense Secretary to proceed with plans for a nuclear strike.
The good:
More Chloe! And the Chloe kiss.
Jack finding out about Audrey.
Having Karen, a voice of reason, back in the bunker.
The Nadia did-she-or-didn't-she conundrum.
The bad:
Almost no action at all this episode.
Audrey's dead.
Did you know...
Ten out of ten men prefer the Chloe-kiss breathalyzer to the traditional electronic device used by most law enforcement.
Questions:
Is Audrey really dead? Part of me doesn't believe it, or doesn't want to believe it.
Why was there no Martha or Charles? The ex-President gets stabbed and appears to be slipping away in the back of an ambulance, and the next week, they don't even show him?
What happened in Denver? When Ricky is making Nadia cry, she says, "I know what happened in Denver."
Did Nadia intentionally leak information? Or was it someone else?
"So I know I had at least a mile to fall. Is there life after Denver? Is there life after Colorado at all?"
Recapping this week's episode of 24, also known as Day Six: 7:00 PM - 8:00 PM...
Outside Moscow 90210, Jack is checked out by a medic who says he has floating rib fragments that could cause internal bleeding. Ricky Schroder takes Jack off the case and sends him back to CTU. Meanwhile at CTU, Bill is on the phone with VP Daniels, and tells him that Gredenko has five RQ2 Aerial Drones he is planning to use to carry the nukes. RQ2? Isn't that the morning after pill?
Out at Gredenko's Desert Hideaway, Resort, and Nuclear Drone Launch Site, Gredenko tells Fayed they have to hurry because the Americans are on the way. Fayed says there is only one drone ready. Gredenko says they must launch that one now and leave. He phones his remote drone pilot and tells him to take off. The drone pilot, who we will come to know as Victor, pulls out a cool flight stick--which kinda looks like the old Tron joystick--and launches drone number one.
Back at As the Counter Terrorist Unit Turns, Morris somehow loses track of the drone on satellite. Milo--who has evidently become Morris' unofficial AA sponsor--becomes suspicious and tells Chloe to check his breath. Chloe walks over to Morris and plants one on him.
Morris: "What was that for?"
Chloe: "Just checking your breath."
Morris: "Got to love this place."
Chloe proclaims that Morris is clean. I know this is random, but I just suddenly got the feeling Milo would have been great in Red Dawn. Wolverines!!
Meanwhile, Jack has arrived and sees Marilyn--who has apparently just been standing in some room for the past couple of hours--and stops to chat. Marilyn tries to, ahem, check Jack's breath, but he turns away. She says she always regretted the way things ended between them. Which I'm thinking is Marilyn-ese for "Josh is your son."
Jack tells Marilyn he can't let her check his breath until he finds out what's going on with Audrey. Marilyn can't believe Jack hasn't already heard, and tells him Audrey was killed in a car wreck in China! Audrey is dead?!?! Jack. Is. Stunned. He storms over to Chloe's station and demands to know why she didn't tell him about Audrey. Chloe looks uncomfortable. Then again, when does she not?
Hello! We have terrorists to catch, people!
When Buchanan tells Daniels they've lost track of the drone, Daniels tells his assistant to assemble a meeting of the Joint Chiefs. Karen, who we find out is National Security Adviser, makes it back in time for the meeting. Daniels says if another nuclear bomb goes off in the US, he will launch a nuclear strike against Fayed's country. Karen objects. After the meeting, Karen and Tom argue.
Chloe discovers there's a leak at CTU, which is allowing Victor to block their tracking satellites. Bill orders everyone's computers checked. Ricky tells Chloe to check Nadia's first. Chloe says it looks like that's where the leak is coming from. Nadia is taken to holding where Ricky interrogates her. And by interrogates, I mean chokes and makes her cry. Meanwhile, Morris finds the drone pilot's address, which turns out to be just three blocks from CTU. Bill prepares to send a team over when Jack happens by and asks to be on point. Which is CTU speak for "in charge."
Karen goes to visit President Palmer. The doctor tells her they had to induce a coma. She asks if he can bring Palmer out of the coma for a matter of national security. The doctor says not without consent of the family, because it would endanger Palmer's life. The camera pans to a tearful Sandra Palmer, watching her brother thru a window.
A field team, led by Jack, storms the drone pilot's compound, shooting the pilot and two other guys. Jack takes control of the joystick, which now looks more like Flight Similator than Tron. Now I love Jack, but shouldn't Ricky Schroder be playing the video game? I mean, this is the role he was born to play! Jack sees that San Francisco is the target and is told he has less than four minutes to steer the drone away from the city. He manages to do so and Chloe finds an industrial park where Jack can land it. The suitcase nuke does not detonate.
Buchanan calls Daniels and tells him they were able to divert the drone, but that while it did not detonate, radioactive material was released. Despite objections from Tom and Karen, Daniels tells his Defense Secretary to proceed with plans for a nuclear strike.
The good:
More Chloe! And the Chloe kiss.
Jack finding out about Audrey.
Having Karen, a voice of reason, back in the bunker.
The Nadia did-she-or-didn't-she conundrum.
The bad:
Almost no action at all this episode.
Audrey's dead.
Did you know...
Ten out of ten men prefer the Chloe-kiss breathalyzer to the traditional electronic device used by most law enforcement.
Questions:
Is Audrey really dead? Part of me doesn't believe it, or doesn't want to believe it.
Why was there no Martha or Charles? The ex-President gets stabbed and appears to be slipping away in the back of an ambulance, and the next week, they don't even show him?
What happened in Denver? When Ricky is making Nadia cry, she says, "I know what happened in Denver."
Did Nadia intentionally leak information? Or was it someone else?
"So I know I had at least a mile to fall. Is there life after Denver? Is there life after Colorado at all?"
Monday, March 19, 2007
March Madness
*yawn* I feel like I've spent the past four days in an NCAA Tournament-induced state of semi-consciousness. Oh, right, that's because I have! In my opinion, this has become the best weekend of the year in sports. Throw in CSpan constantly showing Valerie Plame reruns, and I saw little reason to leave the house the past four days.
The good news is, my Final Four all made it thru to the Sweet 16: Kansas, Georgetown, Florida, and Ohio State.
The bad news is, my Cinderella team, Winthrop, lost in the second round. I had them making it to the Elite Eight.
How is your bracket looking?
Signs you may be suffering from March Madness:
10. You have at least three brackets on your person right now.
9. You find yourself cheering for Oral Roberts, and you don't even really like televangelists.
8. Greg Gumbel begins appearing in your dreams, or nightmares, as the case may be. (OK, seriously, is he sitting in a booster seat in the studio or what?)
7. You drink yourself into a stupor after Creighton loses, effectively ending any chance you might have had of winning the office pool.
6. You TiVo MTV's My Super Sweet Sixteen, thinking it might include tournament highlights and in-depth analysis.
5. At different times this weekend, you've found yourself rooting for Central Connecticut State, Belmont, and Texas A&M-Corpus Christi.
4. By late Sunday evening, you begin to wonder if you really can get a Hummer with tires that transform into propellers.
3. You've googled "saluki."
2. You're now planning to name your next child Fazekas.
1. You're sleeping on the couch after telling your wife you always kinda considered her your "little 12 seed."
"I feel stupid, but I know it won't last for long. I've been guessing, and I coulda been guessing wrong..."
The good news is, my Final Four all made it thru to the Sweet 16: Kansas, Georgetown, Florida, and Ohio State.
The bad news is, my Cinderella team, Winthrop, lost in the second round. I had them making it to the Elite Eight.
How is your bracket looking?
Signs you may be suffering from March Madness:
10. You have at least three brackets on your person right now.
9. You find yourself cheering for Oral Roberts, and you don't even really like televangelists.
8. Greg Gumbel begins appearing in your dreams, or nightmares, as the case may be. (OK, seriously, is he sitting in a booster seat in the studio or what?)
7. You drink yourself into a stupor after Creighton loses, effectively ending any chance you might have had of winning the office pool.
6. You TiVo MTV's My Super Sweet Sixteen, thinking it might include tournament highlights and in-depth analysis.
5. At different times this weekend, you've found yourself rooting for Central Connecticut State, Belmont, and Texas A&M-Corpus Christi.
4. By late Sunday evening, you begin to wonder if you really can get a Hummer with tires that transform into propellers.
3. You've googled "saluki."
2. You're now planning to name your next child Fazekas.
1. You're sleeping on the couch after telling your wife you always kinda considered her your "little 12 seed."
"I feel stupid, but I know it won't last for long. I've been guessing, and I coulda been guessing wrong..."
