Thankfulnessapalooza 2023 - Part Three (of Three)

 

Whose Waves? Floyd's Waves! Photo by Joe

Can he do it, folks? Will he do it? Will Joe come up with ten more things for which he's thankful, this year? Yes! Ah, but will there be any repeats from previous years' lists? Also yes. Sorry. To review, here are links to PART ONE and PART TWO of this year's list. Did anyone notice that in part one, the items were numbered, and in part two they were not? I didn't - until now. Whimsy! Okay, let's wrap this up...

21. Waves. I like waves. Bonus points for waves crashing into things - like jetties, rocks, sea walls, or those WWII-era observation towers that still stand staring at the ocean from the Delaware shore.

One intrepid little pony car, near Port Arthur, TX - Photo by Joe

22. My impractical but oh so sweet little mechanical soul mate. I'd say she's my midlife crisis car, but really that was the car that came before her. She's driven through swamps and train yards and all sorts of places no Camaro should ever see - capably and without complaint.

N&W Class J #611, near Manassas, VA - Photo by Joe

23. As long as we're admiring things in black and white... Trains. I love 'em. I've always lived within earshot of them, and I hope I always will.

24. For all my bitching about my new ELEVEN TIMES LONGER commute, there is a part of it for which I'm thankful - but only when the weather's nice. The walk from DuPont Circle to 23rd Street in DC, mostly by way of N Street. Behold...

Little daycare kiddies, strung together and singing "Baby Shark!" Photo by Joe

Historic Heurich House - Photo by Joe

Alley weirdness. I have questions. Photo by me

Next...

Endangered black-footed selfieferrets - photo by Bingo

Ask me about the Flying Spaghetti Monster

Empty offices have weird shadows - Photo by Joe

25. Weirdness in general. Always on the lookout for it, because it keeps popping up when and where I least expect it. Now more than ever, we could all use a daily dose of weird.

Okay, maybe not THIS empty... Photo by Joe

26. The empty office. What can I say - I got used to it, when in 2020 I suddenly found myself with (more or less) the run of the place. This year, I've readjusted somewhat, as there are people around slightly more often than there were over the preceding three years. Fortunately, when it gets people-y, it tends to be some really swell people. Okay, I'm thankful for the office, just in general. I do wish it was still five minutes away, of course...

Portland Head, Maine - Photo by Joe and [Maris]

27. I'm thankful for lighthouses. That is all.

28. Cartoons. I've preached this for years. Ren & Stimpy, The Simpsons, South Park, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Family Guy, American Dad, Archer, Home Movies, Bob's Burgers, Futurama... Some of these shows are blessed to have positively brilliant writers and voice actors. We've seen a lot of episodes dozens of times. Granted, they're usually just playing in the background, but there's a certain comfort in hearing Family Guy's "Bag Of Weed" song from the next room - again. These characters are like old friends, and they ask so little of us.

All glory to the Hypnotoad - screen grab from the interwebz

29. Speaking of cartoons - I'm thankful for Hypnotoad. Coolest sound I've ever heard come out of my TV (apart from the clank of Howie Kendrick's go-ahead homer off the foul pole in game 7 of the 2019 World Series) - and those hypnotic EYES. Yeah - he's good enough to make the list twice.

 No, I don't wear them all at once. - Photo by Joe

30. Rings. I don't know why or how, but one led to another and here we are. I figure it's less gross than tattoos or piercings (on me - I'm sure they're fine on you tattoo/piercing people).

Well, look at that, campers! We made it through three posts and thirty things for which I'm thankful, this year. Well-done, you three! Well-done. See you tomorrow...

A Beer Event

So, this is totally cheating, but it keeps my blog-post-a-day thing going.  I'll do some actual work tomorrow, maybe.  What follows was more typed than written.  It comes from a hurriedly-composed zombie novel, which I spewed forth this past summer during Camp NaNoWriMo.  Zombies are easy, so I get bored with them, and find myself focused on the interactions of my ensemble cast.  This excerpt comes from-- oh, just read it.  It's fun.  And please forgive these young men - they say some things they shouldn't say.

 

Miles was the second to arrive at the Inner Harbor Hotel, where Bruce Schwartzman had booked a suite for post-reunion partying and eventual crashing/DUI avoidance.  The original plan was for just one room, but when they learned that the girls - Phaedra McKinley and Colleen Horvath - would be joining them, Bruce decided that there should be two rooms, "in case the girls want their own space - or anyone hooks up."

"Miles!  You're just in time.  I was about to start pre-drinking, but I can't decide what to start with."  Bruce gave his best friend a crushing handshake, and pulled him in for a still-shaking-hands, one-armed, back-slapping man hug.  At five-ten, he was at least six inches shorter than Miles, and their hug ended with him looking up, and feigning a doe-eyed gaze.

 

Miles was tall, but slight, so pushing his stocky, muscular friend away required considerable effort.  "Get off me, you queer," he groaned.

"Hey - watch it, dude.  My aunt is a queer."

 

"I'm aware of that, Bruce.  She's also only three years older than us, and hot.  Also, I don't think they like to be called queer.  It's lesbian, I believe.  And how is Meg, by the way?"

Bruce shook his head.  "A - that's Aunt Meg, to you.  B - she prefers just 'gay,' these days.  C - she's doing great.  Just got her masters in English.  And D - yes, she's very hot, but she's totally gay.  And no, she's still not interested in screwing you, 'just to be sure,' so give it up, already."

