Used Lit

  • by Drew

We’ve had a couple of book sales at local libraries recently, and I love them. I love picking up second hand books for a buck or less, giving them a good home where they will be loved and read over and over. And it’s great for the kids, especially my second grader, who is both an avid and an accomplished little reader.

I love pawing through the texts, discovering little gems I never knew existed. Maybe even better is finding the books I read as a kid. Often a little musty smelling, and in the same editions I read back then. But who cares – Superfudge is Superfudge. What could be better?

And I can’t help thinking about the little old ladies who were probably relatively hot young Moms when I was reading Encyclopedia Brown and The Three Investigators. Now they’re loading their grown kids’ old books into boxes with Aerobics videotapes and the best personal budget software on Apple-formatted floppy disks that 1987 had to offer.

It’s a great big giant ass circle, ain’t it?

OTR

  • by Drew

Seriously? You’ve never listened to Old Time Radio? What about Abbott and Costello, Who’s on First. That’s a Camel cigarettes classic. And the Shadow…you’ve never heard the Shadow? Holy crap, man, those old Orson Welles episodes were legendary.

I love the old radio shows. There’s something so magical about radio. For decades, radio ruled. Most shows had one sponsor, sometimes with an addition public service announcement. Maybe a call to all Americans to consider investing in War Bonds (later Savings Bonds). Great stuff, kids. Great stuff.

Of course, today, we’d probably have a variety show hosted by Tonya Harding and Ashlee Simpson, with guest interviewer Courtney Love sitting down with Norman Mailer. It would be sponsored by some acne serum or the 2 volume DVD set, Best of Fox Reality Television from the last 20 years (and the second disc is mostly previews for upcoming new Fox Reality shows).

Yeah, we’d pretty much screw it up. Considering the recent rash of Hollywood remakes of everything from Halloween to The In-Laws to Pelham 123 to The Bad News Bears to Fame to the Manchurian Candidate… Yeah, let’s keep the idiot media-makers as far away from these classics as possible. We can just enjoy them with earbuds. Shhh. Don’t tell.

Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar

  • by Drew

The exciting adventures of the man with the action packed expense account, America’s fabulous freelance insurance investigator, yours truly, Johnny Dollar.

Expense account submitted by special investgator Johnny Dollar. Following is an account of expenses incurred during my investigation of the chunky affairs matter.

I shaved, showered, put on a clear shirt and tie and spent item one, $1.35 on a cab to Teddy Lightweight’s office.

Item 2, $27 for a cup of Starbucks coffee and a copy of The Big Barista Picks Sambas to Get Caffeinated With on compact disc.

Item 3, $18 for the best eye cream in Hartford, CT to mask my hollow, sleepless eyes.

Item 4, $1 toll for the Kingston Bridge toll back to this side of the river, the side of the river where she lives. The lady in question. The cold, calm and calculating female who is invariably more deadly than the male.

In the parking lot of the Grocery Store I realized the need for items 5 and 6, $18 for a 12 pack of Twisted Tea and $4 for a metal nail file, just right for a lady’s purse.

Item 7, $3.50 for the generic brand adhesive bandages I used to stop the bleeding after shotgunning half a dozen malt beverages and stabbing myself blind. Don’t judge me. If you saw those behemoths making out on the dropped bed of that rusted out Ford pickup. All that writhing flesh. The guy with a plumber crack large enough to warm one of my 12 ounce tasty bevvies. The she-beast with parachute-sized bikini panties showing, a tramp stamp larger than my head.

Item 8, $45 emergency room copay. Hey, it’s a good thing I’m an insurance investigator and actually have health coverage.

What, am I the only person left who listens to Old Time Radio?

Redesign

  • by Drew

I was in the shower the other morning and had a thought. No, this is not another plea for better weight loss programs. It was while I was shaving a small spot on my bicep so I can share in the whole temporary tattoo thing with the kids. Unfortunately, it is the only place on my body, other than the back of my hand, that I can put one.

So I contemplated this form, this hairy, hairy form. This body that looks like the jacket photos of Kiss band members on the Crazy Nights record, back when man-fuzz was big. And as I thought about it, I realized that you would have to be a total imbecile not to see a direct evolutionary connection between chimp and man. Seriously, I’m like a poster boy for Darwin’s big theory.

And seriously, there is nothing about this design that anyone with half a brain could label as intelligent.

Hula Hips

  • by Drew

A recent trip to the hallowed toy aisles at our local Target inspires and informs this post –

And let me say first that this is not an attack on the overweight. I do that enough, including a good bit of self-deprecation, of course, but today’s words are not the quick weight loss diet variety.

So this message does not just go out to those of ample carriage. Instead, I speak directly to anyone who is

  • Over the age of 14
  • Taller than 5′ 2″
  • Heavier than 100 pounds

Please, if this describes you…please…do not walk up and down the toy aisles with a hula hoop around you as though it is an oversized and particularly rigid belt.

Please. It’s just not right.

Growing up Fast

  • by Drew

I’m not someone who worries too much about my kids surpassing me in the whole technology arena. Not yet anyway. I mean, I know it’s coming, but I have at least a few years. I used to think I had decades, but not after today.

See, it’s still all about the Internet, and that’s what I do. I had a Hayes micromodem in the 80s dialing up the bulletin boards and leaving messages for other kids hiding behind pseudonyms – we called that email. And somehow, in the mid 90s I fell into this business just as it was going somewhere, and I’ve managed to hang on and hang in through a bubble burst and a recession and two terms of Bush.

Now I have my iPhone and I know plenty about WAP and wireless protocols. I’m getting involved in the development of a mobile marketing platform and, of course, I am still elbows deep in Internet applications.

