The RhodesTer Chronicles

Free HuGs in HoLLyWooD!

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 00:01:00 GMT

Coffeesister brought this video to my attention because we used to live and work in Hollywood. It brought back some memories, which stirred inside me before gushing up onto the desk, nearly shorting out my keyboard. I'm going to go grab a wet towel to clean all this up, so why don't you take this opportunity to push "play" and stroll down one of my memory lanes, whether you've been there before or not?

I put in several years as a security dispatcher at Hollywood & Highland, the gigantic retail/entertainment complex on Hollywood Boulevard, where the Kodak Theater is located (Academy Awards). This video was made in various spots in front of the complex, which spans nearly a city block, and in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater, which is next to it. Yes, that's the one with all the hand and foot prints in cement in the forecourt. This will give you an idea of the characters I'd encounter on the boulevard on any given day - a few of them, including some of the costumed "Superhero" characters, a few security guards and a black homeless man, I was personally acquainted with.

Video courtesy of Lisa Murray at LisaMurray.Com, in recognition of "International Free Hugs Day" on Saturday, July 5th. Let's all hug each other and not charge a darned thing for it!

The 4th of Julie

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 05:53:35 GMT

As an American, living in America, I should probably post something about the 4th of July, since that's what today is, and I posted something about it last year, on July 4th, which it was at that time too, BUT.. I have a handful of readers who don't care two pence about it, because they are in Europe or Canada or somewhere like that, which is why I say "two pence", and so I think I'll post about something else instead.

I think I'll post about the 4th of Julie.

The only Julie I know is coffeesister's cousin, whose name is Julie, but you might have guessed that, and we haven't seen her in, gosh.. four years or so. I think coffeesister saw her more recently than I did, although I don't remember where or what the occasion was, but it's been a helluva long time since I've seen her. I remember her long, blonde hair and dancing blue eyes, and Thiessen nose - that's her side of the family, even though she's a "Koop" on her father's side - but what I mean by "Thiessen nose" is that it's kind of large, but not overly so - just enough to make you think, "Hmm, she's an attractive girl with a not overly large nose, but maybe."

She was married for a brief while to some guy named Mike, who seemed okay at the wedding, which we went to, a helluva long time ago, but then I heard later he turned out to be a wife beater and since she happened to be his wife, she got the short end of that stick - so she divorced his sorry ass and, as far as I know, remains single to this day.

I can't think of anything to tie the number four in with the only Julie I know, except that I haven't seen her in about four years, but now that I think about it, it's been a lot longer than that - like fourteen years, so that leaves me with not a lot to go on here in my post about the 4th of Julie.

Anyone want a hotdog?

BAD BOYS..

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 03:50:58 GMT

On Saturday I told you about all the U.S. Marshals who were hanging out at the hotel for the week, drinking beer and soaking in the hot tubs after a long day of apprehending violent criminals. Tuesday, it hit the press..

224 valley arrests under 'Operation FALCON'

It should be noted here and now that U.S. Marshals are NOT without a sense of humor, as shown by this excerpt from the article I've linked to..

Hoping to avoid arrest, one of the "house sitters" danced and cried and fell on the floor. She later told authorities she has 35 personalities.

"Well, bring out the one that cooperates," Green told her at the time.

A group of badass, yet jocular U.S. Marshals
discuss their decision to let the child go free,
despite not having any pants on.

A badass U.S. Marshall cracks a joke while
apprehending a violent felon wanted on
charges of being just dammed ugly.

I've been using a poll widget making thing to put polls on here because I think they're a lot of fun. Today I'm trying out a new poll widget making thing, so knock yourself out..

The Prestigious Palm Springs Savant and Co.

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 01:36:08 GMT

Coffeesister just reminded me that we have to go to "SweatCo" and pick up some cat food. I know "SweatCo" is an odd name for a pet food retailer, but it's actually a pseudonym I'm using to be discreet because this post is about my old blogging pal, Rick Rockhill, who is a bigshot executive with "SweatCo", and he (wisely) doesn't mention the company on his blog, PALM SPRINGS SAVANT, so I figure I won't mention it here either.

Actually, I wouldn't bring it up at all - I'd just tell about how I ran into Rick downtown the other day and we had a brief yet exhilarating chat - but what made me think of it was the need for cat food and the hungry kitty rubbing up against my leg as she screams at me, "DADDY! I HUNGEEE!!" and I tell her, "I know sweetie, but let me post about uncle Rick first, because my blog is more important than your well-being." Yes, I take very good care of my pets, Shadow AND Coffeesister.

Okay, so I ran into Rick the other day as he was walking downtown with his partner, John or Steve, or something, and we stopped to talk for a few minutes because I'd met him once before and I thought, "Hey, he's pretty cool for a guy who lives a lifestyle that's so entirely different from mine that it would take the light from MY lifestyle over a thousand years to reach HIS lifestyle." (NOTE to John or Steve, or something.. I'm TERRIBLE with names. It's nothing personal, k? I liked you, I really did.. you rock.. your name doesn't.)

We talked for a few minutes and I got to meet Rick's new dog, Shelby or Sheldon, or something, and we all marvelled at what a wonderful small town atmosphere we have here in Palm Springs when you can just walk down the street and meet up with fellow bloggers, their partners and their dogs. We didn't get to talk very long, because I had to catch a bus, so I excused myself and said, "I have to go catch a bus" and Rick looked like he wasn't sure what a "bus" was, but he smiled and said it was nice seeing me again. I once read on his blog, "PALM SPRINGS SAVANT", that I was the ONLY BLOGGER Rick has met in person. Can you imagine that? Being this world-renowned blogger whom people love and adore, and the only blogger YOU'VE ever met is RHODESTER?

HAHAHAHA!!! Geez..

As previously mentioned, Rick is a bigshot pet supply executive. He has several cars and a nice home in Palm Springs (according to his BLOG). To give you an idea of his level of bigshotness, I'll let you in on a conversation that took place during my first visit to the new "SweatCo" which recently opened next door..

ME (to the young assistant manager, while the cashier rang up my purchase) - "So, do you guys know of a RICK ROCKHILL? I think he's a bigshot with this company, and he lives here in Palm Springs.. he's a friend of mine".

YOUNG ASSISTANT MANAGER - "Mr. ROCKHILL is a friend of yours?"

(He glances at the cashier, who hurriedly finishes my transaction with a flourish, then whips out a spray bottle and cloth as she starts furiously cleaning)

ME - "Well, he's not really a FRIEND, per se.. I only met him once before.. but we email back and forth a lot."

