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I’ll Be Here ‘Till The Transit Cops Kick Me Out!
Would you rather…
square off against Howard Dean in a karaoke sing-off,
or
begin your “Comedy For Quarters Tour” in subway stations across the Northeast??
a) You dropped the bomb on me, Yeeaaarrggh!
b) So, you guys travel a lot?
California! Here I come!
– bob
Cuz You Ain’t So Smart
Would you rather…
catch the H5N1 avian flu,
or
star in Showtime’s new drama “The D-Word”?
a) Squawk!
b) Dang! What the heck was that?
Wanna cracker?
– bob
Descended From Ferrets
Would you rather…
write your Poli Sci dissertation on NASCAR dads,
or
identify genes unique to the Michael Jackson defense team?
a) Publish or perish.
b) This extra greed gene is crowding out the common sense markers…
Yeah buddy!
– bob
clap, clap, clap, clap
Would you rather…
watch Supermodel Iowa Pollsters on Pay-Per-C-Span,
or
poll the gallery at the Masters about going to Mars?
a) For prurient policy wonks!
b) The color is all wrong, how about we go to Venus?
I’d like to ask you something…
– bob
I Had A Dream Today
With apologies to the man who rewrote the rules for political discourse in this country (and whose birthday I failed to celebrate), I really had a dream for your consideration…
Gently, I was brought awake this morning. Gently enough so that I could remember the entirety of this morning’s dream. Please feel free to offer your analysis; I’ll provide some to get you started after this mess ends…
I’m sleeping in the room that we have set up in my office. The office is much larger now, with two beds, an entertainment center, and a couple chests of drawers. My Beautiful and Talented Bride™ and the Mayor of Fairyland are sitting in the kitchen listening to the new vinyl records they’ve received from Amazon at an excessive volume, waking me up. Eton Rifles by The Jam, was blaring, and I awoke, pissed off.
I closed the French doors but couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up and went to work. I went to the Washington Monument to finish my performance art project. I had been painting half of it purple and needed to finish the job. Right down the center. Half was white, half was purple. The capitol police were upset, sure, but they seemed to understand that this was art, so they didn’t give us that much trouble. I spent some time trying to get my footing on the monument, slipping, sliding, applying some paint, then losing my footing and slipping down the side. My Writing Partner was there suggesting a course of action, but she couldn’t help me with the footing. We were hundreds of feet above the men commanding us off of the side of the monument but I wouldn’t stop until the entire side was coated.
I’d finished, we all made our way off of our rickety scaffolds, and headed to our friend Tim’s house. Because, you see, he had a wide-screen TV and we all wanted to see what the local coverage of the event would look like. It was sort of an after-party. Everyone I’d come in contact with over the last five years was there, all sitting on overstuffed sofas, taking in the news reports of this audacious affront to the status quo. Our host then reminded us of the time and asked us to leave. I didn’t think anything of that because I had to leave anyway. A package was waiting…
Once I returned home, with Tim and My Writing Partner in tow, to a front porch that was an amalgam of my parents and my own—river rock, but with bougainvillea growing up its sides and green quarter-sawn shingles—the UPS delivery driver had finally arrived. He checked the neighbors to the South, then to the North, then stopped at my house, delivering something terrible. I had ordered the “My Amputee Snowman” jigsaw puzzle online as a gift, but I didn’t expect it in this condition. Ragged, torn, pieces missing. I knew something was terribly wrong. UPS would never knowingly deliver something in such poor condition if something wasn’t very wrong, and it was. Very, very wrong.
Soon after, the militants arrived. The wavy-haired white guy in military fatigues was straight out of a B movie, the black militants were a cross of the Panthers and the black G.I. Joes we played with in the 70s. Tim and My Writing Partner knew one of them, “Hey Jim, knock it off. Stop kidding around!” The white guy replied, “We’re changing history. We’re taking back the country. We need to take it back from them.” And as soon as that, we were off in a march out into the desert to get away from the city.
“Good morning.”
My Beautiful and Talented Bride™ seized on the “taking back the country” part and spun it back in Howard Dean’s direction. I’m not so sure that’s what the dream meant, but that’s subject to interpretation as well. Don’t you think?
Your pal,
bob
UPDATE: “Geez Bob, what did you have for dinner to have an ‘f’-ed up dream like that?” Good question. We thought we’d mix Trader Joe’s Pad Thai Noodles with Trader Joe’s (Trader Ming’s) Asian Vegetables with Beijing Style Soy Sauce.
INGREDIENTS: NOODLES (Rice Flour, Water, Salt), Sauce Packet (Sugar, Tomato, Water, Anchovy Extract [Anchovies, Salt], Garlic, Shallots, Soybean Oil, Salt, Vinegar, Spices); and VEGETABLES: Sugar Snap Peas, Broccoli, Baby Corn, Petite Green Beans, Water Chestnuts, Red Bell Peppers, Carrots, Kikurage Mushrooms. SAUCE: Soy Sauce (Water, Wheat, Soybeans, Salt), Sugar, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Water, Sherry Wine (contains sulfites), Hoisin Sauce (Soy Sauce [Water, Soybeans, Wheat, Salt], Sugar, Flour, Vinegar, Spice), Modified Corn Starch, Dehydrated Garlic, Dehydrated Onion, Spices, Xanthan Gum, Autolyzed Yeast Extract.
