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Orange Car: The Musical!

2002-08-13 - 12:45 p.m.

**We join Zach today as his journal is already in progress. It is hot out (as usual), thusly, he is cranky (also as usual). He has too much cereal and not enough milk. RealJukebox is also going crazy and, in a display that only shows that RealJukebox is taking Zach's sanity with it, he will be bookending paragraphs with whatever is playing from the speakers at the time. Let's join him shall we?**

"My apartment looks upside-down from there, water spirals the wrong way out the sink. And her voice is a backwards record."

I'm sorry. I'm sorry but I always thought E. B. White was a woman. And I refuse to think I am the only one. Someone out there had to also think that the idea behind one of the most heart wrenching scenes in literary history (Charlotte's Web) had to have been cooked up by the rotting brain of a female melon! Whatever . . . you know what else? I never liked The Trumpet of The Swan. There I said it. Someone had to.

[Makes The Aristocats look like The Godfather]

"Karaoke weekend at the suicide shack."

So things are things. Last Saturday blew, at work, as always. Although, Hannah did come off her Weekday Mountain to come join Alison and I on the lowly week's end. Mmmmm. Weeks' ice cream. I loved Weeks' ice cream. Although, it always seemed a little bit *too* cold didn't? Maybe it just seemed that way because they sold it in metal dishes. I always dreamed of ordering the Mount Washington when I got older, but now I'm older and there's no more Weeks'. Sigh. It's just like that time when Mr. T. came to the mall. . .you know the time. Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. Saturday blew goats. And I had to do the Maxim (not hair color for men, nor the magazine) inventory. Nothing says weekend fun like tabulating the mini-Lincoln Logs. (And no Kate, don't get your hopes up, they're not edible). So after getting my hair all lopped off (seriously, lopped), and getting all the bad karma coming back to me via Hannah for what I did to Becca, Tim Curtis showed up (also freshly shorn) and after unsuccessfully browsing for a present for his little brother, we departed the mall and headed to Laconia. And in a sneak preview to our trek, the car packed nice and tightly and made me realize how much more I'd enjoy this trip if I were Amelia, or say Lester Conway.

"The killing floor? Don't let the name throw you Jimmy. It's not really a floor. It's more of a steel grating that lets the material sluice through so it can be collected and exported!"

So we drove to Laconia, after a quick pit stop in the dirtiest of Dovers. We spoke of many things - trip planning, sealing wax, cabbages, and kings being but a few. It seemed sooner than later we were in ol' LA, and though Tim claimed he likes to use the "short cut" that goes behind Rite Aid and come out by the Messer Street Bridge. I say bullroar. Anyhow, he dropped me off at Brooke's (after a particularly freaky spotting of the Joy7 mobile -no joke!- at the Gilbert's). I think I had a Coors Light: The Silver Bullet [The Official Drink of The Culkin Family] in my hand before I even had the door shut. We snacked on delicious E. Culkin quesadillaesque thingys while waiting for the Giants/Patriots game to come on. I even got to borrow a book ("Kitchen Confidential") from the hallowed Culkin library. After much talk of books, music, and W. G. Snuffy Walden, Mike finally joined us and after brief consternation I gave him his day early birthday present. It was mostly a plan (on both Brooke and my part) to freak him out - over the fact that I would be getting him a present. I think our plan was successful. Although, after dining on some gourmet Astronaut Ice Cream, I'm guessing he was mighty grateful for our little plan. The football game was somewhat boring. It was pretty much an exercise in watching Tom Brady become a sophomore and playing the new parlor game known as "Name the new Giant". One pleasant surprise was Deion "Don't call me Michelle" Branch. That Branch is one feisty meatball. Most of the 1st quarter looked like Brady and Branch were just playing a private game of catch. Anyway - me like Branch. I hope nothing sidelines him anytime soon (ie - mound of stinging red fire ants). But the game started to get more boring than Tracey Lundgren's fat face when they took all the starters out, and after some gut-bustingly wonderful pizza by Fluffy's (yes, *that* Fluffy's), Brooke and Mike dropped me off at the Walden's and I stayed there for the night.

Bill: "Please sing Everywhere for me! Ok, just the chorus?!? Pllleeeeaaassse?!" Deion: "For the LAST TIME, that's MICHELLE! I'm DEION!"

"Train I ride - 16 coaches long. Train I ride - 16 coaches long."

