Flash Fiction II

The second time we did a flash fiction day (four weeks later) there were two wrinkles. The first is that I now knew that sometimes people tried to copy the style of others in the class, or modify how they write, to make it harder to guess who wrote what. The second wrinkle is that our professor gave us a challenge - write the piece without using one letter. Ideally the missing letter should be something that would be important, not a q, j or z. I had already started working on a piece, and since it was first person, I decided to write it without using the letter i. Try it some time. It's fun.

Truth

The old lady nods and beams at me, the baby clutched to her chest. Confused, my words tumble out, “No. She can not be my daughter. Tell them. Tell them that!” Our translator doesn't deserve my anger, but nobody else presents themselves as a target.

He speaks to the lawyer who works for the placement agency. Not enough words are exchenged. He turns to me, “No, they know. Your daughter. Huan Yue.”

“No! Look at the old lady. She holds a baby! She can't be more than two months old. Huan Yue was born fourteen months ago!” My purse holds photographs of Huan Yue that have come to us from Hangzhou over the past seven months. The newest ones are always ready to show our folks, co-workers, and other people who we would see. As the only attachment we've had to our baby daughter for seven months, they are treasures to us.

Pulled from my purse, the small framed photograph acts as my proof, shown to the translator, to the lawyer, to the old lady, even to the baby herself. “Look! Here you can see Huan Yue! Here you can see my daughter! You do not have Huan Yue!”

My heart beats faster. My breath catches. The walls encroach upon my body. We have made plans for today for over a year. We completed such a great deal of work, and expended so much energy to be able to come here. Then, at last, we learned that there was a baby who would be able to become our daughter. We accepted Huan Yue as a part of our household. She was our baby daughter, even though she was across an ocean. She was ours.

And now, after seven long months, my daughter should be before me, and they present me a falsehood! After a thousand dreams where we meet, Huan Yue held to my breast, her small cheek pressed to my blouse, and they offer a fake. A fraud!

Who can come to my rescue? My husband, back at the hotel, probably on the bathroom floor? He has suffered from some unknown malady upon the moment we landed at Hangzhou. Our help here was supposed to be the agency attorney, yet he refuses to acknowledge the truth!

The attorney takes the baby and comes at me, places her upon my arms. “Huan Yue. Yes.”

He looks at me, nods and backs away. Do they see me as a fool? Slowly the facts become clear to me. Only two ways to choose are before me – take the baby offered to me home, or return empty handed, alone.

The baby opens her eyes and reaches out a small hand. She looks at me, dark eyes aglow. She was a blameless pawn, used by others to secure some goal.

A prayer forms as my thoughts turn to the real Huan Yue. May she have a home where she can grow, play and learn. May she have a mother and father to care for her. May she have love.

“Yes. My baby.”

Flash Fiction I

Four times during the course of my class we distributed flash fiction (1 page, 300-500 words). We each bring in enough copies to share with everyone in the class (the professor brings one of his own as well, and sometimes a ringer), which are randomly distributed. We read each of the stories, and then at the end try and guess who wrote which story. I don't know why we did that, but it was entertaining. The first flash fiction was the first day of class, which meant that I had to bring in homework (my first college homework in 11+ years), without having any sense of what the class, program, or other students were like. So I went for odd. I guess.

Jeremiah Finkelbom

Jeremiah Finkelbom was not a happy man. The source of his discontent had nothing to do with his name - Jeremiah Finkelbom - although that had certainly been the cause of many difficulties in his life. Today Jeremiah Finkelbom was agitated due to the actions of the man in front of him.

Jeremiah's response to this issue is one that had been perfected by generations of Finkelboms. Indignation, generally righteous, followed by an internal debate between the Finkelbom and the object of Finkelbom ire (the Finkelbom always winning the debate quite handily). Bouyed by the imaginary victory, the Finkelbom's indignation slowly heats to frustration, then to anger, and eventually to a white-hot rage.

And so, knowing that he had the higher ground against his adversary, both morally and literally (as it happened in this particular instance) Jeremiah turned and completed the centuries old Finkelbom ritual – he took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and quite softly made a cutting remark about the vile person's choice of attire.

What some would view as cowardice the Finkelbom considered practicality, or in some cases muted bravery. While every society needs its heroes, it is also true that it cannot function without its Finkelboms. There are only so many heroes to choose from, and eventually the young ladies in a town will come to the realization that it is better to have a Finkelbom husband than no husband at all. It was truly glorious in times of war, when the Finkelboms (who had to stay away from the fighting due to flat feet, trick knees or weak wrists) were actually prized – a complete Finkelbom makes a much better spouse than a warrior who returns from battle with a limb shortage.

It is true that Jeremiah did not realize that his actions were part of an eons old ritual, but past generations of Finkelboms would have nodded their heads in agreement as he spoke, barely above a murmer, “I saw a homeless man on Seventh Street who wants his jacket back.” (It was certainly a Finkelbom who muttered to William Wallace, “I see that your mother let you wear your prom dress to the battle.”)

The target of this cutting remark, hearing something, looked around quizzically. Jeremiah merely stared straight ahead, exhibiting the practiced Finkelbom look that said I didn't say anything, I'm just standing here looking at the trees.

And so the victim walked away, knowing nothing about the gross indignity which he perpretrated upon Jeremiah Finkelbom, the terrible mental tongue lashing he received, or the harsh criticism of his choice of outerwear. Jeremiah smiled, having once again defeated a worthy foe, and continued on his way.

Brotherly Love

Drew Davies stared into his coffee and exhaled, swirling the thin
tendrils of steam that rose from the hot drink. He put both hands
around the mug, feeling the warmth, and sighed. “I already told
you everything. I don't know what else you want me to say.”

Officer Antione Gates wrote in his notebook and took a sip of
coffee. “I'm sorry, Drew, you know I'm just doing my job.”
He stood up from the table and brought his mug over to the kitchen
counter, poured the rest of his coffee down the drain and rinsed his
glass. He looked out the window and stared quietly for a minute.
“Steve's motorcycle, right?” Officer Gates pointed to the
driveway, where two wheels poked out from under a dark green storage
cover.

