9:28 a.m. - May 23, 2005
Yeah, It's Already a Random Notes Essay - Sorry, I'm Lame
Yeah, already it’s an essay of random thoughts. Sort of an old Larry King column, except I pray my thoughts are more lucid. I’m disappointed that I’d have to resort to this so quickly, but here we go anyway. Hello, Pete from Idaho you’re on the Larry King…oh….wait it’s my essay we’re dealing with here.
Should I be afraid for my mortal soul that my preferred lunch when I go to Wendy’s costs me $6.66? Or should I be more concerned that the preferred lunch is a double with cheese value meal AND a junior bacon cheeseburger? Urp!
There’s a jewelry store closing south of town near the Wal-Mart. (Note, not everything Wal-Mart is near turns to gold. Especially this jewelry store – it’s more like stainless steel). At a couple of locations around town (near the Wendy’s and another place near the confluence of 24-hour modern drug stores that has taken over the northern part of downtown) they’ve hired guys where all they do is stand out (right near the road) and hold a sign, advertising their liquidation sale? Is this right? How long do they have to stand there? Do they get a break? How much are they being paid? How do you recruit someone for that job? I can see it now: “Hey, you – yeah, you snaggly toothed flannel wearing dude. How would like to stand outside for 8 hours a day holding this sign for $5.50 an hour. No lunch break. No bathroom breaks? You can start tomorrow.”
Should I be concerned that as a 39-year old man I bopped up the stairs to my office playing air bass and singing “Been Caught Stealing” by Janes Addiction at nearly the top of my voice? Shouldn’t 39-year old fathers have more of a sedate, cultured taste in music, and start downloading Neil Diamond songs on iTunes? Didn’t think so. Next up, “Victim of Changes” by Judas Priest. Priest! Priest! Priest! Priest! Priest!
For someone who is “Racing with Jesus”, Morgan Shepherd isn’t doing too hot in NASCAR. In just two starts, he’s finished 40th and 42nd. Last year, his best finish was 32nd. Can you imagine the conversation between the Father and the Son, about the Son’s race team?
Father: Son, I know I’ve delegated a lot to you while I tackle some of the larger scale problems of this universe, but I think you’re being sidetracked a bit.
Son: What do you mean?
Father: Well, this race team of yours in NASCAR. It’s not looking too good for the image of the Kingdom of the Lord to be stuck back in the pack. Shouldn’t we be up there with Roush and Hendrick?
Son: Well, I didn’t think it was a good use of our powers to propel someone to the top of the standings. It’d be too much like the type of movies Disney used to make, you know, the Flubber type of movies. Too clichéd, you know.
Father: Too clichéd? Son, you have to either use your powers or not even be associated with it. All of those drivers praise You and Me every time they race, and yet Morgan still can’t break out of 40th place. So either get him to the front, or tell him to find another sponsor. How about “Racing with Odin?” or “Racing with Vishnu”? Heck, I’ll call Zarathustra, and see if he wants some exposure.
Son: OK, whatever. Now I gotta get back to North Korea before Kim Jong Il does something wacky again.
(I don’t think the above will warrant me a warm seat in the hereafter. I’m sure the Father and Son have a sense of humor, right?)
I am such a pack rat. I just found not one, but TWO, Racer-X t-shirts in my closet. I also found a t-shirt that I got in 1984 for being part of the winning the Indiana State Math League contest! (We ruled! I wasn’t the star of the team, but I was a steady contributor, offering senior leadership and the way to work out a tricky trig problem in the clutch. But we needed cheerleaders: Sine! Cosine! Secant! Bisect that angle! Goooooo Math Geeks!)
And then there’s my music collection and the stuff that’s on my iPod and iTunes. I look at my catalog and wonder why I’m keeping all of these songs on there. Well, I decided to do something about it and blasted out about 300 or so songs. (I have them backed up off site in a portable hard drive, so if EVER I get the urge to hear a couple of tracks from the first Henry Rollins solo album again, I have it. Lord knows when THAT will be). So of course, I rummaged through my CD collection and found about 20 discs that I put the highlights of in my iPod: Whiskeytown, the Smiths, Living Colour, MC5, Replacements and Urge Overkill. Then I bought some classic stuff by Cream and the Everly Brothers and I discovered that I don’t have anything off of “Highway to Hell” on my iPod, so that’s gotta get on there. The Smed taketh away the music, then he giveth the music right back.
By the way, iTunes says it’ll take about 24 days to listen to all my music on my iPod with no duplicates, listening 24/7. I say, bring it on! I’m up for it!
Just watched the Graduate on TiVo this Saturday, and I was amazed how similar I was to Dustin Hoffman’s character in the way he acted around women at that age. But never say “If I only knew then what I know now” to your wife – she’ll give you a look like “so what do you know NOW?” It’s also not good to say how Katharine Ross was babe-a-licious. Seriously, that’s one movie that I hope they never remake. It’s timeless.
I wish the Game Show Network would go back to showing actual classic game shows in prime time, or at least Lingo. Sometimes, even with the plethora of choices at my disposal, I feel the need to see Gene Rayburn in a burnt-orange suit with the ultra-phallic microphone reading double-entendre questions about Old Man Periwinkle while leering at the babe in the bottom left.
Of course, everyone knows the classic Match Game seating order: In the top tier it was funny male guest, Brett Somers, and Charles Nelson Reilly. In the bottom tier it was babe of the week, Richard Dawson, and funny lady of the week (usually rotated between Patty Deutsch (who that the best handwriting), Fanny Flagg or Joyce Bulifant.)
The fact I know that means I need to be put to sleep.
This good event that we’re waiting on better end soon – otherwise these essays may have to be typed from prison! The joyous anticipation has turned into stress of the nth degree as we’re just watching our cell phones going ‘ring, damnit!!’ I’ve tried everything – scheduled conference calls, grilled out steaks, anything that could be interrupted for the phone call, but it hasn’t come yet. C’mon! My friend Flounder says I need to get sloshed, and the call will come then. I don’t think that’s a wise solution since I’d have to drive about 50 miles after the call comes. But you know, if it doesn’t happen soon, I may have to get about three or four oil cans of Foster’s to make it happen!
Well, aside from that it was a thought free weekend! If you can pull some strings upstairs, please MAKE THE PHONE RING!
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