Tall Ship, left.
Short Ship, above.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Don't Forget To Scrape The Barnacles Off Your Dinghy!
So recently Charleston concluded it's Harborfest. Being from Arizona I'm not used to using the word harbor on a regular basis except for sentences like "Excuse me broken english cab driver, to Sky Harbor International Airport please" or "I like to harbor my feelings until I explode" etc., etc. Anywho, the big draw of this event was the Tall Ships Atlantic Challenge which featured Bea Arthur scaled ships. That's good and all but it leaves me asking, what about the short ships, the Estelle Gettys' of the maritime world if you will. I haven't forgotten you. Just saying that mounting a tall ship would be more fun. I want to come a board the poop deck of the USS Dorothy Zbornak!
Tall Ship, left.
Tall Ship, left.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Hiding Poop, Like a Cat Does!
Picture it, Coolidge, Arizona 1990. A sprightly young lad wearing his favorite Spuds McKenzie t-shirt, not unlike most kindergartners who enjoy an animal spokesperson for his beer, finds himself walking with the rest of West Elementary to the auditorium for some sort of performance.
It was a warm day not unlike today, with blue skies and what not. Not a care in the world, until, I felt that rumble in my tumble that let me know that this little tamale needed to hit up the boys' bathroom, stat. My blatantly lesbian teacher Ms. Herrera wasn't available to take us so we had the school's resident crone, Mrs. Reed, accompany the class. Once they herded all the kinder into the auditorium I made my move towards that old crone and asked if I could go to the bathroom but much to my chagrin, I was rejected, cold school style! She looked at me as if I had just asked her if I could use her lap as a litter box. I now wish I would have, right down to throwing kitty litter in her boobs and using her face as a scratching post.
Rejected and despondent, I returned to my seat. To my left sat Juan, a quiet boy that was not unlike a moth. To my right sat LaWill, who, was really proud of his mother's gold teeth. He wanted me to be jealous but I refused. Who doesn't want gold? Not I, especially if it meant looking like a crack addict but I digress. I disliked both boys for separate reasons. So I guess I didn't feel as bad as I should have when it happened. Like many a pregnant woman and those sentenced to death by electric chair, I lost control of my bowels right in the middle of that damn auditorium.
To think, the same year that Nelson Mandela was released from prison is the same year I released myself onto that upholstered seat. I panicked. How does one escape such a precarious situation unscathed and undetected? Light bulb! I would just ask Juan to switch me seats and that would remedy everything. As if, us switching seats meant that suddenly my Batman underpants were poo-free. Let me tell you, it didn't. Sitting there, in the next seat over, I squirmed and wiggled as if I were auditioning for a Preparation H commercial. I probably would have gotten the part.
After sufficiently ruining Juan's seat, I decided that my old seat didn't seem so bad after all. So, we switched back. Always one to be restless, I asked LaWill to give me the old switcheroo too. Sadly, he complied to my ghastly request. Unbeknownst to him, he would not only have to change seat but his pants too upon someone recognizing that a fecal felony had taken place. I must have been very convincing to get kids I disliked to sit in my poo seat. Talent apparent, age 5.
The performance had ended and to this day I couldn't tell you what I had been watching only that I was giving an Oscar-worthy performance, a little left of center. Somehow, we managed to be the last row out of the auditorium which meant I had to make myself the end of the line. Bringing up the rear as some would say, only leaving some behind in the process. So a little white lie about tying my shoe to hold me up from the others was concocted. The thing was, at that point in life, I didn't even know how to tie my shoes but my reputation at West Elementary was on the line. Not that I had one but if I did that would've been the dumps!
To this day I will never understand how I was able to pull that one off without being detected. The shear smell alone would have been an indicator. Did everyone have clogged noses that day? Why wasn't I sick with this mystery nostril affliction? Did everyone go to a party that I wasn't invited to and contracted this problem? Was there cake there? I wonder why I pooped my pants that day? The past always has a funny way of making you ask questions of yourself, no matter how sad (pants pooping) or delicious (the cake question). Most would have the shit scared out of them in that situation but then again I wasn't most kids and I had already lost some during this journey.
It was a warm day not unlike today, with blue skies and what not. Not a care in the world, until, I felt that rumble in my tumble that let me know that this little tamale needed to hit up the boys' bathroom, stat. My blatantly lesbian teacher Ms. Herrera wasn't available to take us so we had the school's resident crone, Mrs. Reed, accompany the class. Once they herded all the kinder into the auditorium I made my move towards that old crone and asked if I could go to the bathroom but much to my chagrin, I was rejected, cold school style! She looked at me as if I had just asked her if I could use her lap as a litter box. I now wish I would have, right down to throwing kitty litter in her boobs and using her face as a scratching post.
Rejected and despondent, I returned to my seat. To my left sat Juan, a quiet boy that was not unlike a moth. To my right sat LaWill, who, was really proud of his mother's gold teeth. He wanted me to be jealous but I refused. Who doesn't want gold? Not I, especially if it meant looking like a crack addict but I digress. I disliked both boys for separate reasons. So I guess I didn't feel as bad as I should have when it happened. Like many a pregnant woman and those sentenced to death by electric chair, I lost control of my bowels right in the middle of that damn auditorium.
