Newt Gingrich called me today. Okay it wasn’t actually him calling, it was some mr. flunky calling for him but mr. flunky connected me to a pre-recorded message from the former speaker himself – my heart was all a flutter.
Newt … who names their kid Newt btw? Don’t you think he probably got beat up everyday of elementary school? Maybe that’s why he is such a prick?!? Newt -- isn’t that something witches always add to the caldron in movies. Eyes of newt or frog’s newt or there is something with newt … what was I talking about? Oh yeah, my buddy Newt.
Mr. Flunky asked me a probing interview question to make sure I was qualified for the survey, “Are you happy with the way the government is running things in Washington?” Sometimes the word ‘no’ just doesn’t pack enough punch. Even ‘HELL NO, YOU IDIOT’ seems to fall short, but I think he got my general opinion on the matter because he informed me that was the right answer and that I had qualified for a special message … shhh, let’s listen …..
So this very personal message from Newt (I think I like saying that name now) was only being shared with the closest friends of the Republic party … so how the hell they got my name is beyond me? My new friend talked to me for one minute and 15 seconds about how the GOP is in danger of losing control in Washington (gasp!) and even more freighting … the Democratic are raising more $$$$ for the 2008 campaign (egad!). Newt was even nice enough to spell out why this was a bad thing for those who might actually appreciate his opinion on the subject. It seems that these Democrats are liberals (holly free choice Batman!) and they support equal rights and health care for the poor and reducing the deficit and cleaning up the environment and, and, and, g-a-y-s (we’re doomed, doomed, doomed!). Say it isn’t true, Newt?!? Tell me it’s not too late? What can we do? Who will save us?
But wait … look up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No it’s a campaign contribution!!! That’s right folks mr.flunky came back on the line after my private pow-wow with Newt and gave me the “opportunity” to donate $200 to $400 dollars to stop all this craziness from happening. And in return – not only would I get the perfect government thereby saving this great world as we know it, but I would also get my very own copy of Newt’s book (How I Screwed Up Everything). WHAT A DEAL!!!! Let me grab a pen …
Oh, but wait a minute, “didn’t you ask me if I was happy with the way the government is running things in Washington? And I said ‘no’, right? And isn’t the current president a republican? And isn’t the Republican Party pulling all the strings right now? So … if I’m not happy with what the GOP is doing now, tell me why I would want them back for another 4 years?!?!?!?”
Oh, and I also forgot … I think I like liberals? Yes, now I remember … I do like liberals … and helping under privileged people … and I support equal rights even for "those gays" !!!! So sorry Newt, please excuse me while I write this check for the Democratic Party and laugh all the way to the polls on Election Day.
And that’s how I lost 75 seconds of my life today.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
My Night with Jeeps
When the f*&k did it become acceptable for taxi drivers not to know where anything is in the city? The very essence of the taxi is for it to take you to places you are unfamiliar with... like your front door at 4 in morning after 10 too many tequilas. But that's not really the point, this time.
I spend a lot of time in different cities and I know a good taxi driver can get me where I need to be faster than I can print out the map on yahoo. Go to any intersection in NY or Chicago, hop in a cab and your off without a thought. That's the way it works! Taxi = driver who knows city! Simple, right? Apparently not!
Last week in Raleigh I asked my driver for the Red Room and I end up at Mellow Mushroom ... even my accent is not that bad ... plus I was in f*&king NC so he should be able to understand me! This week I'm in Atlanta ... hop in a cab, ask for a club by name, even give the guy the freaking address and he still can't find it. I mean he has NO CLUE where it might be. And, the dude (let's call him Jeeps) keeps asking me where it is ... HELLO ... I'm in the damn cab because I don't know where it is either!!!!
But, being the caring and considerate person that I am , I'm trying to be helpful and I suggest Jeeps and I call to get the cross streets. Cross streets are always helpful to cab drivers. Jeeps' accent was a problem for the woman on the phone from the club so I jump into the conversation and get the cross streets and confirm the address. I relay the info to Jeeps and he looks at me and says "where is that on my map?" OMG, OMG, OMG!!!! Would you like me to drive the car and you sit back here, Jeeps?
Back on the phone with the club I am now translating Jeeps' questions to the club and her answers back to Jeeps. This is not how I envisioned my night starting off. FINALLY, FINALLY, Jeeps says he knows where the club is!!!! Great, okay lets go!!! Then Jeeps says "here let me show you on the map". ARE YOU F*&%ING KIDDING ME? You want to show me the map now? I don't care where it is on the map!! Just drive the cab to the club and let me out of this flashback Seinfeld episode.