YOUNG ASSISTANT MANAGER - " You EMAIL with Mr. ROCKHILL?"

(He snaps his fingers, and crews appear out of nowhere.. dusting, spraying, cleaning.. I have to step to the side as a mop wielding clerk comes swishing through)

ME - "We've swapped a few emails on occasion, but mostly I just comment on his blog."

YOUNG ASSISTANT MANAGER - "You COMMENT? On his BLOG?"

(More workers appear with squeegees in hand, and start in on the windows)

ME - "Okay, look.. this isn't really necessary.. I don't KNOW Mr. Rock.. er, RICK.. we've just had some Internet action together.. oh wait, that didn't come out right.. uh, we've just talked a bit but never about the company.. just about his travels to Europe and the fine restaurants he dines in, and.. uh.."

I was talking to no-one. The young assistant manager had excused himself to scurry off and polish the brass nameplate on the store manager's door. I walked out of the cleanest, sparkliest "SweatCo" I'd ever been in - you could have eaten eggs off that floor.

I first encountered Rick when we'd moved to this area last year and I did a search for bloggers in Palm Springs. Google served up "Palm Springs Savant", and I thought, "Well, that's interesting.. he's a SAVANT and he LIVES HERE, and he writes about it!" So I started reading it back then and haven't stopped.

Palm Springs Savant is written from Rick's POV (Point Of Vanity), meaning that it's all about the fine restaurants around here, and the art museums and social gatherings, all of which I don't get to attend due to poverty, lack of social standing and the fact that I'm a peasant toiling with the unwashed masses - so I live vicariously through his deep, brown eyes. At least, I THINK they're brown.. Steve or John would know, I'm sure. But I don't think Rick has ever ordered a taco at a drive-up window and had to dig around for extra sauce packs between the seats or in the glove box. I have absolutely NO DOUBT that he actually keeps GLOVES in his glove box - right next to the extra scarf and fedora.

Rick is very prestigious, which is a big word that means "can afford to dine out EVERY night." But he's not without his quirks, mostly which come in the form of a little betta fish called Dr. Sidney Wang who uses Rick's blog to dispense wisdom and advice to the minions (not minnows) every Wednesday. I don't know what that has to do with Rick, except that Dr. Wang lives in his house and I think he uses Rick's computer. Rick said something about coming home to a wet keyboard on those nights. I've been thinking of writing Dr. Wang to ask, "How can I become prestigious too?" Not that I really want to, but I've never asked a fish anything so I might as well ask it how to be successful.

If you're looking for a new blog to read, because lord only knows there aren't enough of them out there, I highly recommend "Palm Springs Savant." You don't even have to live in Palm Springs. Rick writes about all kinds of places, such as London, Paris and Rome. That's because he's often in those cities, like when he opened a new pet supply store at the Vatican - now the Swiss Guard need only WALK a block or two to get feed for the Pope's parakeet.

Speaking of feed, the hungry kitty has just gnawed my toe off, so I best limp over to SweatCo and grab some cat food before they close. I'm sure I won't miss it - it's the bright, gleaming structure at the end of the parking lot - you know, the one with the rainbow arching over the top and the dancing elves singing merry songs as customers bound out the door laden with pet supplies.

I think I'll do a little name-dropping to see if the elves dance any faster.

"RHODES? Where we're going.."

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 05:17:48 GMT

One of the most DREADED movie lines ever uttered, by the brilliant Christopher Lloyd..

(Sorry foreigners, HULU.COM only streams to us patriotic red-blooded AMERICANS)

A brush with the law

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 10:57:46 GMT

The hotel was overrun with U.S. Marshals this week. Now, that sounds like a bad thing, and it would be if the hotel were an escaped convict or something, but no.. the hotel is very nice and behaves itself (for the most part), so the Marshals just came to hang out in the evenings and sleep at night while they worked during the day.

I was told by one of them that they were here to conduct training exercises but, as the week progressed and I got to know the whole gang, it turned out they were actually here to track down and bust bad guys. The "training exercises" story was a cover story. HAHA! Silly Marshal! Thinking I'd buy that whole "training exercises" thing like some kind of ignorant doofus! (I did.)

In the evenings they'd be lounging around the pool, all twenty-something of them, being all badass and drinking beer and stuff. I'd venture to talk to them here and there and, as they consumed more and more beer, they'd regale me with tales of the felonious fiends they'd captured that day. Turns out it was a task force operation where they spend a week cleaning up a particular area - this time being the Palm Springs and outlying desert regions - serving warrants and arresting all these fugitives who've been on the lam for a long time. Last night, one of them told me their final tally for the week was about 245 bad guys.

We had 245 fugitives living in our area? Holy-Mac-Felony, Batman!!

They said this is a new program, and that it was their first time here, and they also said they'd be back. I couldn't say anything about it until now, because I was sworn to secrecy. That's right, the marshals swore RhodesTer to secrecy!

RhodesTer was sworn to secrecy by U.S. Marshals!

Sorry, I just like saying it. I told the boss of the Marshals that I have a blog and that it'd be interesting to write about, and he said, "That's fine.. so long as it's on Saturday." YES SIR, Saturday it shall be. I have no desire to get hooked up on "impeding a federal investigation," or whatever THAT charge might be.

Like fugitives even READ "The RhodesTer Chronicles".. **snork**

BUT, I complied with the law, being the good and obedient blogger that I am, and here it is SATURDAY and here I am TELLING you about it. They wrapped it all up yesterday and they're headed back to US Marshal headquarters, wherever THAT is, today.

There was a CBS cameraman who followed them around and got all kinds of footage, "COPS" style, and he said the story is going to air on our CBS affiliate on Tuesday, so I'll have to get coffeesister to TiVo it.

There's also a particular incident that happened while the Marshals were here, but I can't tell you about it, EVER.

EVER EVER EVER.

Well, maybe I can tell you about it in a way that they won't figure out I'm telling you, like if I use an analogy or something.. oops, hang on.. there's a knock at the door..

"THE RHODESTER CHRONICLES" HAS
BEEN SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

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VLOG! yes, VLOG

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 13:26:46 GMT

WHOA, like..

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 23:12:29 GMT

..I have an ODE!

photo by tillwe

Apparently, I'm witty.

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 01:53:31 GMT

..and on top of that, I've won some stuff.

There's this blogger, Daniel, and he runs this blog, Smithereens, and there's this Twitter thing, and I tweeted on twitter and won a tweet contest on Smithereens for what I said in the Coffee Bean, which is a coffee house, while ordering an iced-blended mocha and a cinnamon roll, which are delicious.