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
3WW #27
Welcome to Three Word Wednesday.
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Hoarse
Bended
Downtown
As Grant strode down the sidewalk, downtown was coming alive. Music from inside the bars wafted out into the avenue and blended with voices to create a spirited feel. Yet it was all just background noise to him, save for the occasional boisterous laugh or someone yelling a name.
Grant had never liked the lights or the crowds before. But now they represented a distraction. An escape from the loneliness and deafening silence of home. Something to take his mind off of her. But it never lasted.
Eventually, thoughts of her would return. And he would remember the last night he saw her. The fight. Her voice hoarse from crying.
Then he would remember how they began. He didn't understand how something that seemed so perfect could turn bad. How black and white become gray, straight becomes twisted, and clear becomes murky. And he had never been any good at putting things back together once they came apart.
He had come here every night for two months. Either to remember or to forget. He knew the streets so well, he could walk them with his eyes closed. And sometimes it seemed as if he did.
He passed O'Malley's, Jupiter, The Bended Elbow, and the tattoo parlor. Then on the corner was the old man who was there every weekend, always wearing the same winter coat, even though it was June, telling anyone who would hear him that Jesus was coming soon.
Some nights Grant would think, "Not soon enough." Other nights he would pray for more time. But he always dropped a dollar in the old man's bucket. Just in case.
"My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating..."
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Hoarse
Bended
Downtown
As Grant strode down the sidewalk, downtown was coming alive. Music from inside the bars wafted out into the avenue and blended with voices to create a spirited feel. Yet it was all just background noise to him, save for the occasional boisterous laugh or someone yelling a name.
Grant had never liked the lights or the crowds before. But now they represented a distraction. An escape from the loneliness and deafening silence of home. Something to take his mind off of her. But it never lasted.
Eventually, thoughts of her would return. And he would remember the last night he saw her. The fight. Her voice hoarse from crying.
Then he would remember how they began. He didn't understand how something that seemed so perfect could turn bad. How black and white become gray, straight becomes twisted, and clear becomes murky. And he had never been any good at putting things back together once they came apart.
He had come here every night for two months. Either to remember or to forget. He knew the streets so well, he could walk them with his eyes closed. And sometimes it seemed as if he did.
He passed O'Malley's, Jupiter, The Bended Elbow, and the tattoo parlor. Then on the corner was the old man who was there every weekend, always wearing the same winter coat, even though it was June, telling anyone who would hear him that Jesus was coming soon.
Some nights Grant would think, "Not soon enough." Other nights he would pray for more time. But he always dropped a dollar in the old man's bucket. Just in case.
"My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating..."
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
24 Recap: 3/12/07
Recapping Day Six: 6:00 PM - 7:00 PM (and that is Pacific Daylight Time, for those of you who are wondering)...
Inside the Russian Consulate, aka Moscow 90210, a guard pushes Jack down a stairway where he falls on top of a dead guy. Over the phone, Markhov tells the guard to shoot the American. With hands bound, Jack manages to take the belt off the dead guy then uses it to knock the gun out of the guard's hand and escape. Only Jack Bauer could make taking a belt off a dead guy not seem awkward. Well, maybe MacGyver.
Jack finds a phone and calls CTU. Morris answers and Jack is about to tell him Gredenko's location when Markhov orders all phone lines shut down. Did he really just tell them to shut down the DSL? No more YouTube for you, Bauer! Jack buys time inside the Consulate for most of the hour as several Russians pursue him, yet can't seem to ever find him.
At CTU, Bill introduces Ricky Schroder as Mike Doyle, the new agent in charge of field ops. And everyone acts as if they've never even seen Silver Spoons. Turns out he's a bit of a jerk who we learn worked with Milo in Denver. Ricky puts a chokehold on Morris to establish his authority or something. CTU begins assembling a field team to launch an assault on the Russian Consulate, hoping to capture Markhov and rescue Jack.
Meanwhile, Charles Logan has been brought to CTU for questioning. He tells Buchanan attacking the Consulate would be a huge mistake. And says he thinks he can get his wife/ex-wife to contact Russian President Sukarov's wife, Onya, and get her to convince her husband that Markhov is working with Gredenko. Charles calls Martha Logan's Bungalow--their name, not mine--and Aaron Pierce answers! He convinces Aaron to let him talk to Martha, but after a minute, she throws down the phone. Pierce picks it up and Logan tells him he's taking a chopper to come and talk to Martha.
In the bunker, Vice President Daniels meets with Tom Lennox. He strongarms Tom into agreeing to say Assad was the one who planted and detonated the bomb that injured President Palmer. They meet with the foreign ambassador of Assad's country, and Tom goes along with Daniels' claim. Then Daniels threatens to attack the ambassador's country if they don't help find the terrorists before the nukes go off. Daniels is now making even Dick Cheney seem logical and reasonable.
Logan arrives at the Bungalow and tries to convince Martha to call Onya. They begin to bicker back and forth, and she throws a piece of kiwi in Logan's face. Ouch! That can really burn if it gets in your eye. Then Martha gets up to walk around and out of nowhere comes up behind Logan and stabs him in the neck! You know, one of those little squishy stress balls can do wonders for that pent up anger. You can almost feel the homocidal tendencies just melt away. Pierce yells for a medic as Logan pulls the knife out and blood begins to spurt.
At Moscow 90210, Schroder has his assault team amassed along the perimeter. Inside, Jack finds a room with a previously unseen Russian couple who appear to be on the verge of making out. Really people, not in the Consulate. Get a room. He asks the guy if there is another phone in the building. The guy says there is a satellite phone and Jack sends him to get it. When he returns, Jack dials CTU as some Russians come thru the door and open fire. Phone guy gets shot(SPF: 7), while Jack and Svetlana--my name, not theirs--take cover.
Though she has just stabbed her husband/ex-husband, Martha pulls it together enough to explain the situation to Onya Sukarov. We next see the Russian President call Markhov and tell him to surrender. Markhov refuses, then calls Gredenko to warn him the Americans are coming. Sukarov calls Buchanan and tells him Russian government will support the use of force on the Consulate. Buchanan gives Ricky the go-ahead and a massive firefight ensues. As the assault team moves in, Markhov is shot. Two Americans break windows in the room where Jack is and take out the Russian gunmen just in time.
Out at Gredenko's Desert Resort, Oasis, and Nuclear Drone Launch Site--the GDRONDLS--Fayed has arrived with the nukes. Gredenko gives the orders to arm them. Meanwhile, in the back of an ambulance somewhere, Charles Logan begins to slip away...
Next week, Alfonso Ribeiro challenges Ricky Schroder to a Pac-Man Death Match at the Stratton Mansion!
The good:
Pierce is back! Back again. Tell a friend.
Martha Logan's shocking and unstable return.
Decent action, with Jack pulling the amazing belt escape in the beginning, then the assault team moving in on the Consulate at the end.
The bad:
Ricky Schroder. Seriously, I'm not buying him as a tough guy at all. When I first saw that's who the new field agent was, I literally screamed, "Noooooo!"
Very little Chloe.
A lot in this episode seemed to be rushed or forced: Ricky putting a chokehold on Morris. Are you joking me?
The whole Pierce bringing Martha fresh fruit from market thing just seemed hokey and out of place.
The couple getting hot and heavy in the Russian Consulate, after they locked everything down last week.
Best scene:
Martha Logan stabbing Charles. Just for the sheer shock value, if nothing else. Right before that happened, I was thinking, "Is Martha throwing kiwi in Logan's face the most action we're going to see tonight?" The 24 writers do it again.
Best quote:
"Martha Logan's Bungalow." That cracked me up. I may start answering the phone like that. Bone's Bachelor Domicile. You're on the phone with Bone.
Chloeism:
"I'm beginning to feel ambivalent."
24 Trivia:
Which of the following does not belong?
A. Tony Almeida
B. Curtis Manning
C. Ricky Schroder.
Questions:
Where are they taking the Martha/Pierce storyline? Surely they didn't bring her back just to stab Charles.
Will Ricky and Jack clash? Or should I say, when will they clash?
After he escapes, how is Jack able to wander around for basically the entire hour inside the Russian consulate without being found, even though basically everyone is looking for him?
