Fourteen blocks to daycare / Goblet

He looked out the window again. The rain hadn't let up. He looked at his watch again. Damn. If he was going to make it to work on time he had to leave now. He put the rain cover over the stroller, threw on the closest thing he had to a rain coat over his back, and opened the door to begin his journey.

14 blocks to daycare.

He hadn't made it two blocks before his socks were wet. Mother fucker. A full day at the office wearing wet socks. Splish sploshing from conference room to conference room. Beautiful.
After a few more blocks he realized he'd forgot his lunch. Fuck it. He'd gone too far to turn back now. Looks like he'd be dropping $12 at the deli. $12 he could have used to help pay for baby formula, diapers, or wipes.
Half way there and it really started to pour. Torrential. If anyone happened to peek out their window no doubt they'd laugh at the jackass pushing a stroller in a monsoon. I was almost funny. Check that, it was funny. He laughed to himself out loud like a crazy person.
A couple blocks later any trace of humor had transformed into pure rage. He tried to pinpoint the moment of his life where the first domino fell, triggering the series of events that transformed him from a young hot shot whose biggest worry was the size of his television to the poor schlep pushing his kid through a rain storm.
Perhaps it was when he cancelled his gym membership. It also could have been when he picked up that book of 10,000 baby names he saw sitting on his neighbor's stoop. Or maybe it was the day he caught himself humming the song the stuffed bear sang.
Now just a few blocks from the daycare, he audibly cursed a don't walk sign for suggesting he stop. He cursed a passing garbage truck for smelling like garbage He cursed the sidewalk for being uneven.
Fuck. This. Shit.

As he parked his stroller next to the others the rain tapered off to a light drizzle. He pulled back his hood and did his best to shake himself dry before removing the stroller's rain cover. The baby was asleep.
She opened her eyes as he lifted her out. The heavy mist in the air caused her to blink her eyes several times. She looked towards the sky and seemingly took in the day, her eyes now wide with wonder. Just then the sun broke through the clouds and she took a deep breath, pure and clean.

He stood there in his wet socks and held his daughter for some time before taking her inside.

The undocumented pancake blow back / Vestibule

A scene you've undoubtedly scene in several movies:

[The kids sit anxiously around the kitchen table, forks and knives in hand. Dad's standing over the stove wearing a Penn University XXL t-shirt, a pair of sweats, and a day's worth of stubble. He's holding a spatula and flipping pancakes. Mom is leaning against the kitchen counter sipping her large mug of coffee, smiling, soaking it all in.]

Dad: Ok Billy, hope you're hungry. One triple stack of smiley faced pancakes coming up.
Billy: Yay!!
Dad: What about you princess? What do you want for breakfast?
Julie: I want bacon!
Dad: Bacon it is. Anything else?
Julie: And waffles.
Dad: How about bacon and waffles with strawberries and whip cream for the little lady?
Julie: Yay!!
As Dad is serving breakfast a horn honks outside
Mom: That's the bus.
Dad: OK guys don't forget to grab your lunches.
Billy: Bye Mom. Bye Dad.
Julie: Bye Dad. Bye Mom.
Dad: Good luck on that math test big guy.
Billy and Julie scamper out the door to catch the bus.
Dad: Christ they grow up fast.
Mom: They're good kids. I love you Jim.
Dad: I love you too

END SCENE

The aftermath that's never shown:

Mom: One question though. Why'd you cook them pancakes and waffles?
Dad: Because it's my specialty. You know that.
Mom: I understand that but you know they had school today.
Dad: Yeah. So?
Mom: And they just left to catch the bus without eating any breakfast.
Dad: Hey. It's not every day that I'm able to cook for them. I thought it would be a nice gesture to make them something special.
Mom: I understand the sentiment but they're on a pretty tight morning schedule. It doesn't make any sense to serve them a Denny's style breakfast when they only have 5 minutes to eat.
Dad: Well excuse me for trying to jolt a little excitement and spontaneity into this family.
Mom: This is the type of shit I've been talking about with Dr. Spendler. You're a fucking ghost six days out of the week and you think you can magically make up for it by cooking a batch of pancakes on a Thursday morning that the kids can't even eat.
Dad: Cheryl, they're fucking pancakes. Let's not make a federal case of it. You and that shrink think you can selectively grab these isolated incidents and draw grand conclusions about how I'm compensating for my own feelings of abandonment or whatever other psycho-babble bullshit happens to be the hot topic of the week. Fact is they were just some fucking pancakes. They can be saran wrapped and put in the fridge and we can have breakfast for dinner. Now if we're done here I need to go put on my monkey suit and head to the office where I'll get shit from Paul and Felix for requesting next Thursday and Friday off so we can visit your train wreck of a sister in rehab.
Mom: Fuck you Jim. What did I ever do to you?
Dad: Ahh blow me. Or should I say not blow me.
Mom: You're a monster.
Dad shoves a whole pancake in his mouth and makes a monster face at Mom before heading upstairs to change. Mom sits at the kitchen table and sobs as her coffee gets cold.