I asked the lady in Coffee Bean, Jenny, "Do you know another word for synonym roll?" and she laughed, because she got it, so I tweeted it when I got home that day, because I wanted you to laugh too, and Daniel laughed, so he asked me to enter it in his contest, so I did, and the judges laughed, so here I am, getting a lot of stuff now.

I get a bunch of blog promotion from different people who've offered to let me put banners on their blogs for a month, or a week, or whatever - God knows me and my 22 hits a day need it - I also won some Entrecard credits from Carolyn so I'll have to start using Entrecard again, oh, and some books, some tea, a blog review and an ode. A list of my winnings is HERE if you care, which you shouldn't, and I don't expect you to, but if you do, then that's groovy.

I haven't won anything for my wit in a long time - like EVER, really - so this is kind of a new thing. I once won the anchor pool when I was in the Navy ($126.00) and I think I won something else one time, but forgot about it so it must not have been anything. As far as I know, wit was not involved in any of those prior contests.

Sometimes my wit gets me in trouble, like at work, so I'm glad I have an outlet for it where people seem to appreciate it and give me banner space, books, tea, credits, blog reviews and odes just because of it. I got jumped on (figuratively, thank goodness) at work last week for being a "smart-ass, sarcastic cynic" by a lady who isn't the boss of me, but who just had to tell me that because she doesn't get my jokes, and I was all down because of it but then I won some stuff and now it's all better.

Thank you, Daniel.

If anyone wants to follow me on Twitter, GO HERE. If anyone wants to just follow me, DON'T.. I'll call the cops.

Wow, it just sunk in..

.. I GET AN ODE. Groovy!

Why I don't like drunks

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 05:50:23 GMT

While on duty at the hotel the other evening, I was called to a room where a little yapping dog was disturbing the guest in the room next door. This is because the guests who own the little yapping dog decided it'd be okay to leave it alone in the room while they went to the casino and gambled, drank liquor, and then gambled some more.

Let me just say, this is so NOT okay!

We have a pet agreement at the hotel which states that little yapping dogs are not to be left unattended in the rooms. Guests with said dogs are required to sign the agreement upon check-in, but further investigation revealed that THESE particular guests, a man and a woman, are bigshots in the hotel industry and I guess that as such they didn't feel compelled to sign anything or even let on that they had a little yapping dog.

So here I was, in the room, with a little dog who was quiet now because someone was visiting him. But I couldn't stay there, I had stuff to do. So I removed the temporarily quiet little dog to a new location - a vacant meeting room near the lobby - and I gave him a bowl of water, locked the meeting room doors, and went about my business. People who sign the pet agreement are asked to provide a cell phone number just for situations like this, because they often leave their dogs alone in the room in spite of what the agreement says, and I have to call them. They always, ALWAYS tell me they didn't know their dog barked when alone. They always, ALWAYS say they thought their dog would be nice and quiet, not disturbing anyone. They are always, ALWAYS wrong.

These particular bigshots, who run a ritzy hotel in southern California and were on a COMPED ROOM DEAL, meaning that they didn't pay a dime for the room because they let our boss stay at their place, didn't provide a cell phone number because they never signed the agreement because the agreement wasn't presented to them upon check-in because THEY didn't tell anyone they have a little dog because THEY are too important and the dog "never, EVER barks when alone."

The clock ticked away as the little dog barked his heart out in the meeting room near the lobby, where no-one but the night auditor, David, and myself could hear him. I'd occasionally go in and keep him company between duties and, as we approached midnight, I felt a certain hesitance in turning him over to my relief, Michael, but I got off shift at midnight and there was NO WAY I was going to stay around and puppy-sit. So I told Michael why there were barking sounds emanating from our meeting room and what guest room it had all originated from, then suggested that maybe he should pop into the guest room with his pass key and get some of the dog's food, since Mr. and Mrs. Bigshot Hotel People were still out partying the night away after three hours of canine abandonment.

I came back in at 4PM the next day to find an incident report that had been composed by Michael laying on my desk. Mr. and Mrs. Bigshot Hotel People had returned at 12:30AM, just a half hour after I'd departed, and freaked out to find the puppy missing. Michael responded to the front desk area when David the Night Auditor called him to say that Mrs. Bigshot, who was very drunk, was screaming at him. Michael responded and got the dog for her, then tried to get her to sign a pet agreement. "FUCK YOU!" she says. Mr. Bigshot appeared and they BOTH proceed to scream at David the Night Auditor, who is a meek, mild-mannered young man with an uncanny resemblance to Winnie-The-Pooh, and Michael intervened to request that they calm down.

They calmed UP instead, shouting obscenities at both Michael and David, and then Mrs. Bigshot accused David of going into the room and "kidnapping her dog", after "going through the dog's stuff and leaving it a mess."

Let me say for the record that I WAS THE ONE who ~~kidnapped~~ removed the dog from the room, after having only located its leash and leashing it up. The dog itself is probably the one who flung all of its stuff around before I got there, because it was in such a frenzy about having been left ALONE in a strange HOTEL ROOM in the middle of a DESERT while mommy and daddy went out DRINKING and GAMBLING and god knows what else. Oh, and David doesn't have a pass key - only Michael and I do, so that's pretty stupid to accuse him of kidnapping the dog.

As if this all weren't enough, Mr. Bigshot physically threatened Michael. Michael suggested that perhaps he'd had too much to drink, so it'd be better for all involved if he and Mrs. Bigshot just return to the room now with the dog and stay there, lest they all be arrested and evicted - not necessarily in that order.

They complied, but they just had to shout obscenities back at Michael and David as they made their way down the hall - LOUDLY - so much that other guests who'd been sleeping opened their doors to peek out and see what in the hell was going on.

These people run a hotel. I can't tell you which one, as much as I'd like to. But they run a hotel that I'll certainly never stay at. Incidents like this aren't common, but they're not entirely rare either. As a manager-on-duty at night, I've had naked lesbians running down the halls, fights, pot smoking in the stair wells and screaming people in rooms, all of which turn out to be alcohol related.

Now you know why I don't like drunks.

Dog photo by Jim Rafferty

We have a brand spankin' NEW McDonald's!

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 06:14:30 GMT

It just opened in the new shopping center next door and, since it's about a ten minute walk, I decided to go over there the other day and get a couple of fish fillet sandwiches with cheese on them for coffeesister and myself.

That's right, I said CHEESE. On FISH.

