Goatheads Soup

I got a call yesterday while at work … it was the Live Acorn, wanting to tell me that she got a flat tire on her bicycle.

Deep in my heart, I knew that the day would come. I feared it. I dreaded it. I knew, of course, that she wouldn't be my little baby forever, but I hadn’t meant for it to be like this. Any parent wants their child to be prepared for emergencies and unexpected situations, and we all do our best to give them the tools they need to cope when they find themselves all alone out in this cruel, harsh world. I had shown her, once, I believe, how to fix a flat, but we most certainly hadn't yet reached the stage where she was solo patching (under my watchful eye, of course). I’m sure you understand, then, that my heart leapt into my throat upon hearing the gut-wrenching words “Dad, I got a flat ...”.*

Live Acorn: Dad, I got a flat ...

Dead Acorn: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY? WHERE ARE YOU? I’LL BE RIGHT THERE! DON’T WORRY!

LA: Dad ... dad ...

DA: I’M COMING FOR YOU BABY! DADDY’S COMING FOR YOU!

LA (under her breath): Jesus H. Christ.

DA: I’m sorry, what?

LA: Umm, nothing. Dad, it’s okay, I patched it.

DA: You ... you ... you what?

LA: Yeah. I’m down in Hyde Park, and I bought a patch kit at the bike shop.

DA (slowing down on the hyperventilating a bit): oh ... okay ... how’d you get the tire off?

LA: Well, I didn’t have any of those plastic thingies, so I used a screwdriver.

(DA goes back in full hyperventilation mode)

LA: Easy there, dad ... I was really careful not to pinch the tube.

(DA’s respiration rate slows back down under 200)

LA: I listened for the leak, but couldn’t find it, so I took it into the pub restroom, filled the sink with water, and found it.

DA (to himself): yeah ... YEAH!

LA: I marked it with a sharpie, sanded the spot around it, and put the glue on.

DA (covering the phone and shouting at work): OH YEAH!

LA: After it dried, I put the patch on, put the tire back on, pumped it up, and put the wheel back on.

(long pause before DA speaks)

DA: Was it ... was it ... the front or the back?

At this point, sweat was pouring down my face, and I was shaking with anticipation. I guess I assumed it was the front, as wrestling with the rear derailleur can be frustrating even for the most grizzled veteran.

LA: It was ... the back.

DA: OH HELLZ YEAH! That's MY girl!

(strutting around the office, doing that "raise the roof" thingy in that lily-white way that he does those things)

Whose daughter? MY daughter!

DA’s boss: What in the fucking name of Elmore J. Goodwin is going on in here? Are you drunk again?

So she did this old bike mechanic’s soul some good and filled his heart with pride. And I guess I learned a little something, too, about realizing that kids are a lot more independent and self-sufficient than you think. It’s bittersweet, to be sure, realizing that she's growing up so fast, but way less bitter than sweet.

Wait, who the fuck am I? Aesop, telling one of his goddamned Fables? Crap on a coaster, Dead Acorn, it doesn’t always have to have some moral, or a lesson, or some cheezy-ass ending.

Next week, we’re building wheels; after that comes cold-setting steel frames and overhauling old-school freewheels.

[UPDATE] I forgot to mention that the guy in the bike shop told her it was still a little low, so he pumped it up some more. Shortly thereafter, the sidewall blew out from overinflation. I swear ... other people's kids, you know?

* If an ellipsis is the last thing inside quotation marks, and is at the end of a sentence, do I put a period there? Normally, the period would go inside the quotation marks**, but then it would just be a four-period ellipsis, which is the elliptical*** bastard second cousin of multiple exclamation points. A little help here from my more pedantically inclined readers, please.
** I think.
*** I don't think "elliptical" is the adjective form**** of "ellipsis" ... is it "ellipsistical"?
**** Does "adjective" have an adjectivical form?

My True Calling

I walked down the street at lunch today to Wireless Toyz to get a memory chip for my phone, and was treated to a little trip down memory lane as an unexpected bonus. I’ve previously mentioned the giant dancing cell phones (there are 2 now!) as things that make me smile when I really don’t feel like smiling. When I see them in a good mood, I often actually burst out laughing. Well, today, as I got close to the store, I noticed by the back door … TWO KIDS PUTTING THE PHONE SUITS ON!

This was something of a shock, but not in an unpleasant way. Discovering that there were actually people inside the suits is something akin to finding out how a magic trick works. For me, it adds to the enjoyment to realize the cleverness that underlies the illusion. (Finding out how they sawed a lady in half came as quite a relief, to be honest. One, it was a bit disturbing before I knew how it was done, and two, I could never understand how they kept finding new ladies every show.) On the other hand, I can certainly see how others may not like to know; I apologize to those readers for whom I’ve ruined the mystery and magic of the giant dancing cell phones.

Where was I? Right … memory lane.