End Scene

Scene from 1166 6th Ave. 15th floor / Marsh

You want revenue projections?

I think I'm entitled to them.

You want revenue projections?!

I want the truth.

You can't handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has numbers. And those numbers have to be analyzed by men with pivot tables. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Associate Media Planner Michael Steinburg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Q4 inventory constraints and you curse the atlas third party discrepancy. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: That Macy's underdelivery, while tragic, probably saved revenue. And my spreadsheets, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, save revenue. You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me in PeopleSoft. You need me in PeopleSoft. We use words like seasonality, v-look up, and net effective CPM...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent calculating something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very data I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide them. I'd prefer you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you open up Excel and build a macro. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to.

Did you overforecast August pageviews to the video console?

I did my job I'd do it again.

Did you overforecast August pageviews to the video console?

You're goddamn right I did!

Liar / Tendril

So I’ve started lying more to my girlfriend, not because I’m trying to get away with anything or I’m hiding something from her, but mainly because I talk to her on the phone probably five times a day.

Five times a day! Whose life is so exciting that updates are needed every 5 hours?

Like there’s anyone who’s, “Hello. Hey what’s up? I’m parasailing. No, from a helicopter, why? Yeah, like 5 hours ago but that wasn’t my monkey. Listen I gotta go. I can’t say – CIA remember? Switzerland. Stolen Diamonds. Chinese star. I’ll call you later.”

And every time she calls, first things she wants to know is what I’m doing.
“Hey, What’s up?” “ Whatcha doing?” “ Whatcha up to?” Which is fine. But when she calls me five times a day - I only do about two or three things.

Not a very big repertoire.

There’s only so many times I can say, “Lying on the couch.” “I’m eating Chinese Food.”

So I started telling these little pitiful lies about what I’m doing.

I’ll be lying on the couch but I tell her I’m sitting in the kitchen.

Subtle, yet crucial.

Because now if you were to ask her, she’s fully aware I enjoy lying on the couch and eating Chinese food, but she’s also under the impression that I occasionally sit in the kitchen and eat Caesar salads.

Little does she know that life is a fantasy.

The ole' debit card dupe / Chinchilla

The Set-Up

You need to live with at least one other person with whom you have a joint checking account to which you have online access to. You also need to be out of groceries.

The Hook

Arrange it so that your wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, or roommate goes grocery shopping without you. Make sure they plan to pay with a debit card. Tell them to buzz the apartment when they get back and you'll help them carry the groceries inside.

The Tale

While they're off grocery shopping you go online and access your checking account, waiting for the grocery store purchase to register. When it does you make a mental note of the exact total.
When they get back from grocery shopping you meet them outside to help them carry the groceries into the apartment. You complain over how many groceries they bought and the sheer number of bags. Remark that it must have cost a fortune. Ask who gave them permission to buy the expensive paper towels, why they keep purchasing tomato juice if they're never going to drink it. Make certain you are obnoxious enough with your incessant whining that it triggers them to get defensive. They should argue that they did not, in fact, spend a fortune.

The Sting

You tell them that judging by the weight and volume of the groceries you helped carry you estimate that they spent $176.43, and that's not exactly chump change.

Dream I had last night / Trident

I walk into a restaurant with my parents and notice a table in the back filled with a bunch of friends from high school. I walk up to the table to find them all drinking dark beer out of over-seized mugs and laughing. I say hello and ask them what's so funny and they say Jack was in the middle of telling a hilarious story. Jack then says that he and his wife Katie are on this great new diet called the key lime pie diet. All you do is eat key lime pies. The only trick is that instead of using key limes when making the pies you use this new fruit they have called nool.
So just the other day Jack needed to make more of these pies but realized they were completely out of nool. Evidently nool is sort of hard to come buy so he wasn't sure where he could find some. He decided to try Target. Jack walks the aisles of Target for awhile not having and luck when he decides to ask one of the robots for some help [important note: in this dream it's common knowledge that the retail giant Target is manned by helper robots who scoot through the aisles waiting for people to ask them where items are located or to help reach items located on high shelves].

"Do you sell nool?" he asked the robot.

No response.

"Nool. Where do you keep the nool?"

The robot just stood there, frozen. It had no idea what he was talking about.

The bustle of Barry Busiman / Warrior

Barry Busiman was busy. Busy indeed. He was so busy that his last name wasn't really Busiman, it was actually Smith. He started giving himself the last name of Busiman ten years ago because he felt he was so busy. His business cards confirmed the lie. That should help give you an idea of how busy he was. So very very busy.