"Here we are, face to face, a couple of silver spoons. Hoping to find, we're two of a kind. Making a go. Making it grow..."
Inside the Russian Consulate, aka Moscow 90210, a guard pushes Jack down a stairway where he falls on top of a dead guy. Over the phone, Markhov tells the guard to shoot the American. With hands bound, Jack manages to take the belt off the dead guy then uses it to knock the gun out of the guard's hand and escape. Only Jack Bauer could make taking a belt off a dead guy not seem awkward. Well, maybe MacGyver.
Jack finds a phone and calls CTU. Morris answers and Jack is about to tell him Gredenko's location when Markhov orders all phone lines shut down. Did he really just tell them to shut down the DSL? No more YouTube for you, Bauer! Jack buys time inside the Consulate for most of the hour as several Russians pursue him, yet can't seem to ever find him.
At CTU, Bill introduces Ricky Schroder as Mike Doyle, the new agent in charge of field ops. And everyone acts as if they've never even seen Silver Spoons. Turns out he's a bit of a jerk who we learn worked with Milo in Denver. Ricky puts a chokehold on Morris to establish his authority or something. CTU begins assembling a field team to launch an assault on the Russian Consulate, hoping to capture Markhov and rescue Jack.
Meanwhile, Charles Logan has been brought to CTU for questioning. He tells Buchanan attacking the Consulate would be a huge mistake. And says he thinks he can get his wife/ex-wife to contact Russian President Sukarov's wife, Onya, and get her to convince her husband that Markhov is working with Gredenko. Charles calls Martha Logan's Bungalow--their name, not mine--and Aaron Pierce answers! He convinces Aaron to let him talk to Martha, but after a minute, she throws down the phone. Pierce picks it up and Logan tells him he's taking a chopper to come and talk to Martha.
In the bunker, Vice President Daniels meets with Tom Lennox. He strongarms Tom into agreeing to say Assad was the one who planted and detonated the bomb that injured President Palmer. They meet with the foreign ambassador of Assad's country, and Tom goes along with Daniels' claim. Then Daniels threatens to attack the ambassador's country if they don't help find the terrorists before the nukes go off. Daniels is now making even Dick Cheney seem logical and reasonable.
Logan arrives at the Bungalow and tries to convince Martha to call Onya. They begin to bicker back and forth, and she throws a piece of kiwi in Logan's face. Ouch! That can really burn if it gets in your eye. Then Martha gets up to walk around and out of nowhere comes up behind Logan and stabs him in the neck! You know, one of those little squishy stress balls can do wonders for that pent up anger. You can almost feel the homocidal tendencies just melt away. Pierce yells for a medic as Logan pulls the knife out and blood begins to spurt.
At Moscow 90210, Schroder has his assault team amassed along the perimeter. Inside, Jack finds a room with a previously unseen Russian couple who appear to be on the verge of making out. Really people, not in the Consulate. Get a room. He asks the guy if there is another phone in the building. The guy says there is a satellite phone and Jack sends him to get it. When he returns, Jack dials CTU as some Russians come thru the door and open fire. Phone guy gets shot(SPF: 7), while Jack and Svetlana--my name, not theirs--take cover.
Though she has just stabbed her husband/ex-husband, Martha pulls it together enough to explain the situation to Onya Sukarov. We next see the Russian President call Markhov and tell him to surrender. Markhov refuses, then calls Gredenko to warn him the Americans are coming. Sukarov calls Buchanan and tells him Russian government will support the use of force on the Consulate. Buchanan gives Ricky the go-ahead and a massive firefight ensues. As the assault team moves in, Markhov is shot. Two Americans break windows in the room where Jack is and take out the Russian gunmen just in time.
Out at Gredenko's Desert Resort, Oasis, and Nuclear Drone Launch Site--the GDRONDLS--Fayed has arrived with the nukes. Gredenko gives the orders to arm them. Meanwhile, in the back of an ambulance somewhere, Charles Logan begins to slip away...
Next week, Alfonso Ribeiro challenges Ricky Schroder to a Pac-Man Death Match at the Stratton Mansion!
The good:
Pierce is back! Back again. Tell a friend.
Martha Logan's shocking and unstable return.
Decent action, with Jack pulling the amazing belt escape in the beginning, then the assault team moving in on the Consulate at the end.
The bad:
Ricky Schroder. Seriously, I'm not buying him as a tough guy at all. When I first saw that's who the new field agent was, I literally screamed, "Noooooo!"
Very little Chloe.
A lot in this episode seemed to be rushed or forced: Ricky putting a chokehold on Morris. Are you joking me?
The whole Pierce bringing Martha fresh fruit from market thing just seemed hokey and out of place.
The couple getting hot and heavy in the Russian Consulate, after they locked everything down last week.
Best scene:
Martha Logan stabbing Charles. Just for the sheer shock value, if nothing else. Right before that happened, I was thinking, "Is Martha throwing kiwi in Logan's face the most action we're going to see tonight?" The 24 writers do it again.
Best quote:
"Martha Logan's Bungalow." That cracked me up. I may start answering the phone like that. Bone's Bachelor Domicile. You're on the phone with Bone.
Chloeism:
"I'm beginning to feel ambivalent."
24 Trivia:
Which of the following does not belong?
A. Tony Almeida
B. Curtis Manning
C. Ricky Schroder.
Questions:
Where are they taking the Martha/Pierce storyline? Surely they didn't bring her back just to stab Charles.
Will Ricky and Jack clash? Or should I say, when will they clash?
After he escapes, how is Jack able to wander around for basically the entire hour inside the Russian consulate without being found, even though basically everyone is looking for him?
"Here we are, face to face, a couple of silver spoons. Hoping to find, we're two of a kind. Making a go. Making it grow..."
Monday, March 12, 2007
Putting the fun in reFUNd
I spent part of yesterday getting tax stuff ready. As a single person slightly above the poverty line and with no children, I don't really get a lot of tax breaks. Or so I thought. I started digging around for additional deductions I might claim, and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at what I found.
For example, did you know I can claim Pablo as a dependent? I looked up information on dependents on the Internal Refund Service website. Well, I couldn't really understand any of that, but I looked up "dependent" in the dictionary. It is defined as, "one who relies on another for support." Hello! If that's not Pablo, I don't know what is.
I submit for your consideration the following comparison: Pablo versus a child. A child eventually learns to dress itself, bathe itself (hopefully), and feed itself. Pablo positions himself near the top of his tank and waits for pellets to fall from the sky. That's the extent of his feeding himself. I don't really see him hopping out of the tank and strutting downstairs for some chips and queso. Although I really don't know what he does all day while I'm at work.
I am also planning to deduct my water bill for the year. Water should be free. It's part of nature. Next thing you know, they'll be charging us for trees. And air. A nickel per cubic foot. How would you measure that? Exactly! You couldn't. This is the United States of America, for crying out loud! The letters to spell water can be found right in our name! Well, all except for the W.
Next, I've decided we should all get a $1000 clothes allowance per year. This comes under my theory of "anything I have to buy in order to not violate a law the government has passed should be deductible." If I don't wear clothes, it's indecent exposure. So unless they plan on including How To Use A Loom as part of the public school curriculum, clothes are deductible.
I'm also claiming money spent on music--CD's, iPods, iTunes, etc. Because honestly, without my music, I would have long ago gone postal. Then the government would be responsible for a messy clean-up and lengthy trial. Music is saving the government money, and therefore should be deductible.
Finally, I think all money spent on dates and courting should be deductible. We're taking women out trying to trick them into marrying us, and later bearing our children, thus contributing to the preservation of the species, and on a smaller scale, our country. I've prepared a simple diagram to explain. (See fig. 1.1A)
(fig. 1.1A)
Phase one: Dating
Phase two: ???
Phase three: Children (Where children = future taxpayers)
Anyway, according to my preliminary calculations, I should be getting back $1200 more than I paid in taxes last year. Sweet!
On a completely unrelated note, if I were to stop blogging all of a sudden, don't be alarmed. I'll see you all in three to five years.
"If your woman steps out with another man, and she runs off with him to Japan. And the IRS says they want to chat, and you can't explain why you claimed your cat..."
For example, did you know I can claim Pablo as a dependent? I looked up information on dependents on the Internal Refund Service website. Well, I couldn't really understand any of that, but I looked up "dependent" in the dictionary. It is defined as, "one who relies on another for support." Hello! If that's not Pablo, I don't know what is.
I submit for your consideration the following comparison: Pablo versus a child. A child eventually learns to dress itself, bathe itself (hopefully), and feed itself. Pablo positions himself near the top of his tank and waits for pellets to fall from the sky. That's the extent of his feeding himself. I don't really see him hopping out of the tank and strutting downstairs for some chips and queso. Although I really don't know what he does all day while I'm at work.
I am also planning to deduct my water bill for the year. Water should be free. It's part of nature. Next thing you know, they'll be charging us for trees. And air. A nickel per cubic foot. How would you measure that? Exactly! You couldn't. This is the United States of America, for crying out loud! The letters to spell water can be found right in our name! Well, all except for the W.
Next, I've decided we should all get a $1000 clothes allowance per year. This comes under my theory of "anything I have to buy in order to not violate a law the government has passed should be deductible." If I don't wear clothes, it's indecent exposure. So unless they plan on including How To Use A Loom as part of the public school curriculum, clothes are deductible.
I'm also claiming money spent on music--CD's, iPods, iTunes, etc. Because honestly, without my music, I would have long ago gone postal. Then the government would be responsible for a messy clean-up and lengthy trial. Music is saving the government money, and therefore should be deductible.
Finally, I think all money spent on dates and courting should be deductible. We're taking women out trying to trick them into marrying us, and later bearing our children, thus contributing to the preservation of the species, and on a smaller scale, our country. I've prepared a simple diagram to explain. (See fig. 1.1A)
(fig. 1.1A)
Phase one: Dating
Phase two: ???
Phase three: Children (Where children = future taxpayers)
Anyway, according to my preliminary calculations, I should be getting back $1200 more than I paid in taxes last year. Sweet!
On a completely unrelated note, if I were to stop blogging all of a sudden, don't be alarmed. I'll see you all in three to five years.
"If your woman steps out with another man, and she runs off with him to Japan. And the IRS says they want to chat, and you can't explain why you claimed your cat..."
Friday, March 09, 2007
The fashion evolution of Bone
A few months ago, I found myself in Cracker Barrell, standing in line behind a guy who was wearing a flannel shirt, tucked in to his slim fit tapered leg faded jeans, the bottom of which conveniently fell about two inches above his white Nikes. Yes, I was tempted to bend down and tight roll them.
Normally I don't pay attention to what other guys wear. But for some reason, this caught my attention. And I began to ponder. I think some people just get tired of trying to keep up with the latest styles and fashions. They find a look they like, and they stick with it from here on out. Look at Cracker Barrell Guy, for instance. I'd say he deboarded the fashion bus sometime around 1985.
That's fine if that's who you want to be. No judgment here. After all, I watched Cheers, I liked Sam Malone. My question is, where do people who wear these out of style clothes keep finding them? Because they can't all be wearing clothes that are twenty years old. Somewhere, some store has to still be selling them. Which means some company has to still be manufacturing them. That's what confounds me about all of this.
Don't get the wrong idea. I make no claim to be on the leading edge of fashion myself. I'm closer to the trailing edge, actually. But I do try to keep up. I even got a compliment the other day from a female friend of a friend, who told my friend, "He knows how to dress."
Still, I say all this very humbly, as someone whose personal fashion evolution includes the Wrangler and cowboy boot phase of the early nineties. But I survived that and am able to laugh about it now. And by laugh, I mean shudder.
It was during my heavy country music listening days. Which is the main reason I totally missed out on the whole Nirvana/Pearl Jam/Metallica explosion. But that's another story for another post. I was all the time going to country concerts. Alabama, Garth, Reba, George Strait, Clint Black, Kenny Chesney, Tim McGraw, Brooks & Dunn, I saw them all.
I even had a black felt cowboy hat that I wore to a concert or two. Yes, I was that guy. Except I didn't know I was supposed to have the hat shaped. So I wound up looking more like Howdy Doody than Garth Brooks.
I wore boots. And Wranglers. Tight, slim fit Wranglers. As in, if I had a toothpick in my pocket, you'd be able to spot the outline of it from fifty feet away. And tell if it was single-ended or double-ended. I also wore briefs.
I'm not ashamed of my fashion past. But now, thankfully, I'm a different man. With a different body. And different jeans. And boxers. I still occasionally listen to country music. But I could never go back to Wranglers. Or briefs.
Once you get used to that free-wheeling, unfettered lifestyle, I don't think it's possible to go back. It'd be like driving a Tahoe for ten years, then trying to fit back into an Escort. Certain parts of my body hurt now just thinking about it.
Most everything I've learned about fashion has come from girls I was dating at the time, female friends, or occasionally my sister. After all, why do guys comb their hair, shave, or wear nice clothes? It's not to impress the other guys, I can assure you.
Several weeks ago, I purchased a corduroy blazer with vintage suede elbow pads. Much like the pink shirt, it is the type of purchase that could only have been made with female accompaniment and approval.
Danger arises, however, when I go thru a dating drought. Female friends can help a little. But the fact is, no one is going to be as vigilant as the girl who has to be seen in public with you and known as your girlfriend. One might theorize some guys who are "out of style" are simply still wearing the clothes they wore the last time they had a girlfriend.
I'm pretty good at putting outfits together. But sometimes, I'm not 100% sure what jacket to wear with a particular shirt, for example. Some mornings I literally spend a minute or two agonizing over my outfit for the day. Here's where I think an outfit flowchart for guys would come in handy. (Not to be confused with a Jump To Conclusions Mat.) Yes friends, my name is Bone, and I'm bringing flowcharts back.
Every guy could have a girl in his life go thru his clothes and design one for him. We could just plug in a particular shirt or sweater into the oval box, then follow a series of lines, diamonds, and parallelograms leading us to acceptable jacket and pant combinations.
Another question I sometimes struggle with is: When is it appropriate to tuck in shirts for guys?
Personally, with jeans, I never tuck. Polo shirts, t-shirts, button-up shirts, I leave them untucked. Even with a sport jacket. Normally with dress pants, I tuck. But what about with khakis? And is it ever appropriate to tuck with jeans?
These are the questions I have. These are the clothes that I wear.
And don't discount the outfit flowchart.
"What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing? Can't you tell that your tie's too wide? Maybe I should buy some old tab collars. Welcome back to the age of jive..."
Normally I don't pay attention to what other guys wear. But for some reason, this caught my attention. And I began to ponder. I think some people just get tired of trying to keep up with the latest styles and fashions. They find a look they like, and they stick with it from here on out. Look at Cracker Barrell Guy, for instance. I'd say he deboarded the fashion bus sometime around 1985.
That's fine if that's who you want to be. No judgment here. After all, I watched Cheers, I liked Sam Malone. My question is, where do people who wear these out of style clothes keep finding them? Because they can't all be wearing clothes that are twenty years old. Somewhere, some store has to still be selling them. Which means some company has to still be manufacturing them. That's what confounds me about all of this.
Don't get the wrong idea. I make no claim to be on the leading edge of fashion myself. I'm closer to the trailing edge, actually. But I do try to keep up. I even got a compliment the other day from a female friend of a friend, who told my friend, "He knows how to dress."
Still, I say all this very humbly, as someone whose personal fashion evolution includes the Wrangler and cowboy boot phase of the early nineties. But I survived that and am able to laugh about it now. And by laugh, I mean shudder.
It was during my heavy country music listening days. Which is the main reason I totally missed out on the whole Nirvana/Pearl Jam/Metallica explosion. But that's another story for another post. I was all the time going to country concerts. Alabama, Garth, Reba, George Strait, Clint Black, Kenny Chesney, Tim McGraw, Brooks & Dunn, I saw them all.
I even had a black felt cowboy hat that I wore to a concert or two. Yes, I was that guy. Except I didn't know I was supposed to have the hat shaped. So I wound up looking more like Howdy Doody than Garth Brooks.
I wore boots. And Wranglers. Tight, slim fit Wranglers. As in, if I had a toothpick in my pocket, you'd be able to spot the outline of it from fifty feet away. And tell if it was single-ended or double-ended. I also wore briefs.
I'm not ashamed of my fashion past. But now, thankfully, I'm a different man. With a different body. And different jeans. And boxers. I still occasionally listen to country music. But I could never go back to Wranglers. Or briefs.
Once you get used to that free-wheeling, unfettered lifestyle, I don't think it's possible to go back. It'd be like driving a Tahoe for ten years, then trying to fit back into an Escort. Certain parts of my body hurt now just thinking about it.
