Moving Words

If RainMan were a designer...



It makes sense why this is such a classic doesn't it?

Lofty

Someone took a picture of my dream....

Family Affair

When Paul, Lee and Ben were growing up their dad sold pocket knives at the county fair. They spent their summers digging half-eaten elephant ears out of the trash and making fun of 4H kids for "loving" their sheep. Paul grew up much faster than his brother and sister. He left the fairgrounds for fashion design. Lee excelled at team sports and went on to captain her community college softball team. Ben never abandoned his thievery. He made friends with guys who borrowed things off the back of trucks and ships. He opened up a shoe store. Eventually his brother and sister joined him after their post-secondary exploits ended in expulsion. Paul for plagiarism. Lee for fist fighting. They're far from the county fair circuit, but only in geographical terms.

I Scream

Just went on a bike cruise (sans camera, unfortunately) and saw a parking lot full of ice cream trucks. A treat fleet if you will. I bet there were over 30 yellow trucks. It completely wrecked my whole ice cream truck world view. All these years I thought normal people with extra big hearts tricked out their box trucks for the good of humanity. I imagined burnt out accountants who gave up their cubicles to chase their dream of becoming a summertime Kris Kringle. Men and women who cash in their 401k so they can refrigerate bomb pops and cruise down the road cranking "Do your ears hang low?" from broken speakers over and over and over and over and over. Nope. It's a giant machine controlled by the Man. The drivers might as well be delivering pizza or driving cab. They don't care about humanity eating ice cream-filled hope. They didn't even leave a cubicle. I don't know what to believe anymore.

Alarmed

This past weekend we had 460 candles on stage. Lit. I was amazed by how many people said things like, "What are you gonna do if the fire alarm goes off? Did you talk to the fire marshal, the fire marshal is going to arrest you and shut this place down. What if we all die?" People worry. They jump to the worst possible scenarios and give those fictional musings legit consideration. Which causes them to not try things. Maybe I'm naive or too wet behind the ears, but I don't relate to this kind of thinking. I can't tell you how many times I had to answer this week, "If the fire alarms go off we'll figure it out. If the fire marshal shows up I'll talk to him. It'll be fine, trust me." And it was. Nobody died. Except Mr. Worrywort. But he'll be back tomorrow. He's an invisible, invincible cockroach sneaking around whispering in people's ears. I hate him. Bad.



(in other news check out the 110words blog. new stories. fun times.)

Deer Hunter

The other day a deer family strolled through our neighborhood. Single mom, two kids. The dad, missing, probably at the local salt lick reliving his latest run in (literally) with an El Camino. "So I go down, boom and the guy jumps out and tries hoisting me into his tiny car-truck. Can you believe that?" Lick. "He grabbed my horns. Nobody grabs my horns except the old lady, you know what I'm saying? So I kicked him in the moustache and ran back into French Park."

Seeing those deer tip toe down the middle of my street made me think of time travel. What if the flux capacitor teamed up with a foreign exchange student program and made it possible for ancient visitors to spend time with us here in the present future? Crazy right? If we had a pioneer named Caleb (circa 1860s) staying with us when those deer rolled up it might've looked like this....

Leah: "Brad, there's deer in our front yard!"

Brad: "By golly." (I'd be talking old fashioned to make Caleb feel welcome.)

Leah: "Oh my gosh!!!! Look at the little babies!"

Caleb: "KILL EM!"

Leah: "Caleb! Stop!"

Caleb: "DEER. FRONT YARD. KILL THEM!"

Brad: "It doesn't...we're not allowed to just kill stuff, Caleb."

Caleb: (staring blankly) "A month's worth of food is playing hopscotch in your front lawn. Quit hornswaggling and get your gun."

Brad: "I uh...yeah, I don't have a gun...Caleb."

Leah: "We have all kinds of food in the fridge, Caleb. Are you hungry?"

Caleb: "If someone doesn't get me a gun in two seconds I'm gonna cuss."

Brad: "I seriously don't have a gun, Caleb. I'm sorry."

Caleb: "Suffering succotash."

(I couldn't think of any old fashioned cuss words)

Disco Biscuits

Have you heard this radio ad? Every time I hear it I am impressed by the comprehensive list of drug slang put together by these clever ad wizards. So impressed that I took two minutes over lunch today and wrote em all down. They are worth admiring as you listen to the ad.

Mexican speed balls
Beanies
Hydro
Wiffle dust
Lid poppers
Crank
Space cake
Shabu shabu
Ganja
Gaggler
Disco biscuits
Zig zag
Courage pills
Hooter
Hippy flips
The yayo dank
Jive poppers
Hawaiian sunrise
Shmizz
Nose nachos
The browns
Facockta drops
Racehorse charlie
Carnival barker bumper blips

Aztec Warrior

Monday I was out on a bike ride. I was cruising up and down Cincinnati's countless hills when I saw it. On the porch of a pretty typical, one-story brick home was one of those Aztec tiger demons. I'm sure you've seen them. Huge nostrils, forged in hell, sit on porches and protect families from..... sweeper salesmen? I'm not really sure. They're distant cousins to this screaming dragon. Anyways, what made spying the stoney hellprince so noteworthy (to me) was that it was in a relaxed position. It was sprawled out on its evil stomach with his head propped up on his paw. It looked like he was just out on the porch reading Archie, taking it all in. He was not standing at attention. His powerful talons were not gripping the ground waiting to deliver death. He wasn't guarding the house from anything. He was two minutes away from drifting off into a devilcat nap. I half expected to see a concrete goose waddle out with lemonades. Seems like if you're going to make the call to put Aztec dragonpets out on your front porch you can't have it both ways. Either they're the intimidation police warding off eviler spirits or they're not. Lounging nostril-tigers send mixed messages. Unless it's a trojan horse thing and the faux nap is all a big rouse to keep sweeper salesmen relaxed until it's too late. Well, then you're taking the neighborhood watch to a whole new level and I have to applaud you.

Rise

Here's a link to the video I spoke of last week. It was as intense as I hoped it would be. Old ladies were bobbing their heads.

Bounce wit me wit me wit me

In heaven there are natatoriums full of elephants bouncing on trampolines.

In other news, Leah and I went to our first Bengals game last night. We sat in the Kimberly Clark suite. Ate free food. Drank free drinks. Urinated in private urinals. It was pretty great. I am always shocked when I attend sporting events by the number of grown ups wearing jerseys. I have issue with this for some reason. Puberty seems like the logical cut off for jersey-wearing. The Bureau of Motor Vehicles should hand you a driver's license as you hand them your oversized, overpriced mesh tshirt. They'll donate them to kids stuck in hospitals. Somebody pass a law.

In other other news, 110words posted its first featured stories. There are many of you who I expect to join this experiment. Check it.