More Scenes From A Morning Drive
Edward Hotspur
Smashwords Edition
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Copyright © 2012 by Edward Hotspur
All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The following pieces were originally published in blog form over the course of 51 different trips of one kind or another. The people, places and things, which I believe are collectively referred to as ‘nouns’, in these essays are at best my distorted impressions of the real ones and at worst are fictional, unless it’s the other way around.
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Table of Contents
Part 51 - Mister Blog Driver
Part 52 – Blog On The Mild Side (WTF Mix)
Part 53 – A Muse To Death
Part 54 – Some Like It Hotspur
Part 55 – Medley: My Confession / Shop Shop Til You Drop / Birthday
Part 56 – Life In The Slow Lane
Part 57 – Killing Me Softly With His Blog
Part 58 – Little Conversations
Part 59 – A Little Less Conversation
Part 60 – Little Lies
Part 61 – Time Travelin’ Man
Part 61 – Time Traveling Man
Part 62 – When I Was Cruel
Part 63 – I’m In Blog With My Car
Part 64 – Over The River
Part 65 – Flipping Through The Stations
Part 66 – Everybody Squirts
Part 67 – Something Good
Part 68 – In Reverse
Part 69 – No 69s Were Harmed In The Making Of This Post
Part 70 – Life’s What You Make It
Part 71 – Why Are There So Many Blogs About Rainbows?
Part 72 – Talk Mart-y To Me
Part 73 – Kicking It
Part 74 – The Wheels Come Off
Part 75 – Occupy Annoy Me
Part 76 – Making Love Out Of Nothing At All
Part 77 – The Christmas Spirit Is In Me – Can I Have A Refill?
Part 78 – The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Inventions
Part 79 – Last Train To What The Fuckville
Part 80 – Bad Mood Rising
Part 81 – Snow Wonder
Part 82 – A Quick One While They’re Away
Part 83 – Big Red K
Part 84 – What Doesn’t Kill Me Only Makes Me Crankier
Part 85 – Piledriver Jackhammer Crusher (Stutter Edit)
Part 86 – You Won’t Get It
Part 87 – The Answer Is On The Other Side
Part 88 – Beneath, Between, Behind
Part 89 – New Year’s Day Lasts All Year Long
Part 90 – Drool, Baby, Drool
Part 91 – Considerately Killing Me
Part 92 – Look At All This Space
Part 93 – Oh Yeah? Well Happy Birthday To You Too, Lady
Part 94 – Again? You’ve Got To Be Kidding Me
Part 95 – Words Gone Wild!
Part 96 – Picardian Dynamite (Vote For Sulu)
Part 97 – Old Man Winter Versus Old Man Hotspur
Extra Scene - We Just Landed
Part 98 - How About A Nice Panic Attack?
Part 99 - The Siege Of Hotspur
Part 100 - Dim Scene
About Edward Hotspur
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07 November 2011. East side of the city. 7am (somewhere). I'm on the highway, and there's an accident. Traffic has backed up for miles and I'm finally seeing what happened: I don't know. All I can see is that two cops have blocked off 2.25 lanes of a 4-lane highway, and one of them is literally sweeping the highway with a broom. Man, is there no crime in my area, or what? I submit to you that there is not, because the cops are sweeping up this town! And annoying the crap out of me by delaying me. Dammit. You'd think on the Edward Hotspur Highway everyone would part and let me pass, but no - they've got to go and be all normal and proceed as... as planned.... Oh I can't even talk about it.
There are all these things happening to me that wouldn't happen to me when I was younger. I need to be more flexible. That's the key. If you're not more flexible, you'll hurt yourself. The world is like water, moving, flowing, ebbing, and you can't be like a rock. You'll either wear away, or sink to the bottom. Anyway, as far as I can tell, when I'm sleeping on my back or something, and my head is about to roll one way or the other, I subconsciously hold my head up. That's fine if you're watching TV for a while, but if you're sleeping for 8 hours, or 6 hours, or 5, that will hurt your neck a lot. For some reason I'm subconsciously not letting myself relax. It could be a healthy dose of fear of falling, but I'm not going to sleep in a tree anytime soon. It doesn't seem very useful, and it hurts. So here's a note to my subconscious: Fucking stop it! Jeez!
I'm back, not that you knew I was gone or anything. I'm turning right right here. I'm doing it! I'm turning right! Wooooo! I have just successfully completed a right turn. I am the UberDriver! Bow down before me! Slightly to one side so I don't hit you with my car! At once! When you have time! Or alternately, you could just send me a picture of you doing it! That is also acceptable! I would allow that! Wow, I don't know what got into me, unless it's a gallon of coffee. Now I'm going to turn left.
Now I'm at a light. I have a bit of a cough, a bit of a stomachache, and my neck hurts and my head hurts. I've been skipping the gym, and I've been eating more. I'm just bored with losing weight, I guess. I still want to be healthy, but damn, dude. Break time. It's into the holiday season. It's harder to keep weight off, because you work out the same, but there's a whole lot more to eat. It's creeping back up. My weight, that is. Don't be vulgar.
I wonder how it would be if I took this thing everywhere and recorded everything I said. Could be interesting, like playing chess with nachos or something. King me and go fish, domino!
Today will be boring. It's getting to me a little bit - not having a computer is so confining. My idea of back up is walking around and talking to people, but I don't really have anything to talk about other than personal stuff because I don't work in common with them or share anything. It's a little off-putting. It doesn't really bother me. I think I just don't really care about this job that much, as a source of fulfillment. Only as a source of money. It doesn't take much for me to admit that.
