Along with my daily duties as founder and head writer of HumorMeOnline.com, in 2003, I took the Grand Prize in the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest (also known as the "It Was a Dark and Stormy Night" competition). I've also been a contributor to "The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson" and the web's "The Late Show with David Letterman". I also occupy my time writing three blogs, "Blogged Down at the Moment", "Brit Word of the Day" and "Production Numbers"...and my off-time is spent contemplating in an "on again/off again" fashion...my feable attempts at writing any one of a dozen books. I would love to write professionally one day...and by that I mean "actually get a paycheck".
Been sitting here since this morning trying to figure out something nice to say about today's music...and I don't want to come off sounding like my parents...but, my mother went to a Genesis concert with me, loved The Who, Peter Gabriel, Jethro Tull, Yes, The Police, U2, etc, so it's virtually impossible for me to come across "that way"...but...
...it's 11:45 at nite and I'm still thinking of something nice to say about it.
The prompt today over at "We Work for Cheese" is "Music". Check out the other participants take on it...as my take is pretty damned depressing.
This is day 11 of Nicky and Mike's "30 Minus 2 Days of Writing"...and we
are fast (well slowly) approaching the half-way point of the challenge. So far
I've done pretty well, only using up two prior blogs (one because I just had
to...it was a promise that I made -- and one because I had to...it was a
migraine that I had). I never write these things ahead of time - that would be
cheating...and that's why some of mine are probably abysmally bad compared to the works of so many others. So, with that said and out of the way, head on over there and enjoy today's prompt: Road Trip
When you think of road trips...you might think of those Chevy Chase
"Vacation" films...but I don't like them, so you will find no songs from Lindsay
Buckingham here when I cue the intro music.
Cue intro music... ...The Who's - Going Mobile...
Aaaaaah...that's more like it.
I got my snacks packed and my pillow fluffed and I'm cosying on in for the
long haul. Let me just tilt my seat back like so and...okay...let me just try
this again...ugggggggh...nope. Let me ask someone else to do it.
"Hey, could you tilt my seat back for me...I'm apparently too wimpy to push
hard enough. What do you mean my seat is already in the reclined
position?"
Well, that's special. If this seat's already in the reclined position,
something tells me I don't want to see it upright.
It IS a nice plush bus, tho. The school must have shelled out a lot o'cash to
charter this puppy. Let me just put my seat belt on...and...um...great...no
seat belts. I thought seat belts were mandatory? Let me take a guess...seat belts are mandatory on
every single vehicle except buses in Alabama, right?
Great...my head is directly underneath one of the little "drop-down" movie screens -- happy, happy, joy, joy...I can see my head hitting it now when we go over a bump. Lovely. I take blood thinners. I
can see me having to be abulance'd over to the emergency room and everyone else going off to Washington, DC.
How long IS this trip anyway? Twenty something hours? Seriously twenty
something hours stuck in the confines of this cramped seat with either the window to smash my
head against or that thing looming up above my head? Nice. Oh, won't this be
special.
Well, heat would be nice...what is it...like 50 degrees in here? Everyone
is complaining that it's freezin...everyone but the parents up front. Seems the bus driver and his "entourage" get their little three feet's worth of heat...we get none. Sheesh...you're kidding me...they actually want the air
conditioner turned down lower. That's great.
I can't hear a damn word anyone's saying. I'm stuck between a rock and a
hard place...well, literally and figuratively. All these girls...do they ever
shut up? All those parents...do they ever know I exist? I guess not on both
counts. This will be fun. I sense a never-ending headache coming on.
Could be worse I guess...I could be on the boy's bus...they are probably
throwing each other and playing Frisbee in the aisle. I would really be
concerned about my head then.
Oh...someone is talking. Something about a film. Woohooo! Someone's
going to put on a VCR tape...that will quiet them down. Well, that's great, not
only can I not really see the screen (of which they have about six of them
precariously placed about...one directly above my head by about three inches) -
but I can't hear it anyway. My hearing is shot...and I never played in "The
Who". I can understand Pete Townshend not hearing...but me? I worked in an
office...on the flight line with all the jet engines. Nothing to lose hearing
about there.
