March 31, 2011 § 3 Comments
SAN FRANCISCO – “Pandemonium” was the word 4th grader Brian Walker used to describe the scene at table 12 in the Jefferson Elementary cafeteria today. “Total and complete bullshit.” said classmate Sarah Gervis. The cafeteria was abuzz the second Allan Jensen opened his brown lunch bag and pulled out “The Sandwich”. The sandwich, peanut butter and jelly, had it’s center cut out, leaving only the crusts. “I almost barfed when I saw him pull it out of the bag” said Jenny Hemstein. “That’s worse then when my Mom got a job and my Dad had to pack my lunch. He made a cold hotdog sandwich with mustard.” said 3rd grader James Stevens, adding “I’d eat 10 of those before I’d touch an all crust sandwich like the one Allan’s Mom made him.”
Second grader Sandy Wilkins wondered “What he must have done to deserve this kind of hellfire raining down on him.” Asking “Doesn’t his mom love him?” After that 6th grader Rodney Sampson chimed in “That wench mom of his must be drugged out on meth to think he’d eat a sandwich with ONLY the crust left.” Allan, who had instinctively run and hid behind the boys bathroom said through watery eyes “Anger, frustration, and sadness are just a few of the emotions I’m feeling right now. I fear forgiveness is a long way off, if it ever comes.”
Mr. Dilker, a 5th grade teacher, watched though the blinds of his classroom window as Allan sat on the curb crying. “I can’t go out there and talk to him. There would be nothing to say. The memory of this crust only sandwich will haunt him. Parents do things like this, and they think I’m the problem. This kid will probably end up on the streets, panhandling and harassing shoppers.” Afterwards Mr. Dilker looked down at the floor and said he “Needed a drink.”
One child, Sean Williams, made the unfortunate decision to laugh at Allan when he saw the sandwich, which had been dropped on the floor, still in it’s zip-lock baggie. “What a loser!” yelled Sean, pointing at Allan. 5th grader James Ryder later recalled the incident “Me and a few other kids jumped Sean right away. He thought he could capitalize on Allan’s grief, using the sandwich as a stepping stone to work his way up the social ladder here at school. That was a major mistake. When something like this happens, it’s important we all stick together. None of us would wish an all crust sandwich on even our worst enemy.” Adding, “Sean will get his ass beat a few more times before the school year is over.”
As of this afternoon a group of 3rd graders was forming an opposition coalition and planning to stage a walk-out and make their way to Allan’s home and demand an answer. Julian Jacobs, the leader of the party said in a statement “We cannot let this action stand. If we sit idly by and do nothing, what sort of message does that send?” Adding “Whats next? Turd sandwiches and more of those ‘under 100 calorie’ excuses for a bag of cookies? No. This cannot be. I’ll not sit by and be spoon fed this garbage any longer. When Allan pulled that crust sandwich out of his bag we all tasted a little bit of his pain. I think it’s pretty clear by now that we don’t like crust on our sandwiches. Any caring mother knows this. I wonder if we shouldn’t see what Child Protective Services has to say about this.”
Allan’s mother, Sandy Jenson, was reached on the telephone and gave a quick statement saying “I did it to punish him for leaving his bike behind my car. I backed over it and the damn thing popped my tire. I was late to work and his father had to put the spare on. It may have been over the line, but he never learns, so I had to hit him where it hurts. And that’s when I got the idea for the sandwich.”
Back at the school, Jason Davis, latch-key kid and a member of the hastily put together opposition party said “We are going balls out on this one. You don’t back a cougar into a corner and not expect to get your ass handed to you. Sometimes you have to fight back. I didn’t get a close look, but I bet that bitch was made with wheat bread too. I’m going to personally see to it his Mom eats that sandwich herself.” Jason went on with a wandering, lost look on his face, describing what he would do to the sandwich maker: “What then Mrs. Jensen? You think it’s funny now? How hilarious is it now that our numbers are growing? See how foul that bread crust tastes? I bet you ate the inside of that sandwich too. How did it taste without the crust? Good, wasn’t it? Well that’s the exact kind of flavor we are looking for yet you continually deny us. And now you’ve gone too far with this ‘crust-only’ business. We will unite. We will bring the pain.” A group of angry students was beginning to form on the volleyball court blacktop, calling themselves the Sandwich Crusaders. The chant “Hey Hey! Ho Ho! This crust-ass sandwich got to go!” could be heard throughout the campus.