Barry Busiman was so busy he claimed he didn't have time for sleep. He cursed it as a necessity of the human race. "What a foolish enterprise!" he would often say when one of his colleagues would make a remark regarding their desire to call it a day and get some shuteye. But alas, Barry could only fight his nemesis for so long before he'd inevitably collapse in exhaustion in front of his computer or nod off at his kid's piano recital. Each and every time he'd wake up disgusted and overwhelmed at all the tasks and responsibilities that had piled up as his body defied him and took some time off.

One night, when Barry fell asleep while updating his to-do list, he had a dream. In the dream Dr. Slumber asked Barry why he despised him so. Barry told him he was pointless and lazy, the antithesis of productivity. Barry spit in Dr. Slumber's face and punched him in the nose. The doctor had never been so insulted his his life.

"Have it your way Mr. Smith, " said Dr. Slumber. "I'll be happy to take my business elsewhere. You'll never sleep again."

"Good" replied Barry. And he took off one of his shoes and threw it at Dr. Slumber as he walked away. Then Barry woke up.

It was quite literally a dream come true. Barry quickly took advantage of the extra hours and finished all the big projects he had to do around the house. New ceilings fans were installed, gutters cleaned, and landscaping completed. Next he turned his attention to his finances and paid all the bills he'd ever owe, bought all the groceries he'd ever need, did all laundry from now until the end of time, and purchased every birthday, anniversary, engagement, wedding, and baby gift that would ever be required. Then he switched gears to family time and went to every little league game that would be played, took his wife out to dinner 2,500 times, and paid an extra long visit to his parents so he could consider that done once and for all. Work was then addressed where he scheduled all future meetings back to back to back to back to get them all over with and settled every deal that needed to be done. Last but not least, Barry took all the showers he'd ever have to take, ate all the food he'd ever have to eat, and took a nice long dump - fulfilling all future trips to the bathroom in one satisfying shit session.

That took care of it. Barry was all caught up. There was nothing he'd ever have to do ever again! He looked around and saw other folks taking the train to work, making themselves sandwiches, and going to the bank. "I already took care of all of that" he jubilantly exclaimed.

Later that night, after his wife and kids had gone to sleep, Barry stood in his kitchen and considered his next move. He had already watched all the television there was to watch and read all the magazines there were to read. He couldn't even sit down because he'd already finished up all the sitting he'd ever have to do. All there was left to do was sleep, and boy could he go for a nap.

Just then he noticed a gun sitting on the kitchen counter with a note attached. It said:

[No one spits in my face, punches me in the nose, and throws a shoe at me without getting their just desserts. It's time for you and me to have a nice long talk.

Dr. Slumber]

He put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. It was the only thing he had left to do.

zeroth life lesson: there's always time for a nap.

Reasons not to bandage a bloody knee / Bagpipes

People less likely to stop you on the street and ask you for directions.

Blood running down shin looks pretty cool.

Increases the chances of being able to use the word 'coagulate' in a casual conversation.

Constant reminder that you need to schedule a knee bash rematch with Trent.

Provides illusion of heroism, clumsiness.

Diverts attention from gaping wound on face.

It's fun to say the word "pus".

The Breck envelopes / Davenport

There's not much to do in Breckenridge, Colorado during the summer - of course I didn't know that at the time. I needed to find a job in between my senior and super-senior year of college and I was hankering for one of those "find yourself" type of experiences. A buddy of mine had some connections in Breckenridge and said he could hook me up with a job. I'd never been to Colorado before. Sounded like just the thing. I assumed I'd spend my days mountain biking and climbing various breath-taking peaks overlooking awe-inspiring valleys and my nights perusing for like-minded, free-spirited gals looking to have casual sex and sleep in the nude as I looked out the window at the mountains, smoked cigarettes, and wrote in my journal. You know, basic self-discovery type of stuff.

The job was working the night shift, manning the front desk of a hotel, 11 to 8, six days a week. When your job requires you to stay up all night it's tough to muster the energy to discover yourself during the day, let alone go mountain climbing. Mountain biking proved difficult as well seeing as I didn't own and couldn't afford a bike. I quickly learned that people come to Breck to ski and leave with the snow. The summer months are dedicated to road repair and hosting corporate sponsored golf tournaments. Half the town's shops and restuarants didn't even bother to open. There were no girls.

If there were going to be any adventures I was going to have to concoct them myself.

So it came to pass that I devised a scheme that, if executed correctly, would allow me the opportunity to meet new people and have some laughs in the process. It wasn't exactly white water rafting or three way action but it was the best I could come up with living in a ghost town in a perpetual sleep deprived state.

The basic idea was as follows:

-Put a $5 bill inside an envelope and tape the envelope underneath a pay phone.

-Call that pay phone.

-When someone answers tell them that if they reach under the pay phone they will find an envelope. Tell them to open that envelope.

-Tell them the contents of the envelope is their's to keep and if they'd like more of the same, come back to the same pay phone tomorrow at the same time and wait for the phone to ring for further instructions.

-Call the pay phone again the next day.

