One would think, given the vast musical talent on Mom’s side of the family (the Sicilians), I would at least be a passable dancer. Not really. My skill set leans more towards the sarcasm, BS-ing, and a quick wit of Dad’s side of the family (the Irish).

However, Mom’s bloodline did gift me a basic knowledge of rhythm, which I discovered when I took up drums a few years ago. Other gifts include: talking with my hands like nobody’s business and making cannoli disappear.

Stephanie and I signed up for a ballroom dancing class and I was, in a word, terrified. Not because of the chance of seeing paramedics on a weekly basis. No, something worse: I might have to buy a new pair of shoes.

“Do you have dancing shoes?” Stephanie asked as she read an email from the class instructor on her smart phone.

Clad in a Speed Racer T-shirt, ripped jeans, and clearance rack sneakers I said, “Do I look like the kind of person who owns dancing shoes?”

She rolled her eyes and rephrased the question, “Do you have any shoes besides sneakers?”

“I have a pair of cowboy boots.” Her eyes slowly drifted above the top edge of her smart phone, “Why do you have cowboy boots?”

“For my Fistful of Dollars Halloween costume.” Duh.

Stephanie shook her head. She hinted I could buy a pair of shoes for the class. “I’m not buying a new pair of shoes just for a class,” I said.

With her best Clair Huxtable stare, she said, “But you’ll buy a pair of cowboy boots for a Halloween costume?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I can’t wear a gun belt and spurs with sneakers. That’s just silly.” Another laser stare. “And they were like $5 on eBay.”

After spending some serious time surveying my three pairs of shoes, I decided on my retro-sneakers with most of the tread worn off. The smooth soles resembled racing slicks, and would hopefully make me as slippery as Pavel Datsyuk in an oil spill.²

Movies taught me that our dance teacher would either be a chain-smoking, gruff-voiced woman who’s best years ended with the Nixon Administration, or a wire-thin, super-strict cane wielding woman with a thick German and/or Russian accent.

Nope. Our instructor was young, perky, and never threatened to hit me with a cane. Once again, the moving pictures failed me.³

After our first instructions, Stephanie and I took a stab at a waltz. “Mr. Hogan,” she said with a smile, “You can count to three.”

My left foot slid forward, more or less with the beat, “I used to play drums. I can count up to four if needed.”

She smiled to her fullest, and so did I: no one had called the paramedics.

—
¹ Which is a shame, as I enjoy an open bar and extra dinner rolls as much as the next cheap skate.

² Hockey Humor, Attempted.

³ Like how Star Wars had me think all bearded old guys in robes go around dispensing wisdom and lightsabers. Well, they don’t. At least not outside the bus station.

My younger sister still holds a grudge against me for beating her at Monopoly in our youth. Yes, I was cheating, but it was her own fault for not paying attention. We both learned valuable lessons: she learned to never trust a banker,¹ and I learned just how hard a ten year old girl can punch.

Decades later, my sister still brings this one game up, and is hesitant to play most games with me.

I witnessed another anger inciting game this weekend, while playing the Civilization board game (based on the video game) with my friends, Ken and Francis.²

Francis is quite taken with board games, and has the stacks of boxes to prove it. And when I say board games, I don’t mean Monopoly, Life, or Sorry. I am talking about “hobby” board games, such as Settlers of Catan, Dominion, and the aforementioned Civilization (to name only a few).

I partake in a weekly Game Night with the pair (and others), and depending on the game, we will either be laughing all night, or looking for the nearest heavy object to hurl.

The latter was the case with Civilization on Sunday afternoon. It nearly came to blows.

I was Egypt,³ Ken was China, and Francis was Russia. The board was laid out in a sort of Christmas tree shape, with Ken and Francis on either side of the ‘base’ and myself far away at the ‘top.’

Ken and Francis’ proximity to each other (only two square ‘land’ tiles separated them) resulted in a crash course with wackiness. By which I mean, Francis went after Ken like a junkyard dog.

Ken was content to focus on culture and creating a peaceful civilization, while Francis went the opposite way: War. Ken, bless him, took the assaults as personal.

“I just want to build libraries!” Ken yelled as his troops were crushed under Francis’ iron heel. Ken threw up his hands and resorted to a weapon of his own: Passive Aggressiveness. “I can see you don’t care about culture or libraries. The arts clearly aren’t important to your people. All you care about is grunting and swords!”