Nearby student and self described “video game enthusiast” John Hopper yelled “We will burn the Library down if necessary! The blood of traders will run slick in the street, and vengeance will be ours!” Students rushed to his side to calm him down saying “Violence isn’t the answer…yet.”
Stay tuned for more of what these school children are calling “The craziest thing since drunk principal Danner ran over Holly Johnson in the parking lot.”
March 17, 2011 § Leave a comment
I want more. I want a camera, a computer, and a new phone. I want a new house. I want new carpet new paint new cupboards and new appliances more space more land more privacy. I want more. I want a car. I want an old car I want a new car I want a red car I want a blue car. I want three three car garages. I want an ipod ipad iphone and imac. Not the old ones, the newest ones. The new thnig I got became old as soon as I opened the package and touched it so I need another new one. A new new one, not a new old one. It better have more features then the old one. More possibilities. Give me the freaking prototype from the factory. I want a new job. I want more information. I want it at my fingertips. I want more fingertips to access more information. More news more facts more books more music more movies more tv.
I want more. I want less. I want everything and nothing. I want more people around. I want everyone to go away. I want more food. More fries more hamburgers more pizza. More pizza. More pizza. More sugar more sweets more cookies cakes candies and goodies. I want more money. More casheesh more skrilla more dough. Stacks and stacks. I want billions. Millions of billions. Ones fives tens twenties fifties and a big old roll of hundies. Varuca Salt got nothing on me. I want a ten thousand strong Oompa Loompa army to fight my battles for me. I want a golden goose and I want to eat it too. I want more ego more confidence more tenacity more vision.
I want to forget more things and remember more other things. I want time travel. I want teleportation. I want to go to space and I want to go to inner-space. I Don’t know what that means but I want it. I want it because I need it. I have to have it! I want more vacation more fun more adventure more freedom. I want it now. I want it yesterday. I wanted it before I knew I wanted it. I want to win the race before it starts. I’ll need more caffeine more energy more direction more drive. I want more entertainment. More shows in Vegas. More plays more events more appearances. I want more movies and more tv. Did I already mention tv? Well I want even more tv. I want more want to want more. Give it to me! I’ll not rest until I get it.
I want nothing more then what I can’t have. Is that too much to ask for?
I have to work hard to remind myself to stop. I have to tone it down. I heard Paul Simon sing a song on the radio the other day:
We work our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we’re gliding down the highway
When in fact we’re slip sliding away
I don’t want to waste my time on things that don’t matter. But it’s hard. So I try to keep my eye on the one thing that really matters and suggest you do the same. Have you figured out what that is yet?
P.S. Hey Paul, that song is so yesterday. Why dont you stay up late and record something new for me to listen to for tomorrow. It better be more better then your last song.
March 9, 2011 § Leave a comment
Why must you insist that I hold your baby? Before I became a father I thought maybe it was because I didn’t have a baby of my own and maybe they mistakenly thought I would like to know what it’s like to hold a baby. They were wrong. I knew what it was like to hold a baby because of people like them dumping their baby on me. Maybe they just wanted to make 14 year old me feel uncomfortable, if so they were successful. Haha, look how uncomfortable he looks holding a baby! Sometimes I would refuse to hold their baby. I’d make an awkward joke or use the drink in my hand as excuse. “I mean really, you’re baby is very cute but I can see her better if you are holding her.” After a statement like that I’d wish I could continue it with “After all it is your baby isn’t it. Your responsibility, not mine so don’t dump your booger monster in my lap without asking.”
I thought maybe since I’d become a father this nonsense would stop. Unfortunately it hasn’t. People still walk up to me and hold their baby out in the air, as if I don’t grab the baby they will just fall to the floor. This leaves me no choice but to hold the baby. I thought we all learned from Michale Jackson’s example that dangling babies is not OK. But of course I just grab the baby and act as if I’m supremely excited to be holding it. It’s no better if you ask me first. What am I supposed to say “No, I really don’t want to hold your baby no matter how cute she is.” Or maybe I could just say “I prefer to just stand here and hold myself.” But that’s equally weird and more then a bit creepy.
Perhaps I lack some sort of emotional trigger in my brain. Women seem to universally have this. The moment they see a baby they run up and ask if they can just please hold it. Please please please! I will die if I can’t hold this baby! I promise I’ll wash my hands first! Look! I’ll sit down right here and you can put the baby in my lap and I will hold it and love it and pet it and sing sweet songs to it! Babies to most women are like pure crack rock to an addict. It’s become ingrained because women are naturally set up to be nurturing mothers. Men however are not natural baby mongers, so I don’t feel bad when I see your baby and think “I hope to God they don’t dump that baby in my lap”.
Now that I have a baby of my own I know what it’s like. Sometimes your arms are tired or you are just drained and need a break. That’s when you hand the baby off to your spouse (the only person you can safely do a drive-by baby dump on) or you sit down, suck it up and hold your own baby. Men know you don’t shove it on someone else, because plain and simple if they wanted to hold your baby they would ask. Men who do dump their baby on someone else have violated the code and will be punished in due time. Unless I come up to your baby holding my hands out asking you if I can hold them, please don’t offer. Does this make me a criminal? No. Does it make me a jerk? Maybe just a little bit. But you don’t have to be crushed when I don’t want to hold your baby. It doesn’t mean I think your baby is ugly, though it may very well be. I just don’t want to hold your baby. I just don’t want to hold your baby. I just don’t want to hold your baby. Yes your baby is sweet and innocent and cute and nice and magical and wonderful and a miracle and I don’t want to hold it. Nothing more, nothing less.
March 7, 2011 § Leave a comment
Once in a great while I like to take a ride on my bicycle. I stick to the trails meant for bicycles, few as there are. I wish there were more of those. I like to ride along with the wind rushing through my luxurious hair, smelling the sweet scented flowers as I float by. Popping a wheelie here and there when the moment takes me. A butterfly drifts by and flits about with it’s funny oscillating patterns. A little bunny hops through the grass to my left, chirping a friendly “Hello!” as I roll by. I do a bicycle hop of my own in a return gesture of friendliness. The summer sun warms my skin and the sky is a brilliant blue and I see harmony in all things. It’s fantastic. There are no bumps on my road. There are no obstacles in my path. No people on their roller skates or scooters or jogging to get in my way. And most importantly, no cars. Because I understand that on a road meant for cars there is no room for a bicycle. Not even a little bit. I said no room. And this is why when I ride my bicycle I stay off of the roads where cars and trucks and buses are all making a mad dash to their destinations, turning left, turning right, and pulling out of driveways at a frantic pace.
So why the hell do these people get on their fancy bicycles and try to compete with cars?
That question was rhetorical. I don’t want to understand why they do this because if anything this blog is about angrily pointing fingers. And I’m starting to boil now. Not a full rolling boil, but one where the little bubbles are starting to float to the top. The potential energy is building, beginning to take kinetic form. Watch out. I’m making my transition now from carefree bicyclist to worried motor vehicle operator. And worried motor vehicle operator turns quickly into road rage-aholic beast when I see these bicyclists in my way. The “Mr. Wheeler” cartoon I am becoming.
First they come one by one, confident in their importance above all other vehicles. Then they come in packs, using sheer numbers to assert their dangerously mistaken authority. Share the road they cry. Share the road with us! No I say. Stay in your freaking bike lane where you belong so that you don’t end up a greasy spot on the road. I don’t want to hit them. Nobody does. Nobody wants to see you hurt so stay out of the way. Some do stay off to the side where they belong. You guys I am marginally ok with. The ones I hate with a passion are those who feel they are above the law. Steven Seagal should have kicked their asses in his movie with the same name. These guys ride in packs in the middle of the road pretending to be oblivious to the cars stacking up behind them. Why don’t you stay in a nice single file line like your kindergarten teacher so diligently taught you? I saw one the other day pointing at cars and gesturing to let them know exactly in what manner the car was supposed to go around them. In the jungle do you see the dung beetle commanding the panther? Does a CEO cringe in the path of the mail room worker? Does the philosopher seek wisdom from the town idiot? Short answer? No. Long answer Nooooooooo! I’ve seen many of these bicyclist running red lights when they don’t feel like stopping. I wish I could do that in my car. But somehow they are allowed because they are on a bike.