The idea pretty much petered out there. I didn't have an end goal of what I was trying to accomplish or what I would have told them to do. I guess the main objective was just to get strangers to hang out near pay phones waiting for my calls. If it had ever worked I suppose I would have come up with something to say. Maybe tell them to go to the grocery store, buy a loaf of bread and throw it in the river. Regardless, the plan never worked. I got as far as putting the envelopes underneath the pay phones but when I called the pay phones I either got a "no longer in service message" or it would ring and ring and ring without anyone ever picking up.

Fast forward to the last weekend of the summer. My buddy who had hooked me up with the job came to visit. I took the night off so we could get drunk. Several hours later the bars are closed and we're wondering the empty streets, looking for something to eat. We end up at the only place open, the local grocery store. We grab a couple of frozen pizzas but realize our wallets are empty after the cashier rings us up. Of course the store's credit card machine is down and the banks are closed. Our prospects are dim. Then I remembered. . .

"Follow me."

I proceeded to hit up phone booth after phone booth, pulling an envelope with $5 from under each one. To say that my drinking buddy was impressed would be an understatement.

"What the hell is going on? Who's money is that? What kind of operation have you got yourself into?"

"You don't want to know. Let's just say that it's been a crazy summer."

To this day he thinks I'm a lot cooler than I really am.

Rant from "No Tomato" Steve / Mallet

They don't make any difference. Tomatoes on a sandwich. I buy them on a whim at the grocery store thinking, "Hey, these tomatoes could really jazz up those sandwiches. I think I'll go ahead and buy more than I'll ever use." The next morning I'm wasting precious seconds inadvertently pulverizing them with a dull steak knife in an attempt to add slices of pure triviality to an otherwise perfectly functional lunch. Time that could have been spent watching sports center.

Slapping the snooze button one more time sure would be nice but I've got a sandwich to not improve.

Take two guys who eat lunch in their cubicle every day from 1:00 to 1:08 and you give one guy a tuna fish sandwich and you give the other guy a tuna fish sandwich with tomatoes and tell them to have at it. Take a walk to the copying machine and back and I'd be willing to venture you'd return to find both equally as miserable as before. Only difference is one of the guys doesn't have the burden of pondering the pointlessness of tomatoes.

It impresses no one. At least a tomatoless sandwich is honest.
Meat with handles.
Depressing and practical.
I finish eating a sandwich with tomatoes and all I can think is what a waste of time, money, and thought. I don't remember the taste. I don't feel healthier. They add nothing.
Texture you say? Get a life.
Vitamin C you say? Fuck off.
Is it a fruit or a vegetable? Blow me.

People who put slices of tomato on their sandwiches are the same assholes who you see brushing their teeth in the restroom after lunch. Can't leave well enough alone.

In fact, I knew guy who not only put slices tomatoes in his sandwich, he actually kept the slices in a separate plastic sandwich bag, only adding them to the sandwich right before he ate it.

He was a fucking joke.

Horse cop / Fiddle

The proud police man mounts his horse and takes a moment before beginning his patrol of the sidewalk. He takes a deep breath of the summer air before putting on his riding gloves and adjusting his city issued mirrored sunglasses. It was a beautiful day in Tricksville. He aimed to keep in that way.

As he makes his way down the sidewalk potential double-parkers think twice, would be vandals reconsider, loiterers move on, habitual jay walkers make their way to the cross walk. From up on his horse he is more than just a traffic cop, he's a symbol of times past - times when lawmen on horses were the town's ultimate peace keepers. Justice on four legs. Only difference was he didn't carry a gun. He had a big pocketbook instead.

Pedestrians are quick to part and make way for the formidable pair. Both cop and horse are greeted with thankful stares and smiles of appreciation from the citizens who enjoy the blanket of rule adherence and order they provide.

The traffic cop regards them all from up high on his clip clopping throne and returns their stares and smiles with a tiny nod and an ardent focus of the task at hand. Sweat slowly drips down his leg before being absorbed by the wool socks pulled up high underneath his polyester pants. A lesser cop would have worn the city issued shorts on a day like today - maybe even requested a bike or traffic cart. Not him. He preferred the full coverage of the proud department blue and the gentle saunter of his steed. The very model of professionalism.

"What an asshole" everyone thinks.

zeroth life lesson: riding horses is stupid. cops are dicks.

Day at the beach / Plank

You've been stranded at sea for a little over 3 days. No food, no water, little sleep. The remains of a broken and charred pool chair keeps you afloat, keeps the tiresome saga going. You kick kick kick kick.

Your mind is slowly becoming pancake batter. The birds are speaking to you. They say you need water. They say you're going to die soon. You yell back at them but it's not much of a retort or a yell for that matter. It's a raspy groan that does nothing but bolster the birds grim forecast. It delights them and they carry on.

