Tuesday, November 30, 2010

It's Really, Really, Really Important, Daddy!

Jiggle. Jiggle. Rattle. Rattle.  "Daddy, why is the bathroom door locked?"

"Connor, you are supposed to knock on the bathroom door before you try to come in."


Knock. Knock. Jiggle. Rattle. "Daddy, why is the bathroom door locked?"

"I'm using the bathroom. I will be right out."

"Number one or number two?"

"What? Son, can I have just a little privacy? Do you have to know all the details of my life?"

Slight pause. "Umm, yes. And besides it's really, really, really important!"

"Are you hurt?"

"No, but hurry up! It's really important."

Wash my hands. Exit the bathroom. "What? What is the matter? Did you break something by accident? What is so important to drag me out the bathroom?"

"Do you think when Harry Houdini was underwater for so long that he could stop his own heart to make his breath last longer?"

Monday, November 22, 2010

Thou Shalt Not Google Thyself

I have eaten of the tree of knowledge and made the following discoveries by googling myself:

  1. I have a hotness rating of 4.6, which at first pissed me off when I thought it was an attractiveness rating. Apparently, it is a measure of how close my former residence is to a toxic waste dump.
  2. I am a Crew Supervisor for the Public Works Department in Myrtle Beach. I'm not sure what that means, but I get to live in Myrtle beach, so hell yeah!
  3. Feel free to contact me for all your possum control needs in New Zealand???? I also have some affiliation with the commerical possum fur industry.
  4. Somebody, somewhere must actually read my plumbing repair articles since they show up fairly high in the search.
  5. I have a couple of poems published that I had completely forgotten about.
  6. I am a member of the Hawkes Bay Small Bore Rifle Association Shooting Team. Funny though since I don't even own a gun here in NC.
  7. The file where my graduate school thesis is located has somehow been appropriated by various weird, bot generated, spam sites looking for content, most notable among them--"Jessica F*%k Machine."

Perspectives on Thankfulness

"Connor, are you excited about Thanksgiving? You get to go visit your mom and Nana."

"Yeah, I guess so. I just wish they would serve fried chicken instead of turkey. I can throw down on some fried chicken. And what is Thanksgiving for anyway?"

"Well, it is a celebration to remind us of how the Pilgrims came over to this country and survived a very tough winter and how they worked hard and had a good harvest the next season. They had a huge feast and invited the Indians who had helped them out during the hard times. Then they all gave thanks for everything they had."

"So everybody was thankful?"

"Yes. They were all giving thanks."

"So how thankful were the Indians when the Pilgrims turned around and kicked them off of their own land?"

Sunday, November 21, 2010

When I'm old and gray...

As payback for making him pose for pictures like this, do you think my son will one day:

a)kick my ass and tell people I fall down a lot
b)sell my house and put me in a nursing home with multiple regulation violations
c)replace my Alzheimer's meds with Viagara and send me out in public with nothing but purple speedos and a straw hat
d)all of the above

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Physical Education (Part Four)

My first day back at the gym, I was really motivated. I was determined to kick it up to a level I had not even been at before I quit going. Like most instant gratification junkies, I wanted the weight off, and I wanted it off yesterday. I stretched out for a full ten minutes and then got on the exercise bike for an hour. After that, I hit the circuit training weights and did two reps on each machine instead of the one rep that my trainer had programmed. Then feeling great, I played a pick up basketball game with some teenagers, who were in hella good shape. I was feeling the touch, and everything I shot seemed to go in. Inspired by my victory, I played another game, and another, and another. Finally, I had to leave to go pick up my son. On the way out, I realized I had been exercising in some fashion or other for a full four hours. Though physically exhausted, I felt on top of the world and couldn’t wait to do it all again tomorrow.

