...just a chunk of fiction you might enjoy
I met some friends from Sioux Falls at the Lake Byron campground yesterday. Melissa called and said she was going out there with her boyfriend and some of our mutual friends. As it’s only a 45 minute drive from my place, I decided to show up and camp out with them for the night. I felt so crowded at the campfire, so much so that an overwhelming urge to sprint into the forest yelling or to drop myself into the cold lake water tugged at my shirt all night long. Funny how it’s the presence of people that make’s me feel the most lonely.
Mel and I slept under the stars. I only woke to up to turn over, other than when a raccoon was sniffing dangerously close to my head. Despite their harmlessness, coons are another one of those animals that will petrify you with terror when you don’t you see them coming.
“Mel?”
“mmmm”
“I think there’s a coon here.” I whispered, though it sounded incredibly loud in the airy night.
“yeah.” is all she said.
Then back to sleep she went and I was left there, just me and the coon who was rummaging through a bag of marshmallows. This was somewhat soothing to me because my parents had a pet raccoon when they were first married and it’s favorite food was marshmallows. Any wild animal threat was now gone. I had the assurance that this was a regular raccoon eating regular raccoon food so I just laid there, staring up at the stars and wispy clouds, trying to be introspective.
I was awake until the sun came up and even before that time I was itching to get out of there. I was itching to get on the road, to head back home to my cave. Etiquette convinced me to stay until sunrise, but that was all. I nudged and said goodbye to Melissa, grabbed my crap, nestled into the cool leather seats of my car, and drove off quietly through the sleepy campground. When I finally reached the highway I felt a bitter sense a relief. Relief to be away from the confines of people, especially those I didn’t know well. The bitterness came because I wanted to want to be with people, but my unrest at the campground told me I couldn’t. It’s unhealthy, I know.
26.9.08
"Did you say ROTHSAY?"
When northbound on I-94, after passing all of the many Fergus Falls’ exits, you begin to make your way into the
Though probably forgotten by many of Rothsay’s residents, the omnipresence of the looming statue, as you drive into town, is enough to permanently imprint the image of a ’booming’ Prairie Chicken in your head. That way you can blissfully reminisce about it’s bulbous, orange, neck patch until the day you die. I suspect this is what, designer and builder, Art Fosse had in mind when he was creating the bird in 1975 as a contribution to our county’s centennial.
Now, when you rush home with your staged ‘a-giant-prairie-chicken-is-about-to-eat-me’ photos and proud claims to have just visited the prairie chicken capital of the world, keep in mind that Rothsay does not claim to be the ‘Prairie Chicken Capital of the World’. Rothsay doesn’t even own up to the fact that they own the world’s largest prairie chicken(eventhough it does, where are you going to find another one?). The town simply calls itself the ‘Prairie Chicken Capital of Minnesota’. Disappointing? Maybe. Devout? Oh yes. Think of the holiness of this town! A town so in tune with it’s purpose that it has no need to brag about it’s gargantuan bird statue. Instead, Rothsay sits there quietly, humbling offering a 9,000lb game bird to the entire state of Minnesota.
25.9.08
A Snippet of the Lakes
I decided to go to Niagara Falls, but we ran out of time pissing around with Lake Huron. What a chore that lake was. So Impossible to get to. We finally found a place to dip, it was cold and unsatisfying; even after a long day in the car it was unsatisfying. You drove to Lake Erie from there. I love the memory of that night; dusk, going through the countryside with the windows down, our swimsuits on. You ditched cops a few times because you were so skittish around them, even though you were doing nothing wrong.
There was a beach at Bradley Point that was perfect for that night. There were people there with beach fires and kids playing on the coarse sand. We went to the very edge of that beach hoping for some seclusion. The water of Lake Erie looked so milky, it looked so expensive. Thanks for everything Lake Erie.