You see land off in the distance. It's not the first time in the past 81 hours you thought you've seen a finish line. The sea can play tricks on the mind and the mind can play tricks the eyes. Having no alternate plan, and against the advice of the cynical birds, you succumb whatever remaining strength you have to paddle towards what you hold hope is your salvation. You kick kick kick kick. As you get closer you think of tall pitchers of ice water, gyros with tzatziki sauce, and 'Seinfeld' reruns.

A lifeguard station comes into view. The birds cease their incessant teasing. You paddle harder. Several minutes later you're able to make out umbrellas, sunbathers, and beach blankets. There's music. It sounds like Beck, perhaps Prince. The land is real. You're going to live.

As your frail and beaten body emerges from the sea you stagger up onto the beach. No one seems to notice. The hot sand sears your bare feet. You notice a pair of flip flops nearby, which, in your delirium, you begin to put on your feet without thinking twice.

The owner of the flip flops, a tanned and muscular European looking fellow, approaches you and asks if you're some kind smart guy. He shoves you once, hard, before punching you in the face, shattering your nose as 'Purple Rain' plays, sending you back pedalling into the sea from whenst you came.

zeroth life lesson: just because you're a survivor doesn't mean you're entitled to anything.

Dessert reviews courtesy of my father / Sleuth

____________________________________________________

Italian Cream Cake. . . . . . . . . 10.5

Two layers of rich yellow cake filled with melba sauce or Devonshire cream and lemon curd, topped with whipped cream and decorated with fresh flowers.

Rick's Review:
It was pretty good. I liked the red sauce. But have you ever been to Manny's right off of 394? Man, that place is something else. They got this brownie there that you can order and I'm tellin' ya. . . it's gotta be the size of a football!! Jesus!

____________________________________________________

Crepe Delight. . . . . . . . . 9.5

Crepe rolled and served warm, filled with wild berries, anglaise, and chocolate ice cream.

Rick's Review:
What's this like a pancake or something? Wow! Fresh raspberries! I like those. At Manny's they cover the brownie with fresh strawberries. And whipped cream. They call it the Manny's Brownie. Your mother and I couldn't even finish it. We had to bring it home. To tell you the truth I don't know if we ever finished it. I mean it's ridiculous. We probably had to throw it out.

____________________________________________________

Bourbon St. Pecan Pie. . . . . . . . . 11.5

Mammoth toasted pecan halves layered in an intoxicating filling, mellowed with the rich, smooth flavor of Jim Beam Bourbon then nestled in our buttery crust.

Rick's Review:
This is really good pecan pie but you'd think for $11.50 you'd get a bigger piece. I think the Manny's Brownie is like $15 but believe me you get your money's worth. It's covered it hot fudge and has these huge chunks of walnuts in it. Last time we were there I asked the waiter where they got walnuts that size. South America or something? He didn't know. . .

____________________________________________________

Tiramisu. . . . . . . . . 10

A generous layer each of chocolate and Kahlúa-espresso mascarpone, nestled among delicate ladyfingers infused with espresso and Kahlúa.

Rick's Review:
. . . I mean it could feed 8 people easily. They come around with these dessert carts and you can see the brownies sitting there and you think it must be some kind of joke or something. There's no way that's one brownie. But sure enough they bring it to your table and you can barely keep a straight face. Ask your uncle Jerry about it. He's eaten at some pretty fancy places and he said it's the biggest brownie he's ever seen. Hands down.

____________________________________________________

Chocolate Raspberry Bash. . . . . . . . . 10.5

A tango of dark and white chocolate on a brownie shortbread crust, strewn with truffled cream cheese and red-luscious ripe raspberries. Topped with a halo of white chocolate whipped cream.

Rick's Review:
We went there for your mother's birthday. Probably the best meal we ever had. At Manny's. They got steaks and burgers and salads and stuff. Good bread too. They even bring out more when you finish it. It's a little on the expensive side but they have huge portions. They'll wrap up whatever you don't finish though - which is nice. I mean people walk out of there with enough food to eat for a week!!

____________________________________________________

Cheese platter. . . . . . . . . 15.5

Chef's finest cheese selection served with dried fruit, nuts, and crackers.

Rick's Review:
I took a picture of it last time we was there. The brownie. I put my hand up next to it so you could get an idea of the scale. I mean you wouldn't believe the size of this thing! It's gotta weigh 3 pounds. The Manny's Brownie they call it. I betcha they're homemade too. It's something else.

Note left for Kelly / Spigot

Hi Kelly!

Thanks so much for house sitting! We really appreciate it. Please make yourself at home. The fridge is stocked and there's plenty of frozen pizzas in the freezer.

We get HBO - channel 501 -and Showtime - channel 532 - so there shouldn't be a shortage of movies to watch. I think 'Dan in Real Life' just came out. We watched it just the other night and thought it was pretty good.

