The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Archive for March, 2010

My Zombie Roomy (3/5/10)

3/5/10
The zombie always wears these tattered clothes.

I brought him home this Dallas Cowboys shirt and a pair of cargo pants I got from a goodwill store, and he just stared at them. He didn’t try them on or say thanks or anything.

I thought, ‘well, screw you too, zombie.’ I mean, at least thank me for the effort!

Anyway, I came home today and he was wearing the new stuff!

But he had ripped them up, so he must love the tattered look.

I googled ‘tattered look + zombie,’ and I found out it’s a cultural thing. I guess I shouldn’t have been so close-minded. Living with a zombie is a lot more educational than I ever thought it’d be.

[Also congrats to TS Hendrik who totally forecasted this joke.]

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My Zombie Roomy

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Weekly Wacko (19)

My Utopia

(I wrote this today, 3/4/2010.)

I’m at work, but I’m not on work time because I’m in a lovely program where I work for the company for free, outside my 40 hours a week. Currently I’m on a telecon. The ‘major players’ are together in one room on the east coast, and someone they hadn’t seen in a while showed up so they’re all catching up. Punch me in the face. (One of the big wigs just said, “yeah they’re building us this in their free time!” I hate you.)

So I’m dreaming about what if this was true (remember, it’s a dream world, so I’m much more impressive there than in reality, to quote a Hemingway line from one of his books – “I want to be me, only much, much better. And have you love me.”):

(And I enjoy my job, but it’s fun to have my own little mental island to escape to.)

I wake up, it’s about 630, and I slip out of bed quietly so I won’t wake up the old ball and chain. My dog, a husky named possibly Fitz or Hemmy (short for Fitzgerald or Hemingway, two of my favorite authors), gets up at the sound of my getting up.

We go for a jog four mornings a week during the summertime. In the winter, we settle for a walk.

It’s May, and where we are in northern Arizona, it’s cool in the mornings. I get my running clothes on, grab the leash, and my dog and I are off to the races.

When I get back home my wife is awake. We eat cereal while watching morning news. We scoff and make fun of the obvious faux sympathy practiced by the news anchors/actors. Even though we do this every morning, it brings us easy amusement.

I say goodbye to the wife and dog – my two best friends, one of them prettier than the other (huskies are so pretty, so I can’t say for sure who will be prettier even in my utopia world).

I head to school, it’s the last week of classes and the kids are itching to be done with everything – but they have to get through finals first.

The 8th graders are even more excited than the 7th graders to be done – because they won’t just be done with school that year, they’ll be done with middle school.

I look forward to class – not because all of my students are smart, but because they all want to learn. They all have, at the very least, desire. And, the classes and I get along swimmingly.

For example, one day a 7th grade class had vowed not to speak the entire period. When they came in I started my usual small talk with them, seeing how so-and-so’s baseball game went, and how so-and-so enjoyed the movie they told me they were going to watch the night before. Nothing. The kids are giving me nothing. At some point I realize what they’ve done – the silence pact.

I decide it’s game on.

I teach the entire pre-algebra lecture without saying a word. The kids are desperate to say something, I’m desperate to say something – but hell if I’m not stubborn. Kids come up and point at things violently to demonstrate confusion. I pretend to not understand, then finally explain. Explanation 1, explanation 2, explanation 3, ahaaaaaa! The last group who hadn’t been getting it has their eyes light up – they get it now.

[I worked at a summer program, and a math teacher there told this story. Well, I made some small changes. I thought it was a great, and true, story by that teacher though.]

I am one excellent middle school math teacher.

I’m cool, but I still get them to learn. I transition between a joke and an aha faster than anyone. My students’ younger siblings have heard about me, and they can’t wait to have me despite the fact that my class isn’t easy breezy.

During lunch I check my email quickly – I’ve got one from my literary agent confirming some dates for my annual summer book tour.

I miss living near a city, but I make up for it during that trip when I get to visit quite a few cities.

The plan for that particular summer is that I’ll be driving east to Savannah, Georgia, stopping at various cities along the way. From Savannah I’ll head north, staying mostly coastal but sometimes heading inland. I read at small bookshops, big bookshops, and even a weird fans house (she makes the best cookies, but I think she’s in love with my wife). The previous summer I went westward ho, so east was the choice for that summer.

I forward the email to the old ball and chain, my sister and my mom. Each of them will be joining me at various points during the tour. My wife for the drive east. My mom and dad in the south. My sister in the north. We have big plans to make side trips for various reasons. It’ll be a long summer with a lot of miles, but I’ll get to read things I’ve read to people, and people enjoy it, which brings me extreme joy.

Along the trip I also reunite with some old friends from the places I’ve lived. It’s good catching up one-on-one, and we repeat the same stories that we’ve already heard and told. I get made fun of for the obvious origins of ‘fictional’ stories that I’ve written about in my various published (yes, published) books.

Plus, I make money, which as a guy who loves money, I love. Teachers make squat compared to my old ‘career’ as an engineer.

*

Well, there you have it, my utopia. Will that happen? It could, which is nice. But who knows if I’d enjoy a different job more than my current one. Or if I’d be a good teacher. Or if I’ll get published. Or if I’ll get a husky. Or married. Or have a wife who would be cool with me naming my dog after a womanizer like Hemingway.

But – this phone meeting is dumb, and to quote another Hemingway book (a famous line),

“Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

(Oh, and somewhere along the way I would get really good at carpentry, painting, the piano, and the guitar. Easy peasy, right?)