Someone was surprised at this while I was at work telling them the story I'm about to tell you, and we got into such an intense debate as to whether or not one should put cheese on fish, I didn't get to finish the story. Well, let me tell you right here and now that I fully intend to FINISH THE STORY this time, so please don't interrupt me with your inane opinion as to whether or not fish fillets should have cheese on them. I hold that when Jesus commanded the loaves and fishes to appear to feed the hungry hoards, that there was cheese there too, but it didn't make it into the story because the apostles were just like you.

So I walked into this brand spankin' new McDonald's hell bent on getting fish fillets with cheese, and the young Latino kid behind the counter greeted me with a beaming smile and enthusiastic salutation.

"Good afternoon sir, and welcome to McDonald's.. what can I get for you today?"

We were off to a good start! I liked his attitude.

"Yeah, hi.. I'll have a couple of fish fillets please, with cheese on both of those.. and one is just going to be tarter sauce and the other is dry.. just fish and cheese."

He looked a bit confused. I thought it was pretty clear, but it turns out that McDonald's is also like the apostles; they don't normally put cheese on fish either, so this threw him. He looked at his register gizmo and hunted for the proper buttons to push to make my dream a reality. It didn't help much that coffeesister hates tarter sauce - she's always been that way, being the pickiest eater this side of Mars. There's probably someone on the other side of Mars who's pickier, but I doubt any earthlings are, which is something I've learned to contend with over the years. Whenever I order for her, it's "none of this or that, but extra whiz and could you add some gunk please? But not too much, and OH.. NO ONIONS! Thanks." I've gotten quite used to it, but we've perplexed many a young person behind many a counter.

This particular young person was still puzzling over his register thing, when I just HAD to go and throw grease on the fire..

"Oh, and a large fries with each of those please."

He looked up at me with a look that said, "You've GOT to be kidding, don't you see I can't get past this cheese thing?" but being the polite yet bamboozled new counter employee that he is, he opted instead to ask me what I'd like to drink with that. I knew what he meant. He meant the McDonald's MEALS, which come with drinks automatically, but we had beer at home we intended to consume with our fish, fries and cheese.

"Oh, NOT the meals.. sorry.. just fries with each of the sandwiches.. I have drinks at home."

This is when he called the manager over. It was all just too overwhelming. He explained to her what I wanted in Spanish, and she seemed to figure out that it was rude to speak Spanish in front of an obvious gringo like me, so she answered him back in English.. "he wants CHEESE on those?"

YES! YES I DO! I want friggin' CHEESE ON MY FISH FILLETS! SO SHOOT ME!

I didn't say this to her, opting to smile instead and say, "yes please, cheese on both.. nothing but fish and cheese on one, and just fish, cheese and tarter sauce on the other.. and fries please."

She found the appropriate buttons, being a manager and all, and then she asked me the magic question, "what drinks would you like with those?"

(sigh)

"No drinks, just the sandwiches and fries please."

She found the appropriate buttons for that too, being a manager and all, and then she told me they'd call my name when it's ready. The Latino kid smiled a weak smile, as if I were the biggest, most demanding asshole he's EVER had to deal with in his whole two days of working there, but dammit he was going to STILL be polite to me.

I bided my time by thumbing through a brochure on the WiFi system in place at the new McDonald's and how it's only three dollars an hour. I'd just decided that I'd probably not be bringing my laptop into the new McDonald's when the kid called me over. His smile was still a bit uncertain as he weakly said, "Dave, your order.. is, uh.. ready.. sir."

I put the brochure back for some other chump to read, and I approached the counter with a BIG SMILE because I knew exactly what I was about to do and what would happen, and I wanted to put the kid at ease during what was sure to be a difficult and demanding process. Basically I didn't want to freak him out too much.. but sometimes that's just unavoidable, you know?

I opened the bag in front of him.. SANDWICHES? Check. FRIES? Check. Then I opened the sandwiches and inspected the contents..

"Okay, so I'll have CHEESE ON THIS, PLEASE.."

I plunked the open faced fish fillet down in front of him, allowing only a tinge of exasperation to creep into my voice.

"AND THIS ONE TOO, PLEASE.."

I plunked the other one down. He looked like I'd just whacked him across the face with a sack full of steaming donkey shit. He called the manager over. I felt like I was being one of those raving lunatic guys who took too much LSD in the seventies and I was spraying spittle through my long bushy beard as I ranted about government spies infiltrating McDonald's and how they're putting meds in my fish sandwiches. At least, they were looking at me like that.

The manager asked me what the problem was.

"No problem. I'm actually quite impressed that there's tarter sauce on one of these and not on the other, and that I don't have drinks - your crew has exceeded my expectations! BUT, could I just please get cheese on them, if you don't mind? If it's not too much trouble? You know, like I asked for several times already?"

She spun around in a huff and plunked the sandwiches down in front of a girl working behind the line.

"Now he wants CHEESE."

"Cheese?"

The girl behind the line looked perplexed. My GOD, did nobody listen to Jesus?

"CHEESE" said the manager, rolling her eyes just a bit.

I got my cheese, and after everything was repackaged I thanked them and bid them a nice day, taking note of the Latino kid's gloomy, defeated expression - he'd given up on me. I was the customer from hell, and stories are now told about me in the break room, but only when the moon is full. The manager has also requisitioned the surveillance video of our transaction for use as a training aid.

This has been a longer post than expected, and I'm getting hungry. I'm headed over there now, for a couple of the deluxe breakfasts with the bacon extra crispy and no hashbrowns, but could they add an extra pancake on one of the orders please? And make one an english muffin and the other wheat toast but grape jelly - no strawberry because she's allergic to it.

Thanks.

NOW, just out of curiosity..

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A total eclipse of SANITY

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 03:09:43 GMT

SOME PEOPLE just need to.. uh.. umm.. erm..

I've really tried..

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 02:58:40 GMT

..to get into the various social networking sites..really, I have. But they're just so darned.. social.. without really being social, you know what I mean? Take BLOG CATALOG for example.. I signed up last year and put this little widget in my sidebar that tells me when other blog catalog members come by for a visit.. most of the time. I've had friends who I know for a FACT are on Blog Catalog, and they'll leave a blog comment and not show up in the widget, prompting me to say, "Hey, why didn't you show up in my widget?" and they'll reply, "Hey, it's because I wasn't signed into Blog Catalog at the time.. not that I'm EVER going to sign in, because I really don't use it that much."

My thoughts exactly.