Francis cleared Ken’s pieces off the board, “Dude, it’s just a game.”

Ken jabbed a finger toward my empire, “I don’t see you going after Dan at all, and he’s winning!”

Francis shrugged, “You’re closer.”

There was a loud scrape as Ken pushed his chair away from the table and got to his feet, “We are a peaceful people! We have libraries! You don’t even have writing!”

Later on, I emailed another friend, Glenn, about the near-brawl. His only response was, “Who the [expletive] plays Civilization just to build libraries?”

Indeed.

–
¹ Summed up best in this hymn by Mojo Nixon.

² Names changed, same goes for Glenn.

³ Egypt is so Over Powered (OP to use the gaming vernacular), that I ran away with the game. I had three Wonders of the World, gunpowder, rifle carrying cavalry, and steam power, while the others barely had irrigation. When/if we play again, we decided Egypt cannot be used.

My collection of video game T-shirts says all one needs to know about my fashion skills (to the point where I had to seek the help of a Fixer). Heck, that night I ended up wearing navy blue socks with my black shoes and forgot a belt (mostly by mistake). The variety of ‘appropriate’ dress at Swan Lake was nothing short of entertaining. Some women wore elegant evening dresses, while others wore skirts shorter than their winter coats (to the point Stephanie thought one young lady was wearing only a coat). Another young lady sported a tutu of her own, likely in hopes of being called on stage to fill in if Odette pulled a Keith Moon.

A favorite was a stoic gentleman in a T-shirt and suspenders, who’s belly cascaded over his jeans as it tried to make a break for the exit. I needed these bits of observational mirth after the tense drive through the snow, which left me as mentally stable as Brad Pitt in Twelve Monkeys.

It took nearly an hour to get from downtown to the show. Such a trip should, on a good day, take no more than twenty minutes or so (ten if I am listening to the Drive soundtrack. Three and a half if my radio gets stuck on conservative talk radio). It was my first Screw This I am Moving to a State Without Snow drive of Winter. It happens every year.

Additional mirth came when we overheard a passerby critiquing the range of footwear worn by the intrepid staff of the venue, “Do they even have a dress code? One is wearing dress shoes, and another is wearing Chucks¹. This isn’t Point Break Live—we’re here to see the Moscow [Expletive] Ballet.” Indeed.

Speaking of, if you ever get a chance to see Point Break Live!, do so. It is Swan Lake for our Modern Times. With beer, fake blood and Gary Busey impressions².

And the people watching at Point Break Live! when I saw it in San Francisco? EVEN better.

–
¹ Chuck Taylor Converse All-Stars.

² “Utah! Bring me two!”

There is one problem, Pop Culture has pretty much ruined Swan Lake for me. The ballet has been featured or referenced in many TV shows and films (a favorite being, Brain Donors). However, it is the frequent use of Swan Lake in popular media which makes me want to see the original. Compare and contrast, as they say, and it is always a good idea to become familiar with the source material–and is why I often consider reading Twilight: so I can make more accurate jokes, and better enjoy the ones already made.

Swan Lake is not the only classic¹ dulled by Pop Culture. I recently (and finally) watched all of Gone with the Wind. I was already familiar with the famous lines, and scenes (“I don’t give a damn,” etc.) via the many references over the years, but, when seen in context they made MUCH more sense, and had more weight. When Rhett delivered his famous line in the waning minutes of the film, it hit like a truck—now I knew why he said he didn’t give a damn.

The same can be said when I watched Citizen Kane for the first time in my youth: I finally got a lot of jokes and references—ranging from The Simpsons to Tiny Toon Adventures.

Is it wrong that Pop Culture “ruins” works like Swan Lake or Gone With the Wind? No. I would probably A) not know about Swan Lake or B) not want to see it, if it weren’t for it being referenced over the decades. Jokes about, and references to, classic works keep them alive and at the front of our memory—kind of like what Barb Wire did for Casablanca.

Well. Let’s skip that example.

Honestly, I am just happy for an excuse to leave the house². I turn in to a bit of a hermit while the Snow Miser stalks the Michigan countryside during our nine months of “good sledding.”

I just hope the stage version of Swan Lake is less creepy than the last incarnation I saw.

