August 14, 2005
Gimme an H! Gimme an E! Gimme an L!...
I couldn't help but be struck by this week's heartwarming story of - yes, it's true - crimefighting cheerleaders. Apparently during an outdoor practice session at a cheerleading camp in Ann Arbor, Michigan, the cheerleading squad for Lincoln High School witnessed a car accident, and their eagle-eyed coach saw the license plate of a vehicle that left the scene. Lacking a pen and paper (but sporting a nifty chrome whistle on a lanyard), Coach Patricia Clark yelled the license number to her eager squad, who, according to squad captain Kimmie Ostrowski, began "saying it over and over, and then it just turned into a big chant since we kept repeating it."
Based on the license number provided by the eager cheerleaders (is there any other kind of cheerleader, really?), police were able to nab the would-be hit-and-runner, a truck driver whose one encounter with a group of eager teenage cheerleaders ended up more like an episode of COPS than a letter to Penthouse.
But wait - there's more. Hell Toupee's crack legal team was able to acquire a transcript of the interview Ann Arbor's Finest conducted with the Lincoln High School cheerleading squad, which offers a refreshingly optimistic view of how Today's Youth is turning out.
In Other News
A Korean man managed last week to prove that video games can kill you. At least, if you're stupid enough to forego food, rest, and other functions of normal life to play them.
But maybe that's an amateur attitude on my part. Maybe I don't take video games seriously enough. I mean, I'm nowhere near as committed to gaming as the deceased man was, given that he had recently quit his job "to spend more time playing games." You gotta respect that level of commitment.
If nothing else, at least this man's efforts have defined and quantified the edge of the envelope, so to speak. Apparently, 50 straight hours of video games is about as much as a man can take before keeling over dead.
Good to know.
The Daily Haiku
Acknowledging the revelation that when it comes to fighting crime, the pom-pom can be mightier than the sword.
Recommended Reading
Ransom - Jay McInerny
Don't be fooled by the title - this is not a book about kidnapping. An older effort by the author who brought us Bright Lights, Bit City, this is a dark right-of-passage book set in Japan, where a Westerner named Ransom seeks (and ultimately finds) a cathartic experience through immersion in the martial arts. Stirring writing and an ending you're not prepared for make for a truly distinctive book, unlike anything McInerney has offered before or since.
Based on the license number provided by the eager cheerleaders (is there any other kind of cheerleader, really?), police were able to nab the would-be hit-and-runner, a truck driver whose one encounter with a group of eager teenage cheerleaders ended up more like an episode of COPS than a letter to Penthouse.
But wait - there's more. Hell Toupee's crack legal team was able to acquire a transcript of the interview Ann Arbor's Finest conducted with the Lincoln High School cheerleading squad, which offers a refreshingly optimistic view of how Today's Youth is turning out.
Key to abbreviations:
• AAPD = Ann Arbor Police Department
• LHSCS = Lincoln High School Cheerleading Squad
• KO = Kimmie Ostrowski, squad captain
-------------------------------------------------
AAPD: Could you tell us, please, which way the vehicle went?
KO: And ready! And set!
LHSCS: Two, four, six, eight! He turned left on Southwest Tate! Two, four, six, eight! He turned left on Southwest Tate!
AAPD: I see. And did you happen to get the license number of the vehicle?
KO: And ready! And set!
LHSCS: Six, eleven, GVA! Hit that car and drove away! Six, eleven, GVA! Hit that car and drove away! Six, elev--
AAPD: Thank you. Ahem - THANK YOU! I think we got it. 611GVA. Thanks. Oh, and Kimmie, that back-flip into a split was a nice touch at the end. Very impressive. Okay, here's another question for you: were you able to get a look at the driver? Could you give us any idea what he looked like?
KO: And ready! And set!
LHSCS: How now, brown cow? Big fat guy with monobrow! How now, brown cow? Big fat guy with monobrow!
AAPD: (shouting) OKAY! GOT IT! (speaking) I mean, we got it. Thanks. (to coach) Um, say, Coach Clark? Could I maybe borrow that whistle for a minute? Thanks. (to squad) Okay, girls - just a few more questions. Somebody mentioned that the driver who left the scene was wearing a baseball cap. Did any of you notice what color it was?
KO: And ready! And set! Gimme a B!
LHSCS: B!
KO: Gimme an L!
LHSCS: L!
KO: Gimme a U!
LHSCS: U!
KO: Gimme an E!
LHSCS: E!
KO: What's that spell?
LHSCS: Blue!
KO: What's that spell?
LHSCS: Blue!
KO: I can't hear you!
LHSCS: BLUE!
KO: Say it again!
LHSCS: BLUE!
AAPD: (blows whistle) Okay, girls - we get it. The guy had a blue cap. Thanks. (aside to another officer) Thank God the freaking thing wasn't chartreuse.
KO: What was that, officer?
AAPD: Ahem - nothing. Okay girls, I think we got what we need. Thank you very much for your help. If you think of anything else, don't hesitate to call. (to coach) Here's your whistle, ma'am. (to squad) Thanks again, girls. Goodbye.
KO: And ready! And set!
LHSCS: (sung) Na-na-naah-nahh, na-na-naah-nahh, hey hey hey, good-bye! Na-na-naah-nahh, na-na-naah-nahh, hey hey hey, good-bye!
In Other News
A Korean man managed last week to prove that video games can kill you. At least, if you're stupid enough to forego food, rest, and other functions of normal life to play them.
But maybe that's an amateur attitude on my part. Maybe I don't take video games seriously enough. I mean, I'm nowhere near as committed to gaming as the deceased man was, given that he had recently quit his job "to spend more time playing games." You gotta respect that level of commitment.
If nothing else, at least this man's efforts have defined and quantified the edge of the envelope, so to speak. Apparently, 50 straight hours of video games is about as much as a man can take before keeling over dead.
Good to know.
The Daily Haiku
Acknowledging the revelation that when it comes to fighting crime, the pom-pom can be mightier than the sword.
Who Needs CSI?
Could Bonnie and Clyde's
crime spree have been cut short by
eager cheerleaders?
Recommended Reading
Ransom - Jay McInerny
Don't be fooled by the title - this is not a book about kidnapping. An older effort by the author who brought us Bright Lights, Bit City, this is a dark right-of-passage book set in Japan, where a Westerner named Ransom seeks (and ultimately finds) a cathartic experience through immersion in the martial arts. Stirring writing and an ending you're not prepared for make for a truly distinctive book, unlike anything McInerney has offered before or since.
August 9, 2005
On Living Next Door to Super Neighbor
(or, It's a bird - it's a plane - it's a 6.25 Horsepower Wet/Dry Shop-Vac!)
In 2001, The Betrothed and I made a fatal mistake: we decided we were grownups. To prove it, we bought a house.
What the hell were we thinking?!?
We succeeded in finding a beautiful house, but unbeknownst to us, just after signing all the paperwork and handing us the keys, the previous owner activated the Self Destruct Sequence. The last four years have been a series of one breakdown after another. The plumbing. The hot water heater. The air conditioning. The dishwasher. The hot water heater again. The refrigerator. The air conditioning again. I finally made arrangements at work to do that direct deposit thing, where I don't actually get a paycheck. Instead, it goes straight to Home Depot - makes my life much simpler.
There is one bright spot on the horizon, though. By sheer luck, we moved into the house next door to Super Neighbor. Neighbors, really - it's a whole family, with a husband, wife, and an indeterminate number of children all of whom look roughly the same and all of whom ignore us with equal vigor.
The husband is the gold mine, though. This guy makes Tim Allen look like Lovey Howell on Gilligan's Island. Okay, for you youngsters who need a more current cultural reference, let's say Jack on Will and Grace. Bottom line, the guy next door is a Man's Man, with a Man's collection of tools, mechanical skill, and a nearly pathological love of sports.
In short, I have never met a man with whom I have so little in common.
To his credit, he's nice to me, and lets me borrow his tools and stuff. Once I realized I had absolutely ZERO hope of ever looking anything remotely like an actual man to him, I simply gave up trying to impress him, and began to defer openly to his expertise. He has helped me immeasurably, and I'm truly thankful for both his generosity and his skill with any object with a Craftsman® label on it.
And there is not a tool in the known universe that this guy doesn't have. He's got just the right nozzle to put on his 6.25 Horsepower Wet/Dry Shop-Vac to suck the gunk out of the pipe that drains the water produced by our air conditioner. (Without such gunk-sucking, it seems, our house tends to turn into a water park, as we learned the hard way last week, when it backed up and flooded the garage and living room.) And he has a bottle of the stuff you use to take the icky rust stain off the wall that the sprinkler hits every morning. I'm telling you, the guy's a lifesaver.
And I finally figured out why he's nice to me. It turns out, the previous owner had one major strike against him. He was, to be succinct, an asshole (a tidbit I picked up when Super Neighbor had lubricated himself with a few more beers than usual). Me, I'm just a helpless idiot, but at least I'm nice about it.
Anyway, as if the guy next door wasn't enough, his wife has even come through for us. No, not like that - The Betrothed isn't into that kind of thing. Nor am I, I hasten to add. Really. Nope, not me. But I digress...
Although I am totally a dog guy, I did last year meet a dog who apparently wasn't hip to that fact. He bit my leg, and got a pretty good shot at me, ripping through my pants and opening a deep, smile-shaped wound that has left a nasty scar to this day. The dog was healthy and had had his shots, but I wasn't sure whether I needed some. I knew that Mrs. Super Neighbor was a nurse, so I went next door to show her my bloody new fashion accessory and to ask whether I needed to go to the hospital for a tetanus shot.
Hang on, she said, I've got one right here.
One what? I asked.
Moments later she had a syringe and a alcohol-wipey-thing (a technical term - do try to keep up), and was giving me a tetanus shot - right there in their driveway.
You keep tetanus shots in the house? I asked.
She shrugged. With the way the boys are always getting hurt, she said, it's a helluva lot easier than going to the emergency room every time.
Truly, these are full-service neighbors. From power tools to inoculations, they've got something for everybody.
I swear to God, if they ever move, we're selling our house and moving into a condo.
From the Department of Eeeeeewwwwww
As I've disclosed in a previous blog, I'm not much into sports. Never have been. And now I've got yet another reason: this story about a high school football coach who's found himself in hot water. But no, it's not a tale of sexual abuse (this is a football coach, not a Catholic priest). No, this man aroused (so to speak) the attention of concerned parents (or was it the concern of attentive parents? I can't remember) for - and I quote - "licking the bleeding wounds of student athletes."
I'm having difficulty picturing this. But apparently the coach got his players on board with the idea after delivering "a pep talk about a coach who had licked and healed players' wounds so that they could rejoin the game."
Okay, I'll admit, I've never considered the average high school athlete to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but come on, guys.
I mean, everybody knows that you kiss boo-boos; you don't lick them.
The Daily Haiku
Today's poem takes a hard look at a coach who veered away from traditional sports medicine, by not treating every injury - no matter how severe - with an exhortation to simply "walk it off!"
Movie Recommendation
Team America - World Police (Uncensored and Unrated Special Collector's Edition)
One of the funniest movies I have EVER seen - and definitely THE most tasteless. And the behind-the-scenes extras on the DVD are terrific - you can't believe the work they put into what is basically a really stupid puppet movie. But if you're easily offended, run - don't walk - in the other direction.
In 2001, The Betrothed and I made a fatal mistake: we decided we were grownups. To prove it, we bought a house.
What the hell were we thinking?!?
We succeeded in finding a beautiful house, but unbeknownst to us, just after signing all the paperwork and handing us the keys, the previous owner activated the Self Destruct Sequence. The last four years have been a series of one breakdown after another. The plumbing. The hot water heater. The air conditioning. The dishwasher. The hot water heater again. The refrigerator. The air conditioning again. I finally made arrangements at work to do that direct deposit thing, where I don't actually get a paycheck. Instead, it goes straight to Home Depot - makes my life much simpler.