On the one hand, I don't want to be stagnant, but I don't want to work my ass off and get nothing for it. There are more immediate things I can do for more money now. Things that take less time. Refinishing furniture, or record some music.
This funk will probably go away once I get a computer at work and rejoin the internet crowd. For now, I'm bummed. On the other hand... MRSKIM 2. The license plate on the car next to me. Who is Mr. Skim 2? That is one odd thing to have on your car. Oh, wait - now that I see it's a woman driving, it occurs to me that it could be Mrs. Kim 2. But... what the hell does that mean? She's the second wife of Mr. Kim? What happened to the first Mrs. Kim? Did he murder her for the insurance? Or did she cheat on him with Mr. Lee? Or maybe he has more than one wife - but why would she put up with that? Oh, right - he bought her a Cadillac.
Okay, now I'm looking at a truck from a company called Johnson and Sons Rustproofing - and the truck is rusty. Not a good advertisement for these people, you know? Why didn't they apply their stuff to their truck? That would be impressive, but now there's no way I'd hire them. I swear, they can make negligent self-unaware professional rustproofers, but they can't get Rush into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
Now I just saw a large quantity of toilet paper blowing from some trees along the highway. How or why people even did that, I don't know. It was blowing in the wind. So the answer, my friend, is toilet paper. That's the second joke I've made about that song in the past week. And at no point have I made a joke that was vulgar or that was sexual. That way, I can get on Freshly Pressed! Hooray! I've got a one in 400,000 chance! Wish me luck! I'm going to fucking need it! Oh, dammit! I just screwed it up. Oh well, maybe next time. How much is that blowing in the window? Ah, finally got that joke out of me and into this world. I was in labor with that for 49 hours - and had twins!
Now I'm looking at some stupid Eagle Talon coupe with a huge aftermarket muffler. It keeps revving every time it stops. If it's fucking up your car, dude, don't put it on! And stop annoying me with your revving!
Now I'm stopped next to a guy in a powder blue Honda Civic - it's the color of eye shadow, and... it looks kinda girly. "Oh yeah, Hotspur? Well you're the one who knows what eyeshadow looks like!" Well you can know what color eyeshadow is without wearing it. Yes, I know there's not just one color of eyeshadow - at least, that's what David Bowie told me when he was over at my house yesterday. I don't seem the slightest bit emasculated, so I guess everything is okay.
Edward Hotspur
...Being a man is so cool!
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Part 52 – Blog On The Mild Side (WTF Mix)
It’s 08 November 2011, one hour earlier than normal. Don’t ask me to define normal, because I am not wearing a nametag that says “Daniel Webster” right now. I’m not even wearing his sister Merriam’s nametag. I left it in my other pantaloons. That’s Irish for ‘pantalones’, which is a dessert consisting of a crepe filled with that stuff you drink when you are about to have your stomach x-rayed. I can’t tell you how delicious that is, because usually the anesthesia has kicked in by the time I taste it. They give me anesthesia, and I never question it, because I completely trust everyone around me! They’re so sweet.
I’m driving down a bend of my street, and one tree decided to completely let go. “I don’t need these leaves anymore. I’m done.” It looks like a leaf avalanche across the street. I don’t mean I’m on one side of the street and it’s on the other side, I mean the leaves go all the way across the street, at least 5 inches deep. I’m glad it’s 5 inches, because that way I can be sure there’s no dead bodies hidden under there. I don’t want to damage my car by running over those kinds of speed bumps! How would I explain that to my insurance company? I would lie, that’s how. Are you new here? Someone needs to get over here with some rakes and clear this out though. Anyway, some unusual things happened that were pleasant surprises. And something happened that I just can’t talk about. I can’t talk about it 4 times, if you lady my gaga.
I talk about winning the lottery all the time, but I am not greedy. There are some of you out there who, if I won the quit-your-job lottery, I’d come out and give you something. I’d come out and share it with you. If you support me or inspire me or move me or make me laugh, or even those who look up to me for whatever reason that I cannot fathom. I mean, I’m sure that Hellis looks up to me, because she’s… Okay, I won’t go there. I won’t go for the cheap joke. That’s just wrong. And I’m sure that if I ever met her, she would punch me in the junk for making that kind of comment. So I won’t do it. I’m much bigger person than that.
So far, all the pictures I’ve put on here have been me by myself, with no one around or almost no one around. I’m trying to figure out how to take pictures of more public places without getting THE look. I’m sure people would understand that it’s just for general use, or something artistic, but they might have huge questions about my choice of camera. I have one of the most popular phones in the US… in 2008. I’m also wondering if it would be possible to put pictures of people on there. I might have to get verbal consent, or just do it and back into it (meaning take it down if someone complains).
I’ve thought about trying to write an actual legitimate article about Garden Station that I blogged about a while back. I’d put together a bunch of actual non-ridiculous questions and go down there, and ask the people that are there. I’d go back and interview the people fur rills, and try to get it in the paper. The thing is, I’m not sure that’s what they would want. I’m not sure massive (for Dayton) publicity is what that place needs. It’s donor funded and community built, and it’s really underground and cool. Would publicity be bad, and lead to some idiots going there and destroying everything? I guess I could go ask.
This is true of bands and fashion, too. Where else are people more jealous and protective than with bands? Relationships. Right. Okay, you’re paying attention, then. Good point. Fine, you’ve got me there. Great. So why don’t you write this blog if you’re so damn clever? Huh? Anyway, if you like a band, you want them to become popular and famous and find success because you think they deserve it. But past a certain point, you follow the philosophy of the band, but when the “Gap kids” get into it, it seems watered down and not as good sometimes. The bands sometimes get popular for doing what they do, but they try to get more popular and it leads to them repeating some things, editing out some experiments, etc. Sometimes you do that automatically out of sheer maturity. But sometimes that is interpreted as selling out.