“Yeah.”

“Doesn't look like it's been used for a while.”

“It's been at least two years.”

“Did he ever make it to Sturgis? I remember he always talked
about that in high school.”

Drew walked over to the fridge and slid a picture out from
underneath a magnet. “Five years ago.” He handed the
picture to Officer Gates. A young man, black jeans and black t-shirt,
dark sunglasses, sat on a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy motorcycle, its
chrome glinting in the sunlight. Hundreds of bikes stretched out
behind the man, clogging the wide street.

“Good for him.” Officer Gates headed towards the door,
then stopped and turned back towards Drew. “Oh, yeah, one quick
question. I talked to a couple of people who thought that there was
no way Steve could have done it. What do you think about that?”

“I talked to Brad yesterday. He warned me that you were
fishing for something. You saw the same thing I did, I don't know
what you're hoping to find. My brother did it, all by himself. What
other explanation is there?” Drew shoved his hands into his
pockets and stared into Officer Gates' eyes.

“You're right. I saw it, too. Oh, I think this is yours.”
He pulled a plastic yellow ball from his pocket and tossed it to
Drew. Officer Gates turned and walked out the door.

“Yeah, this is mine.”

* * * *
* * *

“Thanks for coming,” Drew said, shaking hands with Brad
Stenson, Steve's business partner.

“Of course. I still can't believe what he did. I swear, I
never thought he would do something like that.” Brad ran his
hands through his hair. “Have you talked to Gates yet? He was
in the office this morning for almost an hour. I think he's looking
for something, but won't come out and ask it directly.”

“No, we haven't talked yet. He's going to come over tomorrow
morning for coffee.”

“I'm sorry, this isn't what we should be talking about now.
There are lots of people who want to talk to you. I'll see you
around.” Brad shook Drew's hand, gave him a pat on the
shoulder, and walked away.

Drew looked at the group of people milling around, dressed in somber
black suits and conservative dresses. He nodded to men that he knew
and endured hugs from older ladies as he crossed the room. Soft piano
music filtered into the room from overhead speakers. He stopped,
placing his hands on top of the casket.

“Steve was a good man.” Drew turned to see Vanessa,
Steve's high-school sweetheart and one-time fiance. “I can't
believe he's gone. He's too young.”

Drew tensed, his fingers pressing hard to the top of the oaken
casket.

“I know you're mad at me,” Vanessa continued, “I
know you think I shouldn't have left him. You probably think that I
should have supported him more. I'm sorry. Please forgive me.”
She placed her hands on top of Drew's. “Please, I can't stand
to have you mad at me, on top of all this. I know how hard it's been
for you, I've felt this loss, too.”

Drew lifted his hands away and looked her directly in the eyes. “You
have no idea how hard it's been for me. You don't know what he was
like to live with. You don't know what I had to do. You left.”

“I know. But I had to think about myself. He was so difficult
to live with. I needed freedom.”

“Well, you got it.” Drew turned and walked away, facing
straight ahead, ignoring the dull murmer of the crowd, focusing on
the door.

* * * *
* * *

“215 Ash Street! My brother is dead!”

Drew threw the phone down and ran into the bathroom. Steve's body
was on the floor, eyes open, staring blankly into the pool of blood
around his head.

“Dammit, Steve! Why couldn't you have been stronger?”
Drew slowly sat down on the floor next to his brother's body, gently
lifting Steve's head onto his lap. Wiping the blood from his hands
onto his pants, he used his thumb and forefinger to close Steve's
eyes.

Drew didn't notice when the sound of sirens got louder, or when his
front door banged open. He was still staring at his brother's quiet
face and stroking his brother's hair when the first paramedic entered
the room. The paramedic knelt down and felt Steve's neck for a pulse.
“Are you hurt at all, sir?” he asked Drew.

“What? No. I'm fine.”

Officer Antoine Gates stepped into the bathroom with another
paramedic. “Jesus Christ, Drew, what happened here?”
Kneeling down, he pulled a cloth from his pocket and used it to pick
up a black pistol.

“He wasn't strong enough. He just wasn't strong enough.”

Officer Gates set the gun back down and walked over to the sink.
Bending down, he picked up a ball, yellow and slightly squishy, and
placed it in a plastic baggie. “Drew, these men need to do
their job. Let me help you up.” Drew carefully placed his
brother's head back on the floor, and took hold of Officer Gates'
hand.

Officer Gates' nose wrinkled as he lifted Drew off the floor. “Drew,
do I smell gunpowder on you? What happened?”

“I tried to stop him, but I was too late. I had my hand on his
when he pulled the trigger. I couldn't stop him.” Drew held up
his hands, shaking and blood stained.

“I'm so sorry, Drew. I know this has been a tough time for you
guys, but I never expected it to end like this.”

“I didn't either. I honestly didn't.”

* * * *
* * *

“Steve?” Drew walked through the house, looking for his
brother. He went into Steve's room, and saw the door to his private
bathroom closed. Putting his ear to the door, he heard quiet crying
from in the room. He opened the door and entered. “Are you OK
Steve?”

He saw Steve on the floor, his wheelchair next to the shower. Steve
was leaning against the wall, and a gun was in his lap.

“I can't.” Steve said, the words slow and slurred. He
looked up at Drew, tears streaming down his face. “I can't.”

“It's OK, Steve. It'll be OK.” Drew sat down on the
linoleum floor, slowly reached out and took the Glock 21 away from
his brother. The black polymer body of the gun was cool to the touch,
and Drew carefully removed the magazine from the handle of the gun,
then set them down on the floor, away from his brother.

“No!” Steve's shout was low, and followed by a slow
wheeze. “I can't.” He reached to his side and
picked up a bright yellow ball from the floor. It was made of squishy
plastic, the size of a tennis ball, with a smiley face on one side.
Steve attempted to squeeze the ball, but his fingers only made small
indentations in the plastic. “Too late.”

