Virtual Rants

The Scream

I woke up screaming in the night, well actually it was a muted yell for help.

My dream was a little too real, and as I tried to scream, I found that I couldn't move; not my legs, and not my mouth. I strained to squeak out a tiny "hepppp."

Earlier, Colter had crawled in to bed with me after a midnight visit from vampires.

Now I was facing my own fears, and not fairing well.

I heard a pounding on my front door. An Asian man was standing there. He looked good-natured enough, but when I noticed he was a pale and sickly green his face swelled up and he let out a battle cry as he ran past me. I fell to the floor. I thought he may have left by the back door, but I couldn't move to turn around and look. So with all the strength I could muster, I yelled "hepppp."

I'm not sure what was scarier, the ghoulish home invader, or lying somewhere between nightmare and consciousness, unable to move, unable to scream.

What scares you in the night?

Ten Days in Dayton

The pool was right outside my hotel room door, and the bar was just across the pool. All of this was inside a ten story climate controlled atrium.

But something was missing. There was no place to eat. I remember a half baked deli, and the hotel breakfast/lunch/dinner-bar, but beside those two eateries, we couldn't find a restaurant within thirty miles.

Excuse me, do you know where we might find a good restaurant that would be open on Sunday?

Oh, yeh, right around the corner just past the elevators.

No, I meant outside of the hotel.

There's a Wendy's across the street, and a Subway down a little further. Oh, and the deli next door. I never eat there, but people say its good.

That's when I got my first clue. If people say its good, why hasn't he eaten there.

We have a car and we are willing to explore the city if you could point us in the direction of a cool area, you know, like Greenwich Village, or Union Square.

Greenwich Village? That's in New York City, isn't it.

Yes! Any place like that around here.

There was a dull silence as we headed for the door.

No, nothing like that around here.

OK, thanks. We'll just look downtown.

That was a mistake. Why am I asking a sixteen-year old hotel worker where to eat?

So we head downtown. The kid knew what he was talking about. Row after row of office building, not a restaurant in sight. This is strictly a 9 to 5 Monday through friday city, If you are downtown any other time you are probably lost.

Well, I'll say one thing, the city was clean, except for that graffiti on the over pass. Looking through that dark tunnel I had the feeling that if we ever went in there, we might not come back out. We passed that same wild urban painting twice, before actually reading the contorted letters. T-h-e O-r-e-g-o-n D-i-s-t-r-i-c-t .

It was exactly what we were looking for, cobblestone roads, art galleries, little boutiques, and the sharpest retro shiny diner I've seen, complete with a vintage 1950's "Hog" (Harley) up behind the bar, in front of the liquor.

But by now it was pushing seven o'clock, and most places were closing. So now my memory of Dayton, includes the stone lined streets, a wonderful prime rib with Yorkshire pudding, and the promise that if I ever go back, The neighbor hood behind the crazing graffiti will be my first stop.

Almost every city has its funky little corner. What's yours?

This post was inspired by Beth at Bunny Beth's Bargains and her trepidation over a potential move. There is good to found in almost any city. Good Luck!

The Five Sweetest Words

ME, (already on my second cup of coffee): Morning' Colter.

COLTER, (almost stumbling across the Study floor): Good morning Daddy. Can I sit in your lap.

I ask you, could the day start out any better?

ME, (as happy as a Dad could be): Sure, hop up...Hey, if you click on "new opponent" you can play a new game.

COLTER, (hopping down): No thanks, I just want to take my bath now, and get it over with, that way I won't have to take it later when I might miss doing something fun.

ME, (approving his rationale): OK Colter.

COLTER, (from the heart): You taught me that Daddy.

He may hug his Mom more, and sit in her lap, and snuggle with her more, but I just got a "You taught me that Daddy." Those are just about the five sweetest words a Dad can hear. Unless they are followed by these eight words: "can Mom teach me how to fix it.?"

The catch

I entered this contest to write "… a whole story/essay in just FIFTY FIVE WORDS!" because it looked like a fun, and a good writing excersize. I've posted my entry below. I'm not sure what this passage means, but here it is:

She had fished with her father for years, but she'd never seen a creature like this. It lay before her, their fates intertwined. Its gaze made her giggle and blush, like a school girl, like the first time. She trembled. What a wonderful gift to share with her lover over a fine bottle of wine.

Any ideas what it means?

Right Lane Ends

I sure am glad I'm in the left lane, until a two ton, four by four, off road, urban tank flies by blaring its horn more as a victory shout than as a warning that he passing me illegally. Why is it that bad weather brings out the worst possible drivers? Its like a mating call for idiots. I imagine the first driver to crash and burn, stands atop his car making smoke signals with his raincoat. Unfortunately only the "its MY road so get-outs-the-way" club recognizes these signals, so the rest of us tool along forgetting, (only for a moment) that they are out there tracking us.

This was the first good rain of the season, so the hooligans were out in force, itching for some action.. I guess they've been killing time all winter waiting to practice their blood sport. I can see them hold up in a dark room, reading Road Rage Massacre over and over just waiting for spring. Fortunately I was on city streets, rather than the highway. You know, the thirty-five mile an hour streets where rainy conditions demand that even the "who Me?" crowd slow down to fifty. The bad part about city streets, besides the jaywalking pedestrians wearing black, is all of the stopping…abruptly. I'm behind some shmuck that chooses the slickest of street to practice down shifting, and thereby slowing from fifty to ten in about five seconds without the need for brake lights. At least I know now what a Mustang's tailpipe looks like up close.