And sometimes bands fight this and pay dearly for it. Stone Roses were great, and then sued to get out of their crappy contract. They wouldn’t release anything with their record company, and no other record company would touch them with this pending lawsuit. By the time they got out of their contract, they had marginalized themselves. Guns and Roses, same deal. Bands with ‘Roses’ in their name are doomed. But anyway, Axl Rose is the only guy left, and after 12348575 guitarists and other musicians played on the record that took 14 years to make, the album was met with much meh-ticipation.
If that was unclear, then try this: I like bands that are already different with each record, so when they change it’s just part of who they are. Take Radiohead – as they have become more popular, they’ve actually gotten more experimental. That’s the opposite direction from most bands. Look at Queen – they had operas and all sorts of different things, and then by the mid 1980s they had two kinds of songs on their albums, ballads and middle-of-the-road rock songs. And don’t get me started on what has happened to Rush. But on the other hand, look at Gazette. Their ballads are more ballady, and yet their metal is more metally, and their experiments are more experimental. You can tell the difference between their indy stuff and major label stuff, but there is some transition there.
Anyway, I like people who are like this too. There’s nothing wrong with single trait people, people who can be described as ‘that AC/DC guy’ or ‘the accountant’ or ‘the hippie’ or whatever, but it’s more interesting to be all over the place for me. Some people might call that ‘attention deficit’, but it’s not. I pay attention to something and get it, soak it in, and want more and new and different.
Speaking of Guns and Roses, sort of, I was watching this HGTV show called Selling LA, and one of the agents on that show had Matt Sorum as a client. When you talk to one of these rock star guys, or hear an interview with them, you never know what you will get. You don’t know if you’re get the entertainers like David Lee Roth or Steven Tyler or Perry Farrell, or decent guys like Sammy Hagar, or smart guys like Dee Snider – or morons like Tommy Lee. Well, Matt Sorum… not that bright. Nice, but not bright. It’s always a pleasant surprise when a rock star comes out with intelligent conversation. They’re usually the lyricists, though. And usually British, I might add.
Edward Hotspur
…or Canadian…
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This wonderful day happens to be 09 November 2011. It’s fall. [/end blog]
I mean, after an existential statement like that, how can you possibly improve upon it?
How? Death. That’s right, death. It seems that death is the most beautiful thing in existence, in nature, anyway. When is the most vibrant and beautiful and talked about time of year in nature? Fall. Which is death. All the leaves change colors within a spectrum of some kind of earth-toned rainbow, and stay that way for about 3 weeks. Then they give way to the gray of Winter. Spring is second (in being talked about), because the gray is ending, but it’s still not as dramatic. Spring is the night sky when it’s partly cloudy. Fall is an eclipse. Summer is better than Winter, but only marginally. There are a few colors around, but it’s mostly green. Summer is when everything is going pretty good, so in terms of nature, it isn’t talked about. There are many songs about it, sure, but if you think about it, they’re more about what humans are doing during Summer, not about Summer itself. No, it’s Fall that signals the start of a school year, and has vague hints of the holiday season, so Fall is the season that signals a kind of birth for humans even as nature dies.
Speaking of death, there is a saying: There are no atheists in a foxhole. This saying is often used by religious people as a type of argument or proof that deep down, people really “know” that there is a higher power, and their atheism is more a rebellion against the “truth” than a realization of it. That’s fine, but by that logic, using the same reasoning, consider this: There are no cheerleaders at a funeral. Why would there be?, you may find yourself asking. ‘That would be rude and cruel.’ But would it? If you are truly religious, and truly have faith, then by the logic presented above, someone’s death should be a joyous cause for high celebration and joviality. You should be happy, and glad! Because someone is passing from the suffering of this mortal plane, and going to the great paradise in the sky, or some other far-off place. So why not have cheerleaders? Why not sing songs and dance? No one is doing that. “I’m sorry for your loss”, people will say. In fact, most people are very upset, and many of them are crying and unconsolable. No, there are no cheerleaders at a funeral – could this be because deep down, people really “know” that there is nothing, and death is the end, and holding on to the promise of a paradise is more a rebellion against the “truth” than a realization of it?
Changing gears slightly, dealing with death over Facebook is one of the most awkward social encounters you can face. What can you possibly say in a little Facebook comment? And what the hell do you do if you should accidentally ‘like’ the status that notifies everyone of a death? (Note: No, I didn’t do that.) In fact, Facebook itself is becoming awkward. The phrase “chilling effect” comes to mind. And the reason is simple: you don’t really have a reason to decline a friend invite from an older family member or old family friend, so you accept. Then your statuses about how much you hate bitches, or whatever clever joke or saying or witticism you might have thought up, get heavily edited. They have to be. What if Grandma sees this? What would your great uncle say? How about your pastor neighbor from when you were a kid? Even your parents. And it’s probably worse when you are a kid, unless you have cool parents like my kids do. So you can’t type as much stuff. You can’t cut loose. And the games and other stupid activities have already gotten old. The people you friended by way of saying “oh yeah, I remember you” have turned into people you were never really friends with in real life. You don’t go on anymore. It falls off. It’s not as fun. Why bother?