Most everything I've learned about fashion has come from girls I was dating at the time, female friends, or occasionally my sister. After all, why do guys comb their hair, shave, or wear nice clothes? It's not to impress the other guys, I can assure you.
Several weeks ago, I purchased a corduroy blazer with vintage suede elbow pads. Much like the pink shirt, it is the type of purchase that could only have been made with female accompaniment and approval.
Danger arises, however, when I go thru a dating drought. Female friends can help a little. But the fact is, no one is going to be as vigilant as the girl who has to be seen in public with you and known as your girlfriend. One might theorize some guys who are "out of style" are simply still wearing the clothes they wore the last time they had a girlfriend.
I'm pretty good at putting outfits together. But sometimes, I'm not 100% sure what jacket to wear with a particular shirt, for example. Some mornings I literally spend a minute or two agonizing over my outfit for the day. Here's where I think an outfit flowchart for guys would come in handy. (Not to be confused with a Jump To Conclusions Mat.) Yes friends, my name is Bone, and I'm bringing flowcharts back.
Every guy could have a girl in his life go thru his clothes and design one for him. We could just plug in a particular shirt or sweater into the oval box, then follow a series of lines, diamonds, and parallelograms leading us to acceptable jacket and pant combinations.
Another question I sometimes struggle with is: When is it appropriate to tuck in shirts for guys?
Personally, with jeans, I never tuck. Polo shirts, t-shirts, button-up shirts, I leave them untucked. Even with a sport jacket. Normally with dress pants, I tuck. But what about with khakis? And is it ever appropriate to tuck with jeans?
These are the questions I have. These are the clothes that I wear.
And don't discount the outfit flowchart.
"What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing? Can't you tell that your tie's too wide? Maybe I should buy some old tab collars. Welcome back to the age of jive..."
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
3 Word Wednesday #26
Welcome to Three Word Wednesday.
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Crowd
Sneak
Raging
It was not my first concert. But it was my first time to sneak out of the house. To this day, I have a great and terrible fear my mother is going to find out about that night.
Raging Whore Moans were playing at the Bama Breeze, and Craig Henderson claimed he could get us all fake ID's. Except we didn't know that by get, he meant make, with laminating sheets he bought at Eckerd.
According to my ID, I was twenty-two. We weren't planning on drinking, but you had to be twenty-one to get in. And I will never forget my fake name: Andy Griffin. I'm sure it would have been Griffith, except for the fact Craig always thought it was called the Andy Griffin Show.
There would be four of us going: Craig, myself, Kristi, and Jennifer. The girls pulled the old I'm-spending-the-night-at-her-house routine. But as I had not spent the night with any of my friends in over two years, I thought my Mom might think that a tad suspicious. And Craig, well I wasn't even sure he had parents.
The band was scheduled to start at 9:30, but I knew there was no way I'd be able to get out of the house until at least 10:00. Craig said that was OK as they would be playing until well after midnight.
My parents retired to their bedroom around 10:00. And my nervousness was suddenly replaced by a burst of confidence, as they rarely left their room once they were in for the night. Still, I waited half an hour, hoping Mom would be asleep, and then crept down the hall. The floor seemed to creak louder and louder with every step, and I was certain that at any second, the bedroom door was going to open. Finally, I made it to the carport door and was out.
Craig parked down the street in front of a house that was still being built, in his black Fiero. You may think it would be impossible to fit four teenagers into a Fiero. And you would be correct. But on that night, we defied the laws of mass and space. Fortunately, it was an automatic, as there was no way Craig could have shifted gears without risking injuring someone.
We literally rolled out of the car into the parking lot of the Bama Breeze, and nervousness sprang freely once again. What if my parents had already discovered I was gone? What if our fake ID's didn't work? What if we were arrested?
As we approached the door, I heard the bouncer say to the guy in front of us, "Ten dollar cover." I didn't even know what a cover charge was! Ten dollars? For each of us? I only had like twelve bucks to my name. If I had known this, I never would have agreed to Craig's crazy, half-baked plan in the first place.
I felt like a felon as the bouncer checked my ID. Maybe I was a felon? Fortunately, most bars were not too strict about who they let in. Thankfully, Kristi brought money and paid her own cover. I would have hated for her to miss the show.
That was nearly twenty years ago.
Saturday night, I went to see Raging Whore Moans again. The crowd was much sparser this time. And the band may have been more accurately dubbed Aging Whore Moans. But when they sang "Die, Sally, Die" I closed my eyes, and for a moment I was seventeen again. Or twenty-two.
"At the Bama Breeze, I turned twenty-one down there. Had too much fun down there. Stumbled out with the sun down there..."
Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Crowd
Sneak
Raging
It was not my first concert. But it was my first time to sneak out of the house. To this day, I have a great and terrible fear my mother is going to find out about that night.
Raging Whore Moans were playing at the Bama Breeze, and Craig Henderson claimed he could get us all fake ID's. Except we didn't know that by get, he meant make, with laminating sheets he bought at Eckerd.
According to my ID, I was twenty-two. We weren't planning on drinking, but you had to be twenty-one to get in. And I will never forget my fake name: Andy Griffin. I'm sure it would have been Griffith, except for the fact Craig always thought it was called the Andy Griffin Show.
There would be four of us going: Craig, myself, Kristi, and Jennifer. The girls pulled the old I'm-spending-the-night-at-her-house routine. But as I had not spent the night with any of my friends in over two years, I thought my Mom might think that a tad suspicious. And Craig, well I wasn't even sure he had parents.
The band was scheduled to start at 9:30, but I knew there was no way I'd be able to get out of the house until at least 10:00. Craig said that was OK as they would be playing until well after midnight.
My parents retired to their bedroom around 10:00. And my nervousness was suddenly replaced by a burst of confidence, as they rarely left their room once they were in for the night. Still, I waited half an hour, hoping Mom would be asleep, and then crept down the hall. The floor seemed to creak louder and louder with every step, and I was certain that at any second, the bedroom door was going to open. Finally, I made it to the carport door and was out.
Craig parked down the street in front of a house that was still being built, in his black Fiero. You may think it would be impossible to fit four teenagers into a Fiero. And you would be correct. But on that night, we defied the laws of mass and space. Fortunately, it was an automatic, as there was no way Craig could have shifted gears without risking injuring someone.
We literally rolled out of the car into the parking lot of the Bama Breeze, and nervousness sprang freely once again. What if my parents had already discovered I was gone? What if our fake ID's didn't work? What if we were arrested?
As we approached the door, I heard the bouncer say to the guy in front of us, "Ten dollar cover." I didn't even know what a cover charge was! Ten dollars? For each of us? I only had like twelve bucks to my name. If I had known this, I never would have agreed to Craig's crazy, half-baked plan in the first place.
I felt like a felon as the bouncer checked my ID. Maybe I was a felon? Fortunately, most bars were not too strict about who they let in. Thankfully, Kristi brought money and paid her own cover. I would have hated for her to miss the show.
That was nearly twenty years ago.
Saturday night, I went to see Raging Whore Moans again. The crowd was much sparser this time. And the band may have been more accurately dubbed Aging Whore Moans. But when they sang "Die, Sally, Die" I closed my eyes, and for a moment I was seventeen again. Or twenty-two.
"At the Bama Breeze, I turned twenty-one down there. Had too much fun down there. Stumbled out with the sun down there..."
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
24 Recap: 3/5/07
Recapping tonight's epsiode, also known as Day Six: 5:00 PM - 6:00 PM, while wondering if 24 will observe Daylight Savings Time next week...
Here's what we (think we) know: Assad is dead, killed by the bomb that Reed planted and activated. President Palmer is alive, but unconscious and unable to serve.
Bill calls Karen to tell her about Palmer. Karen, who is still waiting for a plane, decides she should stay and says she will withdraw her resignation. Vice President Daniels, who is still on a plane, is notified that he will assume all the duties of the Presidency. Does that include dealing with the President's sister? I'd definitely have to ask that before proceeding. Upon landing, Daniels asks to see Tom Lennox a couple of times. When Tom can't be found, the Secretary of Defense calls for a sweep of the bunker to find him.
Reed hurries down to the boiler room to tell Carson the news. Carson wants to kill Tom and make it look like suicide, but Reed talks him out of it. Reed tries convincing Tom that they are doing what is best for the country, and that if he reveals what he knows about the assassination attempt, no one will believe him anyway. He unties Tom, and they leave the boiler room. The second Tom sees a Secret Service agent, he tells him Reed and Carson are directly responsible for the assassination attempt, and has them arrested.