So I'm sitting there staring at Jeeps as he is detailing the route we will drive ... assuming that we EVER pulls out from in front of my hotel where we have now been sitting for 10 minutes.
Then Jeeps says, "that's a really long way". "Yes, okay." Then I start thinking, Jeeps doesn't want to go there, is that what he is saying? The woman I spoke to at the club said it would be a 15-minute cab ride so it can't be that far? So I revert to taxi cab language and asked Jeeps "how much?" He starts to show me the damn map again and I mentally prepare to throw him from the car ... only we are not moving so that will not inflict enough pain. I cut him off and asked, "just tell me how much?" Jeeps then goes used-car-salesman on me and says, "it could be $35, could be $45 depends on traffic.... HFS ... I've taken a taxi from mid-town Manhattan to the airport at rush hour on a Friday and it cost less. That's it, I'm done. I tell Jeeps to forget it and leave him to re-fold his many maps and consider a career change to maybe the post office where his unique talents of pissing people off could be rewarded by a suicide gunman.
There are some jobs in this world that require little or no skill and I have spent my fair amount of time in these glorious positions; wielding shop gofer, checkout girl, crash test dummy. But Taxi Cab Driver is not such a job. If you are going to drive a cab, know the fuckin' city. Basic requirement! You don't go into get your car fixed and expect the mechanic to ask you how to fix a carburetor. Know your shit or stay home … don't waste my time!
I spend a lot of time in different cities and I know a good taxi driver can get me where I need to be faster than I can print out the map on yahoo. Go to any intersection in NY or Chicago, hop in a cab and your off without a thought. That's the way it works! Taxi = driver who knows city! Simple, right? Apparently not!
Last week in Raleigh I asked my driver for the Red Room and I end up at Mellow Mushroom ... even my accent is not that bad ... plus I was in f*&king NC so he should be able to understand me! This week I'm in Atlanta ... hop in a cab, ask for a club by name, even give the guy the freaking address and he still can't find it. I mean he has NO CLUE where it might be. And, the dude (let's call him Jeeps) keeps asking me where it is ... HELLO ... I'm in the damn cab because I don't know where it is either!!!!
But, being the caring and considerate person that I am , I'm trying to be helpful and I suggest Jeeps and I call to get the cross streets. Cross streets are always helpful to cab drivers. Jeeps' accent was a problem for the woman on the phone from the club so I jump into the conversation and get the cross streets and confirm the address. I relay the info to Jeeps and he looks at me and says "where is that on my map?" OMG, OMG, OMG!!!! Would you like me to drive the car and you sit back here, Jeeps?
Back on the phone with the club I am now translating Jeeps' questions to the club and her answers back to Jeeps. This is not how I envisioned my night starting off. FINALLY, FINALLY, Jeeps says he knows where the club is!!!! Great, okay lets go!!! Then Jeeps says "here let me show you on the map". ARE YOU F*&%ING KIDDING ME? You want to show me the map now? I don't care where it is on the map!! Just drive the cab to the club and let me out of this flashback Seinfeld episode.
So I'm sitting there staring at Jeeps as he is detailing the route we will drive ... assuming that we EVER pulls out from in front of my hotel where we have now been sitting for 10 minutes.
Then Jeeps says, "that's a really long way". "Yes, okay." Then I start thinking, Jeeps doesn't want to go there, is that what he is saying? The woman I spoke to at the club said it would be a 15-minute cab ride so it can't be that far? So I revert to taxi cab language and asked Jeeps "how much?" He starts to show me the damn map again and I mentally prepare to throw him from the car ... only we are not moving so that will not inflict enough pain. I cut him off and asked, "just tell me how much?" Jeeps then goes used-car-salesman on me and says, "it could be $35, could be $45 depends on traffic.... HFS ... I've taken a taxi from mid-town Manhattan to the airport at rush hour on a Friday and it cost less. That's it, I'm done. I tell Jeeps to forget it and leave him to re-fold his many maps and consider a career change to maybe the post office where his unique talents of pissing people off could be rewarded by a suicide gunman.
There are some jobs in this world that require little or no skill and I have spent my fair amount of time in these glorious positions; wielding shop gofer, checkout girl, crash test dummy. But Taxi Cab Driver is not such a job. If you are going to drive a cab, know the fuckin' city. Basic requirement! You don't go into get your car fixed and expect the mechanic to ask you how to fix a carburetor. Know your shit or stay home … don't waste my time!
