:: *shrug* eh, wutever ::

:: Monday, May 03, 2004 ::

:: What the...? ::

I was sitting in a Chinese restaurant the other day when a woman walks in to place a take out order. Shortly after placing her order with the hostess, she blurts out, "Oh, and can you make that with no MSG, no salt, and no oil?"

No MSG. No salt. No oil. At a Chinese restaurant. Call me crazy, but I don't think she wanted Chinese food at all. I think she wanted a salad.


:: Alden 10:14 AM [+] ::
...

:: An Impassioned Plea ::



Not to start off on a negative note or anything, but people make me sick. Actually, let me amend that; people who dole out unsolicited advice in the form of glib passages that, to them, seem to impart a form of celestial wisdom otherwise unseen and unheard of on this mortal plane make me physically ill.

First off, no one was asking you. I couldn't care less about your personal philosophy on life. I don't care how carefully constructed your analogies are. I don't care how deep you think your pithy remarks sound. Bottom line: you're an ass. You're as ass because you like hearing yourself talk, and no one else does. Unless your name is Dr. Phil, I don't recall anyone clamoring for one of your ten-second sound bytes on the meaning of life.

Secondly, what the hell makes you an authority on anything? Can you answer that? Can you? I didn't think so. Is your name Confucius? Buddha? Albert Einstein? Uh, no. Is there a lofty title attached to your name? Doctor? Sir? Guru? Superman? Again, no. You're about as qualified in giving advice as I am in astrophysics, which is precious little. There's a reason for why I don't give lectures on the physical properties of neutron stars. It's because I don't know a damn thing about them. Do you see where I'm going with this? Of course you don't. You're an ass.

Thirdly, advice should be well thought out and tailored to the individual who you're boring to death. A half-assed blurb won't cut it. Maxims don't cut it. Think things through and THEN commit yourself to spewing your bullshit. And for the love of God, have the decency to use good grammar. Oh, and should that advice take the form of the written word, for fuck's sake, use the damned spell checker. I hate seeing the word ridiculous spelled with an 'e.' It angers me.

And a few other things...

You're = you are. Not your.

They're = they are. Not there. Not their.

Please, please, please just stop.
:: Alden 11:21 AM [+] ::
...

Ok, to tell you the truth, I'm pretty goddamn bored with Random Memory #4. I'm sure you are too.

So, to speed things up and hopefully get to my next random memory (apparently, the only things being written on this blog), here's a brief synopsis. Enjoy.

After nightfall, we:

1. Dodged more trains. Once again, fuck you, Amtrak.


2. Attempted to hitch a ride on a freight train hobo-style. (No, Andy.)


3. Walked along more ditches.


4. Were chased by angry dogs.


5. Stopped to play with said angry dogs. At least Andy did; I wanted to escape a potential mauling.


6. Trudged for miles in the dark with nothing to guide us except the distant lights of a gas station.


7. Stumbled into an AM/PM and were greeted by a greasy guy with a mullet.


8. Attempted to call for help, despite the fact that we hadn't memorized anyone's phone number.


9. Finally remembered Tammy's phone number.


10. Were rescued by Tammy. Thank you, Tammy.

More later.

--your friendly neighborhood Alden
:: Alden 9:02 AM [+] ::
...

Random Memory #4: Part Seven - "Trainspotting"



By the time we reached the train tracks, it was already around 6:30 or 7:00 in the evening. It was still light out, making it much easier to, you know... see stuff. Which is a good thing.

I don't know how many of you have had the chance to walk along train tracks, and thus having shared my experience, concur with my opinion that it really just plain sucks. Train tracks, if you didn't already know, are slabs of wood spaced just far enough apart so as to make walking on them a challenge. Should you fail in your footing from one wooden tie to another, your foot would land rather painfully in a bed of broken rocks, sharp and definitely unforgiving.

Oh yeah, and apparently trains make frequent use of these things.

But Andy and I, being the resourceful individuals that we are, came up with a system to solve this potentially messy problem.

"Ok, dude. You look out ahead, and I'll keep turning around to see if there's one behind us. If there is, we'll just jump in the ditch."

Perfect. Those crafty trains couldn't possibly sneak up on us now.

Our warning system was tested early on. If I remember correctly, it was my turn to keep forward watch. Andy, trailing a few feet behind me, turned around every couple of minutes to make sure a freight train wasn't headed our way. Everything was going well, with us making good time and me worrying over how many empty shotgun shells were littering the tracks. You'd be surprised at the wide assortment of colors offered as shotgun shells. Basic red, green, yellow, orange... well, that's it, really.

"Shit, train."