Okay, let's see what's about to start...all the girls are getting exceedingly giggly.
Oh, for f***k's sake! Are you kidding me?? "Twilight"??? Well, maybe my
daughter wants to see it. Nope. Well, that's just great - but at least they seem engrossed texting among each other...maybe I can swap seats with that girl who has the whole row to
herself. She's younger than I am and I have a death box dangling above my head
waiting to cleave it in half like I'm the only watermelon at the market and
Gallagher just walked in.
Yes! I shamed her into it! Woohooo! Old people guilt. Gotta love it.
Three seats...all to myself; gotta love it! Sure, I can't put my feet down because there's a
ton of everyone's crap shoved on the floor and beneath the seats - but I don't have to touch the floor ever...because I can
stretch the entire length of my legs out across all these seats. Now, if I could just retract these arm
rests. There's gotta be a button around somewhere...or a lever.
"Uh, could someone show me where the button is that..."
Oh, you're joking right? You mean you can't move these things out of the
way so I can get into a semi-prone position?
It's raining now? Good. Maybe the bus driver will actually go slower than
80. No such luck.
There's construction barrels all over the road. Good. Maybe the bus driver
will actually go slower than 80. Ain't happening.
Does this bus driver think he's in the film, "Speed"? Seriously, is there
another speed he knows other than 80 mph???
Well, let me try to go to the bathroom while everyone is engrossed in "both" films.
Well, lookie there...isn't that cute? Undoubtedly I have led a sheltered life.
I have never been privy to the privy on a bus before. Hmmmm...by the looks of it...many more
things to bang my head into in here. Let me work out the mechanics of it all --
I have to balance like the people in the Cirque du Soleil ...and I have to do it
while peeing with my pants around my knees? Oh...how rich. I guess I missed
that performance of theirs on PBS - as I have no clue how it's done. Oh, wait...is THAT
what I think it is...all the way in the corner of the toilet box? Is that...oh,
yes...oh, that's disturbing. Great, now someone will think I did THAT. I am NOT
picking up someone's poop. Wait...I couldn't pick it up if I wanted
to...there's no toilet paper!
This is going to be an interesting trip...a bus chock full o' girls...no
toilet paper, a poop that at any time might decide to roll right at me...and I
have to learn to levitate like David Blaine for the next two minutes in order
for my posterior to stay well above touching range of anything in this
germ-ridden cubicle. Good luck unclenching my bladder during that 30 second
window of opportunity when the ride finally smooths out.
How many hours left of this? Twenty-one?
Time to cue some fade-out music from another "Who" album...
I just walked into my son's room and, like the Grinch himself, got an idea! An awful idea! I got a wonderful, awful idea!
Hear me out here...
My son has a gorgeous head of curly hair. If you remember Roger Daltrey of "The Who"...think of him in "Tommy". Now think of Shirley Temple. Then quick...think of my son again.
Do you see what I'm getting at?
Think...think...think.
Haven't gotten it yet?
I'll tell ya!
I snip off a curl...and put it up on eBay. I claim it's a curl from Roger Daltrey when he was filming "Tommy"...or played at Woodstock...or some other such made up rot. Then someone bids some astronomical price...and I snip off another.
Rinse and repeat.
Literally.
And when people get suspicious...I start selling them off as Shirley Temple curls. And, heaven forbid it's anytime soon...but when she...you know...um...dies...I take my bag of snipped off ringlets I've been saving...you know -- for kinda like "just such an occasion"...and become a "poor little rich girl".
I mean, c'mon...who there is going to run a DNA test on it? It would probably cost more than what they paid, right? I highly doubt Roger Daltrey is trolling eBay for the occasional odd chunk o'hair...and seriously, I bet a lot of girls he had "been with" took a few for mementos.
