So, as many of you already know, I recently purchased a ticket for my beautiful wife to go see one of her all-time favorite bands, the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Brenda has been in love with this band, and more specifically, Jon Spencer, for longer that I've known her. In fact, she loves the band's hunky front-man and namesake enough to have him as a rotating member of her *Top 5 List.
[*For anyone unfamiliar with the Top 5 List, the Top 5 List is a list of at least relatively famous people with whom one's significant other is entitled to "go all the way with" should the opportunity present itself. For example, Brenda's most recent lists have included Ryan Gosling and Taylor Kitsch from "Friday Night Lights." My list always has Rosario Dawson and almost always has former Russian ice-skater, *Katarina Witt. (*former skater, still Russian.) As the rules state, if a Top 5 member propositions the Top 5 list maker with any activity whatsoever, then said activity does not count as cheating seeing as though the odds of such a proposition is so far out of the realm of possibility. Understand?]
Now since this show is at a small club and my wife is a stone-cold fox, the chance of this type of "transaction" increases 10-fold. I have accepted this. And to combat the feelings of ineptitude and loneliness that I will undoubtedly feel after Brenda leaves to mary Mr. Explosion, I have devised the following plan: I am going to create a reality show called The Hobo.
Let me explain the inner workings of The Hobo. It will be almost identical to The Millionaire or The Bachelor in that I am going to essentially trick women into believing that I'm something that I am not. But whereas the guy on The Millionaire poses as some regular turd only to expose himself as a millionaire, I am going to pose as a regularturde only to expose myself as a drifter, or more specifically, a hobo. I'm going to shave my beard, hide my jaw-harp and lock away all my Tom Waits cds. And as much as it pains me to do so, I will refrain from eating *beans out of cans. (*I have never eaten beans out of cans.)
At the end of every round, I will line up all the unsuspecting women and present a stick and bindle to each lady who I feel will ultimately love me who I am, revealing tiny pieces of myself as the show goes on. You know, "accidentally" stumbling across a jar of moonshine in my fridge. Or strategically placing a *Boxcar Willie cd on a counter-top. (*I do not own a Boxcar Willie cd.) This will surely weed out the harlots who are only interested in my passion for soccer, black metal and raw fish.
On the last episode, when I pick my future bride, I will unveil my true self and the abandoned train car that we will dwell in for the rest of our lives while I spend the rest of eternity trying to figure out how Jon Spencer managed to steal my wonderful wife away from me. I think it could be a big hit. I mean I'd watch it.
So, in conclusion, I do not want my wife to leave me for Jon Spencer, or anyone for that matter, but fair is fair and he is on her list. But ultimately, I feel that it is a good idea to have a back-up plan. And The Hobo, no matter how far-fetched, is my plan. Now pass me some beans!!
Currently blasting: Chalk Circle-"Reflection"
Monday, April 18, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Yes, We Have Lots of Bananas
First of all, I'm not going to acknowledge that it's been almost one year since my last post on this blog. But I guess that by not acknowledging it, I fully acknowledged it. (Please ignore the previous sentences.)
So, this story has less to do with absenteeism and more to do with bananas. More specifically: My love of bananas and the ridiculous things I end up doing with them and their peels. A few weeks ago, I threw a banana in my car to eat later in the day. For one reason or another, I forgot about the banana and left it in my car, eventually throwing in the back seat. That weekend, Isaac stayed at my parents' house. So, on that Sunday, Rosalie and I made the trek to McAlisterville to pick Isaac up. On the way home, I heard Isaac yelling at his sister saying, "Rosie, put that down!!" I briefly turned around to see Rosie eating through the peel of the banana; bringing it to her mouth much like one would play a harmonica. I grabbed it out of her hands and threw it on the passenger-side floor.
A few days later, while I was leaving work, I smelled the faint odor of a banana. After having already starting my drive home, I found the banana on the floor, right where I had tossed it just days earlier. Not wanting to leave it in my car and wanting even less to toss it out my car window for fear of being reported as a litter-bug, I did what any reasonable person would have done: I opened my sunroof and placed the old banana on my roof.
