Monday, March 31, 2008

August 17th, 1996

We ran, like bandits...the perfect crime...all this candy and the best part was, that it was free.

My friend and I would often walk to a nearby airport. There was an entrance in the back into a parking lot. Before you reach that parking lot, you pass by office buildings and warehouses. Salt dunes and gravel pits. A dock with police boats. This was my backyard. Not, fields or forests. A place, and then a time, where one can walk past the "do not enter" sign, without any fear of repercussions. For during that time, there was plenty of undiscovered territory in the eyes of a 12-year old.

On one of the many trips through the "backyard," we decided to be spontaneous. Sometimes, I think a little spontaneity is good in your life, healthy even. So we were passing by the usual dilapidated hanger when the bay door felt a little more inviting that particular day. Perhaps it was because the usual route that we took started to become too repetitive. Whatever it was, we decided to just peek through.

-man talk about a typical intro to a horror movie. my friend and i should have died

The hanger hid five small propeller planes; their surface reflected hypnotically over the fluorescent lighting. This was not a good sign. The reflection was actually bird crap and by the amount, it did not bode well for the person in charge of cleaning it up. But like troopers, we drudged on through.

We kept on walking; so did the fear of someone catching us. It walked beside us during that adventure, but I guess it was because I wasn't alone, that I wanted to keep on moving. Knowing that a friend is by your side is a big thing for a kid. It almost seems that we forget about the old friends that were by our sides as we get older.

The hanger was connected to an office. The key lime green hallways contained the wooden doors that lead to tiny little work stations. The plastic plant in the corner stood there like a feng shui reject. This place was beginning to look...boring. I suppose it was time to head back. I glanced at the desk, as we moved along, and saw that someone was reading PhotoPC magazine. Interesting, I wonder where that person is now?

As we headed towards the exit on the other side of the office, we saw a vending machine. The sweets that lay inside called to us like drugs. Chocolate, gummi bears, Oreos. Don't parents understand that these are essential for a kid to survive. But something was wrong. There was glass on the floor, by the machine. Oh my god! Someone broke the glass and ran off with some candy. We froze. We just stumbled across a robbery that went wrong. "Vendi" fought hard to keep all the goods to herself, but unfortunately she wasn't strong enough. My friend reached inside and started cramming the remaining sweets into his pockets. I...joined him. The Twix chocolate bar shined like a brick of gold, and I bet it would have tasted better too.

"Don't get greedy. Dude! Let's go. Come on...what was that sound? Oh shit, runnn!!"

We started to sprint through the hallways and down the stairs. And although it sounded like there was something dark coming towards us, it was nothing but our fear...or a mouse decided to get in on some the action. My memory is a little vague about that part.

When we got the safe house, we decided it would be best to destroy the evidence. It was time to eat. I bit into the chocolaty, caramel goodness but the flavor was off. "Twax?" "Made it Peru?" What kind of over the border food was this? My friends gummi bears turned out to be Japanese men dressed in panda suits, or more commonly known as, "Manda Men." In 1989 the Japanese nation tried to unleash this cultural wave upon the American people. Their failure allowed them to comeback with, Pokemon. True story.

I want to say the morale of the story is that you should always look before you steal. I think the saying goes something like, "If you steal before you look, then you're probably a crook. If you look before you rob, then you must have done your job." Or something like that. I'm not a quotationist. You know...the person who studies quotations...*

After typing this little number up, I realized that for a photo blog, I have few photos on it. Lets make that change. For the next blog, I will take requests. Throw a word at me, any word. And I will do my best at capturing that word as a photograph.

*Disclaimer: Please note that certain parts of the story have been changed for creative reasons. I could tell you which parts and how they were changed but then the story would become less entertaining. No, the friend in the story was not imaginary.

No ponies were harmed in the writing of this story.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

So I Turned 24....

So I Turned 24…

“Nurse!” yelled the doctor as he stood their sweating; his hands shaking. He had asked her to retrieve something very crucial otherwise; one of his patients might not make it. “What was I thinking?” he muttered in to himself. He couldn’t let the patient know that he was starting to get nervous. The trembling hand, holding the needle, inched closer and closer, when all of sudden, the nurse burst through the door holding a bottle of Russia’s best, 40 80 Proof Vladimir Vodka. Everything was going to be ok.

The doctor took three swigs and preceded with the delivery. He poured a shot for the mother-to-be. She was getting a little cranky and needed something to calm her down. The father-to-be came prepared. He drank in the car while he was driving them to the hospital. The nurse took a baby bottle with warm milk and began to mix it, drop by drop with the vodka. This baby was going to be thirsty when he would come out of the womb.

This common misconception of a how Russian’s give birth is a false. The hospitals can’t afford to use real milk, so they use powdered milk instead.

Twenty four years later the baby is now writing this blog. He, of course, is no longer a baby, but he has yet to earn the title of being called a man. In Russia he would have wrestled a bear when he was 14. It was hard to find a bear to wrestle in America. My parents took me to the circus, after a failed attempt at the zoo, but things didn’t go as planned there either. Police were involved, but by the time they got there, I had only managed wrestle with the bear for a mere 11 minutes and 32 seconds, instead of the full hour and half that was needed. The bear came out alive, but not unscathed. He hobbled away with a broken paw and a chipped tooth. Embarrassed by the entire situation he now sells medical insurance in Madison, Wisconsin.

Life is too short and I need to start completing my goals. Mark my words, by the time I turn 25, I will have wrestled a bear.