And speaking of ‘why bother’, there are many times when you get that temptation, or opportunity, depending on how you look at it, to trade up in life. This is usually advised when it comes to material things, like the guy who started with a giant red plastic paper clip and through a series of trades ended up with a 3 bedroom house in Canada. But what about relationships? Can you do better? Is it possible to find someone better than who you’re with right now? Yes it is. Always. There’s always someone better than who you’re with right now. And to be fair, your partner can always find someone better than you. So why do we stay together? Aren’t we just settling? Yes we are. We’re settling. We’re setting a bar, looking at everyone who clears that bar, and quite often randomly choosing someone. Why do we do this? Why do we consciously choose to settle rather than keep looking for someone better? Two reasons. First, diminishing returns. Yes, you can find someone better for you, but it would take a lot of time, time you don’t always have because of, you guessed it, death. You want to start living that married life, that happy life, and while you could find someone marginally better, it’s not enough to trade possibly years of wedded bliss just for that last half a percent. Second, growth. This only takes into consideration who is better for you at this moment in your life, not who might be better for you as you grow older, mature and change. You simply have no idea if this person as they are right now, who is seemingly just about as good as you can get right now for who you are right now, will be the best for you overall, through your entire life. Considering the first reason, you don’t have time to trade the other person in for someone who fits your needs later on. You have to choose wisely to begin with. It wastes your life to do otherwise. I’m not talking about dating here, just long term relationships. In fact, dating is how you practice, and how you weed out the things you don’t like or that don’t fit you as you develop your list of must-haves.
This is cynical, I know, and you may choose a different metaphor or have a different outlook, but I view all romantic relationships as crashing planes. The trick to them is to find a plane that is as high as it can possibly go, and that can function well even without an engine if necessary. They will all crash, but the way you approach them will determine if your relationship dies a sudden horrible fiery flaming death, or comes to a gentle if sightly unplanned stop close to the ends of your lives.
Edward Hotspur
…hope you’ve enjoyed your flight…
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Part 54 – Some Like It Hotspur
It’s 10 Nov 2011, and I’m off to a great start. I sprung out of bed all springy and bouncy! Shaved the night before so I wouldn’t have to this morning! Ironed my shirt, put on a tie, got all prepared for dazzlement! Put some coffee in one of those fake Starbucks cups. To make sure the lid was on, I pulled on it slightly, ever so slightly – nothing was going to wreck my day today! No sir! It turned out that the lid was, in fact, not quite all the way on. With a cup half full, or half empty if you’re a pessimist or you ran out of coffee, that would have been fine. With a nearly full cup, it spilled coffee all over my counter. And my hand. And my sleeve. And my pants and shoes and socks. Son of an awesome bitch! So I went and changed into something I wore last week. I can’t remember which day, though. It may very well have been Friday. I don’t know. If anyone at work is paying attention to what I wear, then good for them. There’s no way they could tell I’m wearing last week’s underwear! Ha ha! Take that, Pants Patrol!
Daylight Savings Time happened, and ever since it did, there’s been light in the morning, which I do not like. But it’s winter up here in the Northern Hemisphere, and eventually it will be dark in the morning again. It will be dark in the evening on the way home from work pretty soon, too, which I love.
“Ron Paul 2012? says this sign hanging on a pedestrian bridge over the highway. It’s on a quilt, but it’s spray-painted. What does that say – it’s a quilt so it’s rural, it’s spray paint so it’s urban, and it’s hanging on a bridge in the suburbs, so vote Ron Paul because he’s a man of the people fo shizzle, y’all? Anyway, nothing’s going to change my mind about them. And take your damn signs down!
I have gotten a ton of calls lately. I put all our numbers on that national Do Not Call list, but it’s almost like I signed up for the Please Call Me list with all the calls I’ve gotten from local politicians. Apparently political calls are exempt from this list. Either that or they’re not actionable because they have a limited term of effect. I could sue, but it would be hard to prove any harm or discomfort after 08 November, because they all stopped.
They’re not trying to sell anything, per se, except for their souls because they’re trying to get elected. If they called once a week, or if their robot assistants sent a prerecorded message to me once a week, that would be okay. But it’s every single day with some of them. If you’re a local politician and you call my house every day, there is no way I’m voting for you. I do have an interest in local politics, but if I want to know about them, I can take 5 minutes and read the paper or go online, and then choose who I’m going to vote for. All the campaigning in the world is not going to change my mind. Unless someone radically changes their position – but that’s not going to happen. Changing your position is viewed as a sign of weakness in politics. But it’s not, given new and intelligent information.
I know people have to do this to cover their bases, but people always point out the obvious. “I’m having trouble with my computer.” “Well are you sure it’s plugged in?” They have to ask, in case you haven’t. But if you say it’s plugged in, people have to press. “Are you sure? It might have become dislodged.” I’ve been plugging things in for decades. Yes, I’m sure! I know you have to cover the bases, but do they have to be covered with 4 feet of bullshit questions?
If people are asking about relationships, though, half the time they’re not even asking for help. They’re just getting something off their chests and moving on. Relationships are the most complicated things in the world. Because human software is buggy as fuck, and if something gets in there and messes everything up, there’s not an antivirus for insanity. I know it’s a stereotype, but it’s often said that if someone complains about their relationship to a woman, she will say “I understand. That sucks, and I feel you and your pain, and I empathize.” but if someone complains to a man, he will try to fix the problem. I get that. Some problems can’t be fixed, and some complaints are just release.
But often times, in both types of “help”, people give the easy answer. Easy to GIVE, that is. Having trouble? Just leave. Right? Done and done. But this is about as helpful as having a flat tire and having someone advise you to buy a new car. Or having trouble with your computer and having someone advise you to format the hard drive and reinstall the operating system. Took them 20 seconds to say and zero thought to formulate. All those things are way more complicated than the Advice Gurus think. They are an extreme amount of work, and even when you’re done, they might not fix the problem – they might not have even BEEN the problem.
