A Song Quote

There are two great lies that i’ve heard/“The day you eat of the fruit of that tree, you will not surely die”/And that Jesus Christ was a white, middle-class republican/And if you wanna be saved you have to learn to be like Him. - Derek Webb, "A Kingdom and a King"

Okay, so I already knew that, but I hadn't heard it so eloqently put. Just some food for thought. And a good chance to quote a song line, which I already love to do.

Flaming Kiwifruit.

What a Cheesy Christmas

Sometimes, cheesy can be good.

For instance, I decided to try something different as a dessert for Christmas this year. Naturally, my family was quite concerned when I pulled out tortilla wraps, cream cheese, white chocolate, and okra. I quickly explained that the okra was an integral part of the dessert. I then chuckled to myself as they went away horrified and proceeded to use the okra to make fried okra.

The other ingredients formed the most amazing dessert I have ever personally made. You see I wrapped the tortilla shells around a mixture of cream cheese, white chocolate, sugar, and vanilla extract and thane spread butter mixed with brown sugar and cinnamon across it. After baking the wraps, I drizzled some melted white chocolate across the tops, to enhance the visual asthetics of the dish.

They were good.

Also, on Christmas morning, my dad was quite suprised to open a box with, what else, but cheese. Not just any cheese, though, some of the best cheese the world has ever known. You see, he loves cheese, and I figured this wouldn't be an ordinary gift.

So, cheese was very important to my holiday. Seems somewhat fitting.

Flaming Kiwifruit.

Be Careful Whom You Fly With

Just because you think someone you know may have liked a movie, doesn't mean you should rent the remake.

I did this a couple of days ago, with "Flight of the Pheonix." I regretted it quickly. For some reason watching a bunch of sweaty, guys in a desert swear at one another is not exactly my idea of good entertainment. Okay, so they weren't always swearing at one another. There were those breif moment of tired, cliched dialogue, and, my personal favorite, the random 'bonding moments' where the character suddenly forgot that they hated one another and became one big happy family.

One particular moment involved the men all blaring some rock music (good thing that guy thought to bring his I-Pod on the flight) and dancing around wildly. Never mind that they had made a big deal about not walking, because it would burn up too much energy and waste thier water supplies. Also, they seemed to have time to put together a nice little kitchen, complete with menus. No wonder they were having trouble finishing the plane on time.

And then there was the ridiculous scene where the nerdy guy who was the only one who could build the plane stormed off, because he got mad. He then made everyone say, "Please." before he would come back out. As if this wasn't bad enough, when the captain came in it went something like this.

Nerd: Who's the boss of everyone?
Pilot: You are.
Nerd: Okay.
Pilot: Please come out and finish the plane.

COME ON! What is this, middle school? But that aside it was just an all-around poorly written movie.

Finding Neverland, on the other hand, was a well-written, well-acted, piece, that completely put me to sleep. I've decided give the choice between a well-made boring film and a poorly made acton peice, I'll take boring.

Flaming Kiwifruit.

All Roads Lead to Where?

You can't trust roads, anymore.

Yep, it's not like in the old days, when roads progressed in logical patterns. You know you'd see a road and say, "Yeah, that'll take me where I need to go." Then, it did. Well, those days are over.

See, I was trying to get to this sweet shopping plaza (by which I mean CITY) so I turned down this road. It took me over the crest of a hill where I could look heroically down on the center, which spread out before me triumphantly. I quickly realized that rather than bringing me to the valient City of Commercialism, this was bringing me around the back of the Target.

No problem, I thought. What goes around the back of Target surely loops around the front.

WRONG!

No, this road lead to a construction site which led to another road, which led to another road, which led to another road, which led to the City of Commercialism. So, why, you might ask, did I not turn around rather than brave the exhausting maze of tangled non-sensical roads? It's simple: I'm male.

You see what you have to understand about men, is we are never wrong. Even when we are wrong we have to find a way to prove we're not wrong. For example:

A man, whom we will not name, was driving around a lake. Said man, took a wrong turn, going the way which would be longer. A female freind of said man pointed out the mistake. So, I . . . I mean, this man, simply replied that he liked this way better.

You see, that man wasn't wrong. He just liked taking the longer way. Making him an idiot, but a correct idiot.

The moral of the story is it's better to be a correct idiot, than and incorrect genius.

Gee, that's not such a great moral. I need to work on that.

