Nintendo Classic: Revenge of The Virtual Boy or Wii U

A ways back I wrote this charming piece about the Nintendo Classic. In it, my abject skepticism for the Nintendo Classic was expressed. I had no hope and wasn’t looking forward to feeling like a T-Rex when holding the controller. Then I saw one in action and my stance softened. Then Nintendo killed it with no specific reason given, but I believe I know why.

Turns Out I Was, Somewhat, Wrong

My friend, Oregano Scrupplesworth, had thrown caution to the wind. Even after reading my post. It’s nothing short of big ol’ dumb bravery to ignore the words on Sweatpantslife.com, but that is what Oregano did.

When he approached me with a smug look and said, “Come here, I have something to show you.” I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he bought a new guitar or a puppy! Next thing I know, I’m at his desk feigning enthusiasm for this thing that I’ve slandered. I was relieved when he told me he had read my post. Not only for narcissistic reasons, but I could also drop the act and was able to speak a bit more freely. Open up my mind. Lay my opinions on the table and prepare to take in the good stuff that I may have ignored.

Meanwhile… Nintendo Classic Is Dead

Days later, for some reason, which was not specifically called out, but has lead to much speculation, Nintendo discontinued the NES Classic. It seemed like a weird move because people still wanted one and Nintendo simply didn’t want to make more. Maybe it was because of hacking and cracking, maybe it was that they said they were going to make the SNES Classic.

Regardless, people looked up to the dark rain cloud laden sky. Their eyes closed – except for the nerds wearing glasses – to keep all the rain out. Some let loose a roar so ferocious and long that it it turned into a gurgle once their mouths filled with rain. Their pants got muddy (*gasp*) their respective mothers will be so upset.

I on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief. The time spent at Oregano Scrupplesworth’s desk and softened my opinion. Sure, the controller cable, at one point in time, had been destