In his most recent entry Nate mentioned ever so briefly on why he posts. I am pretty clear on the reason I post: It’s just something I really like doing. I feel guilty about posting so much because it pushes the less frequent posters off the page and I swear to myself I won’t post worthless stuff again. But, like the most recalcitrant crack smoker, I find myself typing up yet another entry almost without thinking about it. It would be better if I wrote about current issues or, perhaps, sports but I don’t. I usually end up telling a mindless story and then adding a bunch of links. So now that everyone is clear what is about to happen:
There I was: Standing a light drizzle with a pair of vice grips, a screwdriver and a bic lighter. See I was trying to steal one of those flashing highway markers and I was attempting to use the bic lighter as a makeshift flashlight to discern just how the thing was attached. I needn’t have wasted the butane, moments later the entire scene was brilliantly illuminated by a police cruisers spotlight. At his point I should probably explain why I was attempting to steal a flashing highway marker. In my defense it wasn’t out of some random urge to vandalize or even because I “needed” the power source, nope I did it out a sense of family obligation.
My family moved from Florida to Missouri right after I graduated high school. I know that seems inherently wrong, going from Florida to Missouri is exactly backwards, but that was the reality (goodbye lovely beaches, hello grass covered rocks). It didn’t bother my Dad, he had grown up in Missouri and had an affinity for the place. I suppose it is much like prisoners actually wanting to go back to jail just because they spent so much time there. One of the things my father would say on the move was “We can forget about hurricanes.” He didn’t add that we also had to now remember pollen, tornados, snow and inbreeding. At the risk of stating the obvious I was less than enthused by the move. I was further nonplussed when the patriarch called me into the dining room for a little talk.
A yellowed creases newspaper story (well mostly a picture) lay on the table between us. It revealed a picture of a sculpture of colonial gents signing a treaty (presumably the Louisiana purchase). In fact it was this very sculpture:
In any event someone had placed smudge pot in an advantageous spot so the signatories could actually see what they were signing during the night. (Witty, don’t you think?) My father averred that it was he who was responsible for the amusing act of vandalism. He went onto tell me that his father had also pulled the same stunt in his youth using an oil soaked torch or possibly a branch from a tree struck by lightning. Whatever passed for highway construction warnings when no one was really certain if Cro Magnon man or Homo sapiens were going to become the dominant hominid. My father told the story with a certain reverence and left me with the distinct impression that he would be deeply disappointed if I did not carry on the tradition.
Not wanting to disappoint I went out that evening to relieve the nearest construction site of a flashing orange warning signal. Damn the safety issues, I’ve got a tradition to uphold! I mean if you drive your car into a seven foot deep pothole cause the blinking thing is missing you’d be pissed and all but if I told you that three generations of Seibolds had done the same stunt you’d understand as soon as your collarbone knitted. In any event the orange blinky things don’t just lift off, they’re attached with hardware. So I headed home and got some tools. It was my return trip that the officer discovered me.
So there I am, bathed in an incandescent spotlight and fully armed with tools. There can’t be much doubt about what I am attempting to do but nonetheless the officer, being professional, says “Good evening” and asks me what, precisely, I am doing. Thinking quickly, cause that is what I am best at, I came up with the only plausible excuse possible and said:
Really. That’s it, it’s all I could think of. Now I can’t say if the Officer was just being a nice guy or if my ineptitude paid off (I mean can you arrest someone for fishing without a license if they’re just standing on the shore wrapped in monofilament?) but he just ran my license (clean baby!) and suggested I go home.
I went home, generally speaking I don’t like to mess with the police. Face it not only are cops armed to the teeth but they’ve got tough jobs, everyone the run into is pretty much a jerk, so I try to be as pleasant as possible. It was late but I just sat in the basement thinking about the day’s adventures. The more I thought about it the more I came to understand that my chain was being jerked. I realized that there was no way my Grandfather had pulled off the same joke as my Dad, he lived in New York into his twenties. In fact he only lived in Jeff City for a brief time after he was married and had a few kids. I shouldn’t have been surprised, my Father is a famous practical joker, he’d tell us kids that he invented the fish sandwich or something and wait until the story wafted back to him through neighborhood parents. Still, thought I, this was far too serious a subject for such shenanigans, perhaps he just misremembered. I laid out all the info I had on a piece of paper, a mini timeline if you will, and waited until breakfast.
Six AM rolled around, for all of his jokes the Head of the Household never slept in, and I pounced. I had the evidence, I had the timeline, I knew he was mistaken. But before I could whip out the timeline, the letters to Grandmother (I had envisioned doing it with a triumphant flair, like Perry Mason or something) my Dad just smirked and said “Ah, I was just screwing with ya”
Dad’s pretty old now and he’s driving down for a visit next week. The wife doesn’t understand why I find it endlessly hilarious that I told him my new address is, in fact, a nearby Wendy’s.
If you read all that blame Bailey. But also note I waited until the weekend to post it. Traffic drops off on the weekend so I was respecting my fellow mymacers at least a little bit.
Now time for links.
Reserved Rogers Righteous ….flailing…flailing…. Rotund Rock of Realism????
First off: I’ve kind of stopped watching the Chappelle Show, I mean it really cracked me up but that kind of stuff gets old pretty fast. The other night I was flipping channels and saw the Rick James deal and it slays, absolutely kills. I also saw it referenced in a Slashdot thread so here it is:
You’ll have to click on the Rick James links but it’s worth it
Hmm, hope that works.
Since I mentioned Missouri might as well add this bit from a speech in Poplar Bluff:
OB GYN love
Yeah, it’s horrible. It makes the President look ridiculously stupid but if you vote for a President based on public speaking ability well….
Point being the President isn’t as dense as he seems. At least I hope not, we got the same score on the SAT. I would also note that intelligence is not a good indicator of leadership ability, Jimmy Carter anyone?
Build a hobbit hole Here the author opines that it might be bitchin’ to live in a hobbit hole. Spending a lot of time in a basement I admit that there are advantages.
Best of Google Answers Pretty Sweet.
Not from Roger:
Strongbad makes Homestar cry This kills me every time.
Well again you should blame Bailey. No really blame Bailey.
BL tridiot rating: 129%