As it happens, I’ve dabbled in the field of mascots/spokespersonas myself. I think my first foray into the wonderful world of constumitry was as Budman in the Idaho State University Homecoming parade. The costume essentially consisted of red long underwear, blue moon-boots (blue moon-boots, you saw me standing alone ...) , a cape, and a mask. The distributor paid me in beer – I believe it was a couple of cases of Budweiser and a couple of cases of Mickey’s quarts (this was back in the day before the 40 came along … when I went to college, they had barely invented beer, fergawdsake).

What’s the beer we drink and drink until we can not see?
M-I-C … K-E-Y … Q-U-A-R-T!
Mickey’s quarts (Schaefer Light!)
Mickey’s quarts! (Schaefer Light!)
Until we reach the point of ecstasy …

Above: Actual picture of me, after running through cartoonerizing software.

My second gig was as a giant yellow canary, which was the mascot for the restaurant for which I worked, named, oddly enough, Canary’s. That turned out to not be nearly as enjoyable as my Budman experience, for several reasons. Firstly, it was at a football game inside the Minidome Holt Arena (the first indoor collegiate football facility!), which they generally keep at a balmy 110 degrees. Being inside a giant fucking bird suit does not help. Secondly, the head on this thing was HUGE … the shape was not unlike that of Tweety Bird. So wherever I’d go, people were calling me names and telling me to get the hell out of there. Since I like to look at things in a positive light, I’ve always considered it an exercise in marriage preparation. Lastly, they insisted in paying me via my regular paycheck, so there was an extra step or two involved in turning it into a tangible and usable asset (i.e. beer).

The third time wasn’t actually anything official, though I still put it on my resumé as relevant experience. Somehow, we wound up with one of those giant Rainier beer bottles for a while (the ones in the old commercials, where they'd show a herd of grazing pounder bottles out in a field), and so from time to time, there would be drunken strolls through the streets of Pocatello. ‘Nuff said.

The only downside to my little jaunt through the past is that it forced me to wonder how I’d fallen from where I was then to where I am now. I had it all … youth, dreams, experience, and an opportunity to make it big. There was talk in the industry, I tell you. “You hear about this Acorn kid out of Idaho?” I’d overhear at industry trade shows. “They say he’s good … real good. Could be the best some day.” God, what’s become of me?

It’s too late, I know … at least for me. But not for those kids. After a little thought, I ran back down to Wireless Toyz, walked up to them, told them that they were doing great and to not ever lose the dream, and walked away. I think, to them, it must have been like Ted Williams showing up at your Little League game and saying “nice swing, kid.” (This assumes that you played in Little League when Ted Williams was alive. If he showed up after he died, that would just be freaky, especially if it was only his cryogenically frozen head.) They were obviously in awe, judging from their speechlessness. I feel a little better about myself.

Everyone's Ag'in Me!

There seems to be something of a conspiracy taking place as of late. Yesterday, the Live Acorn called and asked if I could take her to and pick her up from the Harry Potter movie tomorrow. “Well, sure!” I replied. I mean really … that’s what parents are for, isn’t it? I figured we’d get some dinner beforehand, depending on if she wanted to go the 5 pm, 7 pm, or 9 pm showing, but we’d work around that. So today, I called up the EMDAMOTLA, just to make sure I had the details right, because nights this week are getting switched around a bit*. She seemed a bit surprised that I had agreed to the plan, since “it starts at midnight and gets out around 3 am.” “Excuse me?” I asked, spraying my vodka across my desk, as there was no mention of this whatsoever in my original conversation with the LA. She started laughing, made some derogatory comments about my lack of intelligence, and insisted that she had heard the LA clearly state the time.

This is complete and utter bullshit, of course, and perhaps signals an unsettling shift in the family dynamic, where Dead Acorn becomes just pawn in game of life. As if that weren’t really the case already.

Above: The Dead Acorn's cousin Mongo.

Further evidence can be found in the fact that they’re insisting that I’ve consented to get a kitten. I’ve done some silly things in my life (the whole dog shock-collar incident comes to mind, as does the homemade smoke bomb), but a fucking kitten? I don’t think so. They’ve already enlisted other friends to corroborate my non-existent agreement, so I trust no one at this point. I fear the future.

* The nights themselves aren't getting switched around - it'll still be Sun-Mon-Tue-Wed-Thu-Fri-Sat. I just meant that our regular schedule re: the Live Acorn will be slightly different. I hope this didn't cause any confusion or panic.

The World Is Missing Its Sol

It seems like forever since I’ve seen a really beautiful sunset. I generally ride west about that time of night, so it’s not like I’ve been missing them, they just haven’t been there. Boise can put on a serious show at times ... I’m talking those ones so stunningly beautiful that they make you stop to watch and almost cry. The pinks, the yellows, all the pastels, the stormy ones that are all dark blue and almost black … sometimes nature can make you stand up on those four giant suitcases you’ve got strapped together floating around the Pacific ocean with a passed out Meg Ryan and cry “Thank you … for my life …”

Wait, that’s Joe Banks. And I’ll be damned if I’m jumping in some volcano.

Nevertheless, it's been too long since the skies have shown their overwhelming beauty. It’s about time for them to start showing up again.


Above: Meh ... I've seen prettier.

It's All About Me

We had cake at work today to celebrate the birthday of a coworker, who was born on July 4th. She said it was kind of cool, because she would always think that all the fireworks were for her. I totally understand ... I was born on October 1st, and I've always assumed that all the New Year's Eve revelry was a celebration of my conception.

Above: Symbolic sperm and egg.

Thanks for drinking, mom and dad!

I've got a sister who was born on November 16th. I guess our parents must have enjoyed getting all liquored up and lacquered down on President's Day as well ... ain't nothin' wrong with that.

Breeding Ignorance And Feeding Radiation

I’ve never been able to fathom why anyone would let someone else know what bugs him/her. People, your enemies are EVERYWHERE, and they all keep an amazingly detailed dossier on your pet peeves. You ask a coworker if he could try to eat a little quieter, or maybe eat in the breakroom instead of the next cubicle? It’s a safe bet that that person will very quickly become a rabid fan of celery, peanuts, and bubble gum. It’s just human nature to want to annoy the hell out of others.

That being the case, I hesitate to relate this, but … I find it extremely irritating when someone opens the microwave door with a few seconds still on the timer, and fails to hit the “Reset” button. More than irritating, actually … when I put my food in and push the “Quick Minute” button and nothing happens, I assume that the thing is broken and actually leaking radiation, and I immediately panic and flash back to my brief stint in Chernobyl, from whence I narrowly escaped just as the meltdown was happening back in April ’86 (no liability on my part was ever proven). It was the same month that the Indians signed then-46-year-old Phil Niekro at the end of a brilliant career. He never pitched over .500 again. My god, what a tragic time that was.

Anyway, I’m usually convinced that the room is starting to glow and that I’m growing a third eye, and I’m pretty sure that the 911 operators and the people at the Health Department are losing their patience with my calls, which occur on the order of 2-3 times a week. One of the 911 people, Brenda, has actually threatened me with physical violence. Something in her voice leads me to believe that she is quite capable of it.

So there’s my little secret. When it does happen, I try to figure out who the culprit is and walk by their desk and “accidentally” bump into them, causing their “scalding” bowl of soup to spill into their laps. I guess “scalding” shouldn’t be in quotation marks, as there have been several coworkers that have ended up with 3rd degree burns. Hmm. You’d think they’d learn to push that “Reset” button, wouldn’t you?


Above: A quick finger-push or blistered privates? Your choice.

In the spirit of community and openness, feel free to list YOUR pet peeves in the comments section ... I promise nothing will go in the dossier.

Cycle Killer, Q'est-ce que c'est?

Every once in a while, you get to see an entertaining little disaster unfold right in front of you. I’m not talking about driving upon a wreck on the highway, where you’re forced to imagine the circumstances, I’m talking about seeing the whole thing develop right before your eyes, and, recognizing the amusing incident about to take place, regretting not having brought popcorn.

Such was the case on my ride into work this morning. Boise has a nice bike/pedestrian pathway called the Greenbelt, and I can get to my job riding about two-thirds of the distance on the path. It’s a great way to clear out the hangover nice relaxing way to start the day. There are always a few cyclists out, and while most are very courteous and seem to be riding safely, there are always exceptions.

So today, I was almost to work, at a point where the Greenbelt ends for just a bit and crosses a road before it picks up again. I’ve included a high-tech Google Map image to describe the physical layout:


Above: Green is Greenbelt, grey strip is a fence with an 8 foot pole where it ends, and to the right is a road. The red dots are pylons separating the road from the path.

Many riders, riding toward the top of the map, will swing out on to the road after the fence. Likewise, many riders coming toward the bottom of the map will stay out in the road and cut in to the path just before the fence. As I was reaching the end of the fence (I’m depicted by the number 3, which is apparently how I appear from space on Google Maps), I saw a biker on the path (number 1) and another in the road (number 2), apparently racing each other, and I made the assumption that at point number 4, biker number 2 would cut in to the path. I also made a quick calculation, by which I estimated that this fucking dumbass was going to cut in at the exact moment I would be reaching the end of the fence.

Yeah, baby. Oh yeah. Train wreck a comin’.

Sure enough, the kid didn’t realize I was there until we were each about 5 feet from the fence pole, and he was starting to make his cut. He looked up at the last minute, locked up his brakes, and apparently decided to stay on the road, but also apparently made that otherwise reasonable decision just a skosh too late to pull it off. He rode directly into the pole and pulled a classic header over the bars. Luckily for me, he went on the road side of the fence, leaving me unharmed to fully enjoy the awesomenaciousness of a normally earthbound human in unaided flight.

Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt, and he and his friend were laughing about it. I alerted him to the fact that he was a fucking dumbass, wished him a sarcastic “good luck with Darwin,” and continued on my way.

Kids today and their bikes. Y’know?