Another Timewaster

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LAME

I was tagged by Dennis:

List 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving of being your friend anyway) may consider to be "totally lame," but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it. Tag 5 others:



1. I don’t carry a cell phone. I never have. I generally have a dislike for phones in the first place. They are intrusive, not all the time clear, and when you add mobility to the device, they become dangerous. Plus, I really don’t need another monthly bill.

2. I know the words to more than one Crash Test Dummies song. I also know the band members names. It is generally lame when you know more about a "one-hit wonder" band than you do about most "popular" acts or whatever.

3. This


4. I know the intros to BOTH versions of Voltron. I love that cartoon like certain other people love Quantum Leap. For years, Saturday mornings meant nothing to me after Laff-A-Lympics. Then, the magic words came through my TV. "From days of long ago, from uncharted regions of the universe, comes a legend. The legend of Voltron, Defender of the Universe!!!" It goes on to tell the tale of a mighty robot, loved by good, feared by evil. I also can sing the theme music, the "danger" music, and the “Yay! The heroes did something awesome!” music…from memory. Character names, what ship they flew, etc.
This brings us to…


5. I will vehemently defend my belief that Vehicle Voltron is better than Lion Voltron. Better story (two races of people trying to find a new home world for their respective peoples, and the political intrigue that would ensue from their encounters vs. a horny blue guy trying to get laid and conquer a peace loving planet). Better characters, especially in the leader department. When Jeff gave the “Form Blazing Sword!!!” command, you felt in his voice that shit was about to go down. Keith’s commands were all yawners. Finally, VV had better animation. However, LV did look cool, and Voltron the Third Dimension SUCKED!!!

You can sound your nerd alerts now

I tag Tony, Jeff, Nikki, Alycee, and Lindsay

Irony is...

getting dental floss stuck in your teeth.

Not for the squeamish

1) Ladies, I know pain. I may not be able to give birth, but I know pain.

2) Certain male pain receptors are stupid.

3) So are doctors.

Some of you already know this story, but I've never put it out to the general public in a permanent form. This is also a story that gets more embellished every time I tell it, so I figure I'd better write it down.

Our hapless victim, namely me, begins this story on a summer morning in Denver in 1988. My family had moved there a few months before and I was pretty settled into the place. After living in Jacksonville "You ain't quite outta Georgia yet" Florida, I was pretty much going to be happy with anywhere, but Denver was cool. Mountains, laid back attitude, and weather that didn't involve naming a storm. Those things and the Broncos, yeah Denver was ok by me.

However, on this particular morning, things were not ok with me. I woke up feeling very nauseous and unable to stand up, and in severe abdominal pain. On a good day, I don't wake up well. I stumble around, sometimes am a little dizzy, et cetera. But, I can usually walk. So the fact the I was only comfortable with crawling said something was wrong. Now, here's where my body started making no sense whatsoever. All this trouble was perceived, by me, to have been caused by one helluva gas bubble. Why? Because that's what it felt like, that's why. If you're thinking that nausea is a dead giveaway that something else was wrong, well, you'd be right, but I was too nauseous to think straight. So, the gas bubble theory made perfect sense to me, after all, I know my body, right? Right.

The plan was to crawl to my parents bedroom and alert them to my condition. My bedroom was right next to the stairs to the first floor, my parents bedroom was at the opposite end of the hall, about 30 feet or so. 30 feet's not a long distance, but when you're heel-toeing it (I guess in my case it would be palm-kneeing it), and trying not to throw up, and in severe abdominal pain, 30 feet is a bit of a challenge. I made it, and woke my parents up (it was 6 am) and told my mom I didn't feel so good. She asked what was wrong and I told her of my gas bubble theory. Since she does not have x-ray vision, it seemed plausible to her. Dad was still asleep, and when he's asleep, there is no talking to him. Plus, he would be out of town later on, so he was no help.

Mom got up and went into sick child mode. She unfolded the fold out couch in the family room and got it ready for me to lie down on it. Honestly, I don't remember how the hell I got down the stairs, but I'm sure it involved bravery with a hint of crying like a baby. Mom fed me food that wouldn't do crazy things to my stomach. Unfortunately, my stomach would have none of that and started a revolt that wound up in the trash can next to me.

