Monday, August 31, 2009
In Fourth grade Chas Wilson (his real name was "Charles," Chas for short), pulled an inevitable move on our recess line. You see, that was the year I had Mrs. Hibler. She was a real jerk. It is a fact that she pulled my sweatshirt string out of my mouth while I was chewing on the tip (it was a bad habit I had). So anyways, Hibler (doesn't the name just ring bad news), so Hibler would always have us line up for recess in a straight alphabetical line by the door. She wouldn't let us leave if say, Smith got mixed up with Thompson... or whatever. One day, Chas Wilson, the devious genius that he was (by that I mean, class clown, looked like a cherub with a bowl cut, wore jean shorts with stripes, rode a BMX to school, you get the idea..) Chas W gets this idea to shove Jennifer Webb down the recess line. I know what your thinking, "the nerve", "what an asshole", "not Jennifer Webb." Yes Jennifer Webb, and here is why: Webb knocked over Sykes, crashing into Smith....(fill in R-H), down went Ganyard, and when the dominos of alphabetical children finally made its way to Dart-McLean, I had just enough time to hop out of line, knocking over Jennifer Crabtree! Thank you Chas Wilson for being a Wilson and not a Frank. I hope Mrs. Hibler has started a new recess line policy, like a recess blob order by favorite food or something.... all the fries formulate here...
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tonight Alex and I picked hops (and I'm not talking "he/she's got hops" as in Basketball). Anyways, we climbed to the tip top of a ladder (by that I mean Alex climbed to the top like a champion, and I climbed halfway and watched the giant projected shadows of our hands created by the flashlight). We picked a massive amount of pine cone-esque hops that will eventually be our delicious... or our terrible beer. I say that they smell like beer, Alex says pine.. tomato tamato, let's call the whole thing off.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Who thinks that me and Jack B should start a Michael Jackson tribute band? All in favor say "I" or "eye'" or "Aye..." all opposed say "oye" or "oye vey." Yeah yeah yeah, I know I know, we've got it covered, one of us will be old Michael, new Michael, and of course zombie Michael (not to mention a touch of Jackson Five).
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
And in the dream I was running next to you. We were both running for our lives because yes, there was a giant bear chasing us. The bear was an amalgamation of a poorly animated bear from the 1994 PlayStation game, Tekken meets a taxidermy Kodiak Bear I saw in just about every bank in Kodiak, Alaska (by that I mean two). In fact if those two bears decided to have a cub, I think I know exactly what it would look like! Anyways, so this bear is chasing us through a field, in fact a few fields... make that the pastures at your parents new house.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Mad Dog is a game that my siblings and I used to play when we were children. The game consisted of a designated "mad dog" who had to pretend to be asleep in front of the house. By the way, "mad dog" would always be my older sister Dana, or my older brother Jonah (My oldest sister, Megan chose who "Mad Dog" was). Once "Mad Dog" was "asleep" me, Megan, and whichever other sibling Megan let off the Mad Dog hook, would sneak past the crouched up child (who was slumped on our walkway). On our way past, Megan would whack Mad Dog on the back with her invisible umbrella (by "invisible umbrella" I mean her fist), causing the once sleeping dog, to go crazy and become awake Mad Dog. At this point Mad Dog would chase us down the street as fast as we could run. In any other tag game, the point is to catch whomever you are chasing. The difference between Mad Dog and tag was; it's impossible for Mad Dog to catch anyone when Megan had her "invisible umbrella" (her fists) that would automatically stun you, causing her and her team (me, and alternating middle child) to win. Megan had a brilliant way of ruling our childhood.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Biking down Hawthorne Blvd. with a friend, we noticed a dog sprinting down the street.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Close your eyes. You are in Wamic, Oregon . Wamic is a small town "just yonder, over that there mountain." (By "that there mountain," I mean, Mount Hood). This is a place where the general store (the only store in town) generally sells the essential, garden supplies, liquor, kraft food,outdated Easter candy, wonder-bread-esque products, and giant gummy snakes called "big sissy hissy fit." Picture the woman who approaches you at the store: Of course she is wearing overalls and a straw hat with no tooth in sight. The person you are standing with has a 3 month old baby in a stroller. When old gummy overalls approaches, she walks up saying "wha's dat in that stroller? Whachya got in there?" (don't get me wrong, she seems to be living the dream, she is very happy to see you). After she figures out that "wha's" in the stroller, is a baby, she hops in her gigantic black (and dust colored) 1990 Chevy Blazer . She swerves out of sight. Welcome to Wamic, Oregon.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I'm in an all keyboard band called The Keybroads. Originally the band was suppose to be a cover band, all instruments played on the keyboard from the instrument bank. Just in case: the real drums would be on the keyboard drums. The hand claps, the keyboard clap. Bass, you got it, keyboard bass. So OK, we had one practice, one blimey practice. We did a compilation of NU SHOOZ "I can't wait"+ Simon and Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson" + "Hava nagila" + the "heeeeeey" part of "Macarena" + Shuggie Otis "Strawberry Letter 23"= The Keybroads only song. . .. By that I mean our only hit, clearly! I guess what I'm getting at is, anyone out there want to join the band? Have you longed to be an oboe player, a harp player, or never got the chance to fulfill your dreams as a xylophone player? The answer to your longing is simple, Keybroads.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The top picture is a drawing that a client I work with made. I'm particularly fond of the "MOVE MOVE MOVE EMO TOPS" part. Does that man in the picture have an "emo top?" It looks more like a curl bowl cut to me.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
So today at work, two of my coworkers were snickering (and I’m not talking about the bar) about how they should start a tap troop. I found this pretty funny. Flash to 6 months ago when I had a similar tap epiphany with one of the same coworkers:
Me: “I have always wanted to take tap lesson! In fact I recently received a pair of tap shoes as a birthday gift.”
Coworker :“Wow that’s cool, I would love to take tap dancing with you.”
Me: “My shoes are white and look like Pee Wee Herman’s when he danced to the song “Tequila” in Pee Wee’s Big Top Adventure…. Remember that part? When he gets “one last request” after knocking the motorcycles over?”
Coworker: … … …. Silence
Back to reality people, today when the two were joking about tap troops, I casually came into the conversation. “Oh Tap dancing, now there is a cute dance” I would say. Or “hey, you two really ought to follow through on this.” But really, really what I was doing was devising the ultimate tap plan.
The Plan: (Ahem cough cough) I told my coworkers that I would like to join their troop (you all know that’s a big wink). In fact I told them I would even help name the troop (winkity winkity wink). The name I came up with for our troop (by “ours” I mean their troop I mean “theirs”) “Tapatio,” (yes, like the hot sauce). The reason I chose this name was, it sounds spicy, like a couple of hot dancers... and that’s when the lawsuit comes because the salsa company sues them. Suckers. Which gives me time to work on the real tap troop, “Tap Gun.” Tap Gun is a Top Gun tribute on Tap shoes (like Disney on ice). It’s Fred Astaire meets Tom Cruise meets “highway to the danger zone, ” meet Shirley Temple, meets Ice man, meets Ginger Rodgers, meets “Takes my breath away….” Meets I think you get the idea.
So now I ask, who’s coming with me? We could tap our ways right to some elementary talent show, and perhaps even win the trophy (no promises).
No feelings, salsas, tap shoes, or flat tops (aka high and tight, aka Val Kilmer’s haircut) were hurt in the process of this entry.