I’ve read it in forums many times. “My husband stayed out late last night.” “Well dump his ass! He’s clearly cheating on you!” Sure, man. You can’t just go all scorched earth policy on people all the time. It’s not that simple. I mean, it is sometimes – if you come home and your husband or wife is sleeping with someone else, it might be easier to make that decision to leave, but it’s not easy. One ton is easier to lift than two tons, but I bet you can’t lift either one of them.
Edward Hotspur
…yes, I got an image of that 16 ton weight from Monty Python in my head when I wrote that….
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Part 55 – Medley: My Confession / Shop Shop Til You Drop / Birthday
It’s 11/11/11/11/11/11/11/11/11, which is significant to some people. I want to apologize for the really long title, but it seemed appropriate. I want to thank all the men and women who have fought and died, are fighting and dying, and will fight and die for this country so freedoms can be preserved, such as my freedom to blather on in these things. Remember them.
First, I have some confessions to make.
Confession One: Earlier this week, I posted a Scenes that had been 90% posted before. That was hilarious to me, but I realize that some of you wanted your money back, because you come here for fresh bullshit, not the same bullshit from a couple of days ago. What happened is that I had e-mailed myself the same transcribed file under two different names, and naturally thought they were two different files. But I wasn’t embarrassed, no. I was flattered that someone, in this case Kayjai, read my blog so thoroughly and intimately that she immediately recognized the huge gaffe. Oh, in case you didn’t know, my gaffe is huge. I frequently have a huge gaffe. My wife is thrilled to death, because she experiences a huge gaffe of mine on a nearly daily basis. Anyway, it made me feel good that I had a superfan like her. Like Kayjai, I mean. Kayjai’s blog is one of the blogs that I read, written by Kayjai, of course, and I appreciate Kayjai pointing out my mistake. Thank you, Kayjai! I replaced it with fresh bullshit nearly immediately, as though I had sifted out the litter box and it was ready to once again be shat upon! That’s shat, which sounds like Shatner who is from Canada which brings us back to Kayjai!
Confession Two: While we’re at the gaffe thing already, I want to confess that these posts are not mine. I have shamelessly ripped them off from another source, nearly verbatim, and just changed the dates and a few other key words and phrases to make them seem like they are mine. Wow, that felt good. I’ve been keeping that secret for quite some time now. The source of these blog posts that I have been ripping off all these weeks to make up the Scenes From A Morning Drive series is, of course, The Diary of Anne Frank.
Confession Three: There are few actual scenes in these things, they’re not just done in the morning, and they are not always done while driving. The title is an approximation at best. A plurality, if you will. And because of that fact, I’m going to be changing the title of this series to more accurately reflect its content. After today, it will be known as The Rocky Hotspur Picture Blog.
Confession Four: Today was not really about driving at all, though it was done in the morning. It was about shopping. Which reminds me of something…
Second, I went shopping this morning. For three hours.
Here’s how I did this. I got up at my normal time, and left at my normal time, only I went shopping instead of to work. I got wingman assistance from my daughter, who was at her friend’s house, or dorm, or room with water and a plug in it. I would take pictures of things and send them to her, and she would appraise my abilities as a purchaser of textile products. I did not pick anything up and carry it around the store. Oh, no. That is for losers. I just remembered what I had selected, and once I was done I went along and gathered everything up. It was exactly as fun as it sounds, only not as fun. Do you get what I’m saying? I hate shopping. A lot. And this is the beginning of ultra super double-dog triple word score shopping season. I’m thinking of a number between one and I hate to fucking shop. Can you guess what it is? My, aren’t you prescient. It worked out okay, in the sense that this stage of it is finished. Mostly. I took all my crap up to the checkout line, and remarked to the checkout girl how great it smelled in there, what with popcorn being popped, and the Starbucks right inside the store. She must have thought I was flirting with her, because she couldn’t stop looking at me after that. But I wasn’t. It’s Starbucks and popcorn! That’s in the top five big box smells! Somewhere near Cinnabon and bacon!
Third, today is 16 years to the day since I met my wife. Also, her birthday is in 5 days.
That’s who I was shopping for. I don’t want to give anything away, but let’s just say that it’s one of those birthdays that make people more melancholy than happy. And I’ve already had it, except I wasn’t melancholy until the following one. And now, it’s no big deal. My daughter has already been dealing with the “pain” of this birthday, and that’s the main reason why she was finished shopping for it 2 weeks ago. Mysteriously, I used to be able to go out and purchase textiles unassisted, including undergarments. Particularly undergarments. But at some point, my wife began to question my ability, as far as I know without justification, and now I am required to have my daughter’s assistance, or another female if my daughter is not available – with the exceptions of my mother, who has a penchant for animal prints, and her mother, who has a penchant for not giving a fuck.
I feel like I have just ridden a rollercoaster through a car wash into a pit of broken glass and shaving cream, and then taken to an IMAX showing of Steel Magnolias. If that doesn’t make any sense to you, then you have captured the essence of how I feel right now.
Edward Hotspur
…this thing down here hasn’t even been done the entire time – I used to not do one at all, then I put it above my name, and now I’ve been putting it down here. It’s like the after dinner mint that comes with the check for the bullshit sandwich you just enjoyed. And that’s it for confessions for a while. I’ll go back to lying to you next week! Can’t wait!
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Part 56 – Life In The Slow Lane
It’s 14 November 2011, the Monday after Veteran’s Day…what happened to that holiday weekend? Veteran’s Day itself is meaningful and important, but that three-day weekend went so fast.