The remote controls aren't as daunting as they appear. The big silver one turns on the TV. Just use the 'Power' button. The older looking black one with the green electrical tape changes the channels and controls the volume. The shiny black one is for the sex swing. The others should be ignored. In fact don't even look at them. They are optic remote controls that are operated by eye contact. They control the ceiling, floor, and most of the walls.

If you could do us a favor and check the mail everyday that would be great. We keep the mailbox locked (my wife frequently orders extremely delicious gourmet sandwiches by mail that are often stolen and eaten by the various snobby foodies who aimlessly wonder the neighborhood, hence the lock). The key to the mailbox is located in the upper right drawer of the medium sized bureau in the master bedroom. Even though the drawer says "Sleeping Bats" feel free to open it up to get the key. Be careful not to confuse it with the upper right hand drawer of the medium sized dresser - also in the master bedroom. That drawer also says "Sleeping Bats" but SHOULD NOT BE OPENED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES!

A few other tips and things to keep in mind:

On Tuesday a man claiming to be Tim will stop by at precisely 8:15 am. DO NOT LET HIM INSIDE BECAUSE WE DON’T KNOW WHO HE IS OR WHAT HE WANTS. He talks backwards and any purpose or meaning to his weekly visits is masked in indecipherable babble. We’ve left the video camera near the front door so that when he does arrive you can videotape his incessant, nonsensical rambling. He'll try to wiggle his way into the house but can be pretty easily fended off using the push broom by the coat rack. After about 45 minutes he'll give up and make his way to the Kessler's place next door. Once he's gone you should be able to play the videotape backwards to make out what he was saying. It would be great if you could transcribe anything you're able to decipher and jot it down in the notebook on the coffee table labeled "Tim's plight".
So far we've been able to figure out that he's sad, scared, and thinks that new show "Fringe" on Fox is way underrated and ahead of it's time.

Word of warning - best to stay out of the basement. The stairs leading there are upside down - sorta like one of those crazy stair pencil drawings with the people walking in all different directions. They can be quite tricky to navigate if you're not used to them. If you need to go down there (to retrieve more canned peaches, to turn down the music, or to use the bathroom (the one one the main floor is broken and the upstairs bathroom is fake)) it’s best to simply pick up the phone and call Gary at 651-454-4355. He's the 627 lb. man that lives in the basement. He can lower you down using a bucket and pulley apparatus he constructed using buffalo wing bones and loner socks. He's a pretty handy guy! Ornery, but handy.

Oh and we have a pet garnawl. His name is Fuck You. Feed him, care for him, and always stay in front of him the same you would any garnawl. Also don't be surprised if he crawls into bed with you. He's quite the snuggler.

If you need to get a hold of us call basement Gary. He's got a copy of our itinerary. He actually planned the whole trip! He's surprisingly well traveled for a man of his size. Quite ornery, but well traveled. It's amazing what you can do with a helicopter, cargo net, and a pair of binoculars.

Make yourself at home! Have fun!

Ben and Beth Hildegaard

Train of thought / Sheath

-fuck I'm tired-
-should I buy another coffee?-
-am I addicted to caffeine?-
-if i was wouldn't i get headaches?-
withdrawal symptoms-
the shakes-
spasms-
spaz-
retard-
-wheelchair-
-murder ball-
-motocross-
-bike ramp-
-baseball card in the spokes-
-bo jackson rookie card-
-complete set of '87 donruss-
-buying packs of cards at shinders-
-porn section in the back-
-penthouse in dad's sock drawer-
-stole it and hid it in the sandbox-
-gritty boobs-
-honeymoon in santorini-
-siestas-
-fuck I'm tired-
-I'm getting coffee-

Seven rational fears of this one guy I know / Perm

The fear that you've used the public restroom too fast and the people who saw you walk in and walk out assume you didn't wash your hands which you did (although you didn't use soap because you were in a hurry).

The fear that the waiter did not bring you the bottle of wine you ordered and he's watching you taste the initial sample pour and laughing to himself because he's brought you the cheapest bottle of wine from the menu, not the second cheapest which is what you ordered.

The fear that your casual walking pace is far too fast and people think you're some sort of spaz or something.

The fear that everyone else on the train can hear what you're listening to on your iPod through some elaborate prank involving new technology which can pick up your iPod's signal and somehow transmit it through the public transportation's PA system and you're listening to Hanson's "MMMMM Bop".

The fear that as soon as you walk out of the office each day the rest of your co-workers all start having sex with each other and yelling, "Thank God he's gone so we can all start having sex with each other!"

The fear that you look like a fag when using a straw. That you're doing it all wrong and there's some sort of strategy to it that no one's telling you.

The fear that you've mistakenly put the left ear bud in your right ear and the left ear bud in your right ear and your hands are currently occupied with a dog leash, baby stroller, and a plastic bag full of dog shit so it would sort of be a whole production to attempt to double-check but if you don't you risk some sort of undocumented damage to your hearing in which sounds coming from your left will seem to be coming from your right and vice versa.