–
¹ To be clear: I am not lumping Twilight in with Swan Lake, Gone With the Wind and Citizen Kane.

² By which I mean “apartment” and not “my parents’ basement.”

Stephanie was over, as she sought a distraction-free zone to fill out some paperwork. Like the villain with the golden grail at the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, her choice of my apartment was a poor one.

“Do you want a copy of Maxim featuring Lara Flynn Boyle?” I held up the magazine in question.  Ms. Boyle was, of course, scantily clad and flashing a smoldering pout.

Stephanie halted the assault on the ream of forms requiring signatures in triplicate. “What? She hasn’t been relevant since 1999.” Her pen resumed its work. The dotting of her ‘i’s tapped out a loud SOS.

I inspected the cover. The date read, December 1999.

The rest of the box contained more Maxim back issues, and they served as a time capsule from my final high school years. I decided to keep the Flynn Boyle Maxim, ¹ not because of the pictures, but rather because of the interview with NHL tough guy, and former Detroit Red Wing, the late Bob Probert.²

The rest, however, were put in the Recycle pile with issues of Game Informer and Nintendo Power.³ These magazines summed up my high school years: hormones, sarcastic humor and video games. †

The real gems, however, were to be found in a binder full of my high school era writings. “Oh boy, my screenplay,” I said.

Stephanie made the pen-equivalent of a record scratch.  “WHAT?”

I held up the beat up red binder, stuff with a thousand sheets of loose leaf paper, of which about twenty featured my hieroglyphic writing. I flipped through a few pages, “Well, screenplays, to be exact. Handwritten, even.”

Stephanie’s eyes narrowed, as she calculated how long it would take her to reach the door. “What are they about?”

I read the summary for the first screenplay, Summertime Blues. Two recent high school grads go on one last road trip before starting college. Stephanie shook her head, “I feel like that has been made a million times already.” Then I read the character descriptions. Stephanie raised her hand halfway through the description Fred “Fatty” McStew, the chubby sidekick. “If his parents are Scottish immigrants, and he was born in Michigan, why does he have a Scottish accent?”

“Probably because I saw Rushmore the week before writing this.” Summertime Blues lasted about five pages or so. Then, my second attempt at a screenplay began. “’Workin’ the Stand,’” I read aloud. “This was based on my job working a concession stand at a movie theater,” I flipped through a few pages. “And apparently, my attempt at a Kevin Smith movie.” What I had written was pretty much Clerks in a movie theater. Highlights include a running gag about Snow Caps and filling napkin dispensers with napkins stolen from the donut shop next door, ‘Jim Gordon’s’ (a Batman AND a Tim Hortons joke in one? Gold!).

Rounding out the rest of my high school oeuvre, were (too) many dark, terrible poems I must have wrote after A) Listening to the Misfits for six hours straight, B) Banging my head against the wall, or C) Both.

Ah, Youth.

(I still happily listen to the Misfits, because according to the cover of my binder, they rule)

–
¹ I also set aside the infamous issue in which Melissa Joan Hart posed (clothed), because…well. I don’t have a defense for this one.

² I went to Steve Yzerman’s retirement ceremony, and when Bob Probert walked out on to the ice, Joe Louis Arena SHOOK with cheering and applause.

³ I did keep my Nintendo Power issues from the ‘80s. If’n I need to know how to beat Dragon Warrior or Megaman 2, I know where to look.

† OK, my twenties as well. And thus far, my early thirties.

A couple Saturdays back, I had just finished an overpriced, under-French Toast’d² breakfast, when I decided to check Twitter on my phone (sort of an after meal mint for the 21st Century). I saw a tweet from a friend asking for help—she had a flat tire, and required assistance putting on the spare.

Thanks to a quick exchange of tweets and a peek at my Maps app, I learned Rachel was less than a mile away–well within walking distance. Like a 21st Century Dudley Do-Right (both in spirit and in abilities), I was off to lend a hand.

I had just finished reading The Lost City of Z, which was about the famous (and missing) explorer Percy Fawcett and his search for a lost city in the Amazon. The book was filled with stories about explorers in the early part of the 20th Century, and I figured if these folks could handle exploring the jungles of the world, I could certainly walk 0.7 miles to help out a friend.

Let’s rewind a bit: via my “phone,” I was able to see a friend needed help, get a fix on her location, see how far away she was on a map of the city and get walking directions. If need be, I bet I could have found directions, or a video, on how to change a tire too (but fear not, I have Experience).

