quick story

Existentialist em

I know lots of things. For example:

• fire is hot
• the sun rises in the east
• time is irreversible
• cars require maintenance
• God is dead
• E = mc2
• crack is wack
• money makes the world go around
• what goes up must come down
• static electricity is devious
• Clairol Herbal Essence makes your hair smell good
• Occam's razor is sharp
• love hurts
• divorce hurts more
• plants grow toward light
• what doesn't kill you makes you stronger
• broccoli rots faster when left in the plastic baggy
• ontogeny recapitulates phylology
• Hagen Daas Mint Chocolate Chip rules
• the behavior of teenagers is a biological device designed to encourage parents to Set Them Free! on an unsuspecting world
• by kicking them out of the house
• you get more flies with honey than with vinegar
• cinnamon-scented candles and a fire in the fireplace cures all
• the perfect woman is a higher type of human than the perfect man, and also something much more rare
• The Blair Witch Project is scary

Yup. I'm smart. Now, someone tell me why, despite all this high-falutin' knowledge and insight into the ways of the world, I will yank my hands out from under a faucet of running water like they've been stung by bees and only because someone else in the ladies' room has flushed the toilet. Those pipes aren't connected...right? Flush there, exit here? I know, I'm a dumb-ass.

 

Sociologist em

I can't get it out of my mind's eye. So forlorn, defeated. His look beseached me. His face freighted down at the corners with a sadness that the cover story could not cover up--"My truck, it's out of gas on the highway. Do you have $20 I can borrow?"

Here stood the remnants of a proud, successful family man, the loving father of 2 happy dogs--a big Rottweiller and a little Schnoodle kind of thing. He used to walk them separately every morning before work and again in the evening after he got home. Now reduced to knocking on his neighbor's door at 2:00 in the morning asking for money. I know it had to just kill him to do it.

I'm telling you it wasn't more than a moment, a tick tock of the clock, and he went from Regular Middle Class Working Guy to desperate crack head.  Something has to be done.

 

Superintendent of operations em

Attention residents: The hall coat closet is hereby designated as the sole overcoat storage facility. It is a self-service location. The light at the top of the closet is to be used on dark mornings and evenings--it is turned on and off by pulling down on the attached string. The overcoat storage area is not a refrigerated facility, so the light will not turn off automatically when you shut the door; in addition, left on, it will melt all of superintendent of operations em's emergency chocolate supply, which was stored on the top shelf of the overcoat storage facility under the wool scarves, just below the lightbulb.

Further, discarded clothes deemed dirty will not be returned to fresh/clean status if left on superintendent of operations em's bedroom floor, the hallway floor, behind the bathroom door, or even at the top of the cellar steps. Discarded clothes deemed dirty have half a chance of making it into the clothes washing/drying cycle if they are left on the designated dirty laundry mountain, which overlooks the clothes washing machinery in the rear of the basement.   

Further, if you require sustenance involving the use of kitchen appliances at an early hour on a weekend morning because you are "STARRR-HAR-VINGGG!!" you will be charged one 10-minute backscratch. This is not negotiable. 

Thank you for your cooperation. Tomorrow--an explanation of superintendent of operations em's level of responsibility when you are unable to find your own shoes. 

Domestic em

Leave it up to me and we'll all eat boloney sandwiches and baked beans.

I'm not much of a cook. I've got a limited range of offerings, most tailored to appeal to the children of the house, so as to keep the whining down to an abrasive screech. But, this weekend I got busy--I located and dusted off the slow cooker/crock pot that I've been storing for 2 years, and I made 3 daring, delicious, and delectable dishes (No whining about the alliteration--I could have gone on, but I didn't). 

First I made an easy split pea soup with ham--Used a nice dry bean and spices package but I took a short cut by cutting up a ham steak instead of using the big bone and meaty left-overs from a giant spiral-cut ham, mostly because I wasn't going to go buy a $75 ham for its left-overs.

Next, I tried the Autumn harvest stew--I had to as it turns out. Truth be told, I read a post describing some appetizing veggies over here, and I could go no further until I had some of those. This recipe called for sweet potatoes, parsnips, apples, and pork shoulder. Put it all together in the slow cooker with some diced onions, thyme, rosemary, and apple cider and you are good to go.

Last effort of the weekend was Tuscan sausage and bean soup--Get some dry great northern beans going, brown a goodly amount of Italian sausage and then toss it all in the slow cooker along with a sliced summer squash, 2 cloves of garlic, beef broth, red wine, and Italian seasonings, and when you wake up in the morning--lunch! (and dinner for the next several days.)