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Weekly Wacko

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Arby’s Love

I’m walking back from class one day to my apartment when a truck pulls up and parks semi in my path. First allow me to describe the area a little better. I am walking on a sidewalk which has a fence on one end (behind the fence are intramural fields) and on the other end the sidewalk has parking spaces which run perpendicular. So in order to “semi” block my path you just pull your car up a little too far into the parking space. Ok, to continue.

In the car sit my ex-girlfriend riding shotgun, the guy driving has his arm around her shoulder. Even though she is riding shotgun she is naturally leaning a little closer so it’s more like she’s sitting in the middle. In the back of the truck sit two guys. My first thought is if the ex moved closer when she saw me or if she had been sitting that close already. More background. The ex and I broke up about a month ago and we each are dating new people. I am happy for her, I think. I was glad to hear she is dating someone new because I broke up with her and she took the break up much worse than me. But I also think everything she has been doing lately is completely out of character for her so I assume it’s all fake and to try to mess with me or make me jealous in some way. So I wonder, if she was acting normally would I still be happy for her? Because right now my view is pretty self-centered. No, not pretty self-centered. Very. When you assume someone’s actions are dictated completely by trying to make you jealous, I don’t think you can get much more self-centered than that. I’d like to say here though, that’s it not my fault that I think this way. Well, yes it is. But I want to blame my friends (the female ones), because they all told me that everything the ex is doing is fake and in an attempt to make me jealous. Anyhow, the point of this is she’s been acting goofy. And today’s experience peaked it for me.

The two guys in the back hop out and walk toward me. The ex and her boyfriend also get out. For some reason I can’t help but picture the guys with letter jackets on and the ex in a cheerleading outfit. And as I look at myself my clothes transfer from jeans and a hoody to navy pants, a white button up shirt tucked in with mustard stains (even though I hate mustard) and pens sticking out of the pocket on my shirt. This whole scenario screams bad Disney Channel original movie. Soon it’ll be shouting it.

“Hey Brad” says the ex. Entirely too cool and whatever. Can I help that when she talks all I look for now are fake things?

“Hey, how goes it folks?” I attempt to play it cool as well. Really no situation ever starts out well when three jock type fellows and a chick who is your ex pull up in a truck and come to talk to you. However, my previous experiences and knowledge of this type of situation is limited to, again sorry, the Disney Channel. Maybe some Fox Family and the occasional ABC Family.

One of the two from the back of the truck says, “Why were you such a jerk to her?” The boyfriend is just staring at me. The ex is acting like this isn’t actually happening, like she is watching a TV show. She and I used to be able to laugh at stuff like this together, hopefully one day she’ll realize how funny this is. And hopefully for me, it won’t include a black eye. Time for some skillful conversational skills.

“Huh?” Genius. No one can penetrate a defense like this. With that response they’ll have nowhere to go.

“You heard me.” Hmm…well done. I should’ve seen that coming. These guys are definitely not the jocks I thought they were if they can think up stuff like that.

“When was I a jerk to you?” I direct this at the ex, even though I know full well it won’t be til the fiery conclusion that she screams, “you’re such a jerk! I hate you!” then she cries and runs to the truck. Again…Disney, thank you.

“You were a total tool to her yesterday.” Let me add here I like his use of alliteration. It’s one thing to insult me, but when you add alliteration it’s definitely excusable because alliteration always makes me happy.

He continues, “You told her you’d have lunch with her then blew her off.”

“What?” I had no lunch plans with her. She’s a loon! I WIN!

“No that was his roommate. He’s just been a jerk to me for the past few months,” she chips in. I have to say here that I don’t have the best poker face. My eyebrows have always had a knack for screwing me over. They assume the “you’re crazy” position with one way up and the other down. This also makes one eye big and the other small. All in all, I look like an idiot.

“If I’d been a jerk for the last few months why didn’t you break up with me?” Nooooo. BAD! Why? What? What was I thinking here? MAN! I really do have a knack for this kind of thing. Hey, what’s this? A bad situation? Let me kick it in the teeth, call it ugly and then eat it’s grandchildren real quick. Yeah, I eat bad situations grandchildren, I’m not taking bad that statement. It’s appropriate.

Really though, I do realize that was a bad statement. I can’t help it though. Girls tell me I need to be more sensitive and think before I talk. The second part is the one I’m having troubles getting down. I am sensitive, I feel bad about saying dumb things and doing mean things. I just don’t realize how bad they are until it’s too late. Always too late.

“You’re such a jerk.” The ex counters eloquently, but now she is visibly angry. That’s no good.

“Sorry, that was dumb. I’m dumb. So, anyhow. I’m going to head back to my apartment.” I turn to walk away because fleeing is clearly the best solution to this bit of crisis. Something hits me in the back. Don’t turn, don’t turn. Oh gross, it’s wet. Don’t turn, don’t turn!

“Hey that was mature. Real slick, buddy.” Why did those words just leave my mouth? Why did I turn? Why did he throw a soda at me? Seriously, gross. Back to me! Why? And the “real slick, buddy.” I’m now as cool as they are. When you say things like, “buddy” or “pal” and you say it very cool and collected-like it means you’re angry. I don’t care who you are, you don’t say “buddy” in a cool way after someone throws a soda at you (which, I just want to say it was from Arby’s so at least I agree with their choice of fast food…wait…maybe this is my out).

“Arby’s? Nice. I loves me some roast beef sandwich.” While I had been thinking they’d been doing the, “now we got him” grin and stare and hiding laughing at me. Now, utter confusion. No way out like the weird, Arby’s love way out. I have completely lost them and they have no idea what to say or do right now. VICTORY!

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Short Short Stories

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