About nine minutes later (I walk fast), I found Rachel and got to work. A neighbor noticed our plight and offered us the use of his hydraulic jack. He was a charming fellow, who used profanity as one would a punctuation mark³. Needless to say, we got along famously.

With the tire fixed, Rachel gave my dirty hands and I a ride home. I hadn’t discovered a lost city, or even a lost shopping mall, but I still had quite the adventure—all thanks to Twitter and my smart phone.

–
¹ Just like this blog.

² The breakfast in question came with two slices of French toast and four slices of regular toast. How about we split the difference? Four slices of French toast and call it good.

³ Lewis Black has a great joke about this sort of thing.

After signing up, I saw they had my novel, The Magic of Eyri, listed, and that if I was the author, I could apply for Author Status. Why not? After a couple mouse clicks and a short email, I was given the title of Goodreads Author a few days later (despite my novel being self-published, but hey, take the wins where you can, right?).

Now that I am a Goodreads Author, folks can become “a fan” (which is probably only a few pegs lower than joining the Mr. Belvedere fan club¹). Neat.

I found a few friends of mine on Goodreads and added them, because it is What You Do, and I saw an alert that one of my friends, John, was now “a fan”². I popped over to his page, and I was listed with some of his other Favorite Authors in the sidebar, which gave me a chuckle.

I should see if they want to collaborate on a book. And then I woke up.

I didn’t expect to be listed alongside big names like Orson Scott Card and George R. R. Martin anytime soon, except perhaps as a punchline.

Joking aside³, I know I do have fans of Magic of Eyri† and the other nonsense I churn out, and when I have been lucky enough to meet them in person, I am always grateful. If you have 10 fans, or ten thousand, each one is a win–and take them where you can.

Except Spambots on Twitter. Those don’t count.

–
¹ FACT: I was a member back in the day. I have the stickers and the T-shirt somewhere. This is not a reference to the SNL skit.

² In all honesty, John has been one of my biggest fans and supporters since the book came out in 2007. I don’t forget stuff like that. Same goes for my Magic of Eyri co-star, Robin.

³ I’m a fan of Ender’s Game, and I want to read the Game of Thrones  series at some point (and watch the show–c’mon, Netflix). I have played the game though, but before the show came out.

† I have been very lucky to meet a few fans at conventions, and some have even emailed me–mainly when the Magic of Eyri podcast was on hiatus. That kind of stuff keeps me going.

I tried to think about what would cause some poor soul to cast aside a single crutch, and on a highway on-ramp of all places. “Perhaps someone tied it to the roof rack, and it fell off,” I thought at first, but then I remembered such a fate is usually reserved for the likes of R2-D2, Granny and Irish Setters.

Then it came to me. Someone was hitchhiking, and they were picked up by a biker. Yes. What else could it be? More importantly, the hitchhiker in question HAD to be Tiny Tim.²

I envisioned Tiny Tim joining a biker gang, clawing and stabbing his way through the ranks over the years. He became the new leader after a whiskey-soaked game of chicken on Brockway Mountain Drive, against a lightning kissed, midnight sky. He was tough, but fair, and an artist with a switchblade. He gave no quarter and asked for none himself. His voice was the roar of an engine, or the blast of a sawed off shotgun. Tiny Tim no longer needed a crutch, because now he sat tall in the saddle of a steel horse. In time, he united all the Michigan biker gangs into the great wheeled tribe of the North.

Or, the crutch just fell out of the back of a medical supply van.

–
¹ My hands wet on the wheel, etc.
² Because no one else only uses a single crutch.

I thought about this over a room temperature chicken pot pie at a restaurant last month. It was the day after Christmas, and I was unwinding after the usual holiday-insanity, which had me visit eight different locations between Eaton Rapids and Detroit in 48 hours. I was spent like an unpaid intern during the New Hampshire primary.

Which brought me to the restaurant and the less than hot chicken pot pie. I figured a hearty lunch would help recharge the batteries. As would be expected on Dec. 26th, the place was a ghost town, and it was closing in about an hour. I was one of only three patrons. This caused the staff behind the counter, a man and a woman, to drop their guard when it came to chatting.