Stalker Flock
I’m being stalked. I denied it at first. Chalked it up to weird coincidences but now I’m sure … they are following me. Looking back I see it’s been going on for years. Odd occurrences, unusual visits, menacing pecking, suspicious feathers, all the signs were there I just didn’t put the pieces together. But now I’m on to them, my stalkers, those viscous, crazy, overbearing birds.
Yes, that’s right I said birds! Those feathered animals that surround us everyday. And not just one specific renegade bird or even a specific kind of bird. No … I’m talking about ALL birds. They have formed a union or gang or something and are hell-bent on taking me out or at least driving me crazy.
Over the years I have had my share of Hitchcock-like bird encounters. When I was 12 my best friend Melissa and I had to summon my gun waving grandfather to save us from a crazed bird that had gotten in my parents house and was making sounds so horrid that I was certain gremlins were about to attack us at any moment (guess what movie we had watched that night). Then, when I was 14 the turkeys that my father raised enrolled in some kind of street thug correspondence course and learned how to hotwire a tractor which they then drove through the side of a barn. This was the bird gage’s first obvious assassination attempt on me since I was the only person near the barn at the time. I survived the attempt on my life only because turkeys are really bad drivers, as everybody knows.
Next, when I was 16 there was another assassination attempt when I was dive-bombed by a bird as I drove my car in the middle of the day. That stupid bird was on a suicide mission! He flew straight down from the sky and into my windshield. It scared the crap out of me and made a big mess on my car too. I survived again because apparently birds don’t know it takes more then four pounds of feathers to stop a Ford Escort. You gotta use at least 6 pounds; come on that baby was American made. But seriously, are you starting to see a pattern here? These are not everyday occurrences. Need more proof? Fine!
Ducks hate me! Not the yummy kind of duck you eat at French restaurants with cranberry chutney but the annoying, dirty broods you are forced to avoid at every public park, lake or running trail. They remind me of the typical Italian mob guy from the Sopranos, short, stocky, short neck, waddles when he walks, loud and dirty. Eyeing you as if they know you have something they want, edging closer and calling their friends to invade your personnel space. Then greedily running away with whatever they can grab without so much as a look back. Selfish bastards. And let me clarify when I say ducks I’m referring to any feather-covered animal that has webbed feet and a beal. I know there are geese and whatever the hell else waddling around… I know this, I get that they are different, but I don’t care! To me IT’S A FREAKIN’ DUCK. And why do people think ducks are cute? They shed those little feathers everywhere and leave a land mind of poop everywhere you turn. What’s cute about that?
Ok, so obviously I truly hate ducks! And I realized several years ago that the feeling was mutual. These mob ducks used to always eye me, stare me down. Like they were just waiting for the right moment to take me out. Over the years they got more aggressive. At the lake they started coming after me even when I was on the boat. Not in a cute, friendly give-me-a-piece-of-bread, honk, honk, kind of way. No, they CAME after me! It’s like my picture must be on the mob-duck bar bulletin board or something. It usually happens like this; one of them will spot me at the lake. Casually he will swim over to his duck friends. They duck-whisper. Casually turn and look over their feathered shoulders to check me out again. Then agree that they have a positive id. The silent mob-duck signal is given and they start swimming my way. Their goal is to torment and annoy and they are pros. Parks are even worse because they come out of the water and surround me. Taunting me with their street-honk lingo that I never understand. Honk, honk, honk,….“What do you want? Leave me alone. I don’t have any bread. Leave me alone! Ahhhhh!”
But apparently the mob-ducks have recently lost their position in a feathered tuff-war for power and now there is a new boss in town. His name is Woody and he is a peacker, a woodpecker that is.
I discovered this when I was at my friend Autumn’s in Raleigh. Woody decided that sleep was overrated anytime after 6:00 AM and kindly provided his jackhammer pecking as my alarm clock. Problem is, I don’t want to get up at 6:00 and he doesn’t have a snooze alarm. So from 6:00 until around 8:00 he sounds like a jackhammer chiseling away outside her window. Usually by around 6:45 I’m ready to kill that bird. It has become a joke because Autumn doesn’t even hear him and swears he only shows up when I’m there. Lucky me!!!
Then a few weeks ago, at my own house in Charlotte, I heard a loud noise coming from my chimney. I concluded that a bird (of course) was trying to build a nest inside the chimney and made loud noises of my own to scare her away. After a few days of hearing her every freaking morning before my alarm sounded, I decided to investigate how she was getting in the chimney before I called someone to extract her nest so I could avoid a feathered BBQ the next time I used the chimney.