But you'd think that a person who goes around adding a lot of people as friends on Blog Catalog would be sure to be signed in when they do, yet I get added all the time and I'll go check my sidebar widget and.. NOPE.. they didn't show up. So this means they either weren't signed in (very unlikely) or they're just adding friends willy nilly all over the place so they can have a zillion friends on there who they never talk to and who's blogs they never visit (extremely likely).

I don't think I care for that kind of "socialization".

Let's say I'm lonely. I'm really not, because I have coffeesister and shadowsillybutt, who is a kitty, but just for the sake of argument let's say I AM lonely, so I go out to some social function where I can meet ~~HOT BABES~~ people. I get there, and the room is simply CHOCK FULL of people, all mingling around, shaking hands and conversing. LOVELY! I'm going to get to meet LOTS of people! So, I do just that.. I go from one person to another, walking right up to them and grasping their hands firmly as I look them right in the eyes and say, "HI! MY NAME IS RHODESTER!" Then I quickly move on to the next person, and the next.. and the next..

When I get home later that night I write in my diary, "Met lots of people."

This is kind of how I feel about Blog Catalog.

So today, in a desperate bid to practice being social, I thought I'd actually choose one amongst the minions who add me as a friend in Blog Catalog without actually visiting my blog, and check that particular person out. I decided to focus on the first notification to pop into my email, and it happened to be this guy..

Hello! Grahito is now following you on Blog Catalog! Click here to view Grahito's profile.

I did that, and found out two things about Grahito.. he's either 9 years old, or English is not his first language. I think it's the latter, because he has a happy tagline that he uses to tell you something about himself and "his country." Grahito's happy tagline reads..

My Country have many problem now, hope that this problem will over in the near future. Economic Crisis, Bomb, Eart Quake, Tsunami, flood, mud-flood and many others. God help us to stop this!

"Well", I thought, "this should certainly prove to be interesting! Especially the Eart Quakes and flood. Not to mention the mud-flood, which is different than your ordinary, run of the mill garden variety flood, no doubt because of all the mud involved."

I thought all that, and then I saw the blogs he has available. That's right.. B-L-O-G-ZZZZ, because he has THREE, and good news! ...they're all in ENGLISH!

This was a hopeful sign to me, because I was determined to not only become familiar with some NEW blogs, but to get an education. I hoped like heck that the first blog would be ABOUT something.

GOOD NEWS! The first blog focuses on a very special topic..

Adhesive Formula

http://adhesive-formula.blogspot.com

"This blog just collect the adhesive formulation and the tecnology use to build the certain adhesive."

Cool, huh? And sticky! HAR HAR HAR! I can't even begin to tell you how exciting it is to add a blog about adhesive to my Google Reader.. I would put it right next to "Fruit Species", which shows you a different picture of a piece of dissected fruit each day, but that's just too much excitement.

On to Grahito's next blog..

Animals World

http://animals-world-07.blogspot.com

"Find many animals and their behavior here."

I was just wondering about the mating practices of the South American Koala Chimp.. I hope it's in there.

Finally, there's the last and third blog..

Indonesian Food and Forage

http://Indonesian-Food-Forage.blogspot.com

"This blog describe about many plant history and special used for, Indonesian food and forage source and others about plant."

I am so very, very depressed now, and you know why? Because I have a hard time posting daily to a nonsensical "humor" blog and here's Grahito, posting to not one, but THREE blogs about Indonesian food sources, Koala Monkey Sex and the bonding strength of adhesive #32 DESPITE a constant barrage of Tsunamis, floods AND mud-floods, not to mention Eart Quakes.

I should be totally and wholly ASHAMED of myself.

And you know what? I am! I'm SO ashamed, that I'm going straight to Blog Catalog now to turn OFF those notifications, because it's just too painful.

In more ways than one.

RhodesTer's Rendezvous

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 10:40:34 GMT

I've done several impromptu live webcam chats on Stickam.com and, so far, I've had a good time with it. So much, actually, that I've decided to hold an "official" one this evening at seven. So that's 7:00pm California time Friday 6/13.

There you go - plenty of notice, AND you don't have to sign up on Stickam to join in. Just go HERE and when the chat window pops up, click on "enter chat".

It may prompt you for a name (if you're not a Stickam member), so just make one up and jump in.

OH! And, you DON'T need to have a webcam of your own to do this. It's just a chatroom, and you can enable your webcam if you want to, or not.. if you have one, it won't automatically engage when you go into the room.. you'd have to activate it. So if you don't want to, that's fine by me.

Okay then.

Video ChaT

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 05:34:26 GMT

Coffeesister went and got me one of those webcam thingys for my birthday. So I hooked it up and promptly signed up on this video streaming thingy called Stickam. The neat part about Stickam is that you don't have to be a member to chat with me, and you don't need to have a cam yourself. If you see that I'm "live", you just click on the picture and join in the fun. It may ask you to enter a name for the chat.. you can put your own, someone else's or something you've totally made up.

Put "Francois".. I've never talked to a "Francois."

I figure I'll do this once or twice a week. Possibly more to begin with, because right now it's shiny and new.

I'm going to try to schedule a chat today for 2:00pm Pacific Time. I may not make it.. I have to be at work by 4:00pm, and there are things to do before that - but I'll try. If you want to visit, then figure out what time it will be where you are in relation to 2:00pm in California. It's basic math. Even I can do it, and I suck at math.

See the module below? No? Then come to the BLOG, you news or email reader!

Okay, see the module below? That's my video chat. If it's just a silly picture of me, I'm not on there. If it's streaming live video of me, and it says "live" up in the corner, then click it and come say hi. You won't need to sign up on anything or use your cam. I'm just cool that way.

PS.. I don't know WHY they call it "Stickam".. but it's groovy.

I had a good birthday, thank you very much..

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 01:19:27 GMT

..but I had to throw away the icky chocolate cake the waiter brought. It was nice of him, but embarrassing.. he brought cake and sang the Coco's equivalent to "Happy Birthday" really loud - loud enough so that a table of men having some kind of meeting nearby joined in - and they tried to sing it too, but didn't know the words because it wasn't actually "Happy Birthday". This is because that song is copyrighted, and some lucky bastard (or bastardette) somewhere still gets royalties whenever it's played, printed or sung. This is why Coco's wont use it, because they don't want to get sued by some lucky bastard or bastardette, and they definitely don't want to have to notate each time one of their staff sings it to a patron somewhere throughout the entire chain, and then send a monthly payment in.

I can't say I blame them.

So they made up this alternative song, and I can't remember the words exactly, mainly due to the men at the next table trying to make up their own words as it went along, but it included something about "the Coco's crew" and "we wish YOU" and "birthday TOO"..

..really good stuff.

But, as clever as that is, I wish they'd find a different chocolate cake supplier, because I think this one lets motor oil drip into the batter when he's not looking. I asked the waiter to box it up, explaining that I was WAY TOO FULL to even try to venture into something this rich and delicious right now, so he did. Then I threw the little Styrofoam box of chocolate cake into the dumpster outside, hoping like hell a bum wouldn't dig it out and eat it. I'd hate to be responsible for the death of an innocent bum.

I also hated the thought of telling the waiter the cake basically tasted like Michael Jordan's underwear right after a game, and NO I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT WOULD TASTE LIKE BUT I HAVE IMAGINATION OKAY? I mean, he brought it with a little candle in it (thank you for thinking I'm younger than I really am, mister waiter, but ONE? I'm a little older than ONE) and it was free and he sang a weird song and a whole table full of guys sang a slightly altered version of the same song and damn, the whole thing was just.. SO.. TOUCHING!

But I didn't cry. I came close, but I didn't cry at all.

And yes, it was COCO's.. that's because it's right out in front of our place, next to the dumpster with a piece of icky chocolate cake in it and an innocent bum camped out nearby, and we don't have a car or anything right now to go to a BETTER restaurant.

But I don't mind at all. It's the company that counts.

Sunday (evening) Snapshots

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 18:34:14 GMT

Word Pictures From The Week

The lady at The Coffee Bean laughed at my joke when I ordered a "Synonym Roll", and asked her if there was another word to describe it.

I TweeTed that a little while ago, and someone suggested I put it in a contest. WHOO-BOY! I hope I win one of THESE !

The Palm Springs Police Officer stood beside me and watched with mild amusement as we found the spot on the surveillance video where the two tweakers cut the lock on a hotel golf cart and made off with it last night.

It was on my watch, too.. fuckers. I hope he catches them, or at least we get the cart back in one piece.

That same cop offered to sell me a Honda 450cc Nighthawk for $400.00, which I could really use because this whole riding a bicycle thing back and forth to work is getting kind of old. I contemplated it as he sipped the coffee I gave him, and then we continued to watch tweakers steal golf carts. I told him I'd let him know by Tuesday, so on Wednesday I'll let YOU know. Don't look for a post on THURSDAY though.. I'll be in the wind.

Call me the BREEZE.

A month ago today, GEORGE POZOS was shot to death.

His father, George Sr., has since returned to work as a room service waiter, and this morning he reminded me of the date. His sadness permeates his being, even though he tries vainly to be happy as he goes about his business.

I stopped him cold. I looked him in the eye, as I grasped his arm. I told him that I know it's hard to go on and just serve breakfast to happy people, pretending like nothing happened when he's around them because they're guests, and they're here to enjoy themselves.

I told him that I understood. I also told him that if George were to stand beside him, and if he were to be the one clasping his arm instead of me, then he'd surely look him in the eye and say, "Papa, you must go on - you must serve these people and make sure they're happy because that's your job - and you must not be unhappy yourself, because you and I will see one another again someday, then I will serve you breakfast and we'll laugh together and look forward to our eternity."

It must have been effective, because his eyes glistened with tears as he thanked me.

He's a good man, and he didn't deserve this.

No, he didn't at all.

Okay, everyone take this POLL..

Quizzes by Quibblo.com

I hope you like this, because I've started putting a poll in the sidebar and it'll change every week. If it doesn't show up, just turn around, spit, count to seven and then.. refresh your browser.

I've had fun being an 18 year old girl this week.
It's not over yet, either..
not by a long shot.

Tomorrow's my BIRTHDAY. I'll be approximately 22. I don't think I'll blog, because you're only supposed to have fun on your birthday and to me, blogging is like inseminating cows with my tongue.. in the dark.. during a thunderstorm that scares the cows so they keep moving and kicking me.. and I'm drunk.. and so are the cows..

Naw, seriously.. I'll probably blog. If only because all I have is a bicycle, so coffeesister and I have nowhere to go. Maybe I can rip it apart and give her one of the wheels, then I can keep the other wheel, and we can ride downtown on our unicycles. We could be mimes or something. We'll make balloon animals for all of the kids in downtown Palm Springs - all four of them - and we'll make interesting animals like weasels and Tasmanian Devils, which take more balloons but it's worth it when you see that toothless grin, just before you realize it's not a three-year-old but rather, the 92 year old homeless midget guy.

You give him the weasel anyway, because you're just cool like that.

photo by berlintape

Until next weekend..

A note for return visitors..

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 02:38:29 GMT

..if you happen to be one, as opposed to a first time visitor, and you're seeing my regular blog layout but it looks kind of askew, that's because you're a WINDOWS USER and it's loading from your cache. Because, you see, I have a different template now - a simpler one - and you need to refresh to see it.

To reload your cache if you're a WINDOWS USER, hit control + R at the same time, and it should reload the new layout from the server instead of your cache.

If you're a MAC USER, congratulations! You don't have to do all that stuff - you're seeing it as it should be.

Now, before you regulars go yelling at me in my comments, telling me how much you liked the other one better, let me just say this..

..tough titties.

The name around here is changing from The Chronicles of RhodesTer to The RhodesTer Chronicles, just because I want it to, AND.. the new template hasn't arrived yet.

This is a temporary change for legal reasons.

So there.

The new one will be along any month now, and it'll be better than ice cream, puppies or even sex.

Well, okay.. ice cream and puppies.

SIDSE

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 07:37:41 GMT

Okay, RhodesTer readers, here's a little something to get you through the weekend. A nice little piece of fiction and a prelude, rolled into one.

James and Harry, the boys over at MEN WITH PENS, have started up a new RPG website called Escaping Reality. It's a nice way for writers to flex a little creative muscle, and interact with other writers in a fictional place setting. As a prerequisite for entering, they required that a character synopsis be written up and sent to them, so I did just that.

There's a little clause in the terms of service that states all materials posted on the boards at Escaping Reality belong to the game, and can't be used elsewhere. But, since this story was only used to gain entry, it's not posted there and has only been seen by the administrators, the aforementioned James and Harry. So, with permission from them I'm presenting it here - and afterward you can follow the link to Escaping Reality to get what Paul Harvey would call, "The REST of the Story".

It's a bit long for a blog entry, AND it deviates from the usual RhodesTer silliness, being an exercise in creative fiction writing. But as I said, it's to get you through the weekend - take all the time you need.

Readers are more than welcome to follow-up at the link below, after this piece. The storyboards at Escaping Reality are public, and if you want to submit a character you may still be able to do so - ask the guys by finding the contact link on the front page once you're there.