I don't know about the new format for Yahoo Mail. I know it looks all futuristic and snazzy, and is trying to look hip next to hotmail but I don't like it. I do like the % bar that shows how much space you have left, but all those drop down menus scare and confuse me and make me cry and the next thing I know it's Orange Car all over again. For the sake of all those that aren't Fred, I will take a moment to explain Orange Car. ["Wait, *I'M* supposed to get that?" - Fred. "Shhhh, he'll never know!" - Fred's Brain. "Who are YOU?!" - Fred] This will probably only be understood by boys (deflects rotten vegetables being thrown all the way from Madison), but in R.C. Pro-Am, you played as the Red Car. The green was usually harmless and offered itself up as target practice with your missiles and bombs most of the time. Blue was biggest competition, and even that wasn't saying much. And then there was Orange Car. Orange Car was definitely the paste-eater of the bunch. Orange Car would lag behind and sniff at all the flowers and seem to avoid all the speed increasing zippers at all costs. One would often be zipping into the last lap of a particularly difficult course - covered in oil slicks and rain clouds - only to find Orange Car tooling around the first turn of his first lap, spinning out in the oil and continually bumping into the tire-slashing blades. And you'd laugh at Orange Car. You'd call him names. You'd say hurtful things like "Fred, the Orange Car is YOU." ["Waitaminute, this is all starting to come back. . ." - Fred]. But then, when you needed that Golden Wrench trophy the most, when you needed an upgrade to Super Sticky Tires, or Turbo Acceleration, when you needed to grab that last "O" whilst trying to spell "NINTENDO" in an effort to morph into a new vehicle - THAT'S when Orange Car would strike! All of a sudden, even if he was 2 laps back, you'd hear this weird (and feared!) noise. Like a zipper on a coat going about 80mph. "Whhhhiiiiiieeeeeerrrrr!" you'd hear, and then BAM!, Orange Car would FLY by you. You'd just see this Orange BLUR. And Orange Car would finish the race in about 7 seconds flat. And all your hopes would be forever dashed while you and Blue and Green sat around the pit trying to pick up all the pieces. So Fred would know that if he came home from class and I was rocking myself in the corner, half-naked, in the fetal position, crying and drooling, soul-less, with the TV flashing and a Nintendo controller swinging menacingly off the table then it could mean only one thing: Orange Car. So, yeah, I don't like the new Yahoo Mail set up. It freaks me out.

[Green: "Why God, why?" Red: "Fuck me." Orange: "I love Helen Hunt!"]

"Blood. Skin. Show me the Book. Don't understand the language that they spoke. Don't pity me. Have pity on yourself."

So yeah, Sunday we went to a BBQ at my mom's. But before the BBQ a quick trip was made to the Curtis's for breakfast. Pancakes, rabbits, and wet willys were on the menu. This is also were it was disclosed to me that E. B. White was a man! I'm still reeling. A fun time had by all. By noon we were at my mother's. It was a lot of Tim and Ben's family. Well, actually, one generation removed. It was their grandparents, and their siblings. If you added all of our ages we would have broke 1,500 no problem. And Bill and Michelle and their son T.J. were there too, so you know, that was nice. Lots of food and lots of drink, and most of what was left over Ben and I got to take back home with us, which, you know, that was nice.

"What are they doing in the Hyacinth House to please the lions this day? I need a brand new friend who doesn't bother me."

Sunday night, Ben decided to watch The Big Lebowski for the 715th time. And while I love the movie as much as the next guy, we need to get Dumb on Dumber on DVD FAST. Only so much Braveheart, Kingpin, and Lebowski a man can take. But I washed my palette with Adult Swim and was happy to find (via B-Slopp and Andrea) that The Oblongs was much funnier than I would have thought! Even Ben stayed up for much of Adult Swim, which is most certainly a rarity.

"Transmit the message, to the receiver - hope for an answer some day. I got three passports, a couple of visas - you don't even know my real name. High on a hillside, the trucks are loading - everything's ready to roll. I sleep in the daytime, I work in the nightime - I might not ever get home."

So Jason Priestly broke his back (and his feet, and his lungs, and his heart - awwww, his heart) and so Monday night Hannah and I held a memorial game of war with the Keroppi cards and we even had the 9 of Clubs be the Priestly card because it's middle was all bent and ripping apart too! We are so nice. And Hannah even got to meet the Devil's Bedpost! Ahhhh, the Devil's Bedpost. . .

"2 + 2 is 4. I'm sure of that. He's sure of that. But what about 1+1? It's 2."

Well, it's hot - and I need to get in the shower. So gross.

It's been real,

Huckle Cat

ps - Confidential: This goes out to C. Markarian in MA: "Don't look up, look down! The future of our country is in your hands!" (Though, being on a screen robs it of its truly great delivery)

pps - I'll be writing at least one new journal entry before we hit the open road for Cal-i-for-ni-a on Friday afternoon, so keep your eyes peeled. . .

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2002 - 2009 ZQF8

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