Road Rage Massacre Magazine, secrete smoke signals, even urban tanks flying by blaring their horns during a blizzard, none of these bother me as much as the idiot drivers that I see every day, rain or shine. You know the ones I'm talking about, the well educated, entitled, "it will never happen to me" parents driving with a kid in the front seat…standing up.

What do you see on the road that ticks you off?

Please Make it Stop

The show was "North Carolina Now," it was a nightly Public TV news magazine about the state of North Carolina. The regular cameraman had a death in the family and they needed a last minute shooter. When they called, the producer said, "…and don't worry such-n-such outdoor shop is letting us use their rental equipment for free."

I chuckled, "No Thanks. I have my own. Should I bring my tent as well?"

We started at Clingman's Dome and hiked about 5 or 6 miles, along some pretty flat ridges. It was late May (I think,) and all but me were surprised that the sleet wasn't melting very quickly. I put my fleece on under my Gortex rain suit, I loaded the HI-8 camera, tapes and batteries into my internal frame backpack, and watched for a moment as the producer and audio person trudged wearily through the rain and sleet. The producer had a waterproof poncho, but no waterproof boots. The audio person had waterproof boots, and only a thin wind breaker between him and the cold and rain. I got some great shots of them walking in the rain, looking miserable but they never made it into the show.

That night we stayed in a Bear Shelter with two young women who were hiking the Appalachian Trail. After interviewing them for the show, we built a roaring fire, burning every last piece of wood we could find to ward off the cold. I'm pretty sure that I was the only one who slept well that night, nestled in my 20 degree mummy bag atop a comfy Therm-a-rest mattress. One of the women loaned our audio guy a sweater, but I'm pretty sure that I heard him shivering all night. Brrrrrrrr.

The next day the producer got his revenge with a grueling downhill march about three miles, dropping nearly sixteen hundred feet to Newfound Gap. This was sheer insanity. Too much up or too much down without a break is hard on the legs, not to mention the psyche. Every switchback looked like the last, each one about twenty yards long, then a sharp turn and on to the next one, down 20 yards turn, down 20 yards turn, down 20 yards turn, on and on, ad infinitum and ad nauseum. About half way down, something in my knee ripped. The tear was down low, toward the back of the knee where your calf muscle joins the bone. After that, each step was excruciating and the monotony doubled. Two hours felt like ten.

The rest of the trip was unremarkable except for the sheer beauty of the mountains, and the sheer agony of each step. The regular cameraman caught up with us a few days later near Hot Springs, NC. I've never start a shoot more prepared, or been happier for a shoot to end,… except the time I was gripped by cold sweats from being dehydrated, but that is another story.

And I'd Do It Again

I got this from VJ at Gentle Breezes. She tributes it to Cheeky Prof, who in turn thanks pilgrim heretic

and several others, anyway, here it is:

Ten things I've done you probably haven't.

1. Interviewed a woman whose child was about to die.

2. Videotaped a liver transplant.

3. Been inside a cage with lemurs.

4. Gone on a dinosaur dig.

5. Inadvertently caused the NCAA to change it's recruitment rules.

6. Quit my job via a currier.

7. Made $600 dollars in one day of blue collar work.

8. Taught a college course in which almost half the class had ADHD.

9. Hired the person who used to be my boss.

10. Watched a burn victim get dead skin scrubbed off of most of his back.

Plus ten more for good measure.

1. Folded and packaged chamois.

2. Won the pinewood derby for my entire town.

3. Worked as a barker for a dart game at an amusement park.

4. Stood atop the crows nest of a navy Battleship.

5. Got paid to backpack in bear country.

6. Ruptured my eardrums doing a cannonball off of a rope swing.

7. Kayaked the oldest river in the US, and the second oldest in the world.

8. Tutored special needs kids.

9. Watched Michael Jordan miss a free throw, get the rebound, and dunk the ball … in person.

10. Took pictures leaning out of an open helicopter door.

Feel free to ask for clarification of any or all.

Forced Feed a Pencil

"Its not fair," that's what I hear, "its not fair."

My son hates to write. My wife is an editor, and I've written scripts for a living, but still Colter hates to write. So I did what any caring parent would do. I upped his dose of writing. Now, he writes five days a week, at least one paragraph per day. I'd like to say that this was a methodical, well researched concept, but it was not. This was born out of desperation. Colter would wail and scream, and gnash his teeth when he got a writing assignment for homework. So, after about the fifth time, I figured that total immersion was the best course, and it seems to be paying off. The other day, when I had him write about the inside of his secrete spaceship, he hesitated at first. But before long, he became more and more excited with each new sentence. It’s a start. He definitely had that gleam in his eye when he dreamt up something good. Today's writing assignment didn't go as well, but it gets easier and easier each time.

Sometimes I hate to write, but I know I must. How about you and yours?

Brrrrrrrrrrr!

Its 50.