Steve let go of the ball, and it bounced off his knee and rolled
underneath the pedastal sink, resting next to the white marble base.
He slumped over, his head resting on the floor, and began to sob.

“Steve, I'm so sorry. Come on, stop it, we'll get through
this. There's still that clinical trial I told you about, remember?”
Drew slid over to Steve, lifted up his head and put it in his lap.
“We'll keep fighting, right to the end.”

“I want to die. You promised.” The words were slow, and
muffled, and slurred, but Drew heard them clearly. When Steve was
newly diagnosed, they had talked at length about how vigorously to
fight the disease. Steve was a fighter – a strong, bold young
man who tackled problems the same way that he took down opposing
players as an All-Conference linebacker at Central High. Steve made
it clear that the thing he feared the most was wasting away, a
prisoner in his own body.

“I'll fight this as long and as hard as I can, but once I
start to lose, I'm going to end it.”

The brothers were sitting in a waiting room at Memorial Hospital. A
coffee table was in front of them, plastic covered copies of Good
Housekeeping and Sports
Illustrated scattered on top.

“What are you talking about? We're going to beat this thing.”

“Come on, Drew, you and I both know what's going to happen. At
some point I'm going to be stuck in a wheelchair with a tube in my
throat. I won't be able to eat, or breathe, or wipe my own ass. I'm
not going to end up like that. When I start going downhill, I'm going
to use the Glock. Screw it.”

Drew put his head in his hands. “Stop it, Steve, don't talk
like that. You can't kill yourself.”

“I will. And don't even try to stop me. It's happening already
- I couldn't even use the twenty pound weights this morning. I could
pick up fifteen, but not twenty.”

“Yeah, but there's exercises you can do to help strengthen
your hands. And there's all kinds of new research and medicines
they're developing. You don't need to talk about killing yourself.”

Steve grabbed Drew's head in both hands and pulled his face towards
him. “I will try all the exercises and drugs that I can,
because I am scared to death of dying. But it absolutely freaks me
out to think of being trapped in a body that can't do anything. I
would rather be dead. You have to promise me, brother to brother,
that when I decide to do it, you won't stop me.” Steve panted,
taking a deep breath. “Promise.”

“OK, I promise. It's your decision to make. I promise.”

Drew picked up the Glock, and slowly clicked the magazine into
place. “I promised.” He placed the gun in Steve's right
hand, curling his forefinger around the trigger. “I promised.”
He covered Steve's hand with his own, lifted the gun and placed the
barrell to his brother's temple.

Steve looked into his brother's eyes, blinked away tears, and
nodded, slightly. He closed his eyes and tensed, and Drew squeezed
his hand. The sound of the gun resonated in the small room, and it
was all Drew could hear, even as the gun clattered to the floor and
Steve's body collapsed in a heap. Drew stared at the wall, looked at
his hands, and closed his eyes.

“I promised.”

Mix and Match

At U.N., Chavez calls Bush 'the devil'

Wed Sep 20, 11:48 AM ET

This is a test

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Haiku Book Review: Thud!, Terry Pratchett

Dwarves and Trolls, oh my!

A secret at Koom Valley.

Can Sam Vimes fix it?

94

Haiku Movie Review: The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

Very odd people

Embark on a sea voyage.

Quirky, oddball fun.

68

Haiku Book Review: Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer

Twelve year old genius

And criminal mastermind.

Good book for Koleman.

80

Haiku Book Review: Going Postal, Terry Pratchett

Spoof the Post Office,

And business and cons too.

Moist von Lipwig rules.

91

Haiku Movie Revew: The Upside of Anger

It's no Field of Dreams.

Costner sure put on some weight.

SPOILER: Hubby's dead.

54

Haiku Book Review: Monstrous Regiment, Terry Pratchett

Crazy army group

Fights foes and old ideas.

Pratchett rocks again.

92

Haiku Movie Revew: Hitch

Hitch helps dating men.

But can he learn to love too?

Corny, cute and fun.

64

Food for Thought

Thought

A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon, and gas prices rise forty cents in the U.S.

Wow

I just finished reading a remarkable book, The Last Shot, by Darcy Frey. For me it was deja vu all over again, as it brought me back to my days as a high school basketball player. The pressure of playing against the top players in the country, of performing in front of top Division I coaches, knowing that if you fail at basketball you will end up in a life of drugs, living in horrible projects at a poverty level, praying that you will be able to score a 700 on your SAT - all of these things were the hallmark of my high school days.

I give it an 84 for its ability to mirror my life.

Crap

Damn you, Larry.

I thought that it was time to let this godforsaken blog die the pitiful death that it had earned, but then I started getting hits from CDFFL. So now I feel compelled to post something. Fine, here goes:

If you are visiting here from CDFFL, thank you for contributing money to what will surely be the Kevin Lund Victory Tour.

Now go away.

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

What do I like?

In a comment to a previous post of mine, Scooter said, "I don't think I ever pictured you as a Green Day fan."

It made me wonder, what kind of music do you think I like? And that led, naturally, to the thought that there should be an exciting contest, where the few losers who look at my blog can guess at what are the most frequently played songs on my iPod. But a contest is meaningless without a prize, and so, to stoke your contemplations, I have come up with a reward that is priceless. To the person who makes the best guess I reward ... praise on a CDFFL recap. Yes, when Larry allows me to do a recap, I will have nothing but kind words for the lucky winner.

This is certainly the greatest thing anybody has ever seen on a Friday morning.

Great job, Larry!

You're excellent at PhotoShop, I'll give you that. I mean, this picture hardly has any flaws at all. Bravo!

Does this hurt his Hall of Fame chances?

ESPN.com - MLB - Palmeiro suspended for steroids, denies using them

Nice way to follow up the good publicity you received from joining the 3,000 hit club. "Palmeiro said he had accepted his punishment and could not explain how the steroids got into his body." Sure, I'll buy that. Probably some jealous teammate spiked his Coke. As the Green Goblin so eloquently put it, "the one thing they love more than a hero is to see a hero fail." So true.

I swear to god, STAY AWAY!!