Now, even with full-on vomiting, I'm still thinking, and feeling, a gas bubble and a fucking huge one at that. So, everytime I went to the bathroom, I'd immediately sit down on the pot and try to let out what I'm imagining is a record breaker of a fart.

So, all day I had not stood up to use the toilet, and didn't take a look at anything "down there".

At around 8pm, I finally had to pee. My stomach had sort of settled and was letting liquid in. Since I had given up on the Guinness Book, I lifted the seat and dropped my pants. I peed. I looked down as I was peeing and I saw "it".

Where there should have been a golf ball on the left, there was a racquetball. And it was purple. What came out of my mouth was the weakest call of "mommy..." I've ever uttered (and also heard).

My mom said "Yes?" with a little concern (her boy was sick all day after all).

I murmured, "I think I have an enlarged testicle."

I don't know where it is that parents learn to look at weird stuff on their kids and be calm about it. Maybe it's a mutant power that is unlocked when they learn they're going to be one (a parent). Maybe Tranquillitas visits them during the gestation period and shares her secrets with those she deems worthy. I don't know. But, the fact that my mother, who freaked out when the snakes came out of the wall in "Raiders of the Lost Ark," could examine a scrotum that was a)twice it's normal size, b)not the correct color and c)her son's, was beyond my comprehension. The fact that I didn't care that she was looking, was out there as well. Then again, when you've got a giant teste that's the color of a tongue, who else is a 14 year old gonna call?

So I'm back on the couch, scared out of my mind. Mom, is making a cup of tea while she's on the phone with the hospital. She explains what "it" looks like and they advise her to bring me in to the E/R.

We're at the hospital. I'm in the stupid gown and everything. The urologist comes in and starts taking a look. He grabbed "it" and, oh dear God, all the pain that I had felt that day was immediately replaced by this new pain that knocked the wind out of me. When he had the nerve to ask me if it hurt, I had to struggle past a gasp to say "y-yes!" This went on for what seemed like a year. In actuality, it was more like 5 minutes.

He explained what had happened, and what happened was this:

I had gotten what's called a testicular torsion of my left testicle. The testicle got its main blood vessel twisted up and thus, cut off its blood supply. It needed to get nutrients somewhere so it attached itself to my skin, to no avail. It was dying. And, it was too late. I needed surgery and the not-so-little guy was going to shrivel up.

A lot to take in? You bet. I'm 14. I had just started figuring out what the "other function" of that part of my body was for. I was also, with the exception of going to church, raised as a Catholic. You take it from there.

As I said, I needed surgery. After that had sunk in, I was in so much pain that I felt like a pregnant woman in labor. I was thinking, "Fine, get the little bastard out of me!" What I said was, "ngah! o-o-okay" (Dr. Grabby McFeelmeup was still touching "it").

So, in I went, and a couple of hours later, it was over. I woke up in recovery with my mom there as well my Aunt Duddy, hovering over me and using that high-pitched they-think-they're-being-nurturing-but-really-they're-just-annoying
the-shit-out-of-you voice that only moms possess. My Uncle Sam (no joke) and my sister Kate were in the waiting room, because when somebody has embarrassing surgery, it just has to be a family occasion. Great, I'm delirious, my sack has been mutilated, I've got two mother hens doting on me, and a reception waiting. Thank God the doctor told me that everything would still work or I'd be having a complex.

Thank God he was right or I'd be having a complex.

Thank God for my mom.

Pumpkins, cider, and the smell of dirt

“Fall is here and all I have to say is, Fuck fall!”
• -Lewis Black “The White Album”

Okay, I actually like fall, I just didn’t have another quote about fall ready in my brain.

Fall, the time of football, apple cider, and pumpkin pie (you have to say “pumpkin pie” in Eric Cartman’s voice). When I was growing up, my parents would take us to a farmer’s market just outside of Baltimore to get things like sweet corn and other things that just “need” to be bought from a farmer’s market. The place, as best my memory serves, wasn’t too far away from the big city, but when I got there, it was the closest to the middle of nowhere I’d ever been until age 9 (when my elementary school, in there finite wisdom, sent the fourth grade off to Pennsylvania farm for a week). Not much surrounding the place except rolling hills and visions of the Appalachians off in the distance. Oh and yes, the smell of dirt.

