Sunday, September 24, 2017

"Hey, listen"

Not having the best week. Work has been a little crazy, the girls just fight and fight, and my dad is saying things to me like, "Where am I?" That's why I'm reaching out to you to apologize.
You: woman dressed  in form fitting I-know-how-to-make-my-own-soap and work as an advocate for something. You answer questions with questions and your gait is determined and you have lists in your head of things to deploy as to why you don't eat thirty different things. You were being followed by a child, a boy dressed in what I assume was some sort of ninja costume. But that seems wrong, I'm just not really sure what it was, but he was running to keep up with you, watching his feet.
This is where I could have avoided having to write this. At this point we passed each other on Hale Street, and I could have said, "Hey, listen."
But I didn't, because I just didn't feel like it. It wasn't because I was wrestling with how to say, "Hey, listen, there's a gigantic dildo vibrator thing on the ground around the corner you're turning with that child. It's just laying there like it crawled to the sidewalk after being hit by a car and it looks dirty."
I'm not sure I would have said it like that, either, but. Was I supposed to pantomime what you were about to traipse across? Maybe we could have taken a knee and I could have suggested alternate routes with a piece of chalk.
Maybe you wouldn't have even seen it. That's not true. Even if you hadn't seen it the boy would have definitely alerted you to it's presence by holding it up and saying "WTF" in kid.
That may have very well been what happened and that's the worst scenario I've thought up after leaving you two to your fate.
So, I just wanted to say Sorry About That and I Hope That Didn't Happen.
Wow, that's certainly a load off.
I feel better already. I hope you do, too.

Sunday, September 10, 2017

About The Price

Adver and Dorge sat a a table in a Mexican restaurant waiting for the second basket of chips. The bus had been hours ago and they didn't know what to do next but were hungry. They still didn't much feel like talking as was their way, so they just looked at the murals of Aztecs behind one another.
"You know my grandfather, the one Molly was named after? He lived in this town, mining town, called Blakeley, it's not there anymore. And he had these chickens, I guess everybody had chickens, and he was out there feeding them one evening- Buzz told me this, and this guy comes up wanting to buy one of the chickens. So he stops feeding the chickens, I mean, he was just throwing some grain around, I'm sure, and they start going back and forth about the price, standing there on opposite sides of the chicken wire. Finally they agree on a particular chicken and the price and all and the guy pays him, and so he's like 'Ok, well bring her to me' and my grandpa says, 'It's your damn chicken, you get her' and walks off!"
Adver chortles politely but doesn't find this anywhere near as funny as Dorge does. He twists around in his seat to look at the mural behind him, "Is there a chicken on my mural or something?"
There was, of course.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Posted on the Outside

"Sorry guys, I'm tired." Adver read aloud from a crude sign posted on the outside of a building. He turned to see if Dorge was seeing what he was seeing but Dorge was asleep, chin tilted oddly in the air.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

When His Two Bucks Were Up

The bus smelled like new plastic and tomatoes. Scratch that. Dorge leaned his head against the glass. The bus didn't smell like anything he could identify except bus. Pine? Do you have Bus? He wasn't supposed to be on the bus, but he had accidentally caught the eye of the driver while he was waiting to cross the street and felt like the gesticulations that would be necessary for the driver to keep from opening the doors would prove too much for him to engage in, so he just got on. He actually had two dollars on him. He wondered if the driver would tell him when his two bucks were up. What was amazing (?) was that Adver got onto the bus a few streets later and was sitting by him now. They hadn't spoken yet but they both assumed the other was on the bus for the same reason. Except Adver was traveling around on five dollars, having felt awkward when the driver tried to give him change he had brushed him off. Now Adver was wondering if the driver felt like Adver thought he was some big shot, tipping bus drivers. Adver had decided to depart the bus with a "G'day mate!" and hopefully the driver would think he just wasn't from around here and didn't know to not tip bus drivers. But that would be a while from now, as both thought there were too many people on the bus to actually get up and draw any attention to themselves.
There was a young man on the bus trying to talk to a stranger about how messed up the world was. Saying things like Don't Get Me Started and You Wouldn't Believe. Adver and Dorge looked at each other and made a silent pact to get off the bus with the young man if he were to press the Ding! button somewhere close to an abandoned warehouse or morgue or open sewer of condemned anything.
Dorge took out his Kindle and adjusted the brightness so no one could see what he was reading. Dorge was always worried that people really gave a fuck as to what he was doing so always took appropriate measures to guard against this. But as soon as he messed with the brightness the Kindle powered down as it was want to do. Adver gave a quizzical look but dropped it before Dorge could turn to see it.
At the next stop a woman with long hair got on holding a guitar and smiling at the people near the front in a really peace-be-with-you-let's-pick-flowers kinda way and Dorge said Jesus Christ. Adver chortled and said Maybe? I'm no expert. Dorge replied Maybe we'll have a sing-a-long?
Then they were quiet for a while.
Adver asked Dorge if he knew that Hey Man, Nice Shot was a song about a guy who shot himself on television. Dorge nodded and said the guy's name. That was the only song of their's I liked, one of them said.
There was someone wearing their watch on the wrong hand a few seats ahead of them. Dorge had never bought that "opposite your writing hand" crap. But he decided to forgive the person on the basis that he couldn't actually see their other arm and so it must mean that person only had the one arm. It must be difficult to get a watch on with only one hand, and here this person was, totally rocking that watch. Dorge felt a sort of admiration for them then.
The bus kept going. Going and going and going.