Upon arriving at the Russian consulate, aka Moscow 90210, Logan convinces Jack to let him meet with Markhov alone. Markhov denies any knowledge of Gredenko's whereabouts, even after Logan threatens him by saying he will send evidence to Moscow linking Markhov with the syntax nerve gas the terrorists used last season.
As soon as Logan leaves, Markhov calls Gredenko, who surprisingly is not on the phone with Fayed. He tells Gredenko the Americans are looking for him, but assures him that by the time they locate him, it will be too late. Back in the car, Logan tells Jack he is certain Markhov is lying. Jack calls CTU and tells Chloe to prepare to cut off power to the Russian consulate for sixty seconds. He's going back in. Finally, Jack's back in action! Is it just me, or did it not seem like the power stayed off for anywhere near sixty seconds?
In the bunker, Dick Cheney... I mean, Daniels, tells his assistant(?) Lisa to make sure everyone gets a copy of Tom's proposal. He then walks in while Tom is being questioned about his knowledge of the assassination attempt. The two of them argue over Assad's innocence. And the Vice President tells Tom he wants to push thru the stricter security measures, reminding him it was Tom's proposal in the first place.
Out at Moscow 90210, Jack gets inside the Consul's office, but Markhov manages to press his panic button. Now if Jack only had an Easy button to override the panic button. Jack locks the door and informs the Russian guys outside the door that he is holding the Consul hostage. This sets off a string of phone calls. Jack calls Buchanan, who calls the Vice President, who receives a call from the Russian President asking what's the dealio?
After Markhov initially denies knowing Gredenko's whereabouts, Jack begins to play a sadistic game of This Little Piggy with Markhov's fingers and a cigar cutter. After the first finger is, um, removed, Jack pulls a gun on Markhov. Nine Fingers finally tells all. He says Gredenko is in the desert and planning to launch drones in two hours which will carry the nukes to their destinations.
Jack starts to leave, although I'm not sure why he thought he was just going to be able to walk out. The security guards set off plastic explosives to blow open the door. The explosion knocks Jack off his feet and he is apprehended. Later, Jack tells a Russian guard what Nine Fingers told him and implores him to call CTU and pass the information along to Bill Buchanan. The guard goes outside and calls, but as he is holding for Buchanan, he is shot (SPF: 5) by one of the other Russians. Who didn't see that coming.
At CTU, everyone is concerned when they haven't heard from Jack. Morris somehow finds a message in Russian which says that an American agent is in custody. Nadia tells Bill about the message. Bill tells her to get special ops ready and make plans to storm the Russian consulate to try to get Jack back. Booyah!
The good:
Jack going back into the Consulate and the interrogation of Markhov.
Lennox ratting out Reed and Carson.
Bill rounding up the posse to go rescue Jack.
No mention of Morris' alcoholism.
Palmer's alive. Because really, we've been there, done that, on the Presidential assassination. At the beginning of last season.
Lisa, the Vice President's assistant. We need some new characters in the bunker, with everyone being arrested or blown to smithereens.
The bad:
No Milo. And really not much CTU. Remember when like 80% of the show was either Jack in the field or goings-on at CTU? Sigh.
Still not a ton of action.
No Fayed.
The stricter security measures storyline isn't really going anywhere. I guess it could affect Nadia again at some point.
Best scene:
Jack cutting off Markhov's finger! Although it would have been better to see it drop to the floor. Or at least hear a thud and a roll. And why stop at one? Three Fingers or No Thumbs makes a much better nickname than Nine Fingers.
Understatement of the hour:
"Bill, this is Jack. I've got a situation here."
Did you know...
Four out of five special agents chose the cigar cutter as their preferred finger removal device.
This week's Did You Know is brought to you by La Carolina Torpito authentic Cuban cigars. You'll think you've died and gone to Havana.
Questions:
Who else was in on the assassination plot? Tom said Reed seemed to indicate there were others involved.
Will Palmer return, and when? And WWDD? What will Daniels do?
In the scenes from next week, was that Aaron Pierce with the former First Lady?!?! Are they bringing Pierce back?! I don't think I'll be able to contain myself.
"What's the d-d-d-deal? What's the d-d-d-deal? What's the d-d-d-dealio, the dealio..."
Here's what we (think we) know: Assad is dead, killed by the bomb that Reed planted and activated. President Palmer is alive, but unconscious and unable to serve.
Bill calls Karen to tell her about Palmer. Karen, who is still waiting for a plane, decides she should stay and says she will withdraw her resignation. Vice President Daniels, who is still on a plane, is notified that he will assume all the duties of the Presidency. Does that include dealing with the President's sister? I'd definitely have to ask that before proceeding. Upon landing, Daniels asks to see Tom Lennox a couple of times. When Tom can't be found, the Secretary of Defense calls for a sweep of the bunker to find him.
Reed hurries down to the boiler room to tell Carson the news. Carson wants to kill Tom and make it look like suicide, but Reed talks him out of it. Reed tries convincing Tom that they are doing what is best for the country, and that if he reveals what he knows about the assassination attempt, no one will believe him anyway. He unties Tom, and they leave the boiler room. The second Tom sees a Secret Service agent, he tells him Reed and Carson are directly responsible for the assassination attempt, and has them arrested.
Upon arriving at the Russian consulate, aka Moscow 90210, Logan convinces Jack to let him meet with Markhov alone. Markhov denies any knowledge of Gredenko's whereabouts, even after Logan threatens him by saying he will send evidence to Moscow linking Markhov with the syntax nerve gas the terrorists used last season.
As soon as Logan leaves, Markhov calls Gredenko, who surprisingly is not on the phone with Fayed. He tells Gredenko the Americans are looking for him, but assures him that by the time they locate him, it will be too late. Back in the car, Logan tells Jack he is certain Markhov is lying. Jack calls CTU and tells Chloe to prepare to cut off power to the Russian consulate for sixty seconds. He's going back in. Finally, Jack's back in action! Is it just me, or did it not seem like the power stayed off for anywhere near sixty seconds?
In the bunker, Dick Cheney... I mean, Daniels, tells his assistant(?) Lisa to make sure everyone gets a copy of Tom's proposal. He then walks in while Tom is being questioned about his knowledge of the assassination attempt. The two of them argue over Assad's innocence. And the Vice President tells Tom he wants to push thru the stricter security measures, reminding him it was Tom's proposal in the first place.
Out at Moscow 90210, Jack gets inside the Consul's office, but Markhov manages to press his panic button. Now if Jack only had an Easy button to override the panic button. Jack locks the door and informs the Russian guys outside the door that he is holding the Consul hostage. This sets off a string of phone calls. Jack calls Buchanan, who calls the Vice President, who receives a call from the Russian President asking what's the dealio?
After Markhov initially denies knowing Gredenko's whereabouts, Jack begins to play a sadistic game of This Little Piggy with Markhov's fingers and a cigar cutter. After the first finger is, um, removed, Jack pulls a gun on Markhov. Nine Fingers finally tells all. He says Gredenko is in the desert and planning to launch drones in two hours which will carry the nukes to their destinations.
Jack starts to leave, although I'm not sure why he thought he was just going to be able to walk out. The security guards set off plastic explosives to blow open the door. The explosion knocks Jack off his feet and he is apprehended. Later, Jack tells a Russian guard what Nine Fingers told him and implores him to call CTU and pass the information along to Bill Buchanan. The guard goes outside and calls, but as he is holding for Buchanan, he is shot (SPF: 5) by one of the other Russians. Who didn't see that coming.
At CTU, everyone is concerned when they haven't heard from Jack. Morris somehow finds a message in Russian which says that an American agent is in custody. Nadia tells Bill about the message. Bill tells her to get special ops ready and make plans to storm the Russian consulate to try to get Jack back. Booyah!
The good:
Jack going back into the Consulate and the interrogation of Markhov.
Lennox ratting out Reed and Carson.
Bill rounding up the posse to go rescue Jack.
No mention of Morris' alcoholism.
Palmer's alive. Because really, we've been there, done that, on the Presidential assassination. At the beginning of last season.
Lisa, the Vice President's assistant. We need some new characters in the bunker, with everyone being arrested or blown to smithereens.
The bad:
No Milo. And really not much CTU. Remember when like 80% of the show was either Jack in the field or goings-on at CTU? Sigh.
