Line up

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...

WOWZA

  Yes Please!

                              NO THANK YOU!

Let's go to the Hop...oh baby

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.

Don't stop till you get enough

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).

Luck-ity Split

I need your good luck thoughts today. Please cross your fingers, sport your rabbit's foot, find your four leaf clover, and a carry a $2 bill in your wallet from 9:00am-1:00pm. Thank you, and thank my lucky stars!

Dear France,

Please send Theo and Georges (pretend there are accents) to Portland, OR. A.S.A.P.

Fondly, Emily Dart-McLean

Fawntastic

 I Just can't seem to kick the habit of this song. Awfully dreamy. Awfully lovely. Come Softly To Me - The Chantels 

I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl

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. 

We get to a point where we are sort of trapped, because there is a fence on one side of us, and a barn on the other. Right when we are about to plan our escape... do something clever like hop over the fence, or go into the barn, up pops the hybrid bear (it's inevitable that shit like this happens in dreams, not getting away or whatever.. but don't get anxious yet, the bear doesn't eat us, it turns out he doesn't even want to eat us).  

The  bear is twice your size by the way, easily 13 or 14 ft. tall, so when we are about to pull our maneuver, the escape, the bear stands on his hind legs (upright he is taller then the barn). He looks like he is about to scoop us up and eat us for dinner. We were probably holding hands...peeing our pants... shaking in our boots and what not. 

The Bear let's out (what I,  the dreamer expect to be a terrifying growl) 

"I WAAAANNNNNTTTT SUGAAAARRRRR" roars the bear. "I WAAAANNNNNT HOOOONNNEEY," he echos. 

We take one look at the bear and stand up tall, pee pants, sweaty palms (still locked together), shaking boots and all. We stand up tall and shout "WE DON'T HAVE ANY SUGAR, OR HONEY. GO CHECK IN THE HOUSE." With that the grizzly bear hops down to all four legs, and runs towards the house. I think we follow through on the brilliant plan of going in the barn, or maybe we hop the fence. 

This cat thinks that the green bowl is some sort of recliner. Perhaps a hot tub? Fool. 

Leader of the pack

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. 

I remember the 90 degree day when sweet old Megan offered to treat me to an ice cream cone. I was six years old, and no observer to ploy. Instantly after purchasing two vanilla soft serves, Megan told me that she was going to smash one of the cones on my head (I knew I had no choice). She had grabbed a plastic baby bib (to prevent stickiness) stuck it on my hair, and splat. After we threw the ice cream soiled bib in the trash, (which did a smashingly good job of protecting my head... pun completely intended) she purchased another vanilla soft serve... this time to eat. 

Dog on it...

Biking down Hawthorne Blvd. with a friend, we noticed a dog sprinting down the street. 

"Hey pup" I say.  The dog zips past. A man running with two dogs turns quickly down the street behind us. 

"Hey, is this your dog?"  We yell.

"No, but I know where he lives" he yells back (the man later turns out to be Henry, whose back yard connects to our drive way. Two words "handlebar mustache"). 

At this point the dog is crossing Hawthorne... without looking both ways (mind you). We hop on our bicycles and ride after him. Meanwhile handlebar Henry (who has ditched his dogs) is running up the street.

 "Hey Pup." I yell. 

The dog runs on, all the way up 51st.A group of bar goers exit the bar down the street.

"Hey, is this your dog?" they yell.

"No, but there is a man that knows where he lives..."

"Hey pup" I yell.

At this point the dog has turned  up Salmon St.. he has two bikes following him, three bar goers, and one handlebar mustache. 

"Hey Pup" I yell. 

Guess what? That Blimey Dog runs as fast as his legs will carry him... and our wheels will carry us... and the bar goers can concentrate... and Henry's mustache can stay facing down (and not like a curly circus mustache, or a person that rides a classic bike... with the big wheel and the small wheel). That dog runs  to the top of a hill. That dog runs right into the fence of his (wait a minute) own backyard. Damn it. He literally through us for a loop. But seriously, someone ought to teach that dog street safety. 

A Running Glance

To be there with me, you are covered in sweat. Your bangs are stuck to your forehead. Red face. Breathing hard enough to hear  every breath over your music...on your marks, get set....go....

On S.E 30th and Salmon st. I felt like none other then Pac Man trying to get through a maze. Man with the two gigantic overflowing grocery bags, you're the ghost trying to block my path...(and stop me from getting to the fruit... in the game... because that's what Pac Man does). Man carry the baby in the blanket  (that just so happens to create the illusion that you are wearing a toga) you are the other ghost who blocks my path. Yipes. On S.E Lincoln and  and 30th my face was the color of the flashing red light. Lincoln and 39th old woman shaking her head at me in a car (I think it's because I ran when the cross light read, "red hand (not flashing)").Yipes. On S.E Lincoln and 42nd, I'm contemplating the invention of shoes that run for you ( Jesus, we invented microwaves, and little stuffed dogs that can do flips and bark...what the hell are we waiting for?).On S.E 52nd my face is the color of that thing sitting on the branch of the tree... Holly shit, is that a parrot? Who let the blimey parrot out?    

Oh Bee-have

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. 

How to make a Wamic, Oregon Yellow Jacket Trap:

You will need a carton, a piece of string, dish soap, water, and last but not least, bacon.

1. Cut the top off a half gallon carton.

2. Fill the carton with soapy water (dish soap).

3. Cut two holes in the top of the carton on either side. Tie the string across.

4. Drape Two pieces of bacon  over the string.

Not a peep..

Hey you with the red keytar! You said "$40", and I said "deal," now where is my keytar? Give it to me. 

p.s I won't talk about keyboards, keybroads, or keytars everyday (I'm still pushing our band.. want to book us? Rad). 

The Keybroads

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.  

  

EMO ToPS.

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. 

The bottom picture is Barry Manilow, clearly. 

P.S  remember that giant house with the turret?The big green house, that was on the corner...Dream house, remember? I'll bet we could have  a huge tree fort in the back yard, probably one for each of us, and can phones too! 

Since we are on the subject...

Tap Gun

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.