The Annekenstein Monster

There are people who don’t like/cannot eat lunch by themselves. I can dig that. However, I have no problem being by myself, and often look forward to the solo lunch. Of course, too, there’s nothing better than feasting with friends.

Lately, I’ve been lunching sans ami more often so I can learn my lines for our upcoming sketch show. (preparing for ‘the show’, too, is one of the reasons for lack of posting from me lately). Today, at lunch, was one of those great days where it felt great to be outside in the city. Absolutely perfect weather, a bench, a gorgeous sun, lots of people buzzing about, an appetizing meal and some great tunes playing on my walkman. (who wants to give me an ipod?)

Does anyone know the artist Eamon? (sorry if you don’t like his website) I came across him today on a miix cd I have of “artists that I don’t know, but I have a song or two by them”. The song of his that played today was ‘Fuck It” (sorry mom and dad). What a great song. A smooth, kinda old-style R&B flow and groove that’s populated with all sorts of pleasingly vulgar lines. While I don’t seek out music with ‘bad words’, I do appreciate a song that makes good use of them. Aside from the great music of this song, I love his nonchalance when singing vulgarity.

Anyway, it was a chore-and-a-half to go back to work this afternoon.

I’ve been using Gmail (Google’s 1gig web-mail alternative to Hotmail and Yahoo type mail servers) for a couple of months now, and I’m liking it more and more everyday. At first, I was unsure if I’d bother with the pain of yet another email address, but I find myself casually switching my email subscriptions, etc., over to my gmail address.

It’s in Beta, still, but seems to work very well for my needs. They are now beginning to add the odd addition here and there to make it even better.

Anyway, they are once again looking for people to help test it, and have granted me a couple of chances to offer the service to my friends.

So, if you’re interested in getting a gmail account (at this early stage, there’s still a good chance you can get the email name you want), post a reply here stating as such.

I’ll only contact the person(s) to whom I’ll send an invitation, so if you don’t hear back from me, don’t take it as a sign that I don’t like you.

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Some of you who know me, may know about some of the little theatrical ideas that I sometimes express a desire to perform.

One of those ideas is to take a popular modern song and perform it as a choir, kind of in a Bobby McFerrin style. By that I mean there’d be no instruments, but each person in the choir would be responsible for verbally duplicating a tiny, particular aspect of the song. One person would handle the bass drum, another the high-hat ‘tss tss tss’ sounds, another the guitar strums, another the bass, etc… as many voices as needed to duplicate the song. The goal would be to try and reproduce all the sounds of the original, as closely as possible, but only using our voices.

I think this would sound neat. Well, now I don’t need to do bother. This guy has basically done that, with Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. He didn’t use a choir of individuals, though. He does all the sounds himself, recorded individually and then put together.

It’s an interesting version. You can click the link above, or over to the left if you’d like to download it and check it out.

This is link to a page that has a link to watch or download a video of George W. Bush. It is supposedly (and I have no reason to believe otherwise) a video of him on the morning of Sept.11, 2001. He is in a classroom watching students learn.

At the beginning of the video, an aid comes up to him and apparently gives him a piece of paper. It is said that written on the paper is: America is under attack.

Watch what the PotUS does over the course of the next five minutes. It’s bewilderingly fascinating.

I’m not sure what I would do, but I don’t think it’d involve remaining sitting on my ass. I can only assume that he didn’t know the immediacy, severity or seriousness of the attack, and probably felt it best to carry on as normal until he had an appropriate opportunity to excuse himself. Okay.

I’d so dearly love to know what goes on in his mind sometimes. This is one of those times.

I was watching Seabiscuit last night, and one of the characters said “The sky’s the limit!” in reference to his future. The movie primarily takes place in the 1930’s, and I was struck by the thought that, in that era, the sky really was the limit. Yes, people could dream about being on the moon, and space flight obviously was as potential then as it is possible now… but in real terms, the sky was the limit, we couldn’t go higher.

That got me wondering if people still say “The sky’s the limit” when they are talking about things that have no boundaries or limits. I think they do. Heck, I may even say it myself. If so, we are limiting ourselves.

I say it’s time do away with “The sky’s the limit”. It’s time has passed. We should, however, replace it with something similar, just so people will still have a limit to strive towards.

How about: “The Galaxy m104‘s the limit!”

I usually have lunch on Mondays with my good pal Dave S. Usually, he drives us around.

Today, Dave calls to confirm the usual arrangements, but this time I
suggest that I drive. I have our car. I’ll drive today. Today Dave gets to take it easy.

11:57am – When I get in my car, ready to pick him up, I remember that the right front wheel was low on air. I’ll have to get that taken care of right away. But first, I’ll get Dave, my friend.

12:02pm – So, I get him and advise him that I’d have to make a quick stop to fill the tire with air. No problem, friend. We’ll quickly stop at the Irving, get the air, and then move onto the dining and
adventure part of the lunch.

12:05pm – At an intersection, a car pulls up and the guy driving sees my tire is low. He winds his window down and points to my underinflated tire. I give him an “I understand and acknowledge”
thumbs up. This little incident disturbs me to no-end. It disturbs Dave in a ‘friend-helping-friend’ way.