Flaming Kiwifruit

Christmas Will Never Be the Same

Somethings don't work at the last moment.

For instance: I went back to my parent's church today. We just got back from Florida and haven't been around much in the last 3 or4 months. So, imagine my surprise when I find out that my sister and I are supposed to be Mary and Joseph in thier Christmas thing tonight. Aside from the general weirdness of the whole situation and the fact that as hard as we tried we could not get out of it, this wasn't a normal Christmas thing.

You see the whole program involved people getting up and singing with the Christmas story being read inbetween. In fact, Rachel and I were to do the opening song, thus requirking us to get in costume after it. Well, naturally you might think, "Why do you even need Mary and Joseph in this sort of thing?" We're still wondering that.

So, after the song, we hurried away to wrap sheets around ourselves in a biblical type manner. Granted I had no clue how to do this. So I stood around the back room off to the side of the sanctuary, where I found an answering machine. Being the curious, but not so sensible person I am I hit the play button, while Rachel was getting her outfit ready.

It was loud . . . I had no way to turn it off . . .

So, I did what any sensible person would. I flipped it upside down so the speaker would be muffled by the floor. What followed was a freindly electronic voice repeating, "Message deleted" over and over again. At this point Rachel pointed out that I was probably deleting all the messages left for the church. So I unplugged the thing. As far as I know it is still unplugged.

Then our cue came. Unfortunately Rachel had mixed-up the rope for our waists and I am considerably bigger than her. So, I couldn't breathe. In addition I almost tripped coming out, while Rachel tried desperately to hold back her amusement with the whole situation. After this we proceeded to do exactly what we were instructed to do.

We sat.

That was it. I dutifully watched the rest of the program while on the verge of passing out from the restrictive belt and trying unsuccessfully to cover my khakis with the sheet. On the plus side, the program actually only lasted an hour and there was food afterwards.

Also, Marion Hodges brought a hammered dulcimer which sounded stupendous. I even got to play a little afterwards, picking out the melody to "Dust in the Wind" on it. It was an interesting night.

Flaming Kiwifruit

Why I Still Insist That I'm From New York

Things really can get worse in Alabama.

I just got back and so, naturally after eight hours of driving, what does a guy do? Go Christmas shopping!

Yes, it's strange, but Rachel really wanted to get started and I needed to get something for my aunt and grandmother who are heading out tomorrow.

The point is I saw the lowest of cheesy commercialized Alabama weirdness while shopping.

It was "Buck" the singing trophy deer head. Yes it's true, he sings 6 of your country favorites. I just wish I could remember them. I know "Freinds in Low Places" was one of the them. It also includes a wireless microphone so you can sing along. Loads of fun. Especially after you've finished of the last of the beer.

On the plus side, it was fun listening to the David Crowder Band's rendition of "Feliz Navidad" on the way back.

Also, I have just been informed that placing Marshmellow Treats in the reach of hungry dogs is a bad idea.

Oh, and apparently "Chocolate Moose Chocolate Milk" and Necco brand candy are essentially reprocessed toxic waste. I sure hope I can't be sued for this . . .

Flaming Kiwifruit.

Happy Thanksgiving . . . Again!

There is something better than a big Thanksgiving dinner . . . Two big Thanksgiving dinners!!

See, I went to my sister and brother-in-laws for Thanksgiving. It was great, we did nothing but eat and play ping-pong all day. So, when we got home Friday, my dad decides he wants to have leftover turkey. So we had another Thanksgiving, and I got to cook this time. It was great. My garlic mashed potatoes went over well (all I did was spice and mix them, they were boiled when I got there), and my first attempt at homemade fried okra was amazing. I am now stuffed. It's been a good Thanksgiving break.

Flaming Kiwifruit

Yes, I Went Shopping

A. Malls are EVIL. They are money eating monsters that only want to gnaw on your wallet until your cash all falls out the bottom and lands in thier hands.

B. Malls are GREAT. They have everything I need, which I could not even find looking all over Lakeland.

See, I went to the mall to get another box of contact, as my prescription was there. So, my Mom asks me to take her glasses with me to get the lenses replaced. This will take approximately an hour.

And how do you kill an hour in the mall?

I started by wandering over to Radio Shack. It was simple enough. I found a cheap 1/4" to 1/8" phone plug adapter. (This has nothing to do with actual phones, it's an audio thing.)