The conversation was on the woman being in a new relationship, or not. Her co-worker asked about her liaisons, or if you prefer the Oxford Dictionary term, “booty calls.”

“I haven’t slept with anyone else in five months,” she said as she cleaned the counter.

Her co-worker shrugged as he counted the money in his register, “That sounds like a relationship to me.”

Indeed.

There are perhaps other signs too, which means it is time for You Might Be in a Relationship If:

• You stop selling your partner’s anti-depressants in the Denny’s parking lot.
• You ask for photos of your partner’s face.
• Your partner names a Final Fantasy VII character after you.
• Your partner only shoots you once.
• You mention your partner on your podcast.
• You show your partner photos of your real family, instead of the photos that came with the frames.
• During a weekend getaway, you don’t wake up in a motel bathtub missing a kidney.¹
• You no longer list your partner as collateral.
• You answer the phone with “Hi!” instead of, “I need a favor.”
• You no longer care that your partner doesn’t have the same blood type.
• And finally, Your partner acts as inspiration for a character² in your self-published, My Little Pony fan-fiction novel, Relationships are Magic: Adventures in Mor-Thanfriendsia.

–
¹ Which at the worst can only happen twice. Look on the bright side.
² I’ll let you think up the cutie mark for this one.

"Here is a photo featuring our newest hand model, the Crypt Keeper."

Intentional or not, this photo is hilarious.¹ Nice work, BBC News.

Later on, this photo replaced the one above:

The proper phrase is, 'a plague of microphones.'

Interesting. Maybe someone else noticed the creepy/suggestive factor.

–
¹ I say this regardless of the candidate and/or party. The political aspect does not concern me, as I just write in Mojo Nixon every election. Because, if your ballot don’t got Mojo Nixon, then your ballot could use some fixin. 

Now, to play Jack Hanna for a moment (sans khaki). A degu is a Chilean rodent—sort of like a poor man’s Chinchilla. Or, as Steph likes to say, “If a hamster, a rat and a Chinchilla had a baby.” She may even have thrown raccoon in there too. Regardless, Cosmo has plenty of what experts call, Cute.

What makes a degu a rather fun pet is they are, unlike hamsters, very social. At this point, after hours spent bribing Cosmo with oats, he will happily hop into Steph’s hands and hang out. Cosmo is a far cry from Steph’s late hamster, Melon, who wanted nothing to do with her.

The biggest change for me is getting re-accustomed to Steph talking to someone else while I am visiting. Her cooing whispers of “Who’s a pretty boy?” are no longer merely directed at me. My fragile ego is having difficulty adjusting.

The worst of it came over the weekend. After dinner, Steph said, “Are you fat? Or are you just growing up?” I was nearly in tears before I realized she was addressing Cosmo. To add salt to the wound, this happened only a few hours after my unsuccessful attempt to buy a new pair of jeans. Trying on jeans immediately after the holidays is not the best thing for one’s self-esteem.

I think the jeans people (“Big Denim”) change the sizes every few months. Sure, it may have said 32, but it didn’t fit like the 32s I wore to the store. They are, of course, in cahoots with the weight loss/gym cabal (“Big Skinny”). Think about it: Big Denim alters the jeans sizes, a rube (Me), believes they have gained a few extra pounds, and then thinks “Dang! I better get to the gym!” and Big Skinny benefits. Then, after a few months of weight loss meetings and gym memberships, said rube (Me), buys a NEW pair of jeans.

One hand washes the other. It all makes so much sense. Wake up, Sheeple!

–
¹ During the Summer, when I am clad in a tank top and shorts, I am often confused for a werewolf, or a short Bigfoot.

² From “Cosmos.” Steph is a fan of NASA, science fiction and Outer Space. I have yet to find out her feelings on Innerspace, however.

So long Monday’s Finger, hello Clattertron. As a fan of made up words, Clattertron feels better (and is much more search engine friendly).

Clatter means noise(s).

-Tron means (usually) a type of machine* (or in some cases, a mighty robot).

So, “noise machine” to some extent, which I felt was a good name for a blog, especially a blog by me. Regardless, it is a fake word, so it doesn’t really have to mean anything. Like Muppet, iPod or “Electoral College.”

There are times when you have to try something out for a few days to see if it works out or not. Heck, Black Sabbath wasn’t even Black Sabbath at first (same goes for Van Halen). Reminds me of that scene in This is Spinal Tap where they talk about their various band names over the years (The New Originals is a favorite).