Well, there you have it...my "get-rich not so quick" scheme. And, as long as my son doesn't go prematurely bald...well, these little dividends will continue to grow and grow and grow...
"I woke up in a Soho doorway...a policeman knew my name..."
Only let's change the lyrics up a tad, shall we?
"I woke up on the couch this morning...a box of Krispies in my arms..."
Now some explanation, which, again, like another "Who" song..."I can't explain".
Many of you know I am a chronic insomniac. Many of you also know I take Ambien. But the thing that many of you don't know is what Ambien does.
Ambien is in a class of drugs called "hypnotics" - what they do is basically make you forget everything you did while under their influence...in varying degrees. It's like short-term amnesia...and you literally walk around in a haze if you get up in the middle of the night or, like I do, wait for them to "kick in" instead of taking them and heading for the bed. Then you do things you have a vague recollection of -- or no recollection of doing. I've written emails, blogs and typed comments to news stories all over the Internet...all virtually without my knowledge.
Hemingway had his alcohol...I have my Ambien. Unfortunately, Hemingway also had something I didn't have: Much more writing talent. But that doesn't stop me from trying. I'm always hoping for that exceptionally great book idea to pop into my head before I forget it and be crowned the next great American writer of "my generation".
Last night was no exception. Or should I say "this morning". My nights I spend writing, watching television and waiting for the Ambien to kick in.
Now, back to the Ambien. Ambien has been implicated in a lot of strange behaviour people do. People have raided their refrigerators, had sex, cleaned their whole house, weeded their gardens, driven to the store, attempted to drive out of their driveways in their SUVs but been clubbed by their now ex-wives in high profile sport careers (if you can really call golf "a sport"), and I'm sure people have even tried to use it as a defense for murder.
As far as I know I've never driven around, I've never killed someone...and I know for certain I haven't had any sex after taking it. The eating, cleaning, and weeding...I've done.
While I don't mind the "magical elves" effect with the cleaning and the weeding...the eating thing I've never really had a problem with...until yesterday.
I woke up and a box of Rice Krispies was on the sofa next to me. I looked at it all perplexed and wondered, "Damn, that's strange...WHY is there a box of Rice Krispies next to me on the sofa?" In fact...I don't even remember waking up (or going to sleep for that matter)...but there it was...right next to me.
There's only two reasonable explanations for this:
Number 1: I got the box of Rice Krispies out of the cabinet and took them back with me to the sofa...for whatever reason I don't know. It's not like I was covered with tell-tale "Krispies dust" all over the place. No bowl and the package wasn't open (unless I ate a handful of dry cereal, neatly rolled the waxy-inner baggie liner and closed the box back up).
Number 2: My son thought it would be fun to play a practical joke on me and put the Rice Krispies package next to me on the sofa while I was semi-comatose. But I don't remember him coming out nor draping my arms lovingly around the box. Certainly he wouldn't have risked doing this as I could have "regained consciousness" at any point and asked him what the heck he was doing.
Number 3: Elves. C'mon...there's three of them on the friggen package...it coulda happened!
Yes, I know I said there were "two"...but I also stated they were "reasonable". The third one, while not totally impossible...is highly implausible.
I really wouldn't have thought too much more about it until I came home after picking my daughter up from school and my son, with total dead-pan delivery, asked me why I was arm and arm with "Snap, Crackle and Pop" this morning.
While I'm quite good at coming up with far-fetched excuses as to why the check wasn't received by the cable and electric companies...I'm apparently not that creative and drew a total blank.
The only thing I could possibly consider is that I wondered how nourishing the ingredients were or that I somehow found myself plagued by a comment at the paper which might have remotely referenced Rice Krispies...and in my altered state decided I would respond with complete and irrefutable information by getting the box out.
While I haven't checked online...that's the one I'm sticking with; I also haven't checked online for any photos of me on YouTube...and I don't intend to.
So let's cue that Who music again, shall we? The opening line from "Eminence Front" sums all of this up nicely I think...