Faux pas of elliptical proportions / Clydesdale

I was at the gym the other day and I was working it on one of those elliptical machines. As I was pumping away for some reason I decided to point my fingers.

You don’t really realize how ridiculous you look on an elliptical trainer until you try it with your fingers pointed - like the drunk uncle at your cousin's wedding reception.

I assumed all the other people at the gym saw me and judged me so I used it as my excuse to end my workout after four minutes and return home.

Evidently I can burn the same amount of calories dancing badly by myself in the privacy of my own home.

Eight out of 18 / Moat

Assignment: write a concise six chapter story using eight of the eighteen concepts/objects listed below.

noodle salad
harpoon gun
ceiling tiles
children
helicopter
wholly mammoth
confetti
trigonometry
staple remover
physical fitness
hymnal
thanksgiving
rocket ladders
aerodynamics
squid
vanity
blue plate special
bank robbery

Chapter 1:

Jogging around the park I notice a helicopter hovering over the glitter and confetti factory. Without hesitation I remove my harpoon gun from my harpoon holster and fire a harpoon at that bar at the bottom of the helicopter that heroes in action movies dangle from. Unfortunately I failed to tie any sort of rope to the harpoon so while it hits its mark, it really doesn't do me any good as the helicopter continued to hoover, only now it has a harpoon sticking from its skids.

Chapter 2:

"Hmmm. Time for plan B" I say to myself as I pour the remains of my water bottle over my head and slick my hair back. Sure I look good, but looking good without a plan of attack is like serving butter but forgetting the bread. After about 60 push ups the ideas really start flying and soon enough I've constructed a crude ladder out of various twigs, sticks, branches, and a rocket booster that allows it to fly, thus making the prototypical purpose of the ladder pointless.

Chapter 3:

I mount my rocket ladder and shoot towards the helicopter and breakneck speed, jumping from the ladder at the last moment and grabbing onto my harpoon still sticking in the skid. The ladder passes through the helicopter blades creating thousands of mini rocket ladders that squirrels will undoubtedly find quite useful as they rain down into the park.

Chapter 4:

I do 12 pull-ups before hoisting myself into the copter and screaming my motto over the sound of the chopping blades.

"Did somebody order the blue plate special?"

I toss out the wrapper of the Power Bar I just ate and watch the wind whip it out of site before I make my way toward the cockpit.

Chapter 5:

After a brief and pointed introduction I commence wrestling the controls from the pilot. As I do so lights start blinking, alerts start beeping, and the pilot starts screaming - all indications of our rapid decent toward the glitter and confetti factory below.
"All's well that ends well" says the pilot.
"Pretty weak choice for last words if you ask me" I retort.

Chapter 6:

We crash into the factory, creating a glorious explosion of glitter and confetti that delights each and every child in a 3 mile radius. As we regain consciousness, wiping the glitter from our faces and shaking the confetti from our ears the pilot grabs my hand and speaks in a weak and broken voice.

"What the fuck were you doing jogging with a harpoon gun?"

"Anything for the kids" I reply.

Alternative slang / Coil

A diamond in the rough = A frisbee on the roof
A shot in the dark = A swing at the mirror
Ace in the hole = A grape in my coat pocket
Against the grain = Not what Aunt Carol said
Balls to the wall = I actually wouldn't change this one. 'Balls to the wall' is perfect
Barking up the wrong tree = Walking into the wrong apartment
Behind the eight ball = On the F Train during rush hour
Between a rock and a hard place = On the L Train during rush hour
Birds of a feather flock together = They're a couple of dicks
Bite the bullet = Bam your elbow on the nightstand
Blind leading the blind = Deaf yelling at deaf
Break a leg = Smash a barstool on your back
Bring home the bacon = Pays for the Brita replacement filters
Burning the midnight oil = Watching MacGyver repeats
By the skin of your teeth = That thing almost chopped your head off right then
Chip on his shoulder = Dale on his heel
Close, but no cigar = You still need 75 more tickets to get anything on that shelf
Cold turkey = Straight Jimpy Holmes (The word 'Holmes' is optional)
Cut to the chase = Meet at the flagpole
Dark horse = Mark Torse
Dressed up to the nines = Pulled some price tags
Face the music = Eat your couscous
Field day = Arts and Crafts class
Finger lickin good = Trash digging tasty
Flash in the pan = Jizz on the rug
Fly on the wall = Nightvision goggles in the closet
Go out on a limb = Assume the liqour store's open
Hold your horses = The zoo doesn't open till 10
Keep your chin up = Don't let Larry get to you
Knock on wood = Hit Ctrl Alt Delete
Know the ropes = Introduce you to Larry
Mind your p's and q's = See explanation for 'Balls to the wall'
Nip in the bud = Apply pressure to the throat area
Pull out all the stops = Remove the traffic lights
Put your best foot forward = Give 'em the 'ole James Earl Jones
Red tape = Marbles on the floor
Rise and shine = Time for toast
Saved by the bell = Pulled a Slater
Smoke and mirrors = A magical robot
Sour grapes = Funky Chiraz
Spitting image = Luggie look-a-like
Stone's throw = Softball toss
Turn the tables = Reverse the door hinges
Wet behind the ears = Still has placenta is his/her hair