Monday, April 24, 2017

Mushrooms and Vigilantism

Dear Graziano's of Capitol Street,

First, I love your pizza. It's quick, and painless, and good. But, that's not why I'm writing. I just want to express a concern that I've had since the last time I was in, it's been a few weeks now.

I've tried to talk myself down off my high horse (like I said, your pizza is good) but my concern comes from one of your staff having a handgun holstered to their hip. It really bothers me.

Yes, I'm aware of their right to have the weapon on their person. But, it is a weapon, and I bring my daughters in there. Your argument may be the line where you tell me I'd be singing a different tune if ever your establishment was held up while me and my daughters were in there, and maybe you're right. But I think having potentially two weapons engaged in conflict is going to up the chances that at least one of those weapons will be discharged. Also, I'm aware of the likelihood that there has always been a weapon close at hand in the establishment, and I can't tell you why I'm more comfortable with the thought of a shotgun "behind the bar" than someone in your employ deputizing himself in Pizza Town.

I find the presence of the weapon to be intimidating, which is counter to the feeling of welcome that I search for when going into an establishment to have a meal.

Also, I know that the employee makes regular deliveries in the course of their work, and there is certainly an argument to be made that Capitol Street has had its share of violent crime in the past. To this I say the weapon invites violence, and lends to the appearance that the employee is carrying a substantive sum of cash. Perhaps the employee has already experienced a violent encounter and that is the reason they feel the need to protect themselves with a visual deterrent, but I certainly hope not.

In any event, it's just something I felt I needed to bring up. I look forward to having your pizza again, as soon as you go back to just wielding pizza cutters.

Sincerely,

Dorge Kas

Thursday, March 16, 2017

We Are Comics



I like the new Legion show but I have a hangup about Audrey Plaza being cast as Lenny. I mean, am I the only one that remembers her as Julie Powers in the comicbook movie Scott Pilgrim vs the World? What we're looking at here is just a muddying of the comic waters that's getting a little too...muddy for me. How can anyone even see past Julie Flowers in Legion? Her consummate eye roll and tilt of industrious unease? It's too big a leap for me, Reader.
But...what if it's still Julie Powers? What if the rumors I've been hearing are true and the bad guy is the Shadow King, and he's just controlling Julie Flowers??

Ok.

Than's thin, I admit. After all it's looking like if the bad guy is indeed the Shadow King then Lenny is just a skin he wears. But man-oh-man I want it to be Shadow King. I've loved that guy ever since:



Takes you back, huh? Can't believe I forgot that guy. Cheers to you, comics, love ya.

Thursday, March 9, 2017

Decade

My baby turns ten in a few days. I'm not sure what that means. I'm having trouble processing it. You can start to see what she'll look like when she's older. I don't know about that, I think I'm just repeating something people say about kids. One of my first posts on here was instructions on how her crib should be made up. We still have all those Muppets, they're just in the younger daughter's room, she's three.
Today I was wondering what I should write concerning my daughter's decade status. I thought I might write about us having been on some mission together for the last ten years but I couldn't get any traction in my mind for that. She's running back and forth behind me. It's kind of annoying when you're trying to write. She brought home straight A's today on her report card, which usually means a trip to the Mexican restaurant down the road.
Last night I was thinking that I had gone in to check on her before I went to bed for ten years now. Straightening the blankets, pulling the one-too-many pillow out from under her head. Sometimes she likes to sleep in the floor. A cute quirk when she was thirty pounds, now I just leave her there most of the time.
She hides the 3DS from me when I check to make sure she's asleep. Closing the screen and ducking the power indicator light under the covers. This would work if she didn't shove herself under the covers as well. I know how you sleep, child, and that's not it. Go to bed or I take the 3DS.
She has dreams that she's walking on a dirt road and someone's talking to her but she can't turn her head. She has dreams that someone pushed her out of a window.
She doesn't like spaghetti. She doesn't like vegetables. She requests my macaroni and cheese for every family dinner event; a recipe I got from a Nintendo DS game. She likes Fanta in any flavor (except the blue, sometimes). She does not like cheese on her burgers.
When I'm in a tight spot in a video game I need her to sit beside me as my good luck charm. It's the only way I beat DOOM.
We make fun of other kids, because they're stupid. We say things like "They should go to hell" and "I just want to punch them in the face."
Her mother and I are trying to raise a good person. I'm a little too easy on her, I know. She can be lazy and it drives me crazy. When she's forced to clean her room she tells me she needs a break after making her bed. Also, she watches this really stupid show on Netflix called Some Assembly Required. I told her when she turned ten she could watch The Dark Knight with me. I really want to watch Predator with her, but I hesitate when I think of the people skinned-alive.
We ride bikes together. Her mother had to teach her how to ride because I was getting so frustrated and impatient. I would just yell. But she's got it now. I'm trying to show her how to stand up and get more power for hills but she's not really having it. She needs a bigger bike now.
We play punch bug in the car. It's annoying for the rest of the family.
She protests every shower, yet when she's in there you'd think she was auditioning for Water World. I didn't come up with that. "Are you auditioning for Water World?" was scribbled on my water bill last month. Good one, water company.
She keeps about forty different journals. She'll just write in them randomly. I don't relish the historian who has to put all that together.
At work I have a little note that she wrote me that says "Thank you for supporting me! I will support you too!"
She likes NERF guns. I put some hooks in her closet so she can put her guns on it like a little mini arsenal.
She'll be ten. She's kind've crazy. Everything's a debate.
Last night I went into her room and she was wearing a hairnet and disposable gloves and a dust mask performing surgery on a succession of stuffed animals like something out of the Civil War.
She leaves her bands form her braces on the table and it makes her parents insane.
I hope she loves her world. Her ten year old world.