It was an Amtrak train, and it was approaching fast, train whistle blaring. We had only a few moments to move aside before it reached out position. We didn't know it at the time, but for the next few hours, Amtrak would become our nemesis. Fuck you, Amtrak.

"Shit, train."

Time and time again, we'd dodge trains. Amtrak trains, Union Pacific, Amtrak, hobos, Amtrak again... And each time, Andy and I wound up sitting in a ditch until danger passed.

Unfortunately for us, the sun dipped lower in the sky and the light was fading fast. Soon, it was pitch black save for the stars.

--your friendly neighborhood Alden
:: Alden 9:47 AM [+] ::
...

Random Memory #4: Part Six – “No, Andy.”

With the church way behind us, and deep in the California countryside, Andy and I finally conceded the inescapable fact that we were, to be quite honest, lost.

“We’re not lost, dude.”

Yes we were.

For some obscure reason, we had decided that the fastest way home would be to follow the train tracks. After all, they did run past our apartment. We’d be home in no time.

As you may or may not have noticed there’s a central theme running throughout this story: that Andy and I tend to be wrong. Frequently.

This new ETA was no exception.

Although following the train tracks was, I'll admit, a good idea, we had not counted on the fact that the tracks lay many, many miles from I-80, whose length we had attempted to follow earlier.

Striking off from the road, we walked along a shallow irrigation canal, its waters sluggish and muddy. Twigs and small branches looped lazily in the brown water as bits of feathers and other detritus floated past. To me, the ditch looked like an open sewer. To Andy, however, the ditch looked like a navigable water way and a source of pure, clean drinking water. “I’m going to take a drink.”

No, Andy.

Bear in mind that this decision to sample the germ-infested soup along whose length we were now trudging was coming from a biology major. After much arguing over the bacterial content of the water in question, Andy decided that momentarily alleviating his thirst was not worth a raging, gut-twisting bout of giardia. Many years later, however, this would not be the case. But I digress.

“If we’re not going to drink the water, then at least we can use it to get to the train tracks faster.” Picking up a broken branch, Andy mimicked a paddling motion.

No, Andy.

“Dude, it’s FASTER.”

No, Andy.

“Goddamnit.”

Now, resigned to utilizing terrestrial means of transportation, we attempted to reach the train tracks before sundown.

--your friendly neighborhood Alden

:: Alden 1:08 PM [+] ::
...

:: MORE PROOF THAT I'M GOING STRAIGHT TO HELL... ::

So I was sitting in church the other morning, just minding my own business and what not, when all of a sudden, a white-haired dude approaches me. He turned out to be a deacon and apparently, there was a shortage of people handling that morning's collection. My assistance was required. Much like a certain multimillionaire caped crusader answering the Bat Signal, I sprang to action. Only I don't own a cape, there was no Bat Signal, and let's face it, I'm broke as a joke.

I've had very little experience with actually taking care of the collection basket, and to tell you the truth, I'm usually asleep through that part of the service, but after a quick tutorial courtesy of Deacon Old Dude, it didn't seem too difficult. The collection basket's connected to the end of a pole and my job was to walk down the aisle with the collection basket and extend said device to graciously accept people's donations. At the end of the collection, I was to stand at the front of the church with the others where a priest would take the donations and presumably invest them in ill-fated e-commerce ideas.

And they made me promise not to steal stuff. That was very important.

I got this shit down, no problem, I thought.

I'd like to think that I performed my duties flawlessly. Until the very end, that is.

As I was waiting for the priest to collect what I had, the Sunday school kids returned. They had had left church earlier to create God-themed macaroni-and-construction-paper works of art and now they swarmed the premises like a Biblical plague of locusts. Or at least, that's what it seemed like to me, seeing as how they overran my position.

They ran past me on the left and on the right, and I tried my best to avoid hitting any of them with the unwieldy collection basket. I thought I was doing well. But as I avoided hitting several kids with the basket end of the collection thingee, I felt the other end of the device suddenly jolt. I turned around to see a little curly-haired blonde girl holding the side of her head with tears in her big blue eyes. She looked like I had just stolen her favorite teddy bear, set it on fire, and fed it to a cat.

Man, clocking a little girl with a collection basket during Sunday services... that cannot be a good thing. Not to mention all the cursing I did afterwards.
:: Alden 12:08 AM [+] ::
...

:: WELL NOW... ::



So high on dedication
It feels so good to get away
From all this repetition
This angry town, this battleground...

--Yellowcard, "Star Struck"


Going around in circles. It's a funny thing. And by funny, I of course mean frustrating.

Eh, what are you gonna do, right?


--your friendly neighborhood Alden
:: Alden 2:49 AM [+] ::
...