It was not too big of a market, and for the life of me, I cannot remember it’s name, but I remember that it was never very well lit on the inside, which was where they sold the gardening supplies and flowers. The dirt smell was concentrated enough to permeate your olfactory senses as soon as you walk in. There was a covered area, hugging the small building, that provided the real estate for the edible things, and no, your nose wasn’t safe. For someone who’s allergic to pretty much anything airborne, I would handle it pretty O.K., but my mother was at defcon 4. The mere notion of a sniffle and she was headfirst into her purse. Moments later, and with a flourish I might add, she would produce a tissue. If Mandrake the Mother wasn't available, Dad was ready with a hanky that had a few goldmines on it. No thanks, I'll use my sleeve.

Just a few yards away from the goings on at main market was the real target of our annual autumnal adventure (alliteration, bitches). The pumpkin patch. A real live, goddam, living breathing, pumpkin patch. I thought Linus was gonna jump out screaming about how we’re disturbing his lurking. All the pumpkins in rows, ranging in sizes from “Ohmigod have you seen anything so cuuuute?” to “Stop trying to pick up that one John, it’s bigger than you are.”
This was before the weather as a whole went completely apeshit, so it was actually cold enough to need winter-wear.

It was also cold enough to warrant the serving of hot apple cider, which was good, but I was a hot chocolate man. Still, it was cool seeing the proprietors of the place huddled, along with the customers, around a hot pot of cider.

For the record, no, there weren’t any hay rides.

For the video portion of today's episode, Happy Birthday Adam West!

one month

In one month, my cousin will be getting married. In one month, I will have an abundance of material to write about.

Who are the people in your neighborhood?

Seen walking down Michigan Avenue today:

A tap dancer accompanied by a drummer

People on stilts hawking free shit for Saks

Robot Man taking a lunch break

Street preachers talking about "Sin or Salvation?"

(right before)

A person dressed as a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup and another dressed as a Hershey's Kiss


Chicago, how is it that you know how to make one's day?

Who's on First?

Possibly the greatest routine ever. If I ever get a tattoo, it'll be of Abbott & Costello.



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Now playing: Abbott and Costello - Who's on First
via FoxyTunes

Time waster

Snowflake is almost as hypnotizing as Leek Girl was when it came out (Ok, Leek Girl still is)

The greatest sports reporting not on Sports Center

Fucking Yankees, Reports Nation

Word of the day

Here's a tip/challenge for writers:

Go to Dictionary.com and see what the word of the day is. You can get it e-mailed to you, or look it up each day.

Regardless of you get it, write something based on or inspired by what the the word is.

Improvisors, this might be good for your rehearsals also (get the intelligence that you're trying to work at the top of just a little bit stronger).

Try to do it everyday and see what happens.

The sky is falling

From the Military Times website:

Commander disciplined for nuclear mistake

By Michael Hoffman - Staff writer
Posted : Wednesday Sep 5, 2007 19:26:41 EDT

The Air Force continued handing out disciplinary actions in response to the six nuclear warheads mistakenly flown on a B-52 Stratofortress bomber from Minot Air Force Base, N.D., to Barksdale Air Force Base, La., on Aug. 30. The squadron commander in charge of Minot’s munitions crews was relieved of all duties pending the investigation.

It was originally reported that five nuclear warheads were transported, but officers who tipped Military Times to the incident who have asked to remain anonymous since they are not authorized to discuss the incident, have since updated that number to six.

Air Force and defense officials would not confirm the missiles were armed with nuclear warheads Wednesday, citing longstanding policy, but they did confirm the Air Force was “investigating an error made last Thursday during the transfer of munitions” from Minot to Barksdale.

The original plan was to transport non-nuclear Advanced Cruise Missiles, mounted on the wings of a B-52, to Barksdale as part of a Defense Department effort to decommission 400 of the ACMs. It was not discovered that the six missiles had nuclear warheads until the plane landed at Barksdale, leaving the warheads unaccounted for during the approximately 3 1/2 hour flight between the two bases, the officers said.

Okay...this isn't sounding very good. And, it already sounds like more than just an "error".

President Bush was immediately alerted to the mistake and the Air Force launched a service-wide investigation headed by Maj. Gen. Douglas Raaberg, director of Air and Space Operations at Air Combat Command Headquarters, said Air Force spokesman Lt. Col. Ed Thomas.

I wonder if he was in front of schoolchildren for that announcement.