To think, the same year that Nelson Mandela was released from prison is the same year I released myself onto that upholstered seat. I panicked. How does one escape such a precarious situation unscathed and undetected? Light bulb! I would just ask Juan to switch me seats and that would remedy everything. As if, us switching seats meant that suddenly my Batman underpants were poo-free. Let me tell you, it didn't. Sitting there, in the next seat over, I squirmed and wiggled as if I were auditioning for a Preparation H commercial. I probably would have gotten the part.
After sufficiently ruining Juan's seat, I decided that my old seat didn't seem so bad after all. So, we switched back. Always one to be restless, I asked LaWill to give me the old switcheroo too. Sadly, he complied to my ghastly request. Unbeknownst to him, he would not only have to change seat but his pants too upon someone recognizing that a fecal felony had taken place. I must have been very convincing to get kids I disliked to sit in my poo seat. Talent apparent, age 5.
The performance had ended and to this day I couldn't tell you what I had been watching only that I was giving an Oscar-worthy performance, a little left of center. Somehow, we managed to be the last row out of the auditorium which meant I had to make myself the end of the line. Bringing up the rear as some would say, only leaving some behind in the process. So a little white lie about tying my shoe to hold me up from the others was concocted. The thing was, at that point in life, I didn't even know how to tie my shoes but my reputation at West Elementary was on the line. Not that I had one but if I did that would've been the dumps!
To this day I will never understand how I was able to pull that one off without being detected. The shear smell alone would have been an indicator. Did everyone have clogged noses that day? Why wasn't I sick with this mystery nostril affliction? Did everyone go to a party that I wasn't invited to and contracted this problem? Was there cake there? I wonder why I pooped my pants that day? The past always has a funny way of making you ask questions of yourself, no matter how sad (pants pooping) or delicious (the cake question). Most would have the shit scared out of them in that situation but then again I wasn't most kids and I had already lost some during this journey.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Rejoicing in Religious Familiarity
"Are you Seventh Day Adventist?"
"Yeah."
"I thought you were!"
"Yeah."
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Dear Abby....
Dear Abby,
Hi. I hope you don't mind being called Abs. Give it a chance before you go bad mouth across the "web", which, Al Gore invented. Joseph Constantine Carpue, (1764 - 1846), invented rhinoplastic surgery, in case you wondered.
I write this to you while eating mixed nuts alone. One doesn't tell you that's how your life will end up when you are voted Most Likely To Succeed in high school but then again what does a fledgling cotton town in the middle of the desert really know about success. Well, they did add a traffic light at that intersection on the way out to the reservation (Sacaton, Blackwater, et al) so even that bit of information should be considered in determining the town's ability to make valid choices.
Anyways, about the nuts, you guessed it; They're Planters. Oddly enough the peanut [mr. Peanut] on the canister looks rather successful. I dare not say I know a person so successful as to warrant a TOP hat & cane let alone that bourgeois monocle he totes around. Gall, not gumption. Why do Designing Women marathons, rape punch [patron tequila & red bull] & eating mixed nuts usually end with me feeling less than to some sort of marketing cartoon. In this case, a hoity toity legume. To borrow a phrase from 90s television staple Stephanie Tanner: How rude. Legume is derived from the french word légumineuse, whose meaning I'm not familiar, which could account for this nut's brazen attitude & disdain for me, an ameriCAN ne'er–do–well whose gait is borderline sass-say.
I think what I'm trying to say is that I want to be on a canister full of something someday. It doesn't have to be classy like mixed nuts. May it be wadded beef or something to that effect, I have to work out the kinks. First I must address the fact that I devoured a great bulk of the canister & now must worry about the added weight & imminent leg gout I'm sure to incur.
Abs, my parting words will be HOOP SKORT.
-Roddy
Hi. I hope you don't mind being called Abs. Give it a chance before you go bad mouth across the "web", which, Al Gore invented. Joseph Constantine Carpue, (1764 - 1846), invented rhinoplastic surgery, in case you wondered.
I write this to you while eating mixed nuts alone. One doesn't tell you that's how your life will end up when you are voted Most Likely To Succeed in high school but then again what does a fledgling cotton town in the middle of the desert really know about success. Well, they did add a traffic light at that intersection on the way out to the reservation (Sacaton, Blackwater, et al) so even that bit of information should be considered in determining the town's ability to make valid choices.
Anyways, about the nuts, you guessed it; They're Planters. Oddly enough the peanut [mr. Peanut] on the canister looks rather successful. I dare not say I know a person so successful as to warrant a TOP hat & cane let alone that bourgeois monocle he totes around. Gall, not gumption. Why do Designing Women marathons, rape punch [patron tequila & red bull] & eating mixed nuts usually end with me feeling less than to some sort of marketing cartoon. In this case, a hoity toity legume. To borrow a phrase from 90s television staple Stephanie Tanner: How rude. Legume is derived from the french word légumineuse, whose meaning I'm not familiar, which could account for this nut's brazen attitude & disdain for me, an ameriCAN ne'er–do–well whose gait is borderline sass-say.
I think what I'm trying to say is that I want to be on a canister full of something someday. It doesn't have to be classy like mixed nuts. May it be wadded beef or something to that effect, I have to work out the kinks. First I must address the fact that I devoured a great bulk of the canister & now must worry about the added weight & imminent leg gout I'm sure to incur.
Abs, my parting words will be HOOP SKORT.
-Roddy
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