Friday morning, as my alarm clock was sounding, I heard her noise again and ran outside to see where she had found a way in. I looked up and saw a small bird perched on the side of my chimney. Then I heard the noise again. But, the bird was not in the chimney, she was right in front of me. I looked closer and saw that she was not making the noise while building a nest in the chimney. The noise was coming from her tapping, pecking actually outside the chimney. She/he was a WOODPECKER! And the noise was coming from the woodpecker tapping against the metal cover at the top of my chimney then vibrating down the chimney that ran next to my bedroom. Then I realized what had happened. Woody had followed me home! See stalker!!!! And, not only is it a woodpecker, but it’s a stupid woodpecker that thinks it should peck metal instead of wood! Great, just what I need, another stupid pecker in my life!!!
And if all of that doesn’t convince you of these horrible creatures determination to track and taunt my every moment then listen to this …. a few weeks ago I’m driving to the beach on a beautiful day, the sun is shinning and there is no traffic and I haven’t even gotten a ticket … a great day, right? Then out of nowhere, spat, spat, spat, spat these mini explosions appear across my windshield like big ass raindrops. WTF?!? Then I realize … my car just got bombed by bird shit! Seriously, it must have been like twenty birds bombing my car! It was g-r-o-s-s!!!! That just doesn’t happen! See what I mean? These freaking birds are after me!!
I should have pay attention to the warning I got from Alfred Hitchcock years ago. When I was around 8 years old I sat on my parents bed in their small bedroom and watched with terror and amazement Hitchcock’s movie “The Birds”. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the story it is about a small New England type town that is unexplainably visited by hordes and hordes of psychotic birds. These birds fly in groups and chase innocent town people into their homes where there are more birds waiting in attics and closets to further terrorize and injure. The birds somehow developed a taste for blood and spent the later half of the movie pecking, clawing and otherwise mangling random people. My simple 8-year old mind had never conceived that birds could hurt or kill people but it must be true because they made a whole movie about it. I had nightmares for weeks! Hitchcock knew what I am only now realizing … these birds are bad news and they must be stopped.
How did they stop the birds in that movie? I can’t remember … guns, poison, a big cat? Hummm? So many options but then there are also gaggles of birds to eliminate so maybe I should just mix things up a little and select random methods of extinction. Maybe there is a web site for bird assassinations or better yet I could hire a hit-bird. You know, pay one of their own to infiltrate the gang and take them out. Yeah, that sounds perfect! Wonder how you contact a hit-bird???
Yes, that’s right I said birds! Those feathered animals that surround us everyday. And not just one specific renegade bird or even a specific kind of bird. No … I’m talking about ALL birds. They have formed a union or gang or something and are hell-bent on taking me out or at least driving me crazy.
Over the years I have had my share of Hitchcock-like bird encounters. When I was 12 my best friend Melissa and I had to summon my gun waving grandfather to save us from a crazed bird that had gotten in my parents house and was making sounds so horrid that I was certain gremlins were about to attack us at any moment (guess what movie we had watched that night). Then, when I was 14 the turkeys that my father raised enrolled in some kind of street thug correspondence course and learned how to hotwire a tractor which they then drove through the side of a barn. This was the bird gage’s first obvious assassination attempt on me since I was the only person near the barn at the time. I survived the attempt on my life only because turkeys are really bad drivers, as everybody knows.
Next, when I was 16 there was another assassination attempt when I was dive-bombed by a bird as I drove my car in the middle of the day. That stupid bird was on a suicide mission! He flew straight down from the sky and into my windshield. It scared the crap out of me and made a big mess on my car too. I survived again because apparently birds don’t know it takes more then four pounds of feathers to stop a Ford Escort. You gotta use at least 6 pounds; come on that baby was American made. But seriously, are you starting to see a pattern here? These are not everyday occurrences. Need more proof? Fine!
Ducks hate me! Not the yummy kind of duck you eat at French restaurants with cranberry chutney but the annoying, dirty broods you are forced to avoid at every public park, lake or running trail. They remind me of the typical Italian mob guy from the Sopranos, short, stocky, short neck, waddles when he walks, loud and dirty. Eyeing you as if they know you have something they want, edging closer and calling their friends to invade your personnel space. Then greedily running away with whatever they can grab without so much as a look back. Selfish bastards. And let me clarify when I say ducks I’m referring to any feather-covered animal that has webbed feet and a beal. I know there are geese and whatever the hell else waddling around… I know this, I get that they are different, but I don’t care! To me IT’S A FREAKIN’ DUCK. And why do people think ducks are cute? They shed those little feathers everywhere and leave a land mind of poop everywhere you turn. What’s cute about that?
