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Thursday, July 31, 2003

FE FI FO FUM (Was that the issue with Dick Cheney on the cover? Oh, no. Now I remember. It was Cardinal Law.)

I guess it's well known among those who pay attention to such things that Shrek has sold out. He's been shilling for HP in the glossy magazines for some time now. I'm reserving judgement.

However, Thing One wasn't bothered by this marriage of art and commerce when she came across one of the advertisements in an old Newsweek thay had been lying around.

"Look," she said. "In a magazine. My favorite ogre."


DOWN THE SHORE (The Varieties of Religious Experience)

I was half asleep in my beach chair, when I was roused by a commotion a few feet away. It was Big Fat Obnoxious Guy, leading a troop of at least fifteen. There were umbrellas, a stroller, coolers, blankets and towels. He was strangely quiet as the setting up, unfurling, arranging and rearranging proceeded. Eventually the encampment took shape, acquiring an unworldy look of permanence in the mid-afternoon sun. Only then did BFOG address the multitude.

BFOG: "Well, I'm going in. Who else is going in? Who's ready? Who's going in with me?"

Nothing. Silence from the gathering.

BFOG: "Timmy, you coming in? Connor, coming in? Hey come on guys. Let's go in."

Still nothing.

BFOG: "Listen, you guys. Hey. I bust my ass all year to get us down here and no one's going in? Hey."

Nothing.

BFOG: "Well, I'm going in then."

And in he went.

I drifted off. I couldn't have slept for more than half an hour, but when I woke all was quiet. BFOG and his clan had vanished, leaving nothing behind, not even footprints in the sand. It was as if it had all been a dream.

Yet I believe. Even though no one else had seen or heard a thing. I believe BFOG visited me that day.



Wednesday, July 30, 2003

The Things almost turned four today. I was definitely under the impression that today was their birthday. "Happy Birthday, One" I said as she came downstairs. She had a very sour look about her. "I'm not four, " she growled. "I'm still small." She held up her hands for proof. "Look at my hands. They're small."

Thing Two was even more despairing. "Today is your birthday, Two" I said. "You're four." She just shook her head. "Look at my foots. I'm still three."

"That's it, " I said. "I'm going to call the newspaper. I'm sure they'll want to write a story about two girls who had a birthday and stayed the same age. I bet it's never happened before. Will you explain it to the reporter when he comes?"

"Daddy, you forgot to give us breakfast," said Two. One was already rummaging through the refrigerator, taking matters in her own small hands.

Tuesday, July 29, 2003

MEDIA STUDIES - INTERMEDIATE (I thought that guy from The New Yorker would jump on this, but apparently he's busy in Iraq, or Iran or over there in that general area.)


Close readers of The New York Times know that the real problems in the paper run much deeper than prevaricating, confabulating reporters and power mad editors. The real scandal is the fact that not a day is allowed to go by without a mention of "Two-Buck Chuck" or "Kripsy Kreme" somewhere in the paper. Many writers and copy editors have reportedly been driven to distraction by upper management's insistence that one of these two entries must appear in story after story, regardless of context.

Who promulgated this insane edict, and why? I bet there's a Pulitzer awaiting the intepid reporter who can expose the inner machinations of this once great paper and reveal what is behind this bizarre policy. Failing a true expose, I suppose a truly intrepid reporter could just make up a good story. I'm sure it could get published somewhere.


Tuesday, July 15, 2003

LIFE IN THESE UNITED STATES #1

I overheard this while waiting for the elevator at work this morning.

Geezer Security Guard: "There's too many of them. It's not right."
Other Guard: "What's not right about it?"

GSG: "It's the great American game, isn't it. But not when it's like this. They should play Remember Pearl Harbor instead of the National Anthem."
OG: "Those guys are good. They deserve to be there."

GSG : "I'm not saying they're not good. That's got nothing to do with it. They should be playing in their own country, that's all."
OG: "They did play there, first."

GSG: "Baseball is the great American game. They should play their own game."
OG: "Like what? What should they play?"

GSG: "They should play Chinese checkers and leave baseball to the Americans."






Monday, July 14, 2003

OUT AND ABOUT #3

I ran into Big Fat Obnoxious Guy (Standard Version) at a neighborhood picnic last week. Here’s what he had to say:

After introductions.

BFOG: “Take a look at this picture of my son. He’s at the University of Delaware. A Blue Hen. Made all A’s and B’s his last semester.”

Pre Meal Conversation.

BFOG: “Want me to fire up the grill?

BFOG: “Want me to start grilling?”

BFOG: “Let me start those burgers.”

BFOG: “Anybody getting hungry?”

BFOG: “Seriously, I’ll get started on cooking right away.”

The grill is fired up.

BFOG: “Look at all you just sitting around while I’m slaving over a hot grill. And it’s not even my house. Haw Haw.”

Dinner Hour.

BFOG: “Guess what Disney spends on those fireworks every night? A million dollars. It's true. Well, that's including that laser show they do too. One million dollars. Every night."

After Dinner Reflections.

BFOG: “I say, they’re gonna drink anyway. Better he comes to me than to some stranger. I’ll buy him the beer; he knows that. Just give me the car keys, I say. Then you can do what you want.”

After Dessert.

BFOG: “Wow, that kiwi lime pie was too much. I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach. Ha Ha.”

Friday, July 11, 2003

EDUCATION #1 (“Don’t hustle me like I’m a skell.” - Bobby Simone)

Every Friday afternoon Sister Bigandtall would read us a section from The Junkie Priest. I really came to look forward to these sessions even though I had only the vaguest idea of what was going on. I did know we wouldn’t be tested on the material, and that was enough for me. But one Friday the pattern was broken when Sister Bigandtall cleared her throat and addressed the class.

SB&T: “Today instead of reading we are going to talk about philosophy. Do any of you know what existentialism is?”

Of course none of us had a clue.

SB&T: “Existentialism is a philosophy, but it is a very strange philosophy. Existentialists don’t believe in God. In fact, existentialists don’t believe in much of anything at all. They believe that only concepts are real, not things."

It was late in the day. People were yawning, looking out the windows. Someone threw a spitball.

Sister Bigandtall looked around and realized that she was in danger of losing her audience. Suddenly she was seized by inspiration. She left the lectern and picked up a chair.

SB&T: “For instance, if I took this chair and asked an existentialist what it was, he wouldn’t answer. An exisentialist wouldn't admit that he saw a chair. That is because existentialists don’t believe in chairs as things. An existentialist would tell you he believed in the concept of chairness, but not in actual chairs."

We’ve got it now. Most of us are laughing out loud at the very idea. Who knew there were such crazy people in the world?

SB&T: “So, are any of you attracted to this philosophy? Do any of you think you might become existentialists?”

Not a hand went up. Sister looked quite pleased.

SB&T: “Anyone?"

Dramatic pause.

SVT: "I thought not. Class dismissed."

Wednesday, July 09, 2003

BOOKS #2 (Another heads-up.)

POSITIVELY FIFTH STREET, by James McManus.

If you like to read about deviants, perverts, tax evaders, sneaks, snitches, murderers, and addled drug users, then the first 11 pages of this book are what you've been waiting for!

Tuesday, July 08, 2003

CURRENT EVENTS #1 (Roll over, Strom. You too, Lester. Tell Trent Lott the news.)

In a daring move, one guaranteed to alienate his core constituency, President Bush came out against slavery today.

Friday, July 04, 2003

OUT & ABOUT #2 ("There are problems in these times, but none of them are mine." - Lou Reed)

In line at Motor Vehicle Services

Dignified, Yet Obviously Cracked Older Gentleman: "I'm here to get a duplicate title.
Me: "Oh."

DYCOG: "I Know as soon as I get home, I'll find the original title."
Me: "Isn't that always the way."

DYCOG: "You know why I need this title? You know why I need it today?"
Me: "No."

DYCOG: "I'm junking this car. Got to have the title to sell a car for scrap metal. They don't take the tires you know, when you sell a car for scrap metal. You know what I'm going to do with the tires?"
Me: "No."

DYCOG: "Guess I'll put them in the basement. What else am I gonna do with them?"
Me: "I don't know."

DYCOG: "You know how many miles I got on this car?"
Me: "No."

DYCOG: "400,000. That's right. I got 400,000 miles on this car. 400,025 to be exact. Bought it with 75,000. You know what kind of car it is?"
Me: " No."

DYCOG: (getting a little loud) "A Buick Regal, that what. A 1981 Buick Regal. Started right up after four months. Just poured a cup of gasoline in the carburetor and it started right up. Know why it didn't run for four months?"
Me: "No."

DYCOG: (and a little agitated) "Because I was in Florida for four months, that's why! I go down there every winter. Didn't you know that?"
Me: "No."

DYCOG: (and a little defiant) "Every winter, that's right. I don't need these gamned winters around here, do I?"
Me: "I guess not."

DYCOG: (louder now, and angry) "Only thing is, the car smokes a little. Four nights, five nights in a row the troopers pull me over. One of them gave me a warning. Now I don't like to drive a car that smokes, but five nights in a row. Do I need that? Now I've got to junk the damned thing."
Me: Oh."

DYCOG: (quiet now, conspiratorial whisper) "Do you know what it is? It's profiling. Them troopers, that's all they think about. Every night."
Me: "You're up. She's calling you to the window."

DYCOG: (takes two steps to window, turns back to me, points, shouts) "You know what I'd like to do. I'd like to kick 'em. That's right. Kick 'em -- right where they fuck."
Me: "Oh."







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