Secretary of Defense Robert Gates has requested daily briefings from Air Force Chief of Staff Gen. Michael Moseley on the progress of the probe. Sen. Byron Dorgan, D-N.D., a member of the Senate Appropriations defense subcommittee, requested a full classified briefing, not just the preliminary information being provided to lawmakers, to explain how a mistake of this magnitude could have happened.

Can we stop calling this a mistake? We've moved well beyond mistake territory. We're even beyond clusterfuck. This is a snafu with the potential to become fubar. It's a snafubar.

Thomas said the transfer was conducted safely and the American public was never in any danger since the weapons were in Air Force custody and control at all times.

But few critics were placated Wednesday by the Air Force’s reassurances.

“Nothing like this has ever been reported before and we have been assured for decades that it was impossible,” said Rep. Edward Markey, D-Mass, co-chair of the House Bi-partisan Task Force.

Non-proliferation treaty experts said the Air Force didn’t violate any international nuclear treaties by transporting the nuclear warheads on the B-52, but it was the first time since 1968 that it’s been known publicly that nuclear warheads were transported on a U.S. bomber.

After six nuclear-armed B-52s crashed from 1959-1968, the Defense Department ordered all bombers off nuclear airborne alert. The policy change occurred after a B-52 crashed in Greenland in January 1968, dropping three nuclear warheads on the island and one into the ocean.

As a gesture to Russia and the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty, the first Bush administration took it one step farther in 1991 by ordering all bombers to halt nuclear ground alerts, which allowed bomber crews to practice loading a nuclear warhead, but never taking off with one.

Basically, this means that nukes aren't allowed on U.S. bombers.

The Defense Department does transport nuclear warheads by air, but instead of bombers it uses C-17 or C-130 cargo aircraft.

“These reports are deeply disturbing,” said Rep. Ike Skelton, D-Mo., chairman of the House Armed Services Committee. “The American people, our friends, and our potential adversaries must be confident that the highest standards are in place when it comes to our nuclear arsenal.”

Nuclear weapon experts said they were shocked to find out how completely command and control over the six nuclear warheads failed to allow such a mistake to occur.

Great! Rocket scientists are confused! Weeeeeeeeeee!

Hans Kristensen, director of the Nuclear Information Project at the Federation of American Scientists, said a host of security checks and warning signs must have been passed over, or completely ignored, for the warheads to have been unknowingly loaded onto the B-52.

ACMs are specifically designed to carry a W80-1 nuclear warhead with a yield of 5 to 150 kilotons and delivered by B-52 strategic bombers.

“It’s not like they had nuclear ACMs and conventional ACMs right next to each other and they just happened to load one with a nuclear warhead,” Kristensen said.

No, because that would be just plain stupid, right?

The Defense Department uses a computerized tracking program to keep tabs on each one of its nuclear warheads, he said. For the six warheads to make it onto the B-52, each one would have had to be signed out of its storage bunker and transported to the bomber. Diligent safety protocols would then have had to been ignored to load the warheads onto the plane, Kristensen said.

That is the scariest paragraph I've ever read.

All ACMs loaded with a nuclear warhead have distinct red signs distinguishing them from ACMs without a nuclear yield, he said. ACMs with nuclear warheads also weigh significantly more than missiles without them.

“I just can’t imagine how all of this happened,” said Philip Coyle, a senior adviser on nuclear weapons at the Center for Defense Information. “The procedures are so rigid; this is the last thing that’s supposed to happen.”

Neither can I, Mr. Coyle. But I can think of few other "last things". For example, weapons falling into the wrong hands.

The risk of the warheads falling into the hands of rogue nations or terrorists was minimal since the weapons never left the United States, said Michael O’Hanlon, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution, an independent research and policy think tank in Washington D.C.

Okay, we've got that covered. What about a crash?

At no time was there a risk for a nuclear detonation, even if the B-52 crashed on its way to Barksdale, said Steve Fetter, a former Defense Department official who worked on nuclear weapons policy in 1993-94.

Really? Even with a crash nothing horribly bad could happen?

A crash would ignite the high explosives associated with the warhead, and possibly cause a leak of plutonium, but the warhead’s elaborate safeguards would prevent a nuclear detonation from occurring, he said.

Okay, no mushroom cloud. But still, an explosion and a leak of deadly, weapons-grade plutonium is the main risk, right?

“The main risk would have been the way the Air Force responded to any problems with the flight because they would have handled it much differently if they would have known nuclear warheads were onboard,” Fetter said.

It’s still unclear specifically how the B-52’s flight from Minot to Barksdale would have been different since most nuclear security protocols are classified. But, Kristensen said the flight pattern might have been different since there would have been airspace restrictions. Also, security at both airports would have heightened considerably and the communications between the pilot and the control towers would have been altered, he said.

The Air Force just hates asking for directions.

Air Combat Command will have a command-wide mission stand-down Sept. 14 to review its procedures in response to the mistake. Even units without oversight of nuclear weapons will take part in the stand-down, Thomas said.

“The Air Force takes its mission to safeguard weapons seriously,” he said. “No effort will be spared to ensure that the matter is thoroughly and completely investigated.”

Along with the 5th Munitions Squadron commander, the munitions crews involved in mistakenly loading the nuclear warheads at Minot have been temporarily decertified from performing their duties involving munitions, pending corrective actions or additional training, Thomas said.

The error comes after the Air Force announced last March the 5th Bomb Wing won two servicewide safety awards during fiscal year 2006.

“This is really shocking,” Coyle said. “The Air Force can’t tolerate it, and the Pentagon can’t tolerate it, either.”

Neither can the American people, Mr. Coyle.

Everyday

Every writing school will tell you that you must write everyday in order to be a great writer. I can't make that promise right now. I'm just hoping to get something down every few days or so. Writing is fucking hard man! I would say that the the biggest reason is because it's an art form where the self-editor we all have is the loudest. So, one has to ignore that voice. Seems like a daunting task, sure, so try doing it 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year. Fucking hard man!

So, how does one learn to ignore that voice? Well, I don't want to repeat myself so I'll just say that you need Carnegie Hall as a goal (practice, practice, practice!). You just have to write or say or sing whatever is in your head and on your mind right then and there. Right now, as I'm writing this, Comedy Central is showing UHF. I'm torn because I'm still not sure if I'm supposed to laugh at Racist Richards or unleash my anger everytime his character's on screen. That has nothing to do with writing anything, but it was on my mind so I had to write it. Another thing is avoiding the backspace key has been a trying experience. I'm a stickler for making things sound right gramatically and punctuation-wise. I've resigned myself to the fact that I will always correct my spelling as I go along, which does impede me, both creatively and in scoring higher on a typing test. Dammit, if they're gonna hire me, I'm gonna know how to spell necessary (I don't --ha HA! victory is mine! have at you self editor!)

I would think the same goes for improv and music as well. Actually I DO know that to be true.

I had said before that the self editor is loudest for writing (it's pretty loud in the other ones). I think it's because it's just you and the page (or screen, ans in this case, Weird Al). And the voice that says "that's stupid. what a dumb thing to say! capitalize motherfucker CAPITALIZE!!!" becomes like a gremlin just behind your right ear, breathing heavily with every pen/keystroke. Just keep writing my friend. I know I keep saying that, but I cannot stress it enough, just keep doing it. Pretty soon you’ll be hearing another voice, and it’ll sound a lot like yours. And then, the floodgates of thought are open and you’ll find that you cannot stop! Just keep typing, just keep talking, just keep saying whatever the fuck you want to say. It doesn’t matter! Fucking sing it if you have to!

Poems flow like rain
Over rocks and through hills
Thoughts are clear

Okay, I’m pretty sure that’s not a proper Haiku but it doesn’t fucking matter! It’s on the page, it’s looking back at me, free as a bird, ready for you to do with it whatever you want.

Shit, the viewer is going to do whatever they want with the piece when it’s done, it’s only fair we do whatever the fuck we want with the piece while we’re working on it!

That is all.

Fucking hard man!

back to school

yep, I'm going back in the spring. Going to Harold Washington with the goal of transferring to Columbia in mind. Actually, I'm back now, but I'm only taking continuing educ. classes. Those are those kinds of classes that a character on a sitcom is talking about when he/she says "Hey! We should take a class together!" Sign language to be specific. To prepare for spring, I've been looking at the course catalog for the whole year. Now, I have a few learning disabilities, slight forms of epilepsy and dyslexia, aaaand, a scorching case of A.D.D. (properly diagnosed, unlike the rest of you fakers) so, looking through the catalogue is kinda like this:



Thank God it ain't spring yet.

switched over

because myspace's editor sucks.