And so the pendulum too far has swung. From one place in time where there were no protective laws for bicyclists, to a time where bicyclists feel they can openly break the law. Why can’t the pendulum come to a rest in the center? Until this time comes I will work against you. As you can see I am a coil wound up tighter then your biker shorts and I will spring up against you with all the combined violence of Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee, Jet Li, and Matt Damon (Bourne Supremecy Matt Damon, not Good Will Hunting Matt Damon). Mr. Cyclist I will seriously road rage you’re ass. I will rage against you like a diseased man with unfinished business rages against the dying of the light. My rage will run hot and heavy on your heels and no matter how fast you ride you will never escape it. And by that I mean I will sit in my car quietly cursing you under my breath just in case by some magical law of physics you can hear me if I yell too loud.
What does all this ranting come down to? One sentence: you scare me because I don’t want to hurt you, and that makes me want to hurt you. Catch my drift?
March 1, 2011 § Leave a comment
My local grocery store recently made some “improvements” by putting in a couple self checkout stands. They’d have us believe it’s for our own convenience but we all know the real reason is their bottom line. If they can eliminate some regular check stands and get us customers to do the work formerly done by employees, all the better. This is the same grocery store that makes their employees uncomfortably attempt to pronounce your last name and then asks you if you need help out to the car. I don’t need help carrying my chap stick and tomatoes to my car, I need more employees working check stands so the lines are shorter. I don’t care, get some of those ladies wasting away in the floral department to ring some people up.
Perhaps like so much hatred, mine comes from fear? Maybe I’m just afraid of the self checkout line. What do I do if I have coupons? How about if I have some obscure vegetable? Half of the time when I use these things it stops for no reason and says “Wait for assistance.” The one person they have manning the self checkout area is either helping the real housewives of douchebaggery load their car, or they are helping grandma pay with a check. Meanwhile I’m sitting here like an idiot with a line of rolling eyes forming behind me. Like they could do any better. Why don’t they just have a siren alert everyone to the fact that I can’t figure out the machine? Don’t judge me you bunch of mouth breathing self checkout enthusiasts! If a truly bad-ass Vatican warlock assassin like me can’t figure out these machines, nobody can. After a few seconds daydreaming about a savage attack on the checkout computer I start wishing I had just waited in the line for a real checker. Those lines are now much longer thanks to the new self checkout area, but they’re better then standing here publicly humiliating myself because the can of beans I’m buying confused the weight-check on the machine.
Maybe the reason I hate self checkout is because I just like ordering around the employees behind the checkout counter. “That’s the wrong price, why don’t you run along and get a price check? When you get back you can go ahead and get me some stamps. No, not the forever stamps, I want the regular ones, with the American flag. Stop stalling me fat boy come on!” No that’s not me. I like the checkers. Most of them are working hard to please their greasy haired managers. But I may turn into that monster if you keep making me do your work for you, pushing me to the point of no return. And this is just the first step. Whats next? stocking their shelves for them? Butchering your own meat? Shall I bake you some cookies too Safeway? And then buy my own cookies at an inflated price? You’d like that wouldn’t you? Making me your little errand boy. Whipping me in the back room if I don’t stack the Rice-a-Roni boxes just so! Well I’m not going to let that happen. I’ll take my buying power somewhere else you’ll see. Then you’ll beg me to come back. Give me my own personal checkout stand. Yes, that’s more like it.
I understand that self checkout is supposed to help the people with one or two items get out the door faster. Most of the time it does, and I’m sure they did studies to see if this benefited them before they implemented the plan, and it must. But I don’t feel like it’s benefiting me. Perhaps this is a sign that I am in fact getting older, like the ladies I make fun of for paying with checks. Maybe the teenagers of today enjoy the “freedom” of checking themselves out. But I don’t like it and this is my blog not Safeway’s so you will listen to what I have to say or you’ll go to your room without desert. Boom. Pow. How you like me now?