Then I wandered. While I was wandering, I thought to myself, "Gee, I bet I could find a charger for my cell phone here." So I scoured the map until I found a cell phone accessory kiosk and made my way there. I struck gold! Coincidently so did the guy running the kiosk.

Then I wandered. I got myself a drink and plopped down on a bench to wait it out. Then I was struck by the fact that I hadn't actually ever seen a fountain in our mall. It seemed strange to me that our mall wouldn't have a fountain, so I went off looking for one.

Instead, I found a shoe store. Now, being male I have a distinct distaste for shoe stores and under ordinary circumstance wouldn't ever go in one. However, these were not ordinary circumstances. You see I recently lost my favorite pair of sandals, my favorite pair of sandals being which ever sandals I am in posession of at the time. So I entered the store, and left with sandals.

At this point the sheer number of purchases I was making was quite ridiculous, however, it was everything I'd been unsuccessfully looking for the past month. So I returned to the eye place, retrieved the glasses, and left.

So that's why I hate malls. That's also why I love them. At least today. The rest of the time I just hate them. No offense to any malls that might be reading this. It's nothing personal. I just don't like you . . .

Flaming Kiwifruit

I Have Fans

For starters, people actually read this. Thanks so much to Djere and Kate for reaffirming my faith in the human spirit and the fact that anyone can get readership on the internet.

Now to my fans. I have a fan base . . . I suppose. You know those fanatical followers who dress like you and go out in public parading around as you. No, not the stalker ones, the good ones. Okay, so maybe I don't actually have fans, but I did convince my friend and ex-roommate, Matt, to go to our schools masquarade as me. I didn't actually get to see him, but he called me to get a shirt (one of the plaid ones I where around campus everywhere). Sure enough I get back here and my brown and greenish-bluish-greyish shirt, the epitome of Phil style, is gone. I just hope he gets pictures.

POST-SCRIPT (2-29-08): I actually heard later that he had people coming up to him and asking him, "Are you supposed to be Phil?" Score!

I HATE MY EMAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

E-mail is a terrible, terrible thing.

Okay, so maybe I'm just annoyed that I've been busy with e-mail so much tonight. I had to email crew for my production, cast for it, radio people, audio people, people I don't even know! And people emailed me. It's driving me crazy!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I feel better. I am so glad no one reads this anymore.

Flaming Kiwifruit

Lucky Me

Fortune favors the lucky.

It's true. I found this out while searching for S&S Pest Control today. After getting bizarre directions from BR, our office manager, which lead me to an abandoned house, I consulted my dad, the main salesman at our company. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Hey, where's S & S Pest Control?
David: Huh? Oh, I think is down on Enterprise Road or something.
Me: Really? Bobby Ray's crazy. He sent me to an abandoned house in Opelika

My dad, David, got a good laugh out of this, although couldn't believe it, really. This was yesterday.

Today, I set out again. I drove down to Enterprise Drive. Nothing. Then I went down Centerhill Road, a branch of Enterprise. Nothing. I was about to turn around and give up when I noticed that a construction site on the road had signs up informing everyone that thier site was protected by S & S. It also included a phone number to dial. So, I called and got directions.

It turns out it was just a ways further down the original road I found the abandoned house on. What's worse? It was less than a mile down the road from my house. I pass it on a regular basis, which explains why I could visualize the sign in my head the whole time. Go figure.

Flaming Kiwifruit.

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt 6

Will it ever end? We'll see. In the meantime . . . THUD! There it was, a floor mat! It barreled under the car and came flying out the other side . . . Ooooh . . . how anticlimactic! I bet you were thinking it was something more dangerous than a floor mat! So . . . No sooner had the poor mat flown off down the interstate, than we entered the first monsoon of the trip.

The water pelted the car, the windshield wipers were trying their darndest to clear the windshield!It was a monsoon, no more, no less. And on the Silver backed monkey plume of death scale of monsoons, it was a 7 out of ten. Not too bad, but certainly not great. We slowed our pace, looking out for other vehicles which may be before us. It was long, torturous. Eventually, we saw clear skies ahead.

But . . .(Dramatic Music to hold you in suspense). . . . . . .It didn't last.

We spent two or three minutes under clear skies before we were hit by our second monsoon. This reached a 9 on the scale. We set the fourway flashers on and drove, or rather, crept down the road. It was even longer and more torurous. Most pulled off to wait out the storm. WE braved it! The little windshield wipers tried to help, but they could hardly put a dent in terrential downpours. So, we waited . . .

Soon we found clear skies once again. Daylight broke just as we reached Gainsville, our next parental checkpoint.

So I made the call:
Mom: Hi!
Me: Hey, we're in Gainsville.
Mom: Good. How's the triaffic?
Me: Not too bad!
Mom: Great! Well, Talk to you later. Drive carefully!
Me: We will. Bye.

So blissfully unaware. Ah, well. Ignorance is bliss. In case your wondering, I live in a state full of happy people. . . .

Hmm . . . such an anticlimactic place to stop, but my fiancee called, and, sadly for you, that takes precedent . . . at least you doin't have to wait in suspense untill we decide to post again.

The Chimp

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt. . . 5 . . . I think

Wow, this has really spun out of control. Kind of like that copier. So, where was I?

Ah, yes, the siren. So I checked my rear view mirror and lo and behold, behind me was a fire truck. Being a good citizen, I pulled to the side of the road to let the truck pass. So did everyone else. And it passed.

Now, one would assume that once passed by a fire truck, there would be nothing more to worry about. You wouldn't expect to see the truck again until you reached a fire/accident/cat in tree. However, as soon as I reached 65 I began to notice I was gaining on the truck. So was everyone else. Now, I wasn't quite sure what rules applied to passing a fire truck with it's sirens on, considering one would assume that the truck would be going at least the speed limit. So, I stayed back. So did everyone else.

For lack of anything better to do, we began speculating on why the truck was going so slow and who would pass it first. It seem the beat up station wagon with the old scruffy looking guy would do it, to me, but Rachel saw it differently. She was hedging her bets on the nerdy looking guy in the SUV. I objected.

Rachel: I think it'll be the SUV.
Me: No, no, it's being driven by a nerdy looking middle aged guy.
Rachel: Dad.
Me: Good point.

My father is a nerdy looking middle aged guy, who drives fast. Understand, I don't say this in mockery (since he's one of the few people who reads this), but rather with the terrifying realization that I will one day be a nerdy looking middle-aged guy. I'm even starting to get the hairline.

Soon after this discussion, I saw a little sports car coming up behind me.

Me: I bet it'll be that hot rod behind me.
Rachel: You mean the ambulance.

This is when I noticed an ambulance had come up behind me with its lights on. It was still a ways off, but I quickly pulled over, being passed by several other vehicles while I waited. And I continued.

Not long after this we saw the ambulance racing through the other side of the highway. We continued until we came to the aforementioned fire truck, trying desperately to turn around in the emergency turnaround thing on the interstate. It looked confused as if it had missed its turn.

And I was glad that I hadn't been in an accident in this area. Somewhere between the apathy and confusion of the emergency response vehicle, it would have been bad. But all was well for approximately 2.4 seconds. That's when we heard it.

THUMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TO BE CONTINUED

Man, I don't even think the trip took this long . . .

(Inspiration)

Inspiration can come from the most unlikely places. Two recent examples:

1. I've been working at a copier place, not the most exciting job on the planet, right? Then why did I get so inspired by it that I'm currently writing a sci-fi series pilot set at a copier place. Who knows?

2. More interesting is what I just did. I was playing guitar, except my hand was all oily and so the pick kept slipping out of it. I was annoyed with it, so finally I decided to have some fun with it and write a stupid song about it. It went something like this:

What have I got
But greasy hands and a pick prone to wander
And fling itself out of my hand and onto the floor
Which just happens to be the same color
As my pick

I played this along with various verse type things I've now forgotten. I played it so passionately that I actually began to enjoy it. I like the song. So, I turned it into this:

What have I got
But filthy hands and a heart prone to wander
And fling itself out of your hands and onto the floor
What have I got
But the promise of grace, forgiveness to hold
Mercy to stand, and a love that is stronger than me
A love that is stronger than me

I never would have expected that.

Flaming Kiwifruit

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt. 4

It's a bad idea to leave people stranded in the middle of a story.

It's not my fault, really. It's not anybody's fault. You see, we've been going back and forth on the stories, my sis and I, but she was procrastinating on it and now, she's gone away to Huntsville. I may have to take her next installment. On the other hand she should only be gone a week. However, I feel I must not leave you hanging for to long lest you let go and fall to your doom, so, here it is:

So, there we were a raging copier of doom flying at us with eyes full of hatred for years of forced labor. What were we to do?

Well, it was quite obvious, we would take a coffee break . . . Just kidding, I'd already had enough coffee and Rachel doesn't even like the stuff. No, actually as I focused on making sure the van stopped before we were in the path of the truck, Rachel valiently stretched out here hand to stop the 300 or so pound copier. This was obviously a bad idea, but it didn't matter.

You see, this was when the sorter we were carrying valiantly dove straight into the path of the copier, stopping it cold. Okay so it didn't really dive, more like, just lay there. The force of the sorter and the fact that the van was at a complete stop was enough to end the copiers reign of terror.

Being that I was on an interstate on-ramp at the time of the incident, and being that I was to panicked to actually think, I did not check on the copier at this time, rather I got on the interstate. I stopped at the next exit and there found nothing. Yes, I am serious this was the most pointless exit in all of America. There was nary a gas station, hotel, restaurant, or even a prison, like the lovely exit we got off to use the restroom at in Orlando. (Yes, I forgot to tell that part. No, we didn't stop at the prison. I hate prisons, they give me the creeps.) A ways down the road we finally found a nice fledgling commercial/residential development (I couldn't tell which) to pull over in.

I stepped out of the car, like the way cool cowboy unmounting his trusty steed, except not as cool, and went to the back. It was sickening, the carnage. A tiny piece of plastic even broke off one of the paper trays. Horrendous. So, we worked to return the copier to it's rightful position and thanked the sorter for its valient efforts. The sorter was speechless. This is probably because sorters don't talk, but you never know.

I remounted my trusty steed, only to remember that my 'trusty steed' was a dorky minivan. Oh well. Then I remember something else . . . the bottom paper tray. So, rather than get 0ut of the van and go back around, I crawled through the perilous bowels of the dorkmobile to replace the tray and hopefully curb anymore 'incidents.'

And we returned to the road.

Not long had I been on the road when I saw flashing lights behind me. Egad! It's another cliff hanger . . . HAHAHAHAHAHA. That's just sick.

Flaming Kiwifruit

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey, Pt. 3.141592654

Okay, I know what you're thinking, "I wonder what's for lunch?" . . . No, wait, that's what I'm thinking. You're more likely thinking, "What kind of idiot drives around with and unstrapped copier in the back of his van?" I thought long and hard before reaching my decision.

Copiers, I reasoned, are large and heavy. Things that are large and heavy do not move (e.g. my house, the Eiffel Tower, the Leaning Tower of Piza, the moon, my dogs, ect.) I suppose I should have considered that noone, as far as I know, has ever tried to move the Eiffel Tower in a minivan. I could be wrong about this.

So armed with one maniacal copier of DOOM, we haeded out on the long journey home. It was quiet for a while . . . too quiet. I could just hear the copiers gears turning in it's head, plotting evil. Okay, I really couldn't hear them or I would've know what was coming . . . In a violent display of violent type motion, the copier, quite literally, stuck it's tongue out at me (by tongue, I mean, paper tray.) This could only mean one thing. The paper tray had come out.

We quickly decided that this could not continue, so we decided that at the next stop, we would remove the tray from the copier. So, we stoped for lunch, where I got a tiny piece of bone stuck in my teeth. I got it out.

After leaving the 'reputable establishment,' by which I mean, nasty gas station with a fast food joint, I proceed to carry out our plan. I reached into the heart of the machine, with all the valour I could muster while still bloated from lunch, and ripped out the tray . . . okay, more like gently removed the tray. Then, for good measure, I took out the bottom paper tray as well. I laughed at the copier. The copier laughed louder, it would have it's revenge!!!!!!

And it did, before we had even gotten back on the interstate. I began to enter the onramp that would take me to the interstate, when I suddenly noticed a large tractor trailer with the right of way. So, like any sensible person, I braked. The copier saw it's opportunity. In a sudden violent blur it leaped forward, throwing its bulking mass at us with such hate and anger that it seemed no one would survive.

To Be Continued . . .

Flaming Kiwifruit

P.S. We survived.
P.S.S. I just ruined the suspence for you
P.S.S.S. I just wanted to see three 'S's at the end of the 'P'

AR-336: A Copier Odyssey Part 2

And so, there I was. Standing among strangers in the distant land of 'Not Home Base' while Kiwi ran around trying desperately to figure out what was going on. Finally, he learned of his plans and he plopped himself down in the office chair and proceeded to explain to me, in detail, the various functions of each memo/note book, folder, piece or scrap of paper of every kind that was roaming that table they call a 'desk' . . .

Shane, the aforementioned delivery guy, finally returned from his 'delivery just down the road', carrying a newly purchased beverage, talking on a cell phone, and walking immensely too slow as if no one in the world was waiting on him to return with that hideous golden-brown van. And so, we departed . . . finally.

First Phone Call of the trip:

Time: App. 9:00 a.m. Central Standard Time

Mom: Where are you guys?
Me: Opelika.
Mom: Still!
Me: Yes . . . (grumble . . . grumble . . .)
Mom: Ok . . .

Most of the preceding trip to Orlando from this point on was a sleep deprived, caffiene-induced haze. Yes, sadly it is true, we were so sleep deprived and caffiene filled that if anything amusing did happen, we could scarcely remember it . . . or, really, not remember it at all. So we shall jump ahead . . . We arrived in Orlando. I proceed to go out with my fiancee, who's house we were staying at, for a nice dinner. Kiwi . . . well . . . he drove to Lakeland and had a nice dinner with his old roommate. Aside from this, nothing of note happened, except that Kiwi, loved by all little dogs, had a small dog strangely find him as he walked from the parking lot back to my fiancee's house. The dog followed him all the way to the door and would have followed him inside if allowed, but there was already a little dog in there who quickly came to see Phil, his good buddy. All little dogs love Phil. We don't know why, they just do. It's odd. But, back to our quest.

We had to go the next morning and help a fellow employee of Phil's, Scott, load two copiers before we could retrieve our own little AR-336. Naturally, we had only an adress, and we didn't know when we were to meet Scott. Phil tried many times to call Scott, but they were all failed attempts. Having recently heard how Scott gets his phone to work when it's broken, I think I might know why. But, that's another story entirely.

Any ways, we got up early and headed out. Finally, the call came. Scott was 45 minutes away. Despite what you're thinking, this didn't mean we had to sit in a parking lot and wait for 45 minutes; rather, we took what Phil might describe as a 'scenic tour' of Orlando. It didn't seem very scenic to me as we went up and down the same street the entire 45 minutes. We FINALLY found the place and pulled in directly BEHIND Scott. . .

They retrieved the copiers, I sat this one out, so if anything amusing happened, Phil will have to fill you in (no pun intended, belive me!).

So, jumping ahead to our own little copier. We arrived at the place where it supposedly was. What we found was a seemingly abandoned building with no signs of a business being, having been, or planning to be there. Of course, Phil also was never able to get a phone number for this place before we left, so he called back to the office ('Not Home Base') and retrieved a number which he used to call the business. It turns out, they had moved on Saturday, this being Thursday. So, we went to their new location. It seemed simple enough . . .

Secretary: It's all set. Just pull around back and you can pick it up.
Phil: Thanks.

So, we pulled around back where we found a myriad of large trucks amidst which our little golden-brown van was feeling very out of place. The back wall was lined with large openings through which trucks could recieve their respective copiers, these openings being approximately 5 or 6 feet off the ground and there being no ramp in sight. So we went inside and found the man who was to help us, in his office eating lunch. He gladly came out to help us and brought us to the copier, a shiny Sharp AR-336. It looked so deceptively innocent in the bright light of the early afternoon . . .

A conversation ensued which went something like this:

Man: Where's you're truck.
Phil: We don't have one.
Man: Oh?
Phil: We have a van.
Man: Oh. I guess you'll have to go back around front.

So I drove the van back out front, and shortly after, Phil and the man arrived with another guy and a ramp. Only, the copier was too big for the van, so they couldn't roll it up the ramp. They had to take it off it's stand and hoist the monster into the back of the van, after which another conversation ensued:

Man: How are you gonna strap it in?
Phil: I'm not.
Man: Oh.
Phil: It should be fine.

I think we can all see where this is going.

So, we set out on the long journey home . . .

TO BE CONTINUED

The Chimp

MacGyver Could've

Ducttape can fix sandal. Ducttape and powerful industrial chemical are not 'friends' by any definition of the word. Except maybe mortal enemies, which I'm pretty sure is not a definition of friends. If it is, my friends and I need to have a talk, but I doubt it is.

Anyway, my old trusty sandals finally bit the dust the other night. So, what was I to do? Wear shoes! No, that wouldn't work at all. That'd be like asking penguin to dance a jig (note to self: try this sometime). So, I ducttaped them together. That is once I realized that neither scotch nor masking tape would work (scotch tape that is, not the alcoholic beverage).

It worked fine until I went to work. I was again cleaning covers with the chemical I like to complain about when it ate through, not only the ducttape, but the sandals and the surrounding floor as well. HA! Just kidding. The floor was fine. All it really did was allow the thingy that holds my foot in to escape from the ever weaking grasp of the dying tape. So, now I have new sandals. And David doesn't have to smell the old stinky things anymore . . . unless I leave them in his room next year . . . but rest assured I would never do such a dastardly thing unless I thought it would be funny.

Flaming Kiwifruit

AR-336: A Copier Oddessy, Pt. 1

Sometimes the tiniest job can baloon into a tale of epic preportions. Observe:

It seemed like a simple task. I was to go to Tampa . . . or Orlando . . . or somewhere close by it such as Chicago or Tokyo . . . we really weren't sure where . . . to pick up a copier. I didn't 'sweat the small stuff' (where is the copier, what is a copier, how are we going to get there, ect.) as I was informed of the journey several weeks ahead of our scheduled departure date (June 16). So, I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, June 15th rolled around. I went into work, just like any other day. As the day began spiraling to an end, I came to the sudden realization that, the 'small stuff' was still hanging above like an elevator held up by a piece of silly string. Except that silly string can't actually hold things up. So, I'm pretty much crushed . . . but I wasn't crushed, so it's just a bad analogy. But I degress.

So, brought it up with my boss. He seemed quite caught off guard by the question, not even daring to feign memory of the above referenced trip. He quickly told me in no uncertain terms that we were quite uncertain about the whole ordeal. This comforted me. No it didn't. I agreed to call him at 8 in the morning to find out what was going on, if Rachel was coming with me, if there was really such a place as 'Tampa' or 'Orlando.' So I waited.

And wait . . . no, I really didn't wait that long this time. A few hours after my arrival at 'Home Base' (codeword for home. it sounds more dramatic). I learned that Rachel and I were to report to the Auburn office ('Not Home Base') at 0800 hours to depart. So I did.

And did.

And did.

And I'm really overusing that dramatic device, aren't I?

I managed to get to the office right on time. This was a silly thing to do. I should've known no one would be there. Well, except my boss's wife, who assured me he was simply at breakfast and would be back in no time. Soon, the office manager showed up. I explained the situation and he spent app. 15 minutes running around the office frantically trying to confirm that he had no clue what was going on. He seemed well aware of this fact already, and kept pointing it out as he trudged on.

Shane, the delivery guy, came in and went on a delivery.

Finally the boss came back and gave me money for food and stuff, the addresses of the places I would be going to, and instructions, which involved me and the company van. Understand, I was mortified at the thought of driving this trip in the company van. It's not that the van is unsafe, rather . . . uncool. It's a golden-brown minivan. Golden-brown minivan must be the most uncool vehicles on the road (sorry, if you have, have had, will have, or are trying to sell one. the truth hurts). I mean, these things are the modern day equivalent of the white station wagon with the wooden paneling!

But, there was a bigger problem than my personal feelings about the van . . . It was gone!!!!!!

Okay, that seem dramatic enough to leave you guys hanging miserably until I forget to post the rest . . . so . . .

TO BE CONTINUED?

Flaming Kiwifruit

Narcissism

I have a sister! Okay, so I knew that already, but you newcomers probably didn't. You probably thought I just signed all my posts because I'm a narcissist. I am a narcissist, but that is not why I signed all my post. It's because it keeps you, the innocent readers, from thinking my quality has declined suddenly. For example:

Average Reader: WHAT??!!! That is SO stupid! I can't believe the Kiwi wrote that!
Someone Else: That's not the Kiwi. That's the Chimp. See, it's in that ugly orange color.
Average Reader: Oh, I see. Phew, scared me for a second there.
Someone Else: I'm gonna go have a turkey sandwich now.

I like turkey sandwiches, but . . . wait . . . that's not what I was talking about. Yes, we must keep my greatness seperated from the 'common people' (read, lesser beings) (don't read that in parenthises if you're a lesser being/common person)(oh, never mind, it's too late now). So anyway, as I was saying, that's all folks!

Flaming Kiwifruit

P.S. I am SO cool!!!!!!!!!!!!!