After a block or two, my crappy short-term memory kicked in and I immediately forgot about my attempt to free the banana. That is, until I came to the intersection of Maclay and 6th Street. I was the first car at the light. The first car on the perpendicular street ahead and to my right was waiting to make a left turn onto 6th Street. As we were both waiting, I saw him gaze upon the roof of my car in wonderment. Finally, he rolled down his window and motioned to let me know that something was sitting on my windshield. I gave him the "I know, I know" gesture and smiled. A few moments later, he made his left turn, pulled right beside me, rolled his window down the rest of the way and said "Yo! There's something on your roof." So I countered, "Yes, yes. It's a banana. I know." He rolled off and I flew home.
When I arrived home, I was disappointed to find that the banana had remained on my car. The plan was to jettison said banana without physically tossing it myself. I had failed. For the next three days, I drove from Carlisle to Harrisburg with a banana stuck to my trunk. Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, I wrapped the weathered banana around the top of my driver-side mirror in a last-ditch effort to get rid of the damned thing. (NOTE: My wife was proud of me the entire time. Don't believe her if she tells you otherwise.)
I got to work, the banana was gone. Huzzah!!
In a related story, I used to throw my banana peels on the roof of the Capital City Mall over the last three years that I worked there. I later heard from a very dear friend of mine that one morning after a particularly stormy night, he showed up to work to find tons of banana peels all over the parking lot. VICTORY!!! Maybe my next challenge will involve watermelon rinds.
Currently blasting: Ponytail-"Do Whatever You Want All The Time"
So, this story has less to do with absenteeism and more to do with bananas. More specifically: My love of bananas and the ridiculous things I end up doing with them and their peels. A few weeks ago, I threw a banana in my car to eat later in the day. For one reason or another, I forgot about the banana and left it in my car, eventually throwing in the back seat. That weekend, Isaac stayed at my parents' house. So, on that Sunday, Rosalie and I made the trek to McAlisterville to pick Isaac up. On the way home, I heard Isaac yelling at his sister saying, "Rosie, put that down!!" I briefly turned around to see Rosie eating through the peel of the banana; bringing it to her mouth much like one would play a harmonica. I grabbed it out of her hands and threw it on the passenger-side floor.
A few days later, while I was leaving work, I smelled the faint odor of a banana. After having already starting my drive home, I found the banana on the floor, right where I had tossed it just days earlier. Not wanting to leave it in my car and wanting even less to toss it out my car window for fear of being reported as a litter-bug, I did what any reasonable person would have done: I opened my sunroof and placed the old banana on my roof.
After a block or two, my crappy short-term memory kicked in and I immediately forgot about my attempt to free the banana. That is, until I came to the intersection of Maclay and 6th Street. I was the first car at the light. The first car on the perpendicular street ahead and to my right was waiting to make a left turn onto 6th Street. As we were both waiting, I saw him gaze upon the roof of my car in wonderment. Finally, he rolled down his window and motioned to let me know that something was sitting on my windshield. I gave him the "I know, I know" gesture and smiled. A few moments later, he made his left turn, pulled right beside me, rolled his window down the rest of the way and said "Yo! There's something on your roof." So I countered, "Yes, yes. It's a banana. I know." He rolled off and I flew home.
When I arrived home, I was disappointed to find that the banana had remained on my car. The plan was to jettison said banana without physically tossing it myself. I had failed. For the next three days, I drove from Carlisle to Harrisburg with a banana stuck to my trunk. Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, I wrapped the weathered banana around the top of my driver-side mirror in a last-ditch effort to get rid of the damned thing. (NOTE: My wife was proud of me the entire time. Don't believe her if she tells you otherwise.)
I got to work, the banana was gone. Huzzah!!
In a related story, I used to throw my banana peels on the roof of the Capital City Mall over the last three years that I worked there. I later heard from a very dear friend of mine that one morning after a particularly stormy night, he showed up to work to find tons of banana peels all over the parking lot. VICTORY!!! Maybe my next challenge will involve watermelon rinds.
Currently blasting: Ponytail-"Do Whatever You Want All The Time"
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