Do not, under any circumstances, download and install Google Earth. If, by accident, you do happen to install Google Earth, PLEASE do not go to the Google Earth Community website and start poking around there. And ESPECIALLY don't visit the Earth Browsing section. For the love of God, listen to me! Once you've gone in, you'll never come out!

HELP ME!

I think they want you, Scooter

An open casting call looking for "extreme characters and hideously unattractive types." Just to warn you, though, this isn't a paid interview. Sorry.

Book Review: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J.K. Rowlings

It's hard to describe accurately what one feels upon completing the latest addition to the Harry Potter series. It certainly picks up the story where Order of the Phoenix left off, but it strays a bit from the style that we've come to expect from Rowlings.

Is there wizardry? Yes, of course! But it's not exactly the same. For example, in this book Ron ventures into Knockturn Alley to meet with a shady wizard. But instead of attempting to gain information to help Harry defeat Lord Voldemort, Ron purchases a "self-enhancement" potion, in order to "increase" and "enlarge" his chances of making a "significant impression" on Hermione. (if you know what I mean)

Is there witchcraft? Again, of course! It's just that I didn't expect to read about Ginny Weasly filming an erotic home video with Professor Flitwick where they "charm the pants off one another." (and I think you know what I mean)

Probably the most surprising aspect of the book was learning that Dumbledore (the titular Half-Blood Prince) had in fact been a minion of Voldemort's all along. When his connection to the Dark Lord was revealed, he fled to London with Snape, and the two of them moved into a flat in Soho, where "Dumbledore would pay the rent, and Snape would take care of the utilities." (and I know you know what I mean)

The ending of the book is even more surprising, but I don't want to give it away for those who have yet to read it. Here's a hint though: Harry, Hagrid, two Boy Scouts, four "wands", and a ham sandwich. (oh yeah, you know what I mean)

Anyway, I give it a 99.

Furthermore

I am supposed to link to my greatest posts, so all of the losers who come here from the City Pages will know how brilliant I think I am. Or something like that. I never get these things correct.

• My archive from last September is loaded with brilliant posts. Amazing.
• Is it possible to top the adventures of Flatulence Man?
• Of course, my account of The Wiggles True Hollywood Story is a masterpiece beyond compare.
• And finally, the coop de resistor: this post. Wow.

Happy?

Have I mentioned yet

that people who read the City Pages are simple-minded fools who believe that spurning mass media options makes them somehow better than other people? Is there anything more disgusting than self-important boobs?

Larry, Quick!

Read this before you get in trouble! Beware big brother!

Mix and Match

Angelina Jolie adopts Ethiopian AIDS orphan

Reuters - Tue Jul 5,11:14 PM ET

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Actress Angelina Jolie is adopting a newborn Ethiopian girl orphaned by AIDS, People magazine reported on Tuesday.

Thomson-West

[Post deleted in order to make sure someone who isn't responsible for this doesn't get held responsible for this.]"Thomson-West, Eagan, MN" "Thomson-West paranoid fascist cows." testicles idiots heroin

Trivia

I just finished a series where I learned that Satan is, oddly enough, the stepfather of God. What series did I finish?

Mean Mr. Mustard has been meaning to post on this

but just hasn't found the time yet.

Is there a more meaningless statistic in baseball than the hold? The thought is valid - a way to statistically quantify the value of middle relievers. But something is obviously wrong with the implementation. Today Alan Embree got a Hold - despite the fact that all three batters he faced got on base and scored. Here's his line:

	IP	H	R	ER	BB	K	HR	Season ERA
A. Embree (H, 3)	0.0	1	3	2	1	0	0	7.79

[Straight Line:] It must be nice to have a job where you can be a complete and utter failure and still get the spoils of success.

Oh crap

The perverts have found my photo blog:

	Num	Perc.	Search Term
	2	18.18%	photos of cute boys

Subliminal Parenting

While Kelson sits in the living room reading Animal Babies, ABC, he is listening to American Idiot.

So, which is it?

Are lions noble and wonderful, or vindictive and evil? They need to make up their minds, because I'm getting confused.

Father's Day

We had a very nice Father's Day, and one that Scooter should appreciate. We (myself, my dad, my grandfather and my brother, along with our significant others and children) went to New Ulm to go on the Schell's brewery tour. It's short and simple, which is good when one member of the party is a couple months removed from knee replacement surgery. And you definitely recoup your $2 entrance fee in the taphouse afterward. We finished up the brewery tour with a trip to Happy Joe's pizza. Ah, Happy Joe's pizza...

Pizza and beer - it's easy to please fathers.

I can die a happy man, now

I just saw Bo Bice perform on the Today Show. Life is good.

I will now go shoot myself

The National Father's Day Council has announced their four finalists for Father of the Year. The finalists include Donald Trump and Larry King, who have combined for 10 marriages and 10 children. How can I compete with that?

Full Story Here.

Very odd

I can now provide Mean Mr. Mustard a reason to watch the NBA Finals. I was watching the Heat-Pistons game last night and whenever I saw Chauncey Billups I knew that he looked like somebody, but I couldn't place who. Eventually I realized that, as odd as it seems, Billups looks like Scott Hanson. Not all the time, of course, but it is especially noticeable after a call that Billups doesn't like. He and Hanson have almost the exact same expression when showing their disgust for a call.

This is the best picture I could find, and it doesn't really do the similarity justice:

It is probably wise to keep in mind, however, that I only have the brain the size of a walnut.

Ouch

I know my opinion doesn't count for much, but seeing Hakeem like this is just painful. I'm sure Mean Mr. Mustard agrees completely.

Grass Stains

If you have a problem with grass stains, go to Tide's stain detective to get the answer. However, under no circumstances should you click on the link "richard from Orange County uses tide."

That's just not right.

Classic

This is pure brilliance. From the way Jose is seated behind the little missus to the fact that they're both holding the horse, I just can't look at this picture without conjuring up some seriously twisted scenarios.

Jose Santos

Issue: 2004 Photo by Richard Corman Rita and Jose Santos (Jockey) Saratoga Springs, N.Y. Swimsuit by OMO Norma Kamali

Excuse me?