Anything unseemly there?
That’s Very Nice
Would you rather…
wrap all of your roommate’s stuff in aluminum foil,
or
tape over his John Wayne Gold Collection with Christopher Lowell Show reruns?
a) Even my toothbrush! Jerks!
b) She Wore A Yellow Ribbon
…and shiny,
– bob
We’re Exceeding Your Lowest Expectations!
Would you rather…
garner the valuable Michael Dukakis endorsement,
or
convince yourself that you win if you come in fifth place?
a) Adlai Stevenson wouldn’t return my calls.
b) We’re going all the way!
Gee, that’s great,
– bob
Lovely Human Being/Margaritaville Update!
Friends, the unofficial Mayor of Fairyland and my missus have embarked on their trip to Mexico, leaving me to my own devices. As devices go, I’ve returned my attention to the sad little Macintosh Performa 5215 CD. The battery that holds the sad little machine’s settings is dead. It hated my SCSI drive until I forced a unit number on the poor thing, the Ethernet card isn’t working, and the monitor is on the way out.
Did I mention that I’m currently the top bidder for a TV tuner card on eBay for the thing? That’s right. $22.68 is the top bid. If it holds out for three freakin’ days (don’t want to use the f-word. Might make Michael Powell mad.), I’ll be able to watch teevee on the sad little Performa’s sad little display. Does this make me happy?
Damn right it does.
It’s a gizmo, which appeals to my gizmophilia. It’s a cheap and cheerful way to get video into a computer on the network, which appeals to my spooky surveillance bent. It’s dumb, which appeals to my bald-faced idiocy. What’s not to love?
… I’ll tell you what. It’s a time and attention hole. There’s so much wrong with the sad little Mac’s design that there are endless patches, kludges, and scripty bits needed to make the thing work. As it loads the aforementioned patches, kludges and bits, they take forever to come online and clog the operations of the already leisurely performance that was built into the system as a cost-cutting measure. Lovely.
Why should you care? That’s a good question, actually. I’d like to say that I can provide important lessons for your computer troubleshooting adventures. I’d like to say that, but I can’t. Let’s face it, you’ll never be able to apply what I’ve learned with this sad little machine to your modern, fabulous computer. Maybe what I can impart is that a seemingly irrelevant project can help you deal with problems in the rest of your life. Maybe having an intellectually challenging hobby—like finding problems and repairing them—is just the thing to take your mind off of more pressing worries, like still being out of a job, for instance.
Still, why does this matter? It doesn’t…
…unless you take away the lesson.
Your philosophical pal,
bob
It’s Like Sub-Atomic Soup, Theoretically
Would you rather…
tell Kodak to stop selling cameras,
or
explain quark-gluon plasma?
a) I hear Burger King went vegetarian…
b) You see, it’s like really hot and dense…
Next you’ll tell me that down is up,
– bob
Chuck E. Gardening Super Center
Would you rather…
convert an old fast food building into either a 5-star Italian restaurant,
or
a Chinese restaurant?
a) Taco Bella
b) Hungry Chowie’s
Kentucky Fried Dry Cleaner,
– bob
You’re A Lovely Human Being
Our pal from Fairyland is arriving on Lufthansa this evening. I guess the Europeans are used to this by now (German carrier delivering American ex-pat from Heathrow), but I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. She and My Beautiful and Talented Bride™ are making their way down the Baja peninsula on a shopping trip mid-week but all our guest wants on her arrival this evening is greasy Mexican food.
You’re A Filthy Animal
The pups and I just got back from a run/walk (they run, I take care of the rest) at Fiesta Island. Here’s what I’ve learned…
Dogs are disgusting.
They not only roll around in fetid piles, but—wait for it—they eat things that other dogs’ digestive tracts have, ahem, rejected.
I’ve seen the girly dog do some pretty nasty things in her time with us, but this one took quite a while for me to recover from. Buh!
So, how’s your day?
Your pal,
bob
Will It Go Round In Circles…
Would you rather…
go into quadruple overtime,
or
change sides based on a coin toss?
a) It’s like playing two games in one…
b) Okay, so we’re going that way?
Well, that didn’t work,
– bob
Moo!
Would you rather…
relay your DirectTV signal through the Mars Rover,
or
cull the herd of those with gender identity issues?
a) Short Circuit II, again?
b) Dad Cow
Johnny Five is alive,
– bob
That’s Not What You’d Hope For
Would you rather…
join the Bellicose Women’s Brigade,
or
be wrung out like a filthy washrag?
a) Shout!
b) Twist!
Grrr,
– bob