Okay then, here we go..

Born just over 18 years ago in the heart of Denmark, Sidse never knew her mother, who'd been lost in child birth. Her father, Sjaak, has run a bakery for many years on one of the busiest streets in the city, where Sidse has helped out since she was a small child. At first, when she was quite young, her father would just let her have her pick of any of the tasty treats after she'd swept the floor inside and sidewalk out front, but once she was old enough to demonstrate some responsibility when it came to handling money, he paid her a small allowance for her efforts. At 12, she was running the counter and pouring coffee for customers, many of whom she knew and loved very much. She was added to the payroll around this time, and enjoyed the freedom money in her pocket gave her. When not at the bakery she'd be at the music store, picking out the latest bands and having Sebastiaan set the CDs aside for her next payday.

Her mother had been an artist who'd rented the loft above the bakery. She'd come down on a break from her artistic labors and enjoy some of Sjaak's famous Dutch apple coffee cake with a Dutch eggnogg called advocaat. It didn't take long for Sjaak to start planning his breaks to coincide with hers, and after they married, they lived there together until Sidse had been born and her mother had been whisked away into the afterlife. Sidse continued to live there with her father, haunted by her mother's dark paintings. She'd stare at them for hours, trying to find meaning, but her efforts were futile. She knew that her mother had been saying something, but she wasn't old enough to grasp it.

One overcast day, things began to change for her.

Photo by Nicolai Kjærgaard

She was 17 years old and looking forward to her upcoming 18th birthday, when the blissful naïveté that she'd been cloaked in was suddenly and madly ripped away in a moment. While passing through an alley after her shift at the bakery, a man grabbed her from behind, and thrusting her to the side of some trash bins, proceeded to tear at her clothing. She fought him, but was no match for his hulking frame. He smelled faintly of stale wine and cigar smoke; a smell she swore she'd experienced before, and often, but she couldn't place it. She tried to scream but his large hand was clasped firmly over her mouth, and she could feel a bulge pressing into her back as he grasped her tightly. Terrified, she didn't notice the cat at first.

Photo by fazen

It jumped from a second floor fire escape onto the man's back and dug its claws in, emanating a waling sound that frightened the man out of his wits. As he reached around to tear the screaming feline from his trench coat, Sidse broke for freedom and ran harder than she'd ever done towards the music store and the safety and refuge that Sebastiaan would offer. Glancing back, she only saw the man as a dark, hulking figure hunched over with the cat still on his back as they spun around in a frenzied dance. She would have thought it an almost comical sight, except that the cat reminded her of one of her mother's paintings. It was her favorite one, depicting a black cat on a fire escape sitting next to a pot of geraniums. This cat looked exactly like that one, with its tuft of white fur running along its right leg and onto its back. As she turned the corner, she heard a flower pot crash to the ground.

Breathlessly, and in tears, she told Sebastiaan everything. He calmed her down with tea and assured her that it would be alright, that nothing had happened to her. He encouraged her to tell the police and her father but she couldn't imagine doing either. She wondered why she was even telling Sebastiaan, but he'd been a kind and understanding friend. He always saved those CDs for her when he could have very well sold them to other customers and sometimes, if the owner of the store came in, he'd get in trouble for letting her linger too long without buying anything. But he never, ever made her leave.

When he realized that getting her to tell the police or her father about this was a futile effort, he did the next best thing that he could think of - he reached behind the counter and presented a small butterfly knife to her. It was silver with a skull embedded on the handle. Small amethysts were set into the eyes of the skull and she gasped at its beauty. It was a remarkable thing. Sebastiaan spent the next hour showing her how to use it. She could carry it in her sleeve to have ready at a moment's notice, since she wore long sleeves anyway. He'd seldom seen her in anything the least bit frilly or feminine. She'd grown up with her father, and her clothing tended to be more toward the masculine with a hint of color thrown in, such as a blood red or moss green. Black boots laced up over her calves readily complemented a red and black dress with Victorian lace or a pair of torn jeans.

She'd kept boys as friends, never girls.. she didn't understand them. Not many boys, really, and only Sebastiaan knew her very well at all. He knew she'd pick up on the knife techniques quickly and she did. She thanked him with a kiss on the cheek as she left the store with her new treasure and comfort tucked up under her sleeve. The kiss had surprised them both and she smiled, albeit ever so slightly, for the first time since the encounter in the alley. It was getting late and her father would start to worry, so she dashed home with new confidence.

On the day of her 18th birthday, her father insisted that she take the day off but she'd have none of it. She loved being at the bakery and visiting with her customers, and she looked forward to seeing Sebastiaan at the music store later on. She argued that she should be allowed to do what she loved on her birthday and, if being in the bakery was it, then why shouldn't she? Sjaak acquiesced with a smile and returned to work in the back, letting her have the run of the counter on a busy day.

She'd been at it for nearly two hours and the place was quite busy. She was getting a couple of pastries for Mrs. Dirckse when a whiff of cigar smoke and stale wine caused her to look up with a start. His eyes were on fire with evil and his grin betrayed three missing teeth. Stubble vainly attempted to hide his pockmarked face and he wore a torn, dirty trenchcoat. She remembered him in that moment, and how he used to come into the bakery when she was younger. She'd be sweeping and he'd watch her, never buying anything but going unnoticed by her father in the bustle of the morning rush for coffee and pastries. She'd always felt very uneasy around him and was glad when he stopped coming in a few years ago.

Photo by Lycid

He spoke to her as if his words had been burning inside of him for a long, long time. "I've missed you, my little shopkeeper." A hush fell on the customers standing nearby and they turned to watch as Sidse nervously asked him what he wanted. "I don't want a silly pastry.. I want a silly girl.. and now that the cat is dead, who's going to protect you, huh?" He looked around at the other customers, all of them ladies with the exception of old Mr. Dirckse who was sitting in the far corner awaiting his wife's return with their afternoon treat. He was blissfully unaware of the danger confronting Sidse, but it was moot anyway - Mr. Dirckse was eighty if he was day - a frail old man.

Sidse started to yell for her father, but remembered that only a few moments ago he'd popped his head in to announce he was running down to get some more milk, and that the shop was hers for a while. She realized the man had been waiting for this moment, having sat off to the side unnoticed, just as he'd always done. He reached for her, but she ducked and evaded his grasp. A woman unknown to Sidse shouted at him to leave her alone and the man grasped the poor woman firmly around the neck, shoving her head into the glass counter. Glass shattered and blood sprayed all over freshly baked scones. Sidse had intended to dash out of the shop, thinking the man only wanted her and would leave the customers alone as he gave chase, but she couldn't let him do this to the woman, so she stood up and out came the butterfly knife - she thrust it hard into his left eye and, twisting violently, she yelled something in a strange language. As the man dropped to the floor, the shop erupted into a cacophony of screams and confusion. Sidse left the man writhing in agony in front of the counter and bolted for the door.