There’s a reason days seem to go faster when you’re older. It’s because the older you get, the smaller a percentage each day is. When you’re a baby, say a month old, each day is 1/30th of your life – pretty big in the grand scheme of things. By the time you’re my age, which is 82, each day is a tiny tiny fraction of your life. And since I’m talking and driving and I don’t have a calculator or a mind like Rainman, I can’t figure out what percentage that would be. So go off and do it on your own, if you’re really that interested. I’ll wait. Got the answer? Okay, now write the answer down on a piece of paper and throw it away because nobody gives a crap. There’s no math in this blog! I can barely remember the next number in the series.
Anyway, for some weird reason, last week I had to scrape frost off the car, but this year – this year, oh boy – this WEEK – wow, I need more sleep and more coffee – this week it’s 61 right now.
I’m starting to see why photographers take so many pictures that are similar. You see it most often with models – they’ll strike some pose and *snap**snap**snap**snap**snap* the photographer takes 6 or 10 pictures of the same scene. Now I see why they do that. You never know when one picture is going to be slightly better than all the others. My photoblogs have been like that. I have a huge selection of pictures to choose from for any given subject, but I figure I can or should only put up about 10 pictures or so, depending on the subject. So I try to pick the best 10, but sometimes later on I rethink it and think maybe some other picture might have been a little better.
Now when I’m driving around, I see tons of photo ops. It affects how I see the world. The sky has been more than generous lately, but if I see a family, I want to take a picture, and if I see an interesting or unique object or scene, I want to. From a distance, up close, from below, from above, different combinations of people, different buildings, different scenery, different places, everything seems like it would make a great picture, frozen in time. Normally, everything seems blended together, but when you freeze it, you have more time to look at it, to suss out all the nuances and the intricate patterns and hidden gems that you don’t see when you’re walking past or driving past.
I wonder if it’s the same way with people in everyday life. Not taking pictures of them, but their words. It’s also changed my way of thinking, and how I see the world in terms of words. Of course some things are worth noting and some are not, and you might disagree with some of the things I’ve found that are blogworthy, But certain conversations, discussions, arguments, random encounters, to me everything is like that. How do you freeze words? You have a conversation – the only way to freeze that is to record it, and write it down, and post it. And then you can read it over, suss out all the nuances and the intricate patterns and hidden gems that you didn’t notice before in real time. (Not to say that everything I say is a hidden gem. I mean, if there are any gems in the shit I put out, they’re hidden extremely well.)
What this boils down to is that the day is the same exact length of time now as it was when you were a baby, when everything was new, everything was a wonder, everything was a new experience, everything was interesting and fascinating. As time went on, you began to edit out things, and skip over things. Changed your perception. And that’s what I’m saying. All of us should retrain our perceptions so that we once again look at the world and experience the world as we did back then. Take the time to look at every scene, every picture, every direction, every experience, every encounter, every conversation, every touch, every embrace – except for not at work, because that is gross and could get you in a lot of trouble. But take the time to experience everything as fully as you can, because you never know when there’s going to be that hidden gem that you missed the first time around.
Certainly not in this blog. If you read this, you pretty much get it the first time around. Probably. AS we speak, there is a scene that I cannot capture, but only describe, because I am driving. From right to left out my driver’s side window, it’s the fluffy edge of a dark cloud, then gray sky becoming blue, crossed by two contrails, and then the moon. This is the kind of scene that has changed my outlook on the world. Phenomenal scene, but I can’t show you. This is why a picture is worth a thousand words. With a picture, you don’t need context and you can use your own eyes and your own mind’s eye. On that note, every so often, get out and walk around and take pictures. You can capture even more that way. Learn to go slower, and time will slow down. Too often we just kill time because we don’t know what to do with it.
This is what to do with it: fill it up with life and meaning, and share it with other people.
Edward Hotspur
…you’ve got time…
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Part 57 – Killing Me Softly With His Blog
Hi everyone – I’m TV’s Shammy Rinsanrepeat. Today, Edward Hotspur took a break from posting. In a shocking development, Hotspur decided that he was going to “stop and smell the flowers, not the rotting ones, but like, the mums and sedum”. Immediately after this statement, the world tilted on its axis, went back in time, grabbed some whales and came back. Barely anyone realized it, and scientists aren’t even sure if it really happened. They were on break at the time. Having sex, it was reported. For research.
Crowds of people surrounded his house with picket signs, protesting his unwillingness to make a blog post. Some of them were so upset that they tore their clothes. These crowds eventually had sex, but soon afterwards formed an Occupy Hotspur group. A spokesman for the group said, “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of how awesome Hotspur is.” When the question was repeated, the spokesman said “We represent the 99% of people who don’t care about Justin Bieber.”
The disparate crowds came from all walks of life, including divorced women, smartasses, sarcastic bastards, insane asylum escapees, hot saucy pizza girls, guys with beer, photographers, Star Trek geeks, members of the armed forces, Citizens for the Understanding of New Things (CUNT), and the Knights Who Say Whassup.
Hotspur emerged for a brief moment to address the crowd, which he did by shooting them with painballs (not a typo). When asked what a plastic surgeon did, he remarked “sews your face.” He then spoke for 10 minutes in a posh English accent before climbing back into his house, a 3-story treehouse attached to a large ash tree liberally infested with emerald borers. Mmmmyes he did, Muffy. He asked that no pictures be taken, so the people just left the pictures there.
The crowd dispersed after police arrived. Officer Door von Kickinstein reported that it was the most peaceful demonstration he had ever witnessed in 20 years of tear-gassing and beating peaceful protesters. After forcibly removing the masochists, Officer Kickinstein took a long walk on the beach, baked some brownies and reflected on his life over some coffee. He realized that he never really wanted to be a cop, but since his parents were all cops, he figured what the hell.
