Whereby I Unwittingly Freak Out Some Traumatized Folks

I recently had the privilege of participating in a charity fashion show, acting as as escort for my daughter. I wasn't modeling anything, rather a mere accoutrement. In the spirit of the season however, the organizer asked that I suit up in a Dracula costume. I couldn't say "yes" fast enough - this was going to be cool. Anytime a Dad can embarrass his teen aged kid, he goes for it.

My wife did a bang up job on the makeup, as you can see. The whole thing was over in about 30 seconds, but was fun and worthwhile nonetheless. But that's not where this story ends.

Time constraints were such that we had to go directly from the fashion show to my daughter's ballet class. I had originally expected to have enough time to get out of the costume, remove the makeup, and still get there in time, but....things didn't pan out that way. I got the cape off, but had to leave on the makeup. No big deal, right? I figured I could have some fun with it, maybe growl at another driver, or better yet, another driver's kid in the back seat!

What I didn't expect was the decided lack of reaction I received. Sure, I got a few second glances, likely accompanied by thoughts of "Eh, it's almost Halloween, no big deal", but overall nobody seemed at all fazed by the Goth Dad driving along the highway.

After dropping her off, we headed back to the highway, and upon hitting the on ramp noticed some commotion up ahead. An accident had occurred, and pretty recently since there were no cops or EMT's around. It was quickly obvious that this was only a fender bender and each of the people involved was out of their respective vehicles, and talking on cell phones. After carefully navigating past the debris in the road, thus slowing the car to a crawl, I looked over at the woman comforting one of the other passengers. Again, it should be stressed that nobody was in any danger. It should also be emphasized that by this time I had completely forgotten the fact that I was dressed like the lead singer of The Cure.

I made direct eye contact with the woman, hopefully offering up some sympathy, saying, with my eyes, "It's okay, help is coming and I'm glad to see everyone is okay".

To say the woman didn't fully understand my implied thoughts would be an understatement, to say the least. Her expression was an odd blend of "What the...?", with a dash of "END TIMES ARE UPON US!" thrown in. I can only imagine what she told her significant others once this day had ended. Perhaps she now has a story to tell for Thanksgiving dinners for years to come. No need to thank me, ma'am, it's what I do.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

Where I Receive Misguided, Undeserved Sympathy

I run about 6 foot 3 on a good day. Thus, any form of public seating was very likely not built with my dimensions in mind. The train in which I ride each day is no exception (see above for an example of the seats, minus the video screen, naturally).

However, when having the desire to snooze, I am rarely denied. The solution is to slide my back down in the chair, and press my knees on the back of the seat in front of me, which allows my head to rest comfortably on the headrest of my seat. This allows for a nice 10-15 minute nap on the way home each day and, on rare occasions, on the way in. The only consequence is the tendency for the circulation to be cut off from my lower legs. Whether or not this will casue me long term damage is somethign I choose not to think about, so strong is my desire to sleep.

Today was one such occasion. After displaying my ticket, I assumed the position, nestled in the ear buds, and slowly drifted off. Normally, the body clock senses when we are approaching my stop, and forces me awake well in advance, leaving time to get the blood flowing back to the lower extremities.

Today, though, the body clock must have been a bit out of sync. I recall being jostled shortly before my stop, and thinking "still have time....", then closing my eyes again. Bad move. The next thing I remember was being suddenly awakened as the train was stopped at where I was to get off. Luckily, the train was not going any further, lest I find myself in Grand Central Station.

I quickly scrambled my stuff together, and got up in an attempt to get off the train as quickly as possible. But there was a slight issue here - namley, the fact that both of my legs were pretty much dead from the knees down. After rising unsteadily to my feet, grabbing my gym bag from the overhead rack and securing my laptop bag on my shoulder, I tried to take a step forward. Not working very well, but full of pluck, I gamely Igor'ed my way forward thru the now empty train......I had, by my calculations, about 30 seconds or so to get my ass out of here. Lumbering forward, with slight feeling returning to one leg, I approached the vestibule. I had made it, and was about to be free at last!

But, but.....seeing the crowd of people walking past on the platform, and knowing I had to have some clearance to move while also having little to no confidence that I wasn't about to do a face plant, forced me to hesitate. Seeing a small opening, I managed to drag my right foot behind me and lurch onto the platform. Here is where the strange, sympathetic looks began from the other commuters. As I limped forward, the feeling inching its way back into my blood deprived legs, I noticed that the faces of those around me. In my mind, they were showing an incredible amount of sympathy/empathy for the obviously stricken, but barev and proud, man lumbering toward the escalator. Embarassed at the reaction, I finally hobbled to the moving steps, and hopped aboard.

Sensing the ordeal was about to end, I bided my time as the stairs slowly rose...and rose. Reaching the top, I took the big step toward non-moving ground, and nealry went straight on my ass. The right leg had relapsed! Now I got to limp anew, a bag on each shoulder, through the crowded train station, receiving more sympathetic stairs from passers by. I'm guessing most people thought me either brave, or stupid, I'm not sure which.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was actually about 2 minutes, the blood flow returned, and the rest of the commuters resumed ignoring each other, as they do. Being ignored never felt so good.

The Rules, Once Again

Just making sure I have it straight:

 

If you're a singer, and you say you're not proud of your president/ashamed to be from the same state, etc., well, by goly, you're an un-American scuzzball who hates Liberty.  Insulting a president during a time of war is UNPATRIOTIC!  What are you, French?

 

But, it's perfectly okay to call your president a racist.

 

Just another example of Glen Beck's Common Sense!

Posting From E-Mail

Testing the e-mail to post function

A Week Later, A Word About MJ

The death of Michael Jackson almost brought the web to its knees last week, signifying that it was truly a Big Event. Hell, the last time I can recall the interwebs taking such a beating was the morning of 9/11. For me it showed how the mdeia landscape has changed. I was on Twitter when I noticed a trending topic entitled "Michael Jackson". After muttering "What has he done now?", I clikced and saw the literally hundreds of tweets indicating that he was taken to the hospitalm after collapsing. The only source cited was TMZ.com. A quick check of the standard news sites showed no mention. TMZ then mentioned that a source said "it doesn't look good". No mainstream media reports. Hmm, over to Fark.com, as news spread within one of the forums. Skepticism abounded, since the only source was a celeb gossip website. I immediately thought, who better would be on top of this as it breaks? They live for this shit, right? Sure enough, TMZ.com was the first to report his death, while the other sites were just posting items that "reports" indicate MJ was rushed to the hospital. As we saw 15 years ago with all things O.J., the tabloid media got there first, and had it right all along.

As for Jackson, it's weird, this was the kind of thing that should not have surprised anyone, yet did. Here was a man who lived a bizarre, reclusive life, always appeared to be frail and sickly when not performing, and was known for generally strange behavior. Reactions varied, not surprsingly, in light of the more recent events surrounding the man. It was a bit surprising to see several "I'm glad the pedo kicked" type of responses. I mean, he was found not guilty, right? (I know, so was the aforementioned O.J.).

Undeniable is the impact the man had on music and pop culture. You youngsters might be amazed to learn that before Jackson, the only black face one would see on MTV was that of J.J. Jackson the VeeJay. A threat from the record company (back when they had real clout) forced MTV's hand, and the rest was history. Before the freak show set in, the guy was about as big a star as one could be. As he literally grew up before our eyes, from the amazingly energetic child frontman of the Jackson Five to the megastar solo act, he never failed to amaze and entertain.

Rest in peace, MJ.

A Rebranding, If You Will

Why the new title for this blog? A couple of reasons:

1. The "Habitual Line Stepper" thing seems to have run its course
2. Googling the above returns far too many hits
3. Why not?

It kinda fits what this is all about, right? It's not about striving for excellence, just me posting random stuff which hopefully entertains you or makes you think for a minute. Enjoy the new name and new look.

Song Of The Day - 6/5/09

"Weird Al' Yankovic


"Trapped In The Drive-Thru"





Being Weird Al cannot possibly be as easy as it he makes it seem. I mean, everyone sits around and substitutes nonsense lyrics for songs currentl playing, right? If I had a buck for every time I'd mocked a Top 40 song for the kids while fighting the urge to pull my leg hairs out one at a time since I'm forced to endure Lady Gaga for the six hundreth time in the past five weeks, why, I'd be quite well off indeed.



But Weird Al has endured. The guy has been at this since the early eighties, and continues to pump out amusing, listenable stuff, as well as display a great comedic sensibility in his videos, the medium which it could be argued, was more instrumental to his vaulting to stardom in the early MTV days.



This gem, from his Straight Outta Lynwood album, eluded me upon release. My son turned me on to it, and suffice to say it is a keeper. The idea of parodying R. Kelly's overwrought bloated "Trapped In The Closet" would, one first glance, be thought impossible. After all, how can you parody something that is already unintentionally funny? Yankovic delivers, in spades. Making the mundane experiences of a couple faced with the monumental task of deciding what to eat, or if they're even hungry, and spinning a painfully detailed tale of the acquisition of dinner, along with every tiny detail encountered along the way, in right in his wheelhouse. I won't spoil anything for you if you haven't heard it, but know that it is pitch perfect in both tone and musicality, and well worth the ten minutes or so invested in listening.

You're awesome, Al. Long may you endure.