I Was Born in a Cross-Fire Hurricane

by pjmcbride

–Actually, I was born on a day in the mid-60’s, with a light breeze (typical mid-May in southern Wisconsin) (actually, I’m guessing colder than that, as I was born at the ungodly hour of 7:25AM), but it’s easy to get carried away when they’re playing the Rolling Stones at McDonald’s. (They were tuned to the Mid-Century Modern station–the next song up was “Rebel Rebel.” Is this a great country or what?)

I didn’t actually intend to post at this time, but here you go. Scratchy Glitter–brought to you by Addictive Behavior! And speaking of S.G. in a rock & roll context, I have noticed a tendency among FanBasers to call me Scratchy–kind of like Pink Floyd. (“By the way, which one’s Pink?”) I have mixed feelings about this. I suspect the average person (but you’re not average, are you?) would be less inclined to think of me as Dangerous-When-Provoked-Scratchy and more as having an itching skin disease.


Provoked by a horror film fest on TV:

–It is unrealistic to depict zombies grabbing poles and shovels and using them to smash the windows to get at people. (You know, “unrealistic” is kind of a weird word choice here.) Zombies aren’t smart enough to use tools. They would smash the windows with their hands, and not care if their hands fell off.

–And then we had a movie which involved endless footage of people going through tunnels with flashlights, which bored me so severely that I was glad of the rare occasions when something jumped out and killed someone. And could we at last do away with the scene in which your companion is following behind you, and then suddenly he’s not, and you call his name–no answer, and then you say, “IF THIS IS YOUR IDEA OF A JOKE, IT’S NOT FUNNY!” And then you encounter your companion’s dead body. How many times must we endure this?


Not only do we have orange Halloween lights outdoors, but I’ve encountered a Halloween garland inside, which was black instead of green.

Hmm, something is rustling behind me. Ez, is that you? If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny. Let’s assume it was just the cat and move on.


It really is too bad that Nick’s ridealong fantasy won’t come to pass (since he’s changing shifts to get out from under my thumb). It would have made the ultimate blog post. I had a title picked out and everything. He’s even offered to buy me a 6-pack of apple ale if I volunteer in the future. While I’m sure I could use 6 bottles after such an adventure, that isn’t enough to induce me. Back to the drawing board, beast.