* = the -tron suffix has other meanings too, for example electron, neutron and jumbotron.

A recent example of my less than Gosling nature was when it came time to hang my brand new 2012 Detroit Red Wings calendar (thanks, Mom). I was embarrassed to see my 2011 Detroit Red Wings calendar was still stuck on January. Oops. But, given the featured player for the month was Pavel Datsyuk, forgetting to turn the page wasn’t so bad.

Then, I opened my 2012 calendar and saw Datsyuk was once again Mr. January.

PHOTO

Crappy cellphone photo is crappy.

I’m glad to see he is at least on the opposite side of the page this year. Related: the Wings play the Leafs on Saturday. Looking forward to that one.

Speaking of the Leafs, I wonder if Tomas Kaberle and Tyler Seguin sent Leafs GM Brian Burke a Thank You card after winning the Stanley Cup with Boston? No, perhaps not.

Coming in 2013 (pending a delay in the Apocalypse/Ragnarok/Goslingeddon, mind you), “Well, I did it AGAIN.”

* Did you SEE Drive? My favorite film of 2011 without “Chip” in the title.

In a footnote for I Think My Mother Is Trying to Tell Me Something, I mentioned how my friend Erik sent me a Christmas gift. This was, in fact, a surprise, as Erik lives dozens of miles away in the quaint little town of San Francisco, CA (or KA for you Brad Pitt fans), while I reside in the sprawling metropolis of Lansing, MI.

The gift in question was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle film archive. Yes, all four features, including the CGI-animated TMNT.

As to why, in Erik’s own words:

“I look at Christmas as an opportunity to buy for someone something they wouldn’t necessarily purchase for themselves.”

The original TMNT film is something of an inside joke for us (and others within our social circle). We constantly quote the film**. When the package showed up in my PO Box, I immediately ripped it open, and was given a rather wide berth by the other Post Office patrons, as I broke into a fit of laughter.

Perhaps the best part was the note inside: “What Russian novel, embracing more than 500 characters takes place during the Napoleonic War? MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

It really is the thought that counts when it comes to gift giving–which has become a constant refrain of Stephanie’s, when she brings up my giving her a cutting board for Valentine’s Day***.

* = On a related note, I am also a fan of horror films.

** = EX: “Cricket? You gotta know what a crumpet is before you can play cricket!,” “Ninja vanish!,” “Wise man say, never pay full price for late pizza,” etc. We were very popular in college.

***= Which should come as no surprise from someone who’s father once gave his mother a mop bucket for Christmas.

Much to the enjoyment of my neighbors, Stephanie, bless her heart, bought me a ukulele for Christmas. [GeekMom has an informative post on 'a' or 'an' ukulele - Ed.]

A uke is an interesting instrument, as it causes an immediate reaction from my social circle, which varies depending on one’s age/generation/blood alcohol level.

Mom, aunts and uncles: “Can you play any Tiny Tim yet?”

Stephanie, sister, cousins and friends: “Can you play any Zooey Deschanel yet?”

And then, Dad: “Can you play Big Bottom yet?”

On New Year’s Day, I received a phone call from my friend, Erik. He had spent the holiday in New Orleans and was calling to tell me he was now engaged to his girlfriend, Emily.* “I wanted to tell you personally before it went out on Facebook,” he said. Erik had kicked off 2012 a bit better than myself, as all I had accomplished so far was getting killed by monsters in Resident Evil 4.

Later in the day, I called Mom and told her the news about Erik. There was a pause on her side, “Did you tell Stephanie?” [non-fiancée – Ed.]

“Yes, I sent her a text.”

Mom continued, with a noticeable growl in her voice. “Was she annoyed?”

I paused Resident Evil 4. “Huh?

“Well, before your father proposed to me, I got upset when our friends got engaged.”

I un-paused Resident Evil 4, aimed and blew the head off a not-zombie. “…Right.”

“Costco sells rings you know.”

“You don’t say.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with a pawn shop ring, either.”

On my TV, I watched Leon, the hero of Resident Evil 4, get crushed by a huge monster called El Gigante, and I could not help but envy him.
* = An amusing footnote: Just before Christmas, Erik texted me to ask for my address, and I jokingly inquired if they were sending out Save the Date’s. In fact, he sent me the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Movie Collection. More on this later.

