Eh. It amused me in that grim, utterly-devoid-of-amusement way. Natalie got me on this app called Can of Soup - no idea why it’s called that, at all. You scan your face and it makes a new scenario every day, combining you and your friends. If they’re on the app, obviously. A new one pops up every day, and they’re amusing. Here’s me and my daughter on the bridge in Star Trek. Here we are on a girder in a 1930s WPA photo. Here we are in an old-time travel poster.
Eventually I learned I could just do solo shots, and started playing with 1940s and 50s tableaus. Couldn’t get it to show me thrown off a bus or out of a window, though. Cemetery of a career, though, it could do.
To repeat: I have not been fired. It has nothing to do with Tipping Kerfluffle. Draw anything from that you wish. It’ll all be obvious when the operation reboots in late August, so I don’t know why I have to be coy now. I have a meeting tomorrow which seems to be an opportunity for me to discuss the matter, and I will ask permission to be more specific.
Finally got my oil changed today. The maintenance light has been haunting me for a few weeks. Well, months. No, I hadn’t put electrical tape over the genie lamp. When I start the car it bongs and tells me that maintenance is coming due - A12 MAINTENANCE, which sounds like roadwork on a British highway. It says it is due soon. Then it says it is due now. Then it says it is overdue, and chides you with the number of miles you have written since it warned you. Okay okay.
Had the time today, so I went to the Parris Island location, where a crack team of oil change experts await. Their leader barks orders to them and to you in a manner that makes you instantly forget how to do anything to your car, simply because you’ve never had anyone command you to roll down the window quite like that, at least not since you were pulled over by the Highway Patrol.
(The last time I was pulled over I was mortified to see that the officer’s last name was MANHOOD, which told me straight away I wouldn’t be questioning anything about this at all. A superior officer could show up and bark ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY MANHOOD and I would have no choice but to say yes.)
I mean, I’m already in a fog, and he shouts POP THE TRUNK PLEASE SIR and of course I open the gas cap lid. As I tweeted, I felt like he was a drill instructor and I was Private Pyle on parade with a rifle barrel up his nose while eating a jelly donut.
BECAUSE HE IS A DISGUSTING FAT BODY
I considered today becoming just that. I was at the gym, and since we were in the complete and total disenchantment phase of life that attends all who outlive their utility, I wondered what the point of this was. Yes, I bought new pants when I went on the fitness kick. Fightin’ trim. Tight as a drum. But why not just say to hell with all this pointless exertion and each some ice cream. Bagel for breakfast. Chips for lunch. If you’re going to be invisible, does it matter if your trousers have a crease?
Sir? SIR? CAN YOU TURN ON YOUR LIGHTS PLEASE
Oh sorry right, woolgathering. Can I -
LEFT BLINKER
Siryesssir
RIGHT BLINKER
Siryesssir
I CAN’T HEAR YOU
SIR YES SIR
BRIGHTS ON
BRIGHTS ON
BRAKE LIGHT
BRAKE LIGHT
WIPERS
WIPERS
I DON’T KNOW BUT I’VE BEEN TOLD
I DON’T KNOW BUT I’VE BEEN TOLD
MOTOR OIL IS LIQUID GOLD
MOTOR OIL IS LIQUID GOLD
I KNEW A WOMAN NAMED VALVOLINE
I KNEW A WOMAN NAMED VALVOLINE
SLICKEST GAL YOU EVER SEEN
SLICKEST GAL YOU EVER SEEN
COMPANNNNNNY, HALT. PRESENNNNNT FILTERS
(DI examines cabin air filter, wrinkles nose in disgust, throws it to the ground)
What is this filthy piece of shit excuse for a filtration device Private Honda Do you have any idea how disgusting this is Why I’ve half a mind to make you eat it You like breathing dust so you must like eating it Am I right Private Honda
Sir yes sir
SIR YES SIR WHAT
Sir yes sir the private enjoys eating dust SIR
Then get down on your knees and eat it like it’s a steak
Sir yes sir
DO YOU WANT SOME STEAK SAUCE WITH YOUR FILTER PRIVATE HONDA
Sir the private is fine with the filter as it is sir
ARE YOU TURNING DOWN MY GENEROUS OFFER OF SOME STEAK SAUCE PRIVATE HONDA? I DON’T BELIEVE IT. I BET YOU’D DRY HUMP A HOOVER AND SAY IT WAS AS GOOD AS A PARIS HOOKER
Sir the private is confused by the compounding metaphors and the escalating sexual insinuations
(Slap)
Eventually I was in sync with the crew and followed instructions accordingly. They didn’t have my filters, so off to the dealership later. The best part was resetting the maintenance warnings, which I could’ve done myself when they first started nagging me. But that would be cheating.
Then I went home and brooded over a cigar, and made a dentist’s appointment.
I was driving in North Minneapolis, an area where economic bargains could be had, and noted with some embarrassment that someone had rented a defunct restaurant and called it “Entitled Veteran Bleats,” based on something I’d written. I’d forgotten all about that. Seemed unwise, in retrospect. I couldn’t even remember what the piece was about. As I passed it, I heard a lot of electronic chattering, which seemed to be what I was looking for. It was coming from a fast-food restaurant that had been converted into a boxing school. The parking lot was empty, but somehow I knew it was full, and that there was a large underground portion where many fights were going on.
Later I was driving out of my garage, front of the car pointed out, and jerked it a bit, startling an obese woman who was walking on the sidewalk. She embarked on a tirade that I tried to turn away with exaggerated concern and politeness, but she wouldn’t stop, whereupon I said “Jesus, what a pill” and got back in my car. This angered her so much she walked up to the car and said “This is how the teachers do it,” and balled up her fist and dented the hood. I invited everyone walking in the neighborhood to come and admire the handiwork of a grossly obese teacher.
Sorry, but I forgot to clip and rearrange and sort the Lance for this week.
I've been preoccupied a bit.
Last year I cut out the tunes, but heck, why not bring them back. We'll be counting down the bottom 50 songs as listed by Whitburn. It'll be fun! Stuff you've never heard. A grab-bag of styles.