Honored blade / Chassis

Sometimes when walking in the park I make it a point to look at the grass. I let my eyes wander until I'm able to focus on a single blade. I take a few moments to really take it in, noting its height, color, and angle compared to the thousands that surround it. The blade of grass in turn notices me and freezes, not expecting a set of human eyes to regard it with such attention. It must feel very privileged that a species of the highest order would dedicated even as much as a passing glance let alone a full 4 seconds of eye contact.

The surface of the earth 196,940,400 square miles, roughly 1/3 of which is habitable land. If 1/4 of what's left is covered in grass that leaves 16,411,699 square miles of grass. Assuming there are about 3,000 blades of grass in 1 square foot and there are 27,878,400 square feet in a mile that makes roughly 1,372,595,730,000,000,000 blades of grass on the planet.

Over 200 million blades of grass per person.

And here I am staring at a single one.

Of the hundreds of thousands of passerbys I'm certainly the only one who's bothered to notice this particular blade. If not for me it would have lived its life completely unnoticed. Stepped on, mowed down, laid upon, but never looked at.

It's safe to say that I've made it the envy of all the other grass in the world. I made it famous. It should thank me and die happy.

I pluck it, chew it, and move on.

zeroth life lesson: it's easy to make yourself feel important if you resort to pleasing flora. also fame is more often than not a random sham and is rarely warranted.

10 things least likely to see skywritten / Jowls

WHICH WAY TO LAGUARDIA?

I'M SORRY. CHARLES IS DEAD. HE HAD LOST TOO MUCH BLOOD. THERE WAS NOTHING WE COULD DO.

THE TIME IS 11:48 PM.

EGGS, BREAD, MILK, DISH SOAP, PEANUT BUTTER, CAPTAIN CRUNCH. . .

CAROLYN BURMEISTER WILL YOU HELP ME MOVE?

HI. SORRY TO BOTHER YOU BUT I WAS WONDERING IF. . . GOSH, NOT EXACTLY SURE HOW TO PUT THIS. . . I COULDN'T HELP NOTICE YOU WERE CHEWING A STICK OF GUM. WOULD IT BE TOO MUCH TO ASK IF I COULD HAVE A PIECE? EVEN HALF OF A PIECE WOULD DO THE TRICK. I'LL EVEN PAY YOU FOR IT. OH. IT'S YOUR LAST PIECE. I SEE. SORRY TO BOTHER YOU. HAVE A TREMENDOUS DAY.

STOP AIR POLLUTION.

IF ANYONE SAW 'LOST' LAST NIGHT DON'T SAY ANYTHING. I TIVO'D IT AND PLAN ON WATCHING IT AFTER WORK.

OUT OF THE OFFICE. BACK ON MONDAY, SEPT. 8TH.

GO EXPOS!

Crack tally / Snorkel

People always come up to me on the street and say, "If you could ask God one question, what would it be?" And I’m always tempted to respond with a classic like, ‘What is the meaning of life?’ or ‘Will mankind ever be able to travel through time?’ but I always can't help but think that if I had the opportunity, I’d ask God a completely random and original question that no one else would know the answer to. Something along the lines of - "Compared to the rest of the human race, how am I faring as far as not stepping on cracks?" Because I'm pretty good about remembering not to step on cracks when walking down the street. Good enough that I'd like to think I rank in the top 10% in the history of the universe. 

And it would probably throw God off a little. 

He’d be like, “Cracks? . . . You mean like on the sidewalk? . . . The whole 'step on a crack and break your mom's back' thing? . . . That's your question? . . Why would you want to? . . Just a minute. . . . OK here it is.  You've stepped on a grand total of 218,489 cracks in your lifetime."

And I'd say, "Is that pretty good?"

"Oh.  It's OK I suppose.  I've seen better."

"Am I in the top 10%?"

"Close.  87th percentile for individuals in your same age bracket.  Top 13% all time."

“What about Rod Teagles?  Am I beating him?"  

“Hold on let me check. . . Rod Teagles from Eagan, Minnesota or Rod Teagles from Akron, Ohio?"

"Eagan, Minnesota."

"Alright. . . Huh.  How about that.  You and Rod Teagles are tied."

“Wow!  I guess Rod Teagles took that bet back in 4th grade as seriously as I did.  I better keep remembering not to step on cracks."

"'Yeah, I guess."

"What about the other Rod Teagles?"

"The one from Akron, Ohio?"

"Yeah, that guy."

"You're destroying him."

"Thanks God."


“No problem.”