Simple, right? When I cook, I have a sort of sixth sense about what I should, or should not, include in a recipe, and it typically never fails (although it did lead to my infamous BBQ Bay Leaf Stir-Fry Pasta).

My Cooky Sense tingled while I threw chunks of veggies and scoops of lentils into the slow cooker. In my freezer, I had bones from a rotisserie chicken. I took a page from the Carl Weathers School of Cooking (as seen in Arrested Development), and kept the bones, because, to paraphrase Carl, there was still plenty of meat on the bones and could be used to get “a stew goin’.”

I pulled the collection of bones from my freezer, which resembled something from The Thing (the old The Thing, not the new The Thing), and hurled a few into the slow cooker.

After a few hours my soup, like a Kardashian marriage, was finished. Each spoonful tasted great, and also brought me closer to my own doom. I was watching Burn Notice an educational program while eating, so my eyes were not on the contents of my spoon.

Then I felt it (no, not presence of my old master)—something like a rock in my mouth, which rolled its way to the back of my throat. I hacked and gagged, and after a spit-take any Stooge would be proud of, a chunk of bone sailed across the room and plinked against my TV screen.

While I had meant to only use the larger leg bones, I had apparently grabbed a few of the smaller, easier to swallow bones too. In this case, a vertebra—and thankfully, a chicken vertebra (you never know).

I told this story to Stephanie [girlfriend - Ed.], and she merely shook her head, as she is prone to do when I explain Anything to her. “Why didn’t you just boil the bones in a separate pot and pour the liquid in the soup?”

I only shrugged, and went to work deboning the remaining gallon of soup.

I tell ya, senators aren’t as polite as they used to be.*

*I hope you have enjoyed my first Terrible Joke of 2012.

This was taken in Old Town, Lansing during the Scott Kelby Worldwide Photo Walk.

"Yes, the lines and the value of the contrast embody the true Feelings of the artist: the search for the white door inside all of us. Open it, won't you?"

 F16 (Fighting Falcon?), 50mm, 1/255 sec, ISO 100

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Links to my Other Stuff and Things:

Geek Speak – Walk Like a Man to Jersey Boys

Ginger and the Geek – Podcast 035

"I really admire your photography, and some day I intend on viewing it."

 F11, 50mm, 1/320 sec, ISO 100

Ah, yes–balance (not to be confused with the Van Hagar album)

Call it what you will: the struggle between Light and Dark. Good and Evil. Coffee and Tea. It is a favorite subject to be discussed, even being a running theme for a series of six religious films. I witnessed this natural example whilst on the 2011 Scott Kelby Worldwide Photo Walk in Lansing’s historic Old Town.

I took a bunch of photos, but this one stuck out. Why? Look at the Light Side. It is not without its imperfections, signifying that even those who present themselves as being “in the Light” are far from perfect.

It also makes a case for the advantage of trying to meet someone in a dimly lit bar or discothèque. Why do you think Darth Vader wore a mask?

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Links to my Other Stuff and Things:

Geek Speak–Steve Jobs has Passed Away, EarthBound Revisited, pt. 4: Zombies!

Lovable Geek – Photo: Big Cat Naps

Plaidurday Blog – Great Moments in Plaid on TV and Film

"There are times I hug myself, just so I can feel something."

 F1.8, 50mm, 1/100 sec, ISO 400

No, these are not my latest batch of foster cats. These happen to be a pair of Snow Leopards at Lansing’s Potter Park Zoo. They may look cuddly, but I am certain they would not want to snuggle with you–unless you were wearing meat pajamas, which I wouldn’t really recommend, as I have seen what they can do to chunks of meat.

No love bites here!

Joking aside, these are gorgeous animals which are, sadly, endangered. Fun Fact™ — one time I was at Potter Park Zoo and I heard what sounded like someone calling for help. Turns out, it was just one of these darling beasts. Kind of creepy, but fascinating at the same time–just like my one man show about The Brady Bunch.

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Links to my Other Stuff and Things:

Ginger and the Geek – Podcast 034 – Julie Mann, Schuler Books Events, Plaidurday

Geek Speak – EarthBound Revisited, Pt. 3: Happy Happy, LoveLansing: The Loft

Lovable Geek – Photo: A Few of My Favorite Things

The Idler – Welcome to Twin Peaks

"I'll take it."