Still not a ton of action.
No Fayed.
The stricter security measures storyline isn't really going anywhere. I guess it could affect Nadia again at some point.
Best scene:
Jack cutting off Markhov's finger! Although it would have been better to see it drop to the floor. Or at least hear a thud and a roll. And why stop at one? Three Fingers or No Thumbs makes a much better nickname than Nine Fingers.
Understatement of the hour:
"Bill, this is Jack. I've got a situation here."
Did you know...
Four out of five special agents chose the cigar cutter as their preferred finger removal device.
This week's Did You Know is brought to you by La Carolina Torpito authentic Cuban cigars. You'll think you've died and gone to Havana.
Questions:
Who else was in on the assassination plot? Tom said Reed seemed to indicate there were others involved.
Will Palmer return, and when? And WWDD? What will Daniels do?
In the scenes from next week, was that Aaron Pierce with the former First Lady?!?! Are they bringing Pierce back?! I don't think I'll be able to contain myself.
"What's the d-d-d-deal? What's the d-d-d-deal? What's the d-d-d-dealio, the dealio..."
Monday, March 05, 2007
If they take my stapler, I'll set the building on fire
I started to begin today by thanking everyone who participated in the first-ever Roast-A-Bone. But do you thank people for roasting you? I'm not sure, so let me just commend you all on a job... done :) I know it was all in fun and fortunately, I've managed to locate all but two of you on google maps...
This weekend, I saw something I'd never seen and did something I haven't done in at least twenty-five years. Quite a teaser, huh? And no, the answers aren't "a Carrot Top routine that made me laugh" and "peed the bed." Although those would fit the criteria had I done them.
Let's start with the thing I haven't done in at least twenty-five years...
This weekend, I flew a kite. A three-dollar Spiderman kite. As the other choices at Wal-Mart were Pokemon or Care Bears.
Two thoughts on kite flying: Now I understand the phrase "go fly a kite" a bit better. Because really, after you get it up in the air, you're just kind of standing there holding a string, looking skyward at a flimsy piece of plastic flapping in the wind for an undetermined amount of time.
Second, I was a bit hesitant about hanging out with the "kite people." Anytime, I've ever seen anyone flying a kite, it's either been a parent with their kids or some grown man, poorly dressed, usually by himself. (And before you ask, I was well-dressed.) The latter group is what I refer to as "kite people." You don't really see a lot of hot 25-year-old women flying kites by themselves.
I did meet a kite person. How do I know he was a kite person? Well for starters, he had a case for his kite. He was flying what he called a "stunt kite," which he controlled with two different strings, and reportedly cost around $300. It sounded like what I would imagine a swarm of locusts might sound like. And when it crashed, it hit the ground with such a thud, I imagined it could kill, or at least severely injure.
That led to the most amusing part of the conversation:
Kite guy: "I've been hit by one of these before."
"Where?"
"At an event."
"They have events?"
"Yeah. Twenty-five or thirty people come. They have competitions and categories for different stunts."
"I bet it's only guys there."
"No, there were a few girls, actually."
"Yeah, kite groupies."
(/end kite story)
And as for the thing I'd never seen...
I finally watched Office Space this weekend. How is it that someone who supposedly knows lots about pop culture is just now seeing this movie? That's a good question. But movies are the one area where I've always kind of lagged. Sports, music, television, I'm your man. But movies, not so much. Besides, no one bothered to tell me Jennifer Aniston is in it!
Anyway, I saw it. And it was hilarious as advertised. So please forgive me if for the next few weeks, I'm dropping references and laughing at things most of you probably laughed at like eight years ago.
It's impossible to pick my favorite scene or line, but I thoroughly enjoyed this:
"Well, I generally come in at least fifteen minutes late. Uh, I use the side door. That way Lumburg can't see me. And, uh, after that I just sorta space out for about an hour."
"Uhh, space out?"
"Yeah, I just stare at my desk. But it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch, too. I'd say in a given week, I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual work."
This movie also raises some interesting, relevant questions. I've come up with three to ponder:
1. What would you do if you had a million dollars and didn't have to work?
2. What exactly do you do all day?
3. How much time would you estimate you actually spend working during an average day?
So if you could just go ahead and answer those, yeah, that'd be great. Feel free to answer anonymously in order to avoid being fired. That's all for now. Hope no one has a case of the Mondays. And remember, Friday is Hawaiian Shirt Day.
"There's a kite blowing out of control on the breeze. I wonder what's gonna happen to you. You wonder what has happened to me..."
This weekend, I saw something I'd never seen and did something I haven't done in at least twenty-five years. Quite a teaser, huh? And no, the answers aren't "a Carrot Top routine that made me laugh" and "peed the bed." Although those would fit the criteria had I done them.
Let's start with the thing I haven't done in at least twenty-five years...
This weekend, I flew a kite. A three-dollar Spiderman kite. As the other choices at Wal-Mart were Pokemon or Care Bears.
Two thoughts on kite flying: Now I understand the phrase "go fly a kite" a bit better. Because really, after you get it up in the air, you're just kind of standing there holding a string, looking skyward at a flimsy piece of plastic flapping in the wind for an undetermined amount of time.
Second, I was a bit hesitant about hanging out with the "kite people." Anytime, I've ever seen anyone flying a kite, it's either been a parent with their kids or some grown man, poorly dressed, usually by himself. (And before you ask, I was well-dressed.) The latter group is what I refer to as "kite people." You don't really see a lot of hot 25-year-old women flying kites by themselves.
I did meet a kite person. How do I know he was a kite person? Well for starters, he had a case for his kite. He was flying what he called a "stunt kite," which he controlled with two different strings, and reportedly cost around $300. It sounded like what I would imagine a swarm of locusts might sound like. And when it crashed, it hit the ground with such a thud, I imagined it could kill, or at least severely injure.
That led to the most amusing part of the conversation:
Kite guy: "I've been hit by one of these before."
"Where?"
"At an event."
"They have events?"
"Yeah. Twenty-five or thirty people come. They have competitions and categories for different stunts."
"I bet it's only guys there."
"No, there were a few girls, actually."
"Yeah, kite groupies."
(/end kite story)
And as for the thing I'd never seen...
I finally watched Office Space this weekend. How is it that someone who supposedly knows lots about pop culture is just now seeing this movie? That's a good question. But movies are the one area where I've always kind of lagged. Sports, music, television, I'm your man. But movies, not so much. Besides, no one bothered to tell me Jennifer Aniston is in it!
Anyway, I saw it. And it was hilarious as advertised. So please forgive me if for the next few weeks, I'm dropping references and laughing at things most of you probably laughed at like eight years ago.
It's impossible to pick my favorite scene or line, but I thoroughly enjoyed this:
"Well, I generally come in at least fifteen minutes late. Uh, I use the side door. That way Lumburg can't see me. And, uh, after that I just sorta space out for about an hour."
"Uhh, space out?"
"Yeah, I just stare at my desk. But it looks like I'm working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch, too. I'd say in a given week, I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual work."
This movie also raises some interesting, relevant questions. I've come up with three to ponder:
1. What would you do if you had a million dollars and didn't have to work?
2. What exactly do you do all day?
3. How much time would you estimate you actually spend working during an average day?
So if you could just go ahead and answer those, yeah, that'd be great. Feel free to answer anonymously in order to avoid being fired. That's all for now. Hope no one has a case of the Mondays. And remember, Friday is Hawaiian Shirt Day.
"There's a kite blowing out of control on the breeze. I wonder what's gonna happen to you. You wonder what has happened to me..."
Labels: kites, movies, Office Space
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Roast-A-Bone
Hello and welcome to the first-ever Roast-A-Bone (he made me say that). I'm your host, Pia Savage, of Courting Destiny. This is probably the first roast in history where the roastee (Bone) asked the roaster (me) to roast him. Then he attempted to edit it...
Bone's not a trophy comment whore. Not Bone who emails: "I can't write. It's so bad. I'm so nervous. I posted."
I click on his blog and there are three comments already. Really, Bone, I thought I was your mentor and thus you would show it or complain to me first.
In Bonese, "mentor" is "tor" which reminds me of "tart" which is "puta" in olde English or something, and Bone does refer to me as a puta a bit too often.
Actually our 'torship began with a comment:
"Good blogging. Keep it up." Normally I would have deleted a generic comment, but I always go to the URL and must have loved it, because I think Bone is the grossest screen name. And I won't even begin to go into littlenibbler.