Why didn't Sanchita join her sisters? Odd, dontchathink?

By this time tomorrow

I should be eating a Frenchy's grouper sandwich. If not, it probably means that I perished in a fiery ball of death. Looks like a win-win scenario for me.

I'm sure Mean Mr. Mustard will agree with this

Just some ratings:

• The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, 85
• The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, 82
• Life, The Universe, and Everything, 78
• So Long and Thanks For All the Fish, 84
• Mostly Harmless, 69
  
  

Bourne cleared of charges; Lund sought for questioning

St. Peter, Minn. (KTL) In a stark reversal from yesterday's activities at Klund's DVD headquarters, super-spy Jason Bourne was cleared from all charges related to the weekend's DVD player breakdown. Authorities now want to question an unnamed suspect who is now believed to be behind the malfunction.

Klund chief investigator Nivek Dnul explained that a Klund DVD technologist took apart the DVD player and found that The Bourne Supremacy was actually placed in the DVD drive on top of The Incredibles. "It seems that the malfunction was due to interaction between the two DVD's. Mr. Incredible and Jason Bourne both think they're the toughest dudes on the block, so naturally any contact between the two of them would cause nasty side effects. We believe that they were intentionally placed in close proximity in order to spark a fight."

Klund investigators are looking for a tall, young and extremely handsome man who was spotted at the scene of the crime moments before the malfunction.

Is it too soon to buy Larry

his birthday present?

Jason Bourne Killed my Toshiba DVD Player

OK, this is stupid, I'm sure. Last night I opened up a brand new DVD - the Bourne Supremacy. I put it in my Toshiba SD-V391 DVD/VCR combo, and it died. The DVD screen said "Reading Disc" and froze. I tried turning it off and then on again, and at that point the thing was officially dead. I couldn't turn it on, I couldn't get the DVD out of the machine. Heck, it wasn't even passing the cable signal on to the TV!

Is it possible for a DVD to kill a player? Or was it just a coincidence? The machine had been working fine up to this point. My only conclusion is that Jason Bourne did some of his super-spy moves on the inside of my DVD player and now it's dead.

Damn, that's not nice.

And the disc is still in there. When I do get the disc out, I'm not sure if I want to try it in our other DVD player. He still might be angry.

Cold Mountain

66.

It would have been in the 30's except for (and I can't quite believe that I'm typing this) the remarkable Renee Zelwegger. She completely saved the movie. I don't think I could have cared less whether or not Jude Law made it back to Cold Mountain and his dear, beloved Nicole Kidman.

The only other redeeming quality of the movie was who Jude met on his trip home. "Hey, that's Phillip Seymour Hoffman!" "Hey, that's Giovanni Ribisi!" "Hey! That's Natalie Portman!"

Naturally he dies immediately after he overcomes unbelievable odds and actually gets home to his honey. (Oh, and after he knocks up Nicole. That's important, too, I think.) It wouldn't have been appropriately tragic if they lived happily ever after.

Whatever.

Watch out, Scooter

Someone in the Netherlands doesn't trust you.

Wait a second!

I thought we defeated the Taliban years ago. Isn't Afghanistan a peaceful, Coca-Cola loving democray now? What gives?

Another Thing I Learned

This obesity epidemic is going a bit too far. I saw plenty of young girls/women Saturday night who were wearing clothes that showed off some of their belly. I would say that, at best, 1 out of 5 should have been dressed like that. Not pretty.

Things learned this weekend

Well, I sure did learn a lot this weekend. In no particular order:

• If I park in the Kellog ramp after an Xcel event I'll probably sit in my van for 20 minutes before even turning it on.
  
• It's amazing what kind of response you can get (as a rock god, of course) by merely remembering where you are. Adam Levine: "St. Paul, Minnesota!" (not "Hello, St. Paul!" or "How are you doing St. Paul?" All he did was name the place.) Crowd: [goes nuts]. "He knows where he is!" Swoon.
• If the line to get into a restaurant stretches into their parking lot, it is by definition a good restaurant.
• Napoleon Dynamite was entertaining, but not "brilliant", "groundbreaking" or "scatological." Klund rating: 72.
  
• Benefit number 47 of being married to a dentist: When you get a salmon bone stuck into your tonsils, your spouse has the tools to easily remove it. (and yes, I feel like a complete idiot for not getting photographic evidence)
• Those bastards at Yahoo! have Cossetta's at the wrong place. Or at least at a location that they occupied probably 50 years ago.
• Pope Benedict XVI prayed not to be elected Pope. I'm sure prayer has its place, but don't you think a well-placed "If elected I will not serve" speech would have been more effective?
• It's sad what I consider learning a lot.
  

Looks like someone is already blogging for Mean Mr. Mustard

Ron's Apartment: Penguicon - Day 1 - part 2

Yippee for you

I really wish that I brought my digital camera with me everywhere, because then I would have been able to provide a picture instead of describing what I saw today. Everyone has seen the bumber stickers that proclaim "My child is an honor roll student at Dumbsville High", or some such nonsense. Apparently there are also bumber stickers for stupid kids. A minivan that I saw today had a sticker which proclaimed, "My child is a Terrific Kid at [some school I can't remember]." Wow. Terrific, huh? That's great.

What a joke

It's a complete and utter outrage that Greg Biffle is ranked number 2. I am deeply hurt and offended.

My high score was 61

But I'm sure that can be topped.

Yikes!

I haven't blogged in 8 days! If I'm not careful I'll be as bad as Mean Mr. Mustard!

Now for Something Completely Different

A Poem:

You're flashing rain ... pouring, rolling.

I'm comin' on across a young sky.

My lightening's only a hurricane.

You're like the thunder, but I'm gonna die.

(Words taken from the first verse of AC/DC's "Hells Bells", then rearranged to my satisfaction. Feel free to play this game at home.)

Holy Crap!

I just realized something:

• Koleman - Name L OK
• Elias - Sail, E
• Milena - An Eli M
• Kelson - No slek

Dear god, what does this portend?

Hey kids! Look!