Taken with a Samsung Epic Android Phone, processed in the Vignette Android App

Whilst on a constitutional in downtown Lansing, I spotted this delightful sight–a Bell’s Brewery beer truck parked near the Capitol. I over-saturated the colors in Vignette, because I figured, why not? Actually, the real reason is the girlfriend suggested I do so.

Clearly, she is the Talented One of our Lansing Power Couple: the Nancy to my Ronnie, the Eleanor to my Delano, the George Michael to my Andrew Ridgeley.

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Links to my Other Stuff and Things:

Geek Speak – Watch This: Drive (film review), Geek Speak – EarthBound Revisited, Part Two: A Spiteful Crow Stole My Breadroll

Loveable Geek – Longtongue Bearsson (Photo)

"Don't judge me."

 F5.6, 135mm, 1/100 sec, ISO 200

After leaving the devil-fire spewing, shirt-peddling clam in my wake, I continued on to the land of the Northmen. But, as I reached the Great Bridge, a shadowy being blocked my path. He stood about eight feet tall, and was an abominal mixture of features both bear and man.

“Halt!” the beast thundered. He stood with a bit of a hunch, and a long whipping tongue whirled around his saliva caked maw, as if searching for crumbs. “Son of Man, you must pay a toll before traveling across the Great Bridge.”

“What manner of Troll-Magic is this?” I countered. My hand fasted around my sword, Frownsender.

“No magic,” the beast answered after swatting away a thick cloud of devil-eyed black flies. “It is the Law.”

“Northern Law governs not the Men of the South,” I snapped.

The beast lumbered nearer. Dagger-like claws adorned his shaggy paws, and wherever he stepped, the ground quaked. “It is not Northern Law, South Walker,” he spewed. “It is my law.”

My eyes became slits. I regretted trading my mail vest for the talking clam’s Ships Happen shirt and two pounds of fudge. I spotted a pile of skulls and bones just beyond where the beast had been standing. Further to the point, I was low on silver, and doubted I had enough to cover the devil-bear’s toll.

He sniffed and halted his approach.  “Is that fudge I smell?”

“What if it is?

“I am willing to let you pass for a pound of fudge.”

“I only have half a pound,” I lied and hoped he could not smell how much I had.

“Half of something is better than all of nothing.”

I felt this was well said, and tossed a chunk of fudge to him, which he caught with his whipping tongue. He savored the flavor for a moment and stepped aside to grant me access to the Great Bridge.

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Links to my Other Stuff and Things:

Ginger and the Geek – 033 – The Man From Dragon*Con

Geek Speak – Earthbound Revisited, Part One: All My Friends are in There

Note: Not Pac-Man

 F1.8, 50mm, 1/100th sec, ISO 200

I came across a giant watery beast during my travels to the land of the Northmen, just before the Great Bridge which connects our two lands [Mackinac Bridge - Ed.] across the Angry Straits.

The demon clam spake to me in a tongue most alien and foul as it tried to lure me to spend my last few silver pieces on trinkets and baubles, “Walker of Land! Hear me!” it cried, its mouth aglow with devil-fire. ” You would do well to own this humorous shirt in the shape of  a T.”

“Away, Demon of Commerce,” I shouted. Its breath reeked of lake-weed and dead fish. I lifted my sword, Frownsender. “Pester me no more.”

“How can one not find enjoyment from this clothing?” begged the water-devil. “For it has the visage of the noble long ships which fill our waters, and proudly claims, in the most wounderous of font, ‘Ships Happen.’”

I whirled Frownsender within an inch of the foul water-devil. “Silence! Your magic is no use against me!”

“What about this fudge? It is sweeter than the kisses of a dozen princesses.”

“I shall not ingest any confection made by a talking, demon clam,” I growled.

“If you buy a pound, Walker of Land, you get another half-pound for free. Today only!”

I stroked my beard in thought. It was a Good bargain.

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Links to my Other Stuff and Things:

CiesaDesign Bloggle – How to Speak Geek

Geek Speak – Geek Speak – MST3K: Joel or Mike?, Geek Speak – Watch This: My Interview about Final Fantasy VII on Double Jump

Lovable Geek – Photo: Underground

Magic of Eyri Podcast – 041 – In Thru the Out Door