"She's not my aunt," Miles said.  "Dude - let go of me!"

"I know, but I don't like that whole 'Miss Meg' thing.  It's too..."

"Alliterative?"  Miles suggested.

"What's 'alliterative?'"

"When things start with the same letter.  Peter Piper, Miss Meg, Mighty Mouse..."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Miles.  "Mighty Mouse?"

"Yeah.  Both start with M."

"I know both start with M.  I'm not retarded.  But why Mighty Mouse?"

"Why not Mighty Mouse?"  Miles shook his head, as if trying to free pool water from his ears.

"It's weird, that's why.  You could have gone with Mickey Mouse--"

"You owe Roy Disney a dollar fifty,"  Miles interrupted.

"Or Minnie Mouse--"

"That's three bucks."

"Or Donald Duck--"

"Four-fifty."

"Shut up!  I'm just saying, you've got like, tons of examples of names that start with the same letter, and you pull Mighty Mouse out of your ass.  It's weird."  Bruce gestured at the kitchen of the suite, where he had arrayed nearly a full bar's stock of liquor and mixers on the breakfast counter.  "Come on.  What's your poison?  Time's a-wastin'."

"You don't remember Mighty Mouse?"  Miles asked, sincerely and rather defensively.

"Nobody remembers Mighty Mouse, you freak!  Not even Mighty Mouse remembers Mighty Mouse!  Now, what are we drinking?"

"Liquor," Miles said.  "Something clear.  Gin and tonic, maybe.  Start slow.  And it was on right before the Little Rascals.  How can you not remember that?  Next, you'll try to tell me you don't remember Heckle and Jeckle."

Bruce stopped, jigger in one hand and Tanqueray bottle in the other.  "Heckle and who?  What is wrong with you?"

"Come on, Schwartz - you have to remember Heckle and Jeckle.  The talking magpies?  On channel 2 - part of the Mighty Mouse show that bridged the gap between Looney Toons and Little Rascals?  It wasn't that long ago, man..."

"Okay.  Right there.  You see, Miles?  This is why you don't have a girlfriend - why you never have a girlfriend - why you couldn't even get into the pants of the one girl who desperately wanted you to, for whatever reason..."

"Yeah, yeah.  Don't be a dick."

A knock rattled the door with an odd rockabilly rhythm.  Miles and Bruce looked at each other knowingly.  "Ray," they chorused.

"Beer man!" the door announced.  Bruce held it open to allow Raymond Christopher, laden with a duffel bag and two cases of Milwaukee's Best, to enter.  He crossed the room, found some open space on the kitchen counter, and dropped the beer.  "Whoa.  What's with all the liquor?  I thought this was gonna be a beer event."

"If it's a beer event, then what's with the Milwaukee's Beast, Ray?" Bruce asked, joining Ray in the kitchen to resume the gin and tonic project.  "That ain't beer."

There.  Interested?  Yeah, neither am I, but you'll love Colleen, if ever I should post an excerpt that includes her.  Thanks for coming.  Night!
 

My Best Friend Growing Up Was Snagglepuss

I was a child of the 80s.  Late-70s and early 80s, actually.  It's not exactly earth-shatteringly original to feel that everything was better during one's formative years, but everything was better during my formative years.  Music was awesome, as disco withered and died, punk was born, and the new wave approached.  Movies were becoming great again, thanks in no small part to George Lucas and Steven Spielberg.  Video games were just taking off.  Kids could still play outside, blocks from home, without fear.

And, despite having only three TV networks and a couple of unaffiliated local channels, we never wanted for something to watch after school.  Fortunately, this was a time before parents started paying too much attention to the content of kid TV programming.  They just trusted the TV people to keep us entertained while not showing us anything inappropriate.  Their faith was justified - mostly.

Most of our best friends in the 3:00-6:00 time slot were harmless.  Bugs Bunny and friends kept us amused and taught us countless catchphrases and some grown-up pranks.  Tom and Jerry beat the living snot out of each other, but were otherwise pretty innocent.  Popeye ate his spinach and saved his friends from a bully.  Scooby Doo and Shaggy were always stoned out of their minds and hallucinating wildly about g-g-g-ghosts, but we were blissfully unaware.  The Pink Panther taught us jazz, and how to be cool under pressure.  He wasn't the only big pink cat, either.  Snagglepuss was the tinted mountain lion equivalent of Bugs Bunny, crackin' wise and getting into all manner of shenanigans.

But some of my favorite shows were the ones that would be considered completely inappropriate, today. The old Little Rascals/Our Gang - full of stereotypes and racism.  Strangely, we were, again, blissfully unaware of most of it.  Still, it did have a strange vibe.  But Heckle and Jeckle, a pair of talking magpies, were incredibly racist - and of questionable sexual orientation.  I was aware that something was up, and I was ten years old and probably didn't know what "gay" meant.  And of course, in terms of cartoon entertainment, it did not make me or my friends uncomfortable, as they weren't really in-your-face with it.  We were busy laughing at the gags and wondering how they could get away with the racist stuff.

I miss those old shows, in spite of their flaws.  Funny is funny, and they taught us nothing, which was EXACTLY what we wanted.  

Join us next time, when we completely over-analyze Sigmund The Sea Monster.