Santa is dead!

What the hell

do I post on April Fools Day to a blog that is already all lies? The
truth? OK, Kelson just crapped his pants. April Fools! Maybe.

Another reason Scooter won't move to St. Peter

Apparently more
loonies have escaped. It's all good, though, because - according
to Yahoo! - my house is 0.4 miles away from the treatment center. No
worries, then. And it makes me feel safe when the helicopters buzz
right over my house. The kids like to watch the helicopters. "Why are
there helicopters flying over our house, daddy?" "Um, they're looking
for leprechauns!"

A Quote

From Terry Pratchett's Moving Pictures:

... Victer Tugelbend was also the laziest person in the
history of the world. Not simply, ordinarily lazy. Ordinary laziness
was merely the absence of effort. Victor had passed through there a
long time ago, had gone straight through common place idleness and out
on the far side. He put more effort into avoiding work than most
people put into hard labor.

Wiggle While you Work

[Note: I recently hacked into the computer system of the E! Entertainment Network, and downloaded a portion of a transcript. It is from an upcoming show of theirs, "The E! True Hollywood Story: The Wiggles." Unfortunately I only got a small bit of it. Here's what I got:]

...

Narrator: They returned to Australia as conquering heroes, their American tour a success beyond imagination. The Wiggles were on top of the world, with CD's selling millions of copies worldwide and their TV show being broadcast in 25 countries, dubbed into 11 languages. Everything seemed to be going The Wiggles way.

[dramatic pause]

Narrator: However, old demons would soon return to create a rift in The Wiggles harmony. Could this be the end of the foursome?

[commercial break]

Narrator: At the beginning of 2002, the Wiggles were the most successful children's performers in the world. Everything they touched was a success – CD's, videos, merchandise. Those close to the group, however, saw a different picture. The unity of the group was fracturing, and one of the Wiggles was going to face the toughest test of his life.

Maury Steinberg (Jeff's agent): I think Jeff got a little disillusioned. He had always wanted to be a famous singer, but I think he hoped that the girls screaming for him would have been a bit ... older. Not that he didn't get some action. Of course, he told me that if he bagged one more mom with stretch marks and saggy - er, you know - he'd probably kill himself.

Narrator: Jeff had a reputation among the crew of The Wiggles show as someone to avoid. They considered him moody, and tried to avoid his darker side.

James Smythe (producer): Jeff had a definite edge to him off the set. It was what made him the best actor of the group. On stage he was likeable and silly, but off stage he was a beast. All of us who worked on the show stayed out of his way. Greg and Anthony really were as nice as their Wiggles personality, and Murray ... well, Murray was always a bit different, but he never caused any problems for the crew. Jeff ... did some things.

“Dave” (crew member) [face blurred]: There was a new cameraman one time who played a practical joke on Jeff. Stupid, stupid thing to do, but the guy didn't know any better. You could tell Jeff was pissed, even though he didn't say anything. He just stared at the guy. Mike, I think. He called in sick the next few days, and it turned out he was nursing a knife wound. Seemed like more than just a coincidence, but nothing came of it. He quit before he came back to work.

Narrator: Jeff had a history of trouble, and it was about to get much worse.

Bob Smithson (friend): Jeff had been clean for about six years at this point, but I think everything was getting to him. I came over to his place one night and he was in pretty bad shape. I asked him what was wrong. I guess that was a mistake. He told me that if I didn't “stay the **** away from him” it would be the end of me. Now, I know that Jeff doesn't look like the toughest guy when he's got his purple shirt on, but you didn't want to mess with him. He still had a couple of friends from his days running with the Duece gang in Sydney. Greg and Anthony made it clear that those guys could never be anywhere near anything involving the Wiggles, but they would camp out at Jeff's flat for months at a time. There were always rumors about them cleaning up some of Jeff's messes. There was this girl once... Nevermind, let's cut that. I don't want to talk about that.

Narrator: The Wiggles had a three week break after returning from their American tour, and before starting filming on the new season of The Wiggles TV show. During that time Greg and Anthony took their families on a vacation to a resort in India. Murray returned to the privacy of his Gore Hill estates. Jeff, however, returned to his roots, spending much of his time with old friends from the Duece gang and allegedly resuming his heroin habit.

Narrator: Conflicts within the group came to a head in April of 2002, when the group came together at the studio for filming. On the first day of the shoot, Jeff came to the studio two hours late and in a very agitated state. E! has acquired exclusive footage of a confrontation between Jeff and Greg shortly after Jeff arrived on set.

Greg: Damn it, Jeff! Pull yourself together. We're supposed to be filming here and you can't even walk straight? What the hell have you been doing?

Jeff: **** you, Greg! You and Anthony can keep that queer bastard Murray in line, but I'm sick of it. [muttering] I'm going to go take a nap. Isn't that what I do best anyway? “Wake up, you ****bag, Jeff!” I'm out of here. I see that the kids are here. I hope Anthony is in charge of watching Murray today.

Greg: What? Oh, bugger, I've got to go. Listen, just go to your dressing room and relax. We'll talk about this later.

Narrator: But Jeff didn't go to his dressing room. Police reports indicate that less than an hour later he was arrested for propositioning an undercover police agent.

...

Did I mention that I moved away from Fargo?

Not a moment too soon.

Mix and Match (it's been a while)

6. Remains May Be of Oldest Walking Hominid

AP - Mon Mar 7, 8:04 AM ET

A team of U.S. and Ethiopian scientists has discovered the fossilized remains of what they believe is humankind's first walking ancestor, a hominid that lived in the wooded grasslands of the Horn of Africa nearly 4 million years ago.

Full Coverage Sent: 320 times

Who am I?

I heard someone attempt to describe themselves and thought that it would be a worthwhile exercise. So here is how I would describe myself:

Take all of the greatest people in the world, living or dead - the smartest, kindest, best looking, most ingenious people - and combine them together. I'm talking about people like Mother Theresa, Leonardo da Vinci, the three Alberts (Schweitzer, Einstein and Fat), John F. Kennedy, Jesus Christ. Mix all of them together, and then remove the few character flaws and imperfections that each of them had.