12:07pm – A quick stop at the Irving, and I’m out at the front tire with air hose in hand. Delicately I unscrew the valve cap so as not to get my hands dirty. I daintly begin to fill the tire with air, but
before long, I notice a ‘hisssssssss’ sound emenating from the wheel. A quick search discovers that the rim is bent and the tire will not fill beyond a certain point. I hang my head in sadness, depressed at
the thought of this minor setback interfering with my lunch with my good friend Dave.

12:08pm – I inform Dave that our plans will slightly change. I recommend that I drop my car off for repair at a local garage. It is the garage that my father-in-law frequents, and is close-by eating establishments. Dave suggests that we go get his car, and he’d meet me at the garage. I say I’d rather just motor on to the garage, fearful that the tire may disintegrate at any moment. He concurs. I sense his concurrence is done moreso to placate my rising fears.

12:14pm – We arrive at the garage. I relay the situation of my vehicle to the mechanics, who, with great efficiency tell me that they cannot repair a bent rim. Can I get a used rim somewhere, and you guys fix that up? “No”, they say.

12:15pm – Synapses in my brain begin to crackle and burn as I think, at once, about: how this is ruining my lunch: is ruining Dave’s lunch; is much more bother than I’d like; why the mechanic guys just can’t
fix it or call someone who has the parts to fix it. I’ll pay whatever it takes to get it done, just get it done, okay! I want to eat lunch with Dave. Don’t you see? A mechanic tells me about a place that has used parts. “It’s called Eghsoh Ohfondh…” The frying synapses distort the name. “Okay” I say, defeated, and walk out.

12:17pm – I am at a loss as to what to do about lunch, when Dave suggests that he walk (rather than have me drive him, because he understands my delicate emotions regarding the imminent implosion of the front wheel) back to his work-place, pick up his car and meet me at the place where I’ll find my rim. Where is the place? I don’t know.

12:18pm – I walk back into the garage and ask the name of the place they just told me, and which I acknowledged I understood. “What’s the name of that place?” “It’s You’re a Moron Salvage Yard” was the
subtext of his answer.

12:19pm – Dave trudges off to his workplace. I begin my drive out past the airport, to the place where I will receive my used rim.

12:23pm – I realise that Dave doesn’t really need to pick me up. They won’t be doing the work at the auto supply place. (insert rim-job joke here) They’ll just sell me a used rim. The reason as to why a drive from Dave wouldn’t be necessary is far too complicated for me to get into here. Just suffice it to say that in that story, which involves a Japanese woman and a dead guy, situations conspire so that a car is
available to me, at my home.

12:27pm – I arrive at Island Auto Supply and walk in the door. Who do I see there but Graham (who is part of the Sketch22 show we’re putting on this summer), who is apparently searching for a mirror for his car. Small world, and the presence of Graham improves my mood. We chit-chat for a moment, about nothing.

12:29pm – I inform a guy at the desk of my situation, including model and year of car. “14 or 15?” he asks. I know that he means rim size, but all I can muster is: “huh?” “Are your tires 14 or 15 inches?” “Don’t know.” “Well, we’ll need to know that. But I’m sure we’ve got what you’re looking for.” Hooray!

12:30pm – I walk out to the car and spend far too long looking at the tire, to see an indication of tire size. I see R14-26-blah-de-blah written there, and assume that means 14 inch.

12:32pm – I inform the guy, who was very pleasant and helpful, by the way, that it is 14. He walkie-talkies to some guy in some back area, and begins doing something else. Feeling lost and alone, I seek out
the comfort of Graham.

12:34pm – while speaking to Graham, the guy yells “Hey, bud.” “Yeah?” “No 14 inch rims.” “Okay.” Sigh.

12:37pm – Dave arrives. I tell him that I’m sorry, but I probably didn’t need him to drive all the way out there, and that I’d drive home and take the Japanese woman’s car to work. Dave suggests he follows me to my home, just in case the other car is not there. I say okay. I drive my car, Dave follows, to my home.

12:42pm – We arrive at my home, and the car is there. On the drive home, I figure that it’s best to have Dave drive me back to work. That would leave the Japanese woman’s car for my wife. If she is able to find a rim, she could go pick it up.

12:47pm – After informing my wife of the situation, I get in Dave’s car and we drive back in town. Dave goes through a Wendy’s drive-thru, and we order an order each. Oddly, for my order, I have trouble hearing the girl over the speaker, yet Dave was able to understand her. For his order, Dave had trouble understanding her, yet I was able to.

12:59pm – We arrive at my workplace. Dave thanks me for picking him up for lunch today.

1:03pm – I eat my fries, drink my pop but am in no mood to eat meat.

My wife called all across the island today, in search of a 14” rim. Nobody had one. She tracked one down in Truro, and it’ll arrive here tomorrow.

In the meantime, I want to thank Dave for his unyielding support today in an adventure that wasn’t very exciting yet full of turns.