This man wants to be taken seriously as a writer?
IT is BETTER THAN HIS all caps days where the caps were in certain words and made sense to Bone, I guess. I was just being lazy--they're more randomly spread out. Though I'm sure that Bone has a good explanation.
He just won't explain. Trying to get information out of Bone is.. well, I think that Bone is really a North Korean secret service agent, though I know he's Caucasian and his Alabaman roots run deep. He's at least a second generation Bama fan. Gets it from his mother.
Bone is a trophy son who makes sure to visit his rapidly aging parents regularly, before it's too late. They're in their 50's.
Bone googles and wikipedias as a lifestyle. He knows more useless information than anybody I know. But does he apply this knowledge to anything bigger such as an article to be submitted somewhere? Does he even think that he's ready for prime time blogging?
"I didn't have any writing classes. I can't write. No, really, this time I can't..."
Duh, he of the perfectly useless information posts that are fun to read, and the 24 recaps. He's ready. But will he?
Bone knows that his readership might go up if he changes his screen name. Bone's been looking for a new screen name, and URL, but can't decide on either. He claims he will when he changes host companies. And that day is...?
He's so decisive he stayed with Blogger until they forced him to go Beta, and he almost lost the contents of IYROOBTY. I believe his love for that anagram has something to do with his love for numbers. I get so nervous when I email him, I spell check everything twice.
Not that he would say something directly. More like tell you about his innate copy editing abilities and how much misspelled words hurt.
When you ask him a question that he doesn't want to answer:
"My memory. You know my memory."
I first knew Bone when he was 32, and have always thought that he's going through early dementia or was in a tragic accident, ala Jason Morgan of GH.
However, Bone can remember every scene in every Seinfeld. I know that he has it confused with a reality show. And while sometimes I think it best to leave him to his delusions just in case either of the above are true, I tell him the truth anyway. As somebody who has intimate personal knowledge of the Upper West Side, I can. Actually I think that's the reason Bone became friendly with me. I speak Larry David, but not as well, and as a girl.
You know how Bones loves GH and chick flicks? I had to see Music & Lyrics as I know his taste and decide whether or not he would like it.
Have to say he's got the comment thing down since "good blogging..." He's a cult leader who inspires Bonettes onto more and more comments in the same thread.
He gets comments before he writes a post. That's not normal. And usually impossible. Bone manages to do it :)
Oh gawd, I'm the one handing out the kool aid. I am his biggest pimp or whatever they call it in cult worlds.
Bone's a bachelor in Northwest Alabama who devotes his spare time to everything online and somehow believes he will find his Laura, of Luke &... if he just plays one more hand of Texas hold 'em. Not that Bone gambles.
We cribbed the date test from Shayna's blog. Bone was so proud of being The False Messiah, he wrote a post about it, and it's kinda in the running for new screen name. But since the point is to attract people...
If you like False Messiah as a screen name let him know. Several months ago I sent him a list of possible screen names that he would probably like. He claimed that he couldn't use any of them. A few weeks ago he sent me possible new screen names. Yes, the ones that I sent that he couldn't possibly use were included.
Bone hates to hurt. You have to weed out of him anything he might not like: To make a long story short, if you send him something to read, he will email back that he likes it. Five emails later it turns out that he loved three lines in the middle and none of the rest.
Bone likes to keep his private life compartmentalized. He's a very private person, and that's good. But sometimes: "Haven't we discussed this?"
No, Bone, we hadn't. You know, your memory.
Bone has roasted me. He forgot when the roast was over, and kept those roasting comments coming. Yes, Bone, I know. You are so Jason Morgan, without the money or the mobster connections.
Let me hand y'all a Bone to roast.
"But, oh, the girl, she fooled me this time. She acted like I was the last thing on her mind. I would like to start all over again. Baby, can I change my mind? I just want to change my mind..."
Bone's not a trophy comment whore. Not Bone who emails: "I can't write. It's so bad. I'm so nervous. I posted."
I click on his blog and there are three comments already. Really, Bone, I thought I was your mentor and thus you would show it or complain to me first.
In Bonese, "mentor" is "tor" which reminds me of "tart" which is "puta" in olde English or something, and Bone does refer to me as a puta a bit too often.
Actually our 'torship began with a comment:
"Good blogging. Keep it up." Normally I would have deleted a generic comment, but I always go to the URL and must have loved it, because I think Bone is the grossest screen name. And I won't even begin to go into littlenibbler.
This man wants to be taken seriously as a writer?
IT is BETTER THAN HIS all caps days where the caps were in certain words and made sense to Bone, I guess. I was just being lazy--they're more randomly spread out. Though I'm sure that Bone has a good explanation.
He just won't explain. Trying to get information out of Bone is.. well, I think that Bone is really a North Korean secret service agent, though I know he's Caucasian and his Alabaman roots run deep. He's at least a second generation Bama fan. Gets it from his mother.
Bone is a trophy son who makes sure to visit his rapidly aging parents regularly, before it's too late. They're in their 50's.
Bone googles and wikipedias as a lifestyle. He knows more useless information than anybody I know. But does he apply this knowledge to anything bigger such as an article to be submitted somewhere? Does he even think that he's ready for prime time blogging?
"I didn't have any writing classes. I can't write. No, really, this time I can't..."
Duh, he of the perfectly useless information posts that are fun to read, and the 24 recaps. He's ready. But will he?
Bone knows that his readership might go up if he changes his screen name. Bone's been looking for a new screen name, and URL, but can't decide on either. He claims he will when he changes host companies. And that day is...?
He's so decisive he stayed with Blogger until they forced him to go Beta, and he almost lost the contents of IYROOBTY. I believe his love for that anagram has something to do with his love for numbers. I get so nervous when I email him, I spell check everything twice.
Not that he would say something directly. More like tell you about his innate copy editing abilities and how much misspelled words hurt.
When you ask him a question that he doesn't want to answer:
"My memory. You know my memory."
I first knew Bone when he was 32, and have always thought that he's going through early dementia or was in a tragic accident, ala Jason Morgan of GH.
However, Bone can remember every scene in every Seinfeld. I know that he has it confused with a reality show. And while sometimes I think it best to leave him to his delusions just in case either of the above are true, I tell him the truth anyway. As somebody who has intimate personal knowledge of the Upper West Side, I can. Actually I think that's the reason Bone became friendly with me. I speak Larry David, but not as well, and as a girl.
You know how Bones loves GH and chick flicks? I had to see Music & Lyrics as I know his taste and decide whether or not he would like it.
Have to say he's got the comment thing down since "good blogging..." He's a cult leader who inspires Bonettes onto more and more comments in the same thread.
He gets comments before he writes a post. That's not normal. And usually impossible. Bone manages to do it :)
Oh gawd, I'm the one handing out the kool aid. I am his biggest pimp or whatever they call it in cult worlds.
Bone's a bachelor in Northwest Alabama who devotes his spare time to everything online and somehow believes he will find his Laura, of Luke &... if he just plays one more hand of Texas hold 'em. Not that Bone gambles.
We cribbed the date test from Shayna's blog. Bone was so proud of being The False Messiah, he wrote a post about it, and it's kinda in the running for new screen name. But since the point is to attract people...
If you like False Messiah as a screen name let him know. Several months ago I sent him a list of possible screen names that he would probably like. He claimed that he couldn't use any of them. A few weeks ago he sent me possible new screen names. Yes, the ones that I sent that he couldn't possibly use were included.
Bone hates to hurt. You have to weed out of him anything he might not like: To make a long story short, if you send him something to read, he will email back that he likes it. Five emails later it turns out that he loved three lines in the middle and none of the rest.
Bone likes to keep his private life compartmentalized. He's a very private person, and that's good. But sometimes: "Haven't we discussed this?"
No, Bone, we hadn't. You know, your memory.
Bone has roasted me. He forgot when the roast was over, and kept those roasting comments coming. Yes, Bone, I know. You are so Jason Morgan, without the money or the mobster connections.
Let me hand y'all a Bone to roast.
"But, oh, the girl, she fooled me this time. She acted like I was the last thing on her mind. I would like to start all over again. Baby, can I change my mind? I just want to change my mind..."
"If you don't expect too much from me, you might not be let down."
Name: Bone
Location: Alabama, United States
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Leaving AtlantaDipping a toe in the metrosexual pool
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On cases of interfaith marriage
Where Are They Now: NKOTB
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