This reporter ate bacon. It was heavenly. Back to you, Trog Spelunker.
Edvard von Hotschpurr
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Part 58 – Little Conversations
I took the wife out for her birthday last night while my daughter Daria and her friend Velma watched the shorties. Daria had a final exam, and Velma lives in the dorms, so I drove them both to the college before going to work (Daria shotgun, Velma in the back). It went a little something like this.
Girls: (blah blah blah something something) lesbian.
Me: *attention gotten*
Velma: That’s why I could never date a girl.
Daria: Why?
Velma: Because girls are bitches.
Me: Why do you think they’re all bitches?
Velma: You think they’re not?
Me: No, I totally agree with you. I’m just always open to a fresh perspective.
Velma: They’re all backstabby and gossipy.
Me: But aren’t guys all assholes?
Daria: Yes!
Velma: Well…yes.
Me: They’re just assholes in 2 or 3 predictable ways. Women are always coming up with new ways to be bitches.
Daria: *looks at me*
Me: What?
Velma: I just don’t get along with any of them – except for you because you’re awesome.
Daria: I could get along with them. It’s just the stuff.
Me: The stuff?
Daria: All the stuff. That’s all I’m saying.
Me: You mean, the mechanics?
Daria: Right. The box.
*We pass the Greene*
Daria: Oh my god, I hate Christmas.
Me: Why?
Daria: All the nasty people.
Me: But it’s so festive and nice. Good feeling.
Velma: You obviously don’t work in retail.
Daria: It gets really bad at Forever XXI
Me: I’ve worked in retail and restaurants before. It’s not that bad.
Velma: Yeah, but you never worked at Forever XXI. It’s horrible.
Me: It can’t be that much worse than any other day.
Daria: But it is. It’s a total exclothesion.
Velma: Good one! Exclothesion. I like that.
Daria: Thank you.
Me: But you know when you work in retail that this season is coming. Black Friday should be a fun day, because everyone’s too busy to bitch at you.
Daria: The managers, yeah. The customers apparently have all day to bitch at you. They leave for lunch and come back just to finish bitching at you.
Me: *just noticing Velma with spoon and bowl* What are you doing?
Velma: I’m eating some oatmeal. I’m hungry.
Me: Okay, that’s weird.
Velma: Weird to eat oatmeal?
Me: In the car it is.
Velma: Your face is weird. Besides, I just got up and I didn’t have time to eat in the house.
Daria: Maybe if you didn’t stay up all night with your father – I mean, your boyfriend.
Velma: Fuck you!
Daria: Graverobber!
Me: What are you talking about?
Daria: She’s dating Adam.
Me: How old is he?
Daria: 30
Me: (sarcastically) Oh my god, that’s really fucking old.
Daria: I know, right?
Velma: Fuck you both! I hate you.
Me: And fuck you *looks at Daria* for the old comment. So fuck you twice.
Velma: I couldn’t sleep last night, so I called Adam at like 3am and told him to read me a bedtime story. He said “Once there was a guy named Adam who had a cute girlfriend that called him at 3am, so he came over and killed her. The end. Go to sleep.” And he hung up on me.
Daria: If you did that to me, I’d hang up on you and turn off my ringer. He’s one of those guys anyway.
Velma: One of what guys?
Daria: One of those who spends the first few weeks shaving and taking showers and putting on clean clothes and cologne, and then once they think they have you, everything stops.
Velma: Dude, that’s me, except it takes a few days.
Daria: That’s gross.
Me: Yeah, you say that now, but every time you have a choice between the metrosexual and the t-shirt guy, you choose the t-shirt guy every time. You think the metrosexual is either gay or a “nice guy” – permanent friend zone.
Velma: “The metrosexual”? You know, that’s kind of offensive. They are people too.
Me: Yeah, metrosexual people. What article would you like me to use? A metrosexual? An metrosexual? This metrosexual?
Velma: Unfabulous-challenged? And I do that. I wear nice stuff and everything, and then after a few days it’s sweats and a t-shirt, because, yeah, I have you.
Daria: I won’t do that.
Me: I don’t even think you own a pair of sweats, do you?
Daria: No, I don’t. And I actually go for the metrosexuals, because they clip their nails.
Me: You date a guy on the basis of clipped nails?
Daria: Well, I dated Andy for 5 years, and he was really disgusting for about 4 of them.
Velma: Does Frank clip his nails?
Daria: So far, he takes showers and everything.
Me: How did you check his feet?
Girls: (argument breaks out about whose boyfriend is the biggest loser. Frank is 27 and still an undergrad. Adam is a manager of a GameStop. To me, it’s like comparing rotten apples to rotten oranges.)
I dropped them off at the school, and reflected on all the wonderful things I had heard and seen. Not coming up with anything, I continued on to work. My finger hurt because I had to get out to let Velma out – I’ve got child safety lock on the car doors in the back.
See, last night before we left, Chrissie came running out of the bathroom shouting “The toilet is overflowing! It’s gonna spill!” I jumped up and ran into the bathroom, pulled off the lid and grabbed the ballcock. You heard me. Ballcock. Then I closed the flapper, released the ballcock (which is nothing like releasing the Kraken), and started toweling everything off and putting it outside the bathroom. I threw more towels down and grabbed the plunger, cleared the unspeakable horrors clogging the toilet, got it functioning with a test flush, and finished up. When I went to put the lid back on, I slipped a little, and when faced with a choice between the lid and my extremely pretty face, I chose my face. This meant I had to let go with one hand to catch myself on the vanity. The lid slipped to the floor during the sort-of fall, and it hit the floor, though the floor was covered with tons of towels. Then I steadied myself, grabbed the lid again, and put it on.