There is one bright spot on the horizon, though. By sheer luck, we moved into the house next door to Super Neighbor. Neighbors, really - it's a whole family, with a husband, wife, and an indeterminate number of children all of whom look roughly the same and all of whom ignore us with equal vigor.
The husband is the gold mine, though. This guy makes Tim Allen look like Lovey Howell on Gilligan's Island. Okay, for you youngsters who need a more current cultural reference, let's say Jack on Will and Grace. Bottom line, the guy next door is a Man's Man, with a Man's collection of tools, mechanical skill, and a nearly pathological love of sports.
In short, I have never met a man with whom I have so little in common.
To his credit, he's nice to me, and lets me borrow his tools and stuff. Once I realized I had absolutely ZERO hope of ever looking anything remotely like an actual man to him, I simply gave up trying to impress him, and began to defer openly to his expertise. He has helped me immeasurably, and I'm truly thankful for both his generosity and his skill with any object with a Craftsman® label on it.
And there is not a tool in the known universe that this guy doesn't have. He's got just the right nozzle to put on his 6.25 Horsepower Wet/Dry Shop-Vac to suck the gunk out of the pipe that drains the water produced by our air conditioner. (Without such gunk-sucking, it seems, our house tends to turn into a water park, as we learned the hard way last week, when it backed up and flooded the garage and living room.) And he has a bottle of the stuff you use to take the icky rust stain off the wall that the sprinkler hits every morning. I'm telling you, the guy's a lifesaver.
And I finally figured out why he's nice to me. It turns out, the previous owner had one major strike against him. He was, to be succinct, an asshole (a tidbit I picked up when Super Neighbor had lubricated himself with a few more beers than usual). Me, I'm just a helpless idiot, but at least I'm nice about it.
Anyway, as if the guy next door wasn't enough, his wife has even come through for us. No, not like that - The Betrothed isn't into that kind of thing. Nor am I, I hasten to add. Really. Nope, not me. But I digress...
Although I am totally a dog guy, I did last year meet a dog who apparently wasn't hip to that fact. He bit my leg, and got a pretty good shot at me, ripping through my pants and opening a deep, smile-shaped wound that has left a nasty scar to this day. The dog was healthy and had had his shots, but I wasn't sure whether I needed some. I knew that Mrs. Super Neighbor was a nurse, so I went next door to show her my bloody new fashion accessory and to ask whether I needed to go to the hospital for a tetanus shot.
Hang on, she said, I've got one right here.
One what? I asked.
Moments later she had a syringe and a alcohol-wipey-thing (a technical term - do try to keep up), and was giving me a tetanus shot - right there in their driveway.
You keep tetanus shots in the house? I asked.
She shrugged. With the way the boys are always getting hurt, she said, it's a helluva lot easier than going to the emergency room every time.
Truly, these are full-service neighbors. From power tools to inoculations, they've got something for everybody.
I swear to God, if they ever move, we're selling our house and moving into a condo.
From the Department of Eeeeeewwwwww
As I've disclosed in a previous blog, I'm not much into sports. Never have been. And now I've got yet another reason: this story about a high school football coach who's found himself in hot water. But no, it's not a tale of sexual abuse (this is a football coach, not a Catholic priest). No, this man aroused (so to speak) the attention of concerned parents (or was it the concern of attentive parents? I can't remember) for - and I quote - "licking the bleeding wounds of student athletes."
I'm having difficulty picturing this. But apparently the coach got his players on board with the idea after delivering "a pep talk about a coach who had licked and healed players' wounds so that they could rejoin the game."
Okay, I'll admit, I've never considered the average high school athlete to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but come on, guys.
I mean, everybody knows that you kiss boo-boos; you don't lick them.
The Daily Haiku
Today's poem takes a hard look at a coach who veered away from traditional sports medicine, by not treating every injury - no matter how severe - with an exhortation to simply "walk it off!"
Um, Could I Maybe Just Get an Ace Bandage or Something?
