I am beautiful in the water.

So I was just thinking back on something that happened a while ago and thought I might share the story.

My friends, Pete & Jo, have a son named Sam. They've turned him into a Dr. Who fan at an early age, and it's fun watching him geek out. I mean, how surreal is it to watch a five-year old--the age he was at the time of this story--run around and spout off details about Daleks, sonic screwdrivers, and the TARDIS? Let me tell you, it ranks right up there; almost as high as watching him freak out in his crib wearing the pair of huge green Hulk hands I bought him before he could even walk. He didn't have arms anymore, only shoulders that sprouted foam fists which growled and made smashing noises, but that's really another story altogether.

Anyway, I stopped by one day for some reason or another, and Pete took me upstairs to show me the TARDIS console that he and Sam built out of cardboard boxes, duct tape (of course), and random sciency-looking gadgets from around the house. There's a large amount of custom fabrication in this particular household, and Sam is (was) a five-year old after all, so having something built from spare parts doesn't seem all that out of the ordinary. I think what did it for me was watching him pull levers like mad, screaming about time travel and saving Earth from Daleks, and otherwise displaying an eerie comprehension of themes gleaned from storylines that should be way too complex for someone who had only recently begun spelling his own name legibly.

As I ooo'ed and aahh'ed over his creation, I did what most adults would do to someone Sam's age; I talked down to him. Well, not really down to him--it was more like polite condescension. All I said, with the pure intention of making him feel good about his TARDIS console, was, "Man, Sam, I sure wish I had one of these."

Sam paused to regard me with a strange look on his face. "Whatever," he said.

After a split-second, Pete and I started laughing and turned to head back down the stairs. Pete proclaimed in a tone that rang with both fatherly pride and pity (for me) that I just got dissed by a five-year old.

"Yeah, and I didn't even have a comeback," I said between chuckles. That was the last time I talked down to Sam, come to think of it, but he still punishes me for it by pummeling me with plastic light-sabers.

I think death by titty-twister would be pretty gruesome.

I can't read anymore. I can't write anymore. However, I can throw out a shameless plug for my band, Insignia77, and our first gig coming up on the 18th of December.



You should come to the show, and bring a friend or fifty. And feel free to save this flyer and distribute it to everyone above and beyond the fifty you bring that night. Also, visit these links for more info, or to hear a song or two beforehand.

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Voodoo Lounge

Well, I had all kinds of insightful gems to share with the handful of people whose strange--and sometimes disturbing--search terms accidentally pointed here, but I'm really tapped out at the moment. Here, have some more shameless promotion.


Photo by Dr. Mitch Strauss

If you made it this far, I probably know you.

Spock Thoughts killed the hamster.

Seriously.

My Vitreous Humor Hurts

This happened to me a couple nights ago; true story.

I called the local Chinese restaurant--it's really local because it's only a couple blocks down from me--and ordered one of my favorite meals: sesame chicken. Hey, I usually walk to pick it up when I place an order, but sometimes I feel lazy. Besides, if they have a minimum order for delivery and I fulfill that requirement, then I don't feel guilty in the slightest.

So I'm doing some busy work as I wait for my yummy food, and finally I get a call on my cell. See, the thing here is that I live in an access-controlled complex, so when someone dials my room number out front, my phone rings. The number calling me now is the delivery guy's cell phone. I answer, and despite my efforts, all I really understand is something about my food and what sounds like "a couple minutes" followed by a bit of nervous laughter. I say okay, hang up, and return to what I was doing, because I assumed that he said something about bringing my food in a couple minutes.

A couple minutes later, my phone rings. It's the same number. I pick it up and am greeted with, "Hey, you coming to get your food or what?!?" I didn't have any problem understanding him that time.

So here's the deal: if I order delivery, I've entered into an agreement that my food will be brought to my door, not the sidewalk outside my building. I've also decided that I don't appreciate being yelled at by the delivery guy. In anticipation of the possibility of being banned from this Chinese restaurant, I'm entertaining the idea of demonstrating my unwillingness to bow to their will and insist that they do indeed deliver my food all the way up to my doorstep.

Like I said, a worst-case scenario will end with me finding myself banned from ordering if I refuse to play fetch, but on the other hand, there will be no more midnight Chinese, which is probably the healthy alternative overall.

Lemon bars and chocolate milk.

Hi, my name's Erik. I have a blog. I forgot about it, or at least that's how it would seem to most.

I was reading something recently that made me realize something: I can't remember the last time I've been embarrassed. I mean, there are times when I've probably flushed at something I did, or tried to manufacture a slight of hand to draw attention away from something that could lead to an embarrassing situation, but even then it's been so long since I can honestly say that I was truly, deeply embarrassed, I really have to sit and ponder what it felt like. I've been embarrassed for someone else, but I think that feels different.

Maybe I should pursue situations in which I attempt to be embarrassed, but I think that would actually do the opposite, or at least not result in a product pure enough to be considered. I think true embarrassment comes from the unexpected exposure, the revealing of a secret so hidden, buried, or altogether forgotten, that the discoverer (or discoverers) will find themselves in a position to expose and exploit it for their own purposes. I guess I'm convincing myself now that it all comes down to power, or an interpretation of power that the person embarrassed implicitly grants whoever they let put them in that situation.

And... I'm spent. I believe I shall retreat to caffeinate and regain my strength. I'm so embarrassed.