Well, apparently when it hit the somewhat padded floor, it chipped. When I put it on the toilet, it sliced my finger pretty good – maybe one stitch if I had gone to an urgent care – and I grabbed the closest thing I could to soak up the blood.
Did I mention I had just cleaned up an overflowing toilet? Yeah, using a towel infused with dirty toilet water off the floor to put on my freshly cut finger stung a bit. It stopped after a while. Bleeding and stinging. I rinsed it out, dried it off and put on a bandage. And tore it a little opening the door to let out my daughter’s friend. It hurt for a while. It hurt at the restaurant, too.
Not as much as biting into my “medium” Hibachi Steak from a mood-enhancing dim Cheesecake Factory and finding it was briquet-like. Seriously, they would have to cook it 15 fewer minutes for it to have merely been burnt. I have no luck at restaurants in general, but I haven’t ordered a steak at a restaurant that was any good in 6 years. That includes Longhorn and Texas Roadhouse and Outback. But it was fine, because my wife and I were pretty lit, and we walked our happy selves around the Greene afterwards. Good times. From what I remember, anyway!
Edward Hotspur
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Part 59 – A Little Less Conversation
I’m sick again. And sick of being sick. I can’t do the voice recorder, because it probably wouldn’t come out right. It already sound like the “time to CHaaAAaaAaAANnnNnGE” line from that Brady Bunch episode. You know, the one where the housekeeper gets her own room but the kids have to share? That’s the one.
I’m walking behind my daughter Daria, and fully take in what she’s wearing. And start laughing. Black huge boots. Stocking with red lines up the back. Leather-ish skirt. Leather jacket over cardigan. Cap/beanie/beret with leopard print.
Me: You’ve got red lines up your legs.
Daria: It’s supposed to be like that.
Me: To direct air traffic to land on your butt?
Daria: No, it’s a 40s thing. This is what they wore in the 1940s.
Me: They didn’t have red lines!
Daria: It’s playing off of that. You don’t understand anything about fashion.
Me: You’re the one who looks like Grandma Biker.
Daria: It’s Grandma Chic. With leather accents.
Me: Worst accent ever.
Daria: Shut up. You’re just jelly because you can’t be a fairy goth princess.
Me: Wrong! I can. And I have.
Daria: *puzzled sideways look*
Me: *Tim Curry accent* Come to the lab, and see what’s on the slab.
Daria: *shakes head*
Me: *to lady turning left* Ha ha! I made you wait. I screwed up your day by making you wait 10 seconds longer by using my power of Right-of-Way! Feel my awesome power! How does that feel?
Me: *guy crossing street* NOOOOOOOOOO! Brought down by the power of Pedestrianity!
Daria: *looking at me strangely the entire time*
Me: Yeah, this is pretty much what I do when I drive. Say random insane things to people who can’t hear me.
Daria: I’ll probably do that when I start driving.
Me: When is that gonna be, lady? Come on!
Daria: I’m working on it. You should record everything you say when you’re in the car and write it down.
Me: *candy grin* That’s a great idea. But I’d probably be embarrassed to let anyone hear it.
Daria: Yeah, pretty much everything you say is embarrassing.
Me: So, just drop you off right here on the corner, then?
Daria: *grins*
Later, somewhere on the highway.
Me: I’m glad you didn’t get the Antecedent Deficiency gene.
Daria: What’s that?
Me: Your mom does this all the time. Like yesterday, she said ‘you know what’s weird? Velma’s mom’s birthday is the day before mine.’ I said ‘how old is she?’ and she said ‘Velma? I think she’s 19.’
Daria: *laughs*
Me: What about that could have possibly made her think I was talking about Velma?
Daria: I don’t know, but that stuff does run in the family. I asked Chrissie (our niece, 11)(‘our’ being my wife’s and mine, not my daughter’s and mine, because we’re from Ohio, not Kentucky) if she was going to go to college, and she said “I’m so confused.” I think she thought I was asking if she was going to college right then.
Me: You’re doomed. You should have gotten the Hotspur genes.
Daria: I’m already short and have nothing downstairs. That’s half of it right there.
Me: *beams* *looks at daughter appreciatively* I’ve never been prouder of you than I am right now! Also, go to hell.
Later – Guy standing at highway exit with small sign, I’m stopped too far back to read it, but I’ve seen this guy standing here for at least a year. I mean, not in a row, but every morning for a year. Come on, don’t be ridiculous.
Daria: What’s he want?
Me: Probably either food or money, or drugs, or booze.
Daria: He might be hard up!
Me: For a year?
Daria: Maybe he lost his job.
Me: I think this is his job. He’s been doing this for a year.
Daria: Really?
Me: Yeah, and the thing is, there are no houses within 2 miles of here. How did he get here? Walk?
Daria: Still, it’s mean.
Me: I know people fall on hard times sometimes, but after a couple of weeks, any job should be doable.
Daria: That’s true.
Me: I heard this meme going around that when the economy was good our parents pressured us to go to college so we wouldn’t have to get a job flipping burgers, and now they’re bitching at us because we are too proud to get a job flipping burgers. If it came down to it, I’d go deliver pizza again. I think this guy is fair game.
Daria: I don’t know.
Me: When I pull up, I’ll play that song “Get a job, sha na na na, sha na na na na na.”
Daria: Dad!
Me: Mama I’m Coming Home?