More fun than Mayonnaise... or at least equally fun... OK, it's less fun, but you're still reading...
More fun than Mayonnaise... or at least equally fun... OK, it's less fun, but you're still reading...
Sat 4/8, 8pm Player
Sat 4/8, 10:30pm Announcer
Sat 4/15, 8pm Announcer
Sat 4/15 10:30pm Player
Thurs 4/20, 8pm Player
Overheard conversation snippet: two elder-geeks.
How to scare theifs on Lake Street...
"Carrying a broad-sword is much more intimidating than stuffing an uzi in your pocket."
"You want me to walk down Lake Street with my board-sword."
"Seriously, I doubt you need a permit or anything... I mean that's how people used to scare criminals..."
"Well... they [sword] do say intimidation...."
I now dread posting the rest of my podcast. I don't like them for the same reasons I don't like voicemail: there's no way to skim. When I get bored listening to a voicemail, I hit delete and hope nothing important was said after the 20 second mark. When I get bored with an email, I skim the rest to make sure nothing important was after paragraph 2.
I'm sorry: Part 2 of 4 (Real Media Format)
Vowing to bring this blog into the next millenium, I am going to radically pioneer the world of podcasting with an impromptu 22-minute story about Wilson Flump, P.I..
Last night I grabbed my water glass, donned my headset/microphone, put my feet up on the bed and began telling the story of Wilson Flump. It's 100% made up on the spot, 40% unprofessional, 59% uninteresting and 1% yellow 40.
Part 1 of 4 (Real Media format)
I woke up from a dream completely amazed that "hans" and "pants", two words in my blog's URL, rhyme. I just knew that these rhyming words were being underutilized.
I always ride the sideways seats on the bus because I need the leg room. Today a gigantic heap of muscle lunged down in the row behind me (the next row facing straight ahead). He was macho, well-built and even tougher than Ford-Tough (Roosevelt-Tough?). His clothes were baggy and gangsta'-ish (which must have been a shopping nightmare since he looked like an XL to begin with). Unfortunately, he was leaning WAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay forward and crowding MY space.
The bus came to a semi-abrupt-but-still-in-the-range-of-normal stop and this big lug of a man tips over and onto my backpack which is resting on my lap. He was the disobedient child and I was the father figure who just issued an "on my lap" now for a spanking.
I never spanked the brute with a big stick or otherwise, but I worried for the next 10 minutes about whether he crushed my lunch. I didn't have the courage to rummage through my bag on the bus. Even if he smooshed my almond chicken, there was nothing I could do about it until I got back to my office... brief eye contact with him was enough to make me cry...
In the shower I tried to figure out why I shower the way I do... why start with the hair? why use Pert Plus? why start drying with the hair? I wonder what percent of showering habits is environment (the layout of your particular shower) and what percent is nature (your personal showering preferences). I'd say it's 50-50.
But more interesting than that is the question of do you face the faucet or the back wall when you shower? I'm a back wall man boy myself.... [sigh].... what happened to this blog?
An irate jogger complained about her deadbeat son/boyfriend/daughter’s boyfriend via cell phone as she ran past me:
“…anything can be a book. A man and his shoe is a book! No… what he lacks is motivation… ambition… he’s got no money, no apartment, no car…”
That irritable runner inspired me to go back and work on my memoirs. Every story has been told before: just not by me.
I hate Loveograms. You email your crushes anonymously and the psychic at Loveogram (read: simplistic computer spreadsheet) tells you when there's a match.
They don't mean someone likes you... they don't give you hope.... they mean someone thinks you like them just enough to not actually say something.
Attention all work and Comedy people who use that email address: I think they're cowardly and I refuse to play. Why don't you drive down to Rainbow on Larpenteur, hang a right into the produce section, pick out a handful of crisp yet slightly tart Braeburns and suck on them apples. Yeah, you heard me.
Walking home along Como avenue, a deep-fucscia probe pulls onto the street coming towards me. As she turns, the passanger door of her car swings open towards me (for no apparant reason). Realizing the folly of driving with one door open, she slows down near me. As the driver asks me to close the door, I slam it shut for her. We both go our separate ways.
Only later, do I start wondering how her door swung open as she made the left turn? Why was she on that frequently empty street? Who buys a deep pink car? How do you spell fuchchsia?
I walked to Como park today because I really wanted to see water. Sitting by the lake for 45 minutes I watched the Robins.... they jumped around pecking at the ground and would fly back to the oak tree when a pair of Nike shoes or cockerspaniel came running by. I realized that 100% of a Robin's life is survival. They don't worry about finding the perfect bathroom rug... they aren't upset when their book from eBay arives a day late.... they never grumble when gas spikes to 2.45.
They eat.
They find shelter.
They pass on their genes.
I would say about 5% of my life is survival.
The rest is fluff.
Driving home tonight at 2:30am, I looked to downtown MSP for guidance and all the fancy building lights were turned off. The buildings were naked and I felt really saddened... like when a good friend walks out on you or your new puppy is lost in the rain.
Then I got home, had 2 new messages and they were both spam comments on this very blog. Comcast's "abuse" section got a letter about it. It's 2:30am, what else can I do with my time?
No new email from an artist I inadvertently offended with e-Sarcasm. I'm trying to win them over with a picture of a baby lamb. If this doesn't work, any suggestions?
Today I road with a new bus driver. A lot of them are generic old men I have a hard time distinguishing, but today, I was chauffered by Rusty Buckets, an old-tyme Pioneering man's man. The red flannel jacket and scruffy beard smelled of fresh wood chips from an evening of building new cabins. His retro "potential bank theif" sunglasses added a tinge of urban tolerance. The grovel in his voice was only mocked by the poor shocks that jolted his chair every time we hit a bump.
Walking to my bus, I saw a car circling the fair grounds at about 5 mph. Someone was too lazy to walk their siberian husky on a nice 40 degree day.
Last night I watched Fun with Dick and Jane because it had been ages since I had time to go to a movie. Escaping from myself in a darkened theatre, I finally felt like myself again.
1209: The time I woke up three days in a row to use the bathroom.
7: days since my last free night.
0: times I have thought of posting since my last post.
1: professional massage scheduled this month
25: cents I earned in tips my first hour of concessions last night.
6: Age of the boy who give me the tip after trying to decide if he should buy one more airhead for himself or give me a tip.
I took three Enneagram tests and while they disagreed slightly, my top two personality types were always the Peacemaker (#9) and the Investigator (#5).
At my best, I am at one with myself and a pioneering visionary.
At my worst, both personality types spiral into schizophrenia. I figured all 9 types probably spiral into schizo.... nope.... just my top two.... that's good to know...
Attention readers: If you like me, you may enjoy Carl Jung, George Lucas, Albert Einstein and Vincent Van Gogh. But none of them have blogs.