Ok, so obviously I truly hate ducks! And I realized several years ago that the feeling was mutual. These mob ducks used to always eye me, stare me down. Like they were just waiting for the right moment to take me out. Over the years they got more aggressive. At the lake they started coming after me even when I was on the boat. Not in a cute, friendly give-me-a-piece-of-bread, honk, honk, kind of way. No, they CAME after me! It’s like my picture must be on the mob-duck bar bulletin board or something. It usually happens like this; one of them will spot me at the lake. Casually he will swim over to his duck friends. They duck-whisper. Casually turn and look over their feathered shoulders to check me out again. Then agree that they have a positive id. The silent mob-duck signal is given and they start swimming my way. Their goal is to torment and annoy and they are pros. Parks are even worse because they come out of the water and surround me. Taunting me with their street-honk lingo that I never understand. Honk, honk, honk,….“What do you want? Leave me alone. I don’t have any bread. Leave me alone! Ahhhhh!”
But apparently the mob-ducks have recently lost their position in a feathered tuff-war for power and now there is a new boss in town. His name is Woody and he is a peacker, a woodpecker that is.
I discovered this when I was at my friend Autumn’s in Raleigh. Woody decided that sleep was overrated anytime after 6:00 AM and kindly provided his jackhammer pecking as my alarm clock. Problem is, I don’t want to get up at 6:00 and he doesn’t have a snooze alarm. So from 6:00 until around 8:00 he sounds like a jackhammer chiseling away outside her window. Usually by around 6:45 I’m ready to kill that bird. It has become a joke because Autumn doesn’t even hear him and swears he only shows up when I’m there. Lucky me!!!
Then a few weeks ago, at my own house in Charlotte, I heard a loud noise coming from my chimney. I concluded that a bird (of course) was trying to build a nest inside the chimney and made loud noises of my own to scare her away. After a few days of hearing her every freaking morning before my alarm sounded, I decided to investigate how she was getting in the chimney before I called someone to extract her nest so I could avoid a feathered BBQ the next time I used the chimney.
Friday morning, as my alarm clock was sounding, I heard her noise again and ran outside to see where she had found a way in. I looked up and saw a small bird perched on the side of my chimney. Then I heard the noise again. But, the bird was not in the chimney, she was right in front of me. I looked closer and saw that she was not making the noise while building a nest in the chimney. The noise was coming from her tapping, pecking actually outside the chimney. She/he was a WOODPECKER! And the noise was coming from the woodpecker tapping against the metal cover at the top of my chimney then vibrating down the chimney that ran next to my bedroom. Then I realized what had happened. Woody had followed me home! See stalker!!!! And, not only is it a woodpecker, but it’s a stupid woodpecker that thinks it should peck metal instead of wood! Great, just what I need, another stupid pecker in my life!!!
And if all of that doesn’t convince you of these horrible creatures determination to track and taunt my every moment then listen to this …. a few weeks ago I’m driving to the beach on a beautiful day, the sun is shinning and there is no traffic and I haven’t even gotten a ticket … a great day, right? Then out of nowhere, spat, spat, spat, spat these mini explosions appear across my windshield like big ass raindrops. WTF?!? Then I realize … my car just got bombed by bird shit! Seriously, it must have been like twenty birds bombing my car! It was g-r-o-s-s!!!! That just doesn’t happen! See what I mean? These freaking birds are after me!!
I should have pay attention to the warning I got from Alfred Hitchcock years ago. When I was around 8 years old I sat on my parents bed in their small bedroom and watched with terror and amazement Hitchcock’s movie “The Birds”. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the story it is about a small New England type town that is unexplainably visited by hordes and hordes of psychotic birds. These birds fly in groups and chase innocent town people into their homes where there are more birds waiting in attics and closets to further terrorize and injure. The birds somehow developed a taste for blood and spent the later half of the movie pecking, clawing and otherwise mangling random people. My simple 8-year old mind had never conceived that birds could hurt or kill people but it must be true because they made a whole movie about it. I had nightmares for weeks! Hitchcock knew what I am only now realizing … these birds are bad news and they must be stopped.
How did they stop the birds in that movie? I can’t remember … guns, poison, a big cat? Hummm? So many options but then there are also gaggles of birds to eliminate so maybe I should just mix things up a little and select random methods of extinction. Maybe there is a web site for bird assassinations or better yet I could hire a hit-bird. You know, pay one of their own to infiltrate the gang and take them out. Yeah, that sounds perfect! Wonder how you contact a hit-bird???
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