So the next day I was apparently paralyzed as I could not even get out of bed. I was as stiff as the time when, as kids, my cousin and I climbed up a tree and rocked it back and forth in an attempt to bend it enough to ride it to the ground—only to have the trunk break midway and send us crashing twenty feet to the forest floor.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Chapel Hill Monologue

Over the weekend, I took my son, who is 8, to Chapel Hill for his first ever in person Tarheel experience. We went to see a basketball game Friday night. Saturday I took him to a few of my old favorite places, such as The Forest Theatre pictured here.

We took the Park & Ride bus to the game Friday night when he immediately took center stage and struck up the following "conversation" with a random woman on the bus:

I'm going to the Tarheels basketball game. This is my first game ever. That's why I'm so excited. But I was born a Tarheel. I was born in the hospital here. I wish we still had Tyler Hansbrough, but he is in the pros now, so I am cheering for Harrison Barnes. I thought he was white with a boring first name like Harrison, but he is actually brown, and he is sooooo awesome. My dad went to college here, didn't you dad? And he went to the School of Science and Math, but now he is a Professor of English which is just plain weird. I mean he teaches English but he did Math. That's just plain crazy. We are going to eat junk food at the game. My dad is off his diet for tonight, so we can have pizza and popcorn and stuff at half-time. I got a lot of candy for Halloween, but my dad sneaks in there after I go to bed and eats all the good stuff, especially the chocolate bars. How fair is that? It should be illegal. It is so unfair that grown ups get to eat your candy when you worked your butt off walking around ALL NIGHT LONG trick-or-treating. Don't you think so? And what kind of diet is that anyway?

Friday, November 12, 2010

Caution: Coffee is Hot

This is the back of the admissions building at the college, and these are two of my Creative Writing students. Hi, Adrian and Minuet!

This perspective (click on the photo to enlarge it) does not completely show the fact that the three exhaust vents above Adrian and Minuet are stamped with poster sized letters, in all caps, that say "HOT"; the vents with warnings are actually about 5 feet above my students' heads. Nor can you clearly see that someone (probably at the direction of their goofy teacher) would actually have to walk across nearly eight feet of mulch and shrubbery in order to get to the wall.

This raises a few questions: Just how damn tall are the people that this "HOT" warning is intended for? Are we expecting an influx of uber height giantoid students? If so, won't we need to raise the height of all the doorways and urinals? Shouldn't we also place a sign down in the shrubbery area that says "Do Not Plant Magic Beans"?

Thank you, McDonald's hot coffee law suit person. This is your absurd legacy for our society.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Physical Education (Part Three)

I waited to step on the scales until the next morning since that’s when we supposedly weigh the least. The Health-o-meter snickered as I stepped aboard, and it flashed an almost incandescent “2-6-0”. I stepped off and removed my underwear as if the 100% cotton boxer briefs would somehow knock off 15 pounds. When I stepped back on the scales, for one split second the screen taunted me with “LOL” before quickly flashing to “2-6-2”. I stepped off, tapped the reset button with my toe, and stepped back aboard to “2-6-2” once again. I wanted to start a fight; I wanted to call the Health-o-meter names; I wanted to remind the Health-o-meter of its indecent past for no other reason than for it to suffer to mute the pain of the flashing numbers before me. In the end, I had to acknowledge that this was all my own doing. Well, Rebecca and Dawn’s too—I wasn’t about to take all the blame.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

I Want To Tell The Ducks Fuck You For Not Eating the Quiche

This is not exactly the same flavor as the rest of my blog, but I had a request for it over the weekend, so here is a reprint of one of my old pieces.

First published in Dicey Brown Magazine

I Want To Tell The Ducks Fuck You For Not Eating the Quiche
I want to tell the ducks, “Fuck you,” for not eating the quiche. I want to put too much Chinese mustard on my egg roll because I prefer wasabe and I am pissed off that there is no Japanese restaurant in town, decent or otherwise. I want someone to actually taste the bad milk, roll it around on their tongue, chew it up, gulp it, and ask for seconds. I want to make macaroni and cheese with too little water and an extra packet of powered cheese and eat it from an oversized glass mixing bowl while watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island because I never saw Mrs. Thurston Howell the third eat quiche, with or without wasabe, that prudish bitch.