We drove late on Saturday night, stopping at the very edge of Canada looking for a bar, and I could feel Lake Erie still in your hair. When I found a bar for us, you chickened out. Said you didn’t want to go now. We drove late into that night up the western shore of Huron, looking for a secluded place to pitch the tent. We decided on a wayside rest stop and while we pulled our goods from the car, you got uneasy and said you didn’t want to stay there, I obliged. We drove into some dipshit town, looking around for a protected knoll, we drove out of town and back in again. Until you and I both were utterly frustrated. You because you weren’t into the adventure of finding a place, me because you were irritable. I settled on a spot behind a mini-storage building and felt as though you hated me for it. The next morning we had breakfast at the dipshit town diner. It felt strange to be in a restaurant that still had a smoking section and while we were sitting in it I reminisced of Sunday brunches after church. When I paid for the meal I asked the man who took our money where we could swim, he sent us to the town park. We swam in the icky-bottomed Lake, it was cold, but the sun grabbed my back and warmed it. Did I tell you then that you’re a goddess when your hair is wet? It makes your eyes larger, brighter and your ears look like olive branches.
There was a beach at Bradley Point that was perfect for that night. There were people there with beach fires and kids playing on the coarse sand. We went to the very edge of that beach hoping for some seclusion. The water of Lake Erie looked so milky, it looked so expensive. Thanks for everything Lake Erie.
We drove late on Saturday night, stopping at the very edge of Canada looking for a bar, and I could feel Lake Erie still in your hair. When I found a bar for us, you chickened out. Said you didn’t want to go now. We drove late into that night up the western shore of Huron, looking for a secluded place to pitch the tent. We decided on a wayside rest stop and while we pulled our goods from the car, you got uneasy and said you didn’t want to stay there, I obliged. We drove into some dipshit town, looking around for a protected knoll, we drove out of town and back in again. Until you and I both were utterly frustrated. You because you weren’t into the adventure of finding a place, me because you were irritable. I settled on a spot behind a mini-storage building and felt as though you hated me for it. The next morning we had breakfast at the dipshit town diner. It felt strange to be in a restaurant that still had a smoking section and while we were sitting in it I reminisced of Sunday brunches after church. When I paid for the meal I asked the man who took our money where we could swim, he sent us to the town park. We swam in the icky-bottomed Lake, it was cold, but the sun grabbed my back and warmed it. Did I tell you then that you’re a goddess when your hair is wet? It makes your eyes larger, brighter and your ears look like olive branches.
24.9.08
20 Questions About Bathrooms: Question #8
8. Do those soft toilet seats give you the creeps?
Why anyone buys those is beyond me. Really people.
Why anyone buys those is beyond me. Really people.
22.9.08
A Stupid Rant About Nothing of Importance
The Encore
Encores: it’s understandable where they came from; Imagine an act so good, so good that after it is over the entire audience begs for the performer to return and perform further. What an outstanding compliment! It would be the performance of a lifetime and later in life the artist would tell of the show when, after leaving the stage, they were begged for more, how, upon hearing the crowd chant, “Encore! Encore!” for almost 20 minutes, they clamored back onto the stage and the audience erupted with cheers and applause. “It was one helluva night” they’d say, “Best night of my career”.
Today’s Encores though are mere etiquette at best, they are cheapened, anticipated, and superficial. They are part of the act. Any artist that plays the Encore game is automatically thought of as ‘less-than’ by myself. ‘Don’t tell me this is your last song, when you have a small song set in your head for the first(of possibly many)Encores’. The ubiquity of this ‘curtain call’ in the more popular performances sickens me.
The Encore has lost it’s shine these days. It’s a sell-out. It’s a pathetic self-esteem boost. It’s the ‘everybody-gets-a-trophy” day at the local mini golf course.
Encores: it’s understandable where they came from; Imagine an act so good, so good that after it is over the entire audience begs for the performer to return and perform further. What an outstanding compliment! It would be the performance of a lifetime and later in life the artist would tell of the show when, after leaving the stage, they were begged for more, how, upon hearing the crowd chant, “Encore! Encore!” for almost 20 minutes, they clamored back onto the stage and the audience erupted with cheers and applause. “It was one helluva night” they’d say, “Best night of my career”.
Today’s Encores though are mere etiquette at best, they are cheapened, anticipated, and superficial. They are part of the act. Any artist that plays the Encore game is automatically thought of as ‘less-than’ by myself. ‘Don’t tell me this is your last song, when you have a small song set in your head for the first(of possibly many)Encores’. The ubiquity of this ‘curtain call’ in the more popular performances sickens me.
The Encore has lost it’s shine these days. It’s a sell-out. It’s a pathetic self-esteem boost. It’s the ‘everybody-gets-a-trophy” day at the local mini golf course.