It's not a good sign
when your football coach reminds
you of Gene Simmons
Movie Recommendation
Team America - World Police (Uncensored and Unrated Special Collector's Edition)
One of the funniest movies I have EVER seen - and definitely THE most tasteless. And the behind-the-scenes extras on the DVD are terrific - you can't believe the work they put into what is basically a really stupid puppet movie. But if you're easily offended, run - don't walk - in the other direction.
August 2, 2005
If a Tree Falls on an Idiot - Does it Make a Sound?
(or, slouching towards Bijeljina)
Hordes - or perhaps flocks; it's always so hard to tell - of Christians are swarming the impossible-to-pronounce Bosnian town of Bijeljina, to gaze upon what is reputed to be an image of Jesus that appears on a section of a cut-off tree branch. Hey, makes sense to me - I mean, if *I* were the Son of God, and was planning to make a return trip to see the folks who had treated my limbs like two-by-fours the last time I popped in for a visit, I'd probably want to keep a low profile, too. Between that, or possibly following my Mom's lead by showing up on the occasional grilled cheese sandwich, I think that's about as close as I'd want to come to any of those hammer-crazy humans my Old Man seemed so intent on me saving.
Lest you think me too cynical, I hasten to add that I do not completely refute the possibility of a Higher Power manifesting itself to the Great Unwashed in such a manner. For example, an astute Hell Toupee fan in Clarion, Iowa snapped this photo of another tree with a branch cut off. If you stare at it intently, some people say you can even see the face of a famous but reclusive literary giant...
Like, Duh, Eh?
Canadian air safety officials are apparently having a tough time convincing Canadian citizens who travel by air that it is officially A Bad Idea to attempt to bring toy guns, grenades, and other fake weapons as carry-on items. They've had to go so far as to make a formal announcement to leave toy guns at home, in what political pundits view as an absolutely lightning-fast response to that "little incident" those pesky Americans went through back in September of '01.
Yup, it's good to know they're on top of things up there in The Frozen North. I feel so much safer knowing they're our allies. Plus, let's face it, Anne Murray is hot.
The Daily Haiku
Currently Reading
The Fourth Hand by John Irving
A hundred pages in, and not a sympathetic character in sight. Only Irving can pull that off and make it work.
Hordes - or perhaps flocks; it's always so hard to tell - of Christians are swarming the impossible-to-pronounce Bosnian town of Bijeljina, to gaze upon what is reputed to be an image of Jesus that appears on a section of a cut-off tree branch. Hey, makes sense to me - I mean, if *I* were the Son of God, and was planning to make a return trip to see the folks who had treated my limbs like two-by-fours the last time I popped in for a visit, I'd probably want to keep a low profile, too. Between that, or possibly following my Mom's lead by showing up on the occasional grilled cheese sandwich, I think that's about as close as I'd want to come to any of those hammer-crazy humans my Old Man seemed so intent on me saving.
Lest you think me too cynical, I hasten to add that I do not completely refute the possibility of a Higher Power manifesting itself to the Great Unwashed in such a manner. For example, an astute Hell Toupee fan in Clarion, Iowa snapped this photo of another tree with a branch cut off. If you stare at it intently, some people say you can even see the face of a famous but reclusive literary giant...
Like, Duh, Eh?
Canadian air safety officials are apparently having a tough time convincing Canadian citizens who travel by air that it is officially A Bad Idea to attempt to bring toy guns, grenades, and other fake weapons as carry-on items. They've had to go so far as to make a formal announcement to leave toy guns at home, in what political pundits view as an absolutely lightning-fast response to that "little incident" those pesky Americans went through back in September of '01.
Yup, it's good to know they're on top of things up there in The Frozen North. I feel so much safer knowing they're our allies. Plus, let's face it, Anne Murray is hot.
The Daily Haiku
Ode to Confiscated Personal Grooming Accessories
I just want to know
how the ATA thinks I
can kill with tweezers
Currently Reading
The Fourth Hand by John Irving
A hundred pages in, and not a sympathetic character in sight. Only Irving can pull that off and make it work.