Next, take those character flaws and distill them for a thousand years, allowing only the most evil, the most cold-hearted, the most disgusting, and the most vile traits to remain. And truly these traits will be spectacular, for every person has the ability to be evil to the same degree that they are good. Then take the remaining mix and bake it in the fiery furnaces of Hell for another thousand years. Remove it when it is human shaped, pink skinned, and bounces back when pressed lightly.

That's me, I think.

Oh, make sure to keep all the reserved people bits from the first step. If used properly they can be the ingredients to make a Peter Jackson.

Something is so wrong with this

Best Selling artists in USA
In million of units sold:

1. The Beatles, 166.5
2. Elvis Presley, 117.5
3. Led Zeppelin, 106
4. Garth Brooks, 105
5. The Eagles, 88

Source: Recording Industry Association of America

Blogging is all fun and games, until the boss finds out - Feb. 14, 2005

Blogging is all fun and games, until the boss finds out - Feb. 14, 2005

Mean Mr. Mustard and Scooter had better pay attention to this story. I, on the other hand, am pretty sure that no matter what I post I'm not getting fired.

Bwahahahaha!!

I kid you not

This story is easily the best thing I've seen in a long time. It completely restores my faith in humanity.

Lawrence K. Davies

is my new favorite person. Love him!

For Larry

I used the BlogThis! link for the first time, and look what it got me: NaNa!!!: Just Thinking...

If you ask me

There is no better phrase in the English language than "Franky G is Jonny Zero."

Good News

Nothing makes my day like hearing about the death of someone who I had assumed had been dead for a quarter century. Happy times.

Based on the trailer

Constantine looks to be the worst movie made in many years. I'm sure Ming will let us know for sure.

In the Dark of the Night

In the dark of the night the beast awoke. Hungering for flesh, the monster lifted its head, sniffing the air. Somewhere deep in the recesses of its mind there was a flicker of recognition - the scent that it detected was not entirely new. More importantly, the beast understood the simplicity of his night's mission. He must track that scent, find its source, and destroy it; all other activities were secondary to that primal urge.

Arising from its lair, the beast stretched its long, lanky frame. It sniffed the air again, confirming the direction that its travels must go. He began his journey, northward through the forest, slowly at first. As his limbs loosened - how long had I slept? - he increased his speed, until he was nothing more than a blur racing between trees and over streams.

As the cool wind whipped his face, the monster started to remember things. Small bits of information; things learned ages ago in a world so different than the one in which he currently dwelled. I am Yaz-gael. It comforted him to know that he had a name. His pace quickened. The miles flew by.

He remembered being born. The fire searing his flesh. The cruel marks being cut into his legs. The commands written into the very fabric of his being. Hunt. Find. Destroy. Was he still controlled by those beings? The Mahl-grok. He remembered their name, as well. Names are important; it is unwise to kill something without knowing its name.

Yaz-gael slowed and came to a stop. He was in a wooded valley, with mountains rising high above him to the east and west. Before him a rock jutted out of the ground, cracked and marked, looking almost like a hooded man, covered with a great cloak. He remembered this place. Great evil was done here. He could not remember who had performed the vile acts, but he knew he was involved. The blood spoiled the earth. Indeed, nothing grew within a yard of the rock.

Turning aside, he headed north, and began to run again.

The beast sniffed the air again, and quickly stopped. The scent had changed. He knows I am coming for him. He is not alone. It did not matter to Yaz-gael. Once started, a hunt could not be stopped. He continued on, but more slowly this time. He is close.

"Call off your hunt."

A cloaked figure stepped out from behind a tree. "I can not allow you to pass. You must call off your hunt. I am a warden of Dim-al-garong, and you are forbidden here." The figure slowly drew his sword from the scabbard at his side.

Yaz-gael examined the warden. One of the Loren-folk. He lifted his grotesque head and spoke for the first time in years, "Your name." The sound of his voice was unwelcome in the forest; it seemed to come from fetid pools deep within the recesses of the earth. The trees appeared to recoil from the sound.

The warden took a step back and responded slowly, unwillingly, "I am Dal Hond."

"Dal Hond."

As the beast spoke the warden's name, he became a blur. Before the man was able to raise his sword his arm was cut from his body. Claws sharp as knives ripped through his throat, silencing him before he screamed.

Yaz-gael licked the blood from one of his claws. It is not time to feed yet. Soon. He advanced slowly through the woods, the scent of his prey becoming more pronounced. A light flickered ahead. He continued on, and approached the source of the light, a fire burning just inside the entrance to a cave. As he stepped into the clearing in front of the cave he sensed a disturbance in the air.

Quickly reaching up, he snatched the arrow before it struck his head. He once again became a blur, racing to his left, around a tree, coming up behind the warden who had loosed the arrow.

"Your name."

The warden tried to run, but his legs would not work. He fell to the ground, helplessly. He whimpered, "I am Nash Tole."

"Nash Tole."

Nash looked up and saw the firelight reflected in Yaz-gael's hideous eyes. He began to scream, but no sound ever came out of his mouth.

The beast walked over the warden's body and came to the cave entrance. Sitting beside the fire, facing the entrance, was a young boy, perhaps ten or eleven years old. The boy looked at Yaz-gael with clear blue eyes. "I told them to let me wait for you alone, but they thought they could protect me. They have not met your kind before."

"Your name."

The beast's voice seemed to fill the cave with a foul stench. The fire flickered and dimmed. The boy looked at Yaz-gael and laughed; a clear sparkling sound that chased the beast's stench out of the cave. "You have no power over me, monster. But it matters not, you already know my name."

The beast looked at the boy. Memories flickered in his head. Images of ages long past - fire, pain, laughter? He shook his head. The hunt was on, and it had to be finished. He had a single purpose. Yes, he knew the boy's name, and he spoke it to him, "Kahl Brin."

"Yes, that is my name," the boy answered, rising, "and now our game begins in earnest."

And he vanished.

Surprise!