These will not of course be touched by any of the children of the house, but that's their loss. My freezer is stocked, and I won't have to cast about for what to have on those nights when I'm making 5 or 10 grilled cheese sandwiches and a vat of tomato soup for various and sundry peoples (althought that's pretty yummy too). 

Urban explorer rem--part 2

You'd be amazed how fast you can get used to a vile, vile stench. This was a stench with viscosity to it. While you held your breath to keep it at bay, it snuck around to the back door and got you to taste it too. So yeah, it only took until never to get used to it.

I stood completely still for 10 days, or something. A statue, except for my mouth--I called and yelled and whistled and cried. No one home. I was in a hole in the ground, above--a manhole opening to The Trenton Sewer System. I sensed my surroundings well before I was able to actually see anything--walls all around except for some sort of tunnel off to my right. OK, when I say 'sensed' I'm not being all spooky and supernatural--I felt a breeze on my legs. But as I stood there, I slowly became able to see into the viscous darkness. All around me was wall made up of slimy irregular-shaped brick. The avenue off to the right was more of the same: 2-feet of freezing water that looked like tar and walls covered in a living turf, but instead of the hopeful nickle-sized spot of an opening to the outside above my head, there were carbuncles and furuncles growing down from the ceiling and wicked-thick blackness stretching out in front. Grim.

What to do, what to do...

I pushed forward into the tunnel yo! the avenue out, with my internal chatter yakking about ick this and yuck that but it was no match for you've-left-your-children-home-alone-while-you-went-off-for-a-jog and any one of them is likely to wander out and get snatched by a goon/fall into the river/get run over flat by a car/or some fresh evil yet to be imagined.

Total blackness is such a weird state. The other senses get a bit edgy, jealous, and they act out. Also, as I carefully moved through the water, I tried very hard to NOT TOUCH ANYTHING so I was really 2 senses down. Not a problem. How far did I walk? I dunno, but it was a smelly/tasty/noisy march. Murmers dogged me the entire way--I strained my head and neck muscles trying to hear better: 
mopey scrap..
yeah a jelly sandwich..
harsh into the place..
redacting bonanza-fide...
That's from above, the street, right? but how come no one hears ME? Fucking hoarse from yelling now, I pushed forward, the way out. Amidst all the conversating and stinky taste, something just had to get my legs in the water. What was it? I have no idea, and I will never again think about it. Except to say it had weight and heft to it, and it briefly embraced whatever around my leg. Grim.

Finally--Ho! Hang on! The sound of rushing water! I moved forward as fast as I could, and without expecting it, I tumbled out of the pipe and down the river bank. Ow! A dark moonless night and tall weeds hid the outdoors at the opening of the avenue from my sight. Relieved? HOOboy. Hungry? Oh yeah. Tired? Uh huh. I picked up and dusted off. I surveyed the river in front of me. Not familiar. I might have been in Camden. So I took a seat. Tired, so very tired. I had to close my eyes for a minute....

You know how you can sense when someone is standing quietly over you, not making a sound, but you can still sense their presence? Maybe being in a pitch-black tunnel smelling/tasting only hideous monster-death-stink refusing to touch anything being deafened by unattainable murmers sharpened my edge. Could be.

My eyes snapped open. Eh? I was warm and cozy and in my bed. Sooooo-ho nice... Phew, just a nightmare. But then I heard him smile, and I looked across the bed to catch the most beautiful sight, the full-on glory of one Trenton Fire Fighter, in full action-man-uniform.

"Whas going on? How'd you get up here?"

"My ladder. I came up outside at your bedroom window. Now shooosh, relax...go back to sleep, I'll scratch your back.
   

urban explorer rem

I'm nearsighted--everything's blurry. I don't like blurry, so I'm almost always wearing my glasses--it's only sensible. News Flash--it's not so sensible to wear your glasses while jogging on a cold rainy day.

They immediately became all spotted with water drops--I'd wipe them off and 30 seconds later, the world was all pixelated and fractured again from the water drops. I kept chugging along though, and despite the 35-degree weather, my body warmed up and I began to lightly sweat. Unfortunately, my increasing body temp made my wet glasses steam up, so now I looked into a fractured pixelated fog. It was all right though--I could make out the general lines of where i needed to be--road surface here, nonroad surface over there--oh look, a tree just flew by in a blur! (hee, see what i just did there? yeah, i didn't think so. I've been hitting some clunker notes lately.)

I chugged gamely on, through Cadwallader Park and into Hiltonia, and I came to decide that looking through the wet foggy glasses at remote, jagged outlines of the world wasn't so bad, and I stopped wiping the rain and steam off my glasses every 15 paces. Bad idea.