19.9.08
20 Questions About Bathrooms: Question #7
7. Who actually follows the warnings on the Q-tip box and doesn’t use them in their ears?
Nobody, that’s who. I believe that if people actually followed the precautions on the Q-tip box, Q-tips would no longer exist. Thanks to our insatiable desire to put things in our ears, Q-tips are a regular American success story. But really, should we be putting anything in our ears besides our car keys? Dr Oz says No, he claims we shouldn’t put anything other than our fingers in there and that’s why god gave us fingers.
“…wait a minute, Dr Oz is on Oprah, isn’t he? Do you watch Oprah?”
“What!? No! Of course I don’t watch Oprah….I”
“Ha! Yeah you don’t watch Oprah do you!?”
“NO!…uh…Yes! Ummm……Hey look! A Unicorn Sasquatch!”
“Wha?”
“….”
Nobody, that’s who. I believe that if people actually followed the precautions on the Q-tip box, Q-tips would no longer exist. Thanks to our insatiable desire to put things in our ears, Q-tips are a regular American success story. But really, should we be putting anything in our ears besides our car keys? Dr Oz says No, he claims we shouldn’t put anything other than our fingers in there and that’s why god gave us fingers.
“…wait a minute, Dr Oz is on Oprah, isn’t he? Do you watch Oprah?”
“What!? No! Of course I don’t watch Oprah….I”
“Ha! Yeah you don’t watch Oprah do you!?”
“NO!…uh…Yes! Ummm……Hey look! A Unicorn Sasquatch!”
“Wha?”
“….”
15.9.08
14.9.08
20 Questions About Bathrooms: Question #6
6. Have you ever been in a public restroom and prided yourself on snagging the ‘oh so spacious’ handicap stall only to find that the stool is way to high to take a satisfying dump?
This keeps happening to me over and over. I can’t seem to remember that the stool is much to high when I’m making a mad dash to the big stall at the end. So then, when I’m sitting there looking at my legs dangling from the edge of the can, my feet nary touching the floor and thinking to myself, “what’s the problem, I thought I had to go?? Turns out the shorter the stool, or the more squatted you are, the better the poo comes out(those of you that have been to Asia are well aware of this…). So remember everybody, the handicap stall is best used as place to change out of those pants you spilled a chocolate malt on or as a short notice hiding spot to avoid the law, but not as a poo pie bakery.
This keeps happening to me over and over. I can’t seem to remember that the stool is much to high when I’m making a mad dash to the big stall at the end. So then, when I’m sitting there looking at my legs dangling from the edge of the can, my feet nary touching the floor and thinking to myself, “what’s the problem, I thought I had to go?? Turns out the shorter the stool, or the more squatted you are, the better the poo comes out(those of you that have been to Asia are well aware of this…). So remember everybody, the handicap stall is best used as place to change out of those pants you spilled a chocolate malt on or as a short notice hiding spot to avoid the law, but not as a poo pie bakery.
3.9.08
2008 Toyota Prius Review: Part 4
On our way south to Oklahoma we achieved a respectable 43.7 MPG average, though on the way back north, during the throws of near 80MPH interstate travel , our average was only 37.5 MPG. This is slightly troubling to me. With all of the hype, I’ve come to expect more from the buzz of hybrids(both the social buzz and the buzz of those teeny weeny sewing machine motors). Was I disappointed? Well, frankly, yes. I wanted 50; 60; even 1000 miles per gallon and all I got was a measly 43.7, that’s only double what I’m used to! I had also come to expect other miracles from the Prius, things like; putting me in direct contact with Al Gore, giving me a better green thumb, and providing me with the power to shoot electricity from my fingertips…each of which I didn’t receive from the car.
I have a friend with a Volkswagen Beetle that has the 1.9 litre diesel engine who
To Do: Make silly observation….check.
All in all I found the Toyota Prius to be a great road vehicle(even though it is more economical in the city), it was quiet, the 1.5 litre gasoline mill/200hp electric motor cruised at 80 with no fuss, and it had comfortable enough seats for a compact vehicle. I think the sub-30 grand price tag is pretty generous as well due to the huge amount of gadgetry and the novelty of driving a hybrid. My biggest complaints are the lack of storage space because of the rear battery compartment and of course the fact that this car fell out of the ugly tree, hit every branch on the way down, and landed on it’s already homely face.
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