So this weekend we watched two movies: Win a Date with Tad Hamilton! (RottenTomatoes rating: 53%), and Collateral (RottenTomatoes rating: 85%). Now, I don't claim to be on the cutting edge of art and culture, like some people, so my views are probably not worth the pixels they're displayed on. Regardless, I thought that WaDwTH! was easily a better, more entertaining movie than Collateral. Of course, once I admit to having a man-crush on Topher Grace (who has an uncanny resemblance to Bjarki Steinn Traustason), this entire post makes much more sense.

A Game or a Challenge

Here are the top ten entries in Eddie Murphy's filmography, sorted by ratings:

1. (8.10) - Shrek (2001)
2. (7.69) - Shrek 2 (2004)
3. (7.63) - Eddie Murphy Delirious (1983) (TV)
4. (7.29) - Trading Places (1983)
5. (7.19) - Mulan (1998)
6. (7.09) - Beverly Hills Cop (1984)
7. (6.83) - Saturday Night Live: The Best of Eddie Murphy (1998) (V)
8. (6.69) - 48 Hrs. (1982)
9. (6.61) - Dangerous: The Short Films (1993) (V)
10. (6.59) - Coming to America (1988)

Three kids movies, one raunchy stand up comedy, one SNL best-of, the Murphy golden tri-fecta, a Micheal Jackson video collection, and the movie which was the turning point of his career. The challenge is to find something with more variety and more extremes than this.

Additionally, two clicks away from that page was an artist who has an extremely large body of work. For some reason, though, he was always playing "himself". Odd.

More Harry Potter Insanity

The real question for any fan of the Harry Potter series is what sort of resolution there will be between Harry and Professor Snape. While they are enemies inside the confines of Hogwarts, they are apparently allies in the greater Good vs. Evil scheme. Does it make sense for Harry to finally best Snape if Severus helps defeat Lord Voldemort? Or will Snape defect to the Dark Side, allowing Harry to send seven years of resentment and hatred his way? Or will they put aside their differences, turn Draco Malfoy into a giant houka, and smoke their way to eternal enlightenment?

Trust me, this is much more important than the search for WMD's in Iraq.

What? They stopped looking? Oh, right.

Hold the Palantír!

There was actually a 17 year delay between Frodo getting the ring and leaving on his quest. Hello, Mr. Jackson - did you bother to even read the damn book?!?!?

I really liked the movies, but now that I'm starting to see inaccuracies, I'm not so sure.

Trying to improve my chances of getting found in a Google search

Gotta give it a shot:

• lesbian
  
• xxx
  
• anna kournikova
  
• sex
  
• daniel baldwin
  

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Quote of the Day

"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you."

America (The Book), Quote of the Day

"Don't go where I can't follow."

It's a tough life

Yesterday was Michelle's birthday. For her special birthday dinner she asked - nay, forced! - me to provide for her Nick-N-Willy's pizza and beer. Pizza and beer! The things I endure for love!

America (The Book), Quote of the Day

Though they won't admit it, women were much happier when all they had to do was bake shit and pump out kids.

America (The Book), Quote of the Day

2. What does "bicameral" mean? Are any of the girls in your class "bicameral?"

America (The Book), Quote of the Day

Lobbyists even help expedite legislation by touting its benefits to members whose votes are needed. In many ways, lobbyists are the cheerleaders of Capitol Hill - sad, soulless, clandestine, unfuckable cheerleaders.

America (The Book), Quote of the Day

The President of the United States is the most powerful, most recognizable, and best person on earth.

America (the Book), Quote of the Day

In fourteen hundred ninety-two Columbus sailed the ocean blue...

...and discovered America. Now, some have argued Columbus actually
discovered the West Indies, or that Norsemen had discovered America
centuries earlier, or that you really can't get credit for discovering
a land already populated by indigenous people with a developed
civilization. Those people are communists. Columbus discovered
America.

Happy Birthday!

To Mean Mr. Mustard! Like he cares.

I blogged:

I know who the murderer is.

Amazingly Important Information

After learning that "Tom Marvolo Riddle" is an anagram for "I am
Lord Voldemort" (!), I decided that I should find what Kevin Thomas
Lund truly means. Here are the options I came up with:

1. Hand not evil skum


2. Dunk slave in moth


3. Moist Klund haven

But was that enough? Did that really give the true meaning of who
and what I am? Undeterred, I visited href="http://www.wordsmith.org/anagram/index.html">The Internet
Anagram Server to find more amazing results. The options are, if
not endless, staggering. A collection:

1. A ED THINK VOL MS NU
   
2. A DEVIL HUNTS MONK
   
3. A MINED HUNK VOLTS
   
4. DANK ME TUSH IN VOL
   
5. LAND VOTES I'M HUNK
   
6. MAD SHOVEL INK NUT
   

Yes, I think we've learned a great deal today.

Assistance Needed

I need assistance coming up to the answer to a problem that has
been nagging at me lately: Why do people like me?

As far as I can tell, it's an inescapable fact. People like me.
However, I can't figure out why the hell that would be. Let's review:
I'm not a nice person, I have a complete and utter lack of tact
(remember the "cripple" comment?), I'm an arrogant bastard, I have no
moral code to speak of, I'm lazy and selfish, I don't like people,
and, in general, I'm an asshole.

So why would people like me? I've come up with a few possible answers:

1. My amazing intellect. People are so impressed by how smart I am
   that they overlook my shortcomings.
   
2. My dashing good looks. Beautiful people always get the benefit of the doubt.
   
3. My rapier sharp wit. When I'm being a boorish ass, people just cut
   me slack and assume that it's another example of my incredible sense
   of humor.
   
4. My undefinable quality. Despite everything else, I just have the
   ability to "come off well."
   

So, what do you think the answer is? Help me solve this problem
before I inadvertantly brighten another person's day.

Movie: The 18 minutes of Almost Heroes I saw while doing dishes

6

Book: J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

82

Movie: Spirited Away

72

Movie: The Day After Tomorrow

42

Book: Tom Robbins, Villa Incognito

75

Movie: The Bourne Identity

82