But today, the old desktop computers I have kept around for the kids…well, not enough. My four year old demanded a kids website that his older brother frequents. He needed the arcade and he needed some advanced plugins and the most up to date browser version and Mommy was at the store so her laptop was fair game.

So, yeah, you can just hear it. My four year old pushing my hand away after I typed the URL.

“I can do it, Daddy.”
“But you never used the trackpad…”
“I can do it, Daddy.”
“There’s no mouse, you need to move your finger…”
“I can do it, Daddy.”
“But you can’t read. How are you going to find the games…”
“I can do it, Daddy.”
“Okay, fine. Let me know if you need help.”
“I can do it, Daddy.”

Then, of course, the four year old did it. He mastered the track pad in 6 seconds and would not relinquish the laptop for 2 hours. We had to lure him away with Dino nuggets and chocolate milk.

I wasn’t sure if I should be proud or pissed. Actually, maybe I should be scared, because you know he’s going to be coming for my machine next.

Chunky and the Cukes

  • by Drew

Se we ran into the grocery store for a gallon of milk and a few other things. I was walking with the boys, one on each hand while Mom had the baby in a shopping cart and was doing the real work. And that’s when I witnessed it, something truly gross.

Believe me when I tell you, I have a cast iron stomach most of the time. It is fairly difficult to gross me out. I can handle a lot. But some things are just…unecessary. I will set the scene.

Two oversized girls. Very oversized. One with the undersized hoodie and jeans on a butt so large it is collapsing back in on itself in a sort of unholy flattening. The other was a sassy chunker. She had a shearling lined suede coat that affected a look of trim tailoring, though it did more of a Hindenburg than an hourglass. She was overly made up and walked with a hand up, pinky out. Like Nathan Lane in the Bird Cage pretending to be feminine. Very much like that.

Anyway, Large Subject A, in the hoodie, was talking on her cell phone, a bit over enthusiastic for the Stop and Shop produce section. She was handling the cucumbers, perhaps looking for just the right one. She was also leaning over the cucumbers. Leaning against them, or even into them, really. So much so that when she drew back, her belly pulled a half dozen off the pile. They fell, unnoticed, to the floor.

So the cell phone call is getting heated and there seems to be some big flirting going on (no pun intended that time) judging by the volume and cucumber proximity. Then she did it. She took the two cucumbers she held in one meaty fist and put them under her arm. Right in the stinky pit, like a Hogan’s Heroes Nazi with a riding crop. She switched phone hands, wrote something down, giggled with her friend, and then de-pitted the cukes and returned them to the pile.

Back into the fray, my friends. From that clammy spot under the (larger than my thigh) arm, and right back to the pile. Yummy yummy yummy.

Now I’m trying not to sound reactionary here. I know most people are going to peel their cucumbers. And anyway, they’re so over waxed by the factory farmers that it’s like a Yankee Candle unscented veggie force field. And I know that’s not like they were Avo Cigars or unwrapped bendy straws or whatever, but its a grocery store, not your kitchen with the fridge door hanging open. Can I please appeal to the better taste of all people, large and small, short and tall – please please please do not carry the produce in your armpit. It’s just not right.

Swashbuckling Sommelier

  • by Drew

Saw another confusing vanity plate tonight.

RR CORKS

I couldn’t figure it out. Railroad Corks? Maybe a guy who digs vino when he plays with his Lionel trains? Or how about Double R Corks…who knows what that could mean. Double D and we’d have something to talk about but two Rs? Russian River Corks? Somebody who likes the region, maybe a Chardonnay guy?

Then I thought maybe it was RR like Arrr, like pirate speak. Maybe it’s a real life buccaneer who likes to kick back with some California Cab when his ship is in its home port. Like, you better be checking for life insurance quotes when you see this guy in your sailboat rear view mirror. Maybe when he’s done plundering the high seas, he gets his Kenny G on in his bonded leather rocker-recliner with a big glass of red and a skull and crossbones grin.

Derby Time

  • by Drew

Our first year in Cub Scouts is about to get real. I mean really real. We’re coming up on Pine Wood Derby time. Now, I was a cub scout for a few years when I was a kid and I participated in a couple of these. They were basket-case conventions back then, and from what I understand, man has not evolved in a good direction since then.

There was even a movie (made for TV by the looks of it) that they showed the group. It was all about competitive Dads missing the point, and their little scouts who suffered as a result. Actually, it was pretty cute.

Clearly there is some truth there, though. Some of these guys take it pretty seriously. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure one of the Dads was on his cell phone calling for an auto insurance quote while they were handing out the kits.

Well, hopefully we can do this thing without making fools of ourselves. But really, if we can make a cool looking car that actually runs the course, I’ll be happy. and if we don’t kill each other in the process…true success.

On the Road…Again…Revisited, with baggage

  • by Drew

I wonder how secure these things are (yes I’m still on the RV kick). I mean, with the rock and roll vein pulsing, I think of how secure a van usually is, especially considering having to leave it in public outdoor space on a regular basis. I mean, maybe it’s not perfect, but they have decent metal doors and all that.

What about these RVs? I mean, do they have, like, school bus doors? Those things wouldn’t keep out a 7th grader with a flat head screwdriver and a failing grade in Shop Class. And I’m reminded of those guys I met way back in the day who drove around in a retired school bus they’d painted psychedelic colors. They had a story about driving off with that back emergency exit door open, and half their gear ended up on the road. They told us the story when we asked why they’d welded the thing shut.

I hope they had some of that monkey-proof Samsonite luggage. Do they make monkey proof gig bags?

Yeah, they were pretty much schmucks.

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