Fri, 12:13 pm: Batus Interuptus

No spoilers about the Dark Knight because technically I didn't get to see it.

We waited around in line with dustyskinandall for a little less than two hours at the Regal 24 Cinema.
The first half of the movie was beyond brilliant, scary and perfect. I was entirely absorbed in the picture to the point when something completely incongruous happened in the film it took me a few minutes to realize externally that people were leaping from their seats and bounding down the stairs and yelling "stop the film!" I could hear someone banging on the glass in front of the projector trying to get them to stop. I looked at Paul completely confused and he explained it quickly, "They skipped an entire reel - they just jumped to the end of the film." We estimated we missed about 45 minutes of the movie.

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Fri, 11:26 am: A short list of things I did not say

during my visit with my family in Florida over the weekend.

scenario#1
my brother asks me while in the drive through what I would like to have. I say, "a Chick-fil-a and a lemonade please sir." To which my sister-in-law replied "a sugar-free lemonade would be better for you."

what I did not say: You know what would be better for you? Some sugar-free shut up.

scenario#2
The server at brunch sets down a plate of eggs over easy, sausage and potatoes in front of the Commodore. The Commodore picks up his eating utensils and pronounces gleefully, "You know paranoia is its own reward!"

what I did not say: If that were true your son would be the richest man in the world.

scenario#3

The Commodore is sitting at my sister's kitchen table discussing the fact that even though two of the immediate family members were missing, the rest of us were here together now and that is better than "being beat with a piss elm club."

what I did not say: I am not sure that is correct.

Mon, 12:24 pm: footloose

I find this very satisfying.

pipe cleaner

Tue, 9:55 am: Enigmas

One of the reasons that Paul and I tolerate our corrupt and dilapidated hamlet is a store called "Enigmas." It sits quietly across the street from the rail station. It is basically a Catholic mysticism shop, but that is hardly a comprehensive description. You can also get voo doo dolls, muertos statuary, Chinese lucky frogs, statues of Ganesha and Lakshimi, Santeria supplies and African fetishes.
If you were sitting around one afternoon wondering how you could replenish your supply of anti-curse candles and dehydrated rattlesnake sperm - Enigmas is the place for you.

So when I was tasked with sending a birthday card off to a friend of a friend who is a Marine in Iraq, I figured I would add a little something extra in the envelope just aside from my well wishes.
Off I went to Enigmas. The woman I usually deal with wasn't there. Instead it was the older matriarch of the family; I tried to ask her a question but she spoke no English at all and called her granddaughter over. A pretty thirteen year old who spoke flawless English asked what she could do for me.

I said, "I have a friend who is in Iraq right now. I wanted to send him something he could wear or keep with him for you know for protección."
The girl stared at me blankly for a few moments and then began translating to her grandmother and then they both broke into hysterical giggles.

The girl then turned back to me with a confused smile, "How did your friend come to be trapped inside of a rock?"

Mon, 1:50 pm: Fish-Fu

On my fourth birthday I got a goldfish as a present. He came with one of those standard round fishbowls and I promptly named him "Harry." I was very attentive towards Harry and in return he would gnaw the tip of my pinky when I dangled it in the water.
He lived for nearly five years, a fact I was very proud of and felt compelled to tell anyone who would listen. One adult who I had told this to had decided it was wrong for me to be deluded and explained that my fish had not in fact survived for so long but had likely died five or six times and my parents had replaced him with an identical fish while I was sleeping or something.

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Thu, 10:18 am: On days when I am made of win, I dress like Cherry

I have found my older, maler, and Canadian fashion doppelganger!



Long may we reign blinding strangers.
For more obnoxious outfits of the fabulous Don Cherry click here.
For more obnoxious outfits from me, well you will just have to come see how I roll.

Tue, 11:20 am: The Game

I sat in my car outside a house off Memorial drive; the porch was festooned with long wavy balloons. They kicked at each other in the pre-storm breeze that had rushed in.
I huffed with resignation, grabbed the gift in the pale blue bag and went inside. A bunch of Rollergirls were there, mostly from my old derby team the Apocalypstix. They greeted me with surprise and I was genuinely glad to see them. I added my bag to the huge pile of pastel colored packaging and fixed myself a drink. I parked myself at the end of the kitchen counter over the lemon squares with little baby booties on them.
Slampira was milling around in her black pregnancy dress and tall chunky heels. I can't wear heels like that on a normal day let alone great with child. She has greater pregnancy-fu than I.

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Thu, 1:04 pm: Jimmy Chek

Most vintage VW owners know the painful truth which is if you can't fix your own car, you will burn through mechanics like you are speed dating. I can fix some things on my car, but things like brakes I leave to people who I can reasonably sue if they screw up. I cannot unfortunately sue myself so if I wreck because I was singing that catchy new Discovery Channel theme song instead of bleeding the line properly; best case scenario I am out of luck and worst case - deceased. So I like to keep competent professionals around.

As far as mechanics go I did get lucky for a long time. Just down the street not more than two miles away lived Jimmy Chek in his grey saltbox house with his itty bitty wife. Not that she was disproportionate; Jimmy himself was barely 5'1" with his boots on. Jimmy had a thick iron curtain accent and fingernails that were permanently black. He had a round face and a fabulous smile that made you grin right back at him; even though you didn't really know what anybody was smiling about since you were standing next to your precious bug that was smoking like the gates of hell were somewhere behind the fan casing.

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Mon, 12:38 pm: A rare but heartfelt rant (subtitle: People from New York may get all up in my koolaid for this)

Allow me to bring you up to date on the subject of my tirade.
A construction worker who was part of a team of workers were commissioned to pour concrete for the new Yankees Stadium. The man being a Sox fan took the opportunity mid-pour to sink a Davis Oritz #34 Boston Red Sox jersey into the wet concrete, supposedly with the intent to "curse" the Yankees.
Now let me confess a few things, although I enjoy the baseball I have no particular bias towards either team, also my job for several years used to be pouring concrete so I consider myself fairly competent when speaking on the subject. I want to say without reservation that sinking a piece of fabric into a pour like that will in no way cause structural damage to the concrete itself unless the concrete is already damaged or the abandoned concrete begins to deteriorate in several hundred years from now.
I can say I have never been to a large pouring where something didn't end up in the pour we couldn't fish out: a screwdriver, a can of skoal, a whopper from Burger king.

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Fri, 12:38 pm: What to get the man who has everything?

Paul is turning a milestone age and at a loss as to what kind of gift to get him it finally dawned on me -

( A marvel super team up with Iron Man! )