I saw the damn flourescent orange DOT cone--it was just off my left, near the curb. I meant to pass near it as I crossed the street so I could turn left up Sanhican. I ran gingerly through the wet leaves--didn't want to slip and fall!--reached the end of the block, and took a long stride over the cone and out into the street to avoid the leaf-filled puddle, really more of a leap...and I arced myself down an open manhole cover. I was like the perfect swish shot by Pippen--nothing but net--I didn't touch a thing as I dropped down the chute and into The Trenton Sewer System.

I landed remarkably softly too, again like Pippen, in 2 feet of freezing water. Another fine what-the-fuck?! moment. 

Well I don't know about you, but being in a black hole in 2 feet of water was not even close to acceptable. I looked up--the circle of light that was the manhole opening was the size of a nickle--how the fuck did I fall so far? Where the fuck was I?! I looked left and right, staring into the pitch black with all my might...nothing. Impenetrable. I didn't want to think about what might be in that water with me, or about what might be on the walls of this hole near me, I really really didn't. But the panic rose and began to engulf me. Hell yes I started screaming my head off! What would you do?? I thought so.  But no one yelled back in answer.      

So I stood like a statue, afraid to move, afraid to touch anything, afraid to ripple the water lest I draw a slithering creepy crawly creature that would slip silently toward me and slide up my leg to attack my face as quick as a hiccup. And I stood. And I stood some more, until I decided hell, I need to find my own damn way out.               

Mighty morphing em

I’d like a crack at a personal redesign, as I've come to believe that some spot re-engineering might yield an improved em model. Currently, I am of the humanoid brand, northern European flavor (just about everything except Irish—do not mistake me for Irish. Not that there’s anything wrong with them—certainly not. Just with the one that I married). But as such, I am high-strung and prone to hip dysplasia, dental migration, cysts, tumors, carbuncles, furuncles, idiocy, and deafness.

As I see it, the new em package should include:

1. The long memory of an elephant
2. The gorgeous wings of a Great Blue Heron
3. The prehensile tail of a Wooly Spider monkey
4. The cagey wiles of Bugs Bunny
5. The ancient wisdom of an owl
6. The righteous indignation of the Hulk
7. The perfectly formed legs of Steffi Graf
8. The thick skin of a rhino
9. The big heart of a mother bear
10. The can-do attitude of SpongeBob SquarePants
11. The blissful serenity of SpongeBob’s best friend Patrick
12. The lovely boobs of Uma Thurman

Now that would be one exceptional prototype. 

Inventor em

What we need is a “sport” audio device that isn’t dependent on earphones/plugs. I sometimes run in sketchy neighborhoods and in areas with high automobile traffic, so hearing all the ambient sound is important from a safety standpoint. I’m no inventor (hang on, I did invent the iPop, forgot about that), but I think something new and innovative could be engineered.

It has to attach somewhere to the body so the hands are free—you don’t want to run along carrying a boombox, for crying out loud. It can’t jounce around either—that could lead to chafing and bruising, and the changing of radio stations. It probably should be situated up near the head, so you don’t have to crank the volume up, thus defeating the purpose of the thing. Maybe it could be a sort of necklace gadget—up near the ears, not a lot of harm in a bit of jouncing, especially if it’s made of soft materials. And it must be stylish of course.

There’s my idea. Any entrepreneurial types can feel free take it and run with it. As it were.         

Ambassador em

When I grow up, I want to be An Ambassador. Ambassador Em. 
I will have broad and sweeping impunity to go about my Ambassadorial duties. Translation—I can do whatever I want to do.
I will travel in a state-of-the-art armored limousine, piloted by Burly Driver.
I will represent my country well at every social event and theater/gallery/restaurant opening, because:
     I will have the finest wardrobe available; and
     I will be most persnickety with respect to protocol.
I will hold extravagant dinner parties in my well-appointed Embassy, assisted by Butler and Waiter, who will serve the finest food and drink available.
I will fly to exotic cities around the world in my government jet to attend the extravagant dinner parties of my Ambassador-colleagues.
I will be a useless waste of textiles, food, and air.

But as the Ambassador of Sudan:
I will use my well-appointed kitchen to cook all of the food, every day of every week.
I will deploy Driver, Cook, Butler, and Waiter to distribute the food.
I will travel in my armored limousine with Burly Driver, locating Janjawid militia members and, using my incredible powers of diplomacy (backed by my Elite Embassy Guardsmen), make them stop.
I will meet with President Lt. Gen. Umar Hassan Ahmad al-BASHIR and make him stop. Then I will kick his ass.

Well, at least I’d be doing something instead of nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Pity they don’t have any oil over there.