She ran through the same alley where the assault had taken place a few days before, glancing with irony at the broken pot of geraniums she nimbly jumped over on her way to the music store. Sebastiaan was so taken aback by her appearance, he locked the door and pulled the shades, grasping her in his arms while trying to make sense of her sobbing. It was some time before she could say anything to him about it, and she was midway through the story when the phone rang. Sebastiaan picked it up to hear a worried voice on the other end ask a frantic question, "Yes, hello.. my name is Sjaak Schuyler, and I know my daughter Sidse visits your store fairly often.. is she there at the moment? Please, it's very urgent." Sebastiaan covered the mouthpiece with his hand and whispered to Sidse, "your father." She adamantly shook her head. "NO! Please don't tell him I'm here! I can't face him right now."

Sebastiaan reluctantly lied to Sjaak, explaining that Sidse hadn't been in but, if she did come in, he'd certainly tell her to call. He hung up the phone and told her with a great deal of dread, "The police are looking for you, Sidse..

..the man is dead."

She paced back and forth, anxious to run, anxious to hide. Sebastiaan tried to reassure her that it'd been in self-defense and that she had nothing to worry about, if she'd just go back and tell them what happened. But there was no convincing her, which didn't surprise him in the least. When she had her mind made up, nobody could change it for her, not even him. She spoke to Sebastiaan of the shame that would befall her father, self-defense or not, and how she'd never be able to set foot in the bakery again. He listened intently before reaching down and opening the store safe. Sidse watched in wonder, her large blue eyes glowing with a mix of fear and excitement as Sebastiaan placed stacks of money on the counter in front of him.

"Take it, Sidse. Take it and go. Run far and stay away, if that's what you must do. I'll tell the owner we were robbed. I'll use the description of the man you.. you killed.. he won't have the money on him so they'll never find it, but how would I know what he looked like unless he came in here? I'll tell them he came in about an hour before he came into your father's bakery. It'll work, but you must take the money and go, as far as you can and as fast as you can."

This time it wasn't a kiss on the cheek, it was a kiss on the lips and they both knew what it meant.

It meant they'd never see each other again and, as such, it lingered. Sidse brushed back a tear which would be the last one for a long, long time. "I'll never forget you, Sebastiaan." He opened the door for her and glanced out first, to make sure the street was free of any police patrols. Then he looked at her. "I'll always love you, Sidse. I always have, and I always will."

He watched as she darted into the street and ducked under the lamp into the alley, her butterfly knife fitted firmly in her sleeve and wads of cash lining her jacket, pants and boots. She stopped just long enough to look back at him, and he smiled, not knowing that her mother had painted a picture of Sidse that happened to be Sjaak's favorite one - it shows a dark-haired young girl in black, standing under a street lamp at night, blowing a kiss to someone unseen.

She slipped into the dark and her adventure began.

Where does Sidse show up next?
GO HERE for the rest of the story.

The Angry Mexican Finger Dance

daverhodester@gmail.com (Rhodester) — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 00:18:58 GMT

I used to drive, but I don't anymore because I don't have a car. I sold it to a greasy man for a thousand bucks, which I used last year to pay rent while I was "between jobs". That's not a fun place to be, that "between jobs", because you end up with one behind you that's fading into the distance and one ahead of you and you have no idea how close it is, or how far. You live day to day with the hope that you won't have to become intimately familiar with that dumpster behind Starbucks, feeding on day old stale coffee cake.

We narrowly avoided that scenario, which is good because as much as I like coffee cake, I like it fresh and served in such a way that I don't have to wipe coffee grounds off of it before consuming.

We've narrowly avoided a lot of things lately, and having to buy gas is one of them. This can be beneficial at times, except when I'm trying to catch the last bus to downtown on a work night. I swear those drivers RACE through their shifts because they're anxious to finish, and they blow through the stops ahead of the scheduled time. On several occasions I've approached the bus stop before the designated time only to see a speeding bus go whizzing by, leaving me standing there holding my frustration with both hands, because it suddenly grew so IMMENSE.

I thought I'd be smart and get out there earlier the other night, but sure enough as I approached the stop, here he came.. barreling down the street like he'd been shot through the head and someone threw a brick on the throttle to cause the bus to plow full speed into the rear of a car being driven by the intended victim, a mob informant on his way to meet with FBI Agents and give up the whole crew in exchange for witness protection. Seriously, you just don't fuck with those mob guys or turn on them, you know?

So, here's this bus driver, very much alive, yet driving like that brick is on the throttle and I have to go running out towards the bus shouting, "HEY" as loud as I can. He hears me and jams on the brakes, causing the lumbering diesel beast to grind to a halt a good 30 feet down from the stop, and I run up to the door breathlessly and very glad I made it, because I had to get to work and this was the last ~~Formula One Race Car~~ bus to go downtown for the night.

The doors whooshed open and I bounded aboard, to meet with a finger pointed at me. Behind the finger was a Latino man with a bushy mustache, wearing a bus driver's shirt and sitting behind the wheel, and boy, could he shout! He shouted, "Don't you look at me like that! Don't you DARE look at ME like that!!" "Like what?" I asked, while trying to move the finger gently aside so I could put my dollar into the dollar eater. "Like THAT!" he screamed, "Like it's MY FAULT you not here on time!"

I looked around for those mobsters and secretly hoped they'd board the bus to do the dirty deed right about now. Except I'd probably get plugged to, being a witness and all, so I dismissed the notion and confronted the finger, which was still pointing and shaking in time with the yelling. It was sort of a choreographed angry finger dance, with harsh lyrics sung very loudly with a Spanish accent so thick you could pour it over an enchilada.

I mumbled "I just wanted to thank you for stopping", and then proceeded to the rear of the bus, where I sat in solitude and listened to him grumble to the woman up front about "dese damned people who wait until last minute and then stand in the dark and don't try to have mee see dem because they want to make it hard for mee and I didn't do anything wrong you know? because ees not my fault! hee is not dere on time yet makes mee slam the brakes and cause thee bus to stop so fast thee damn people who do dat!!"

Does anyone have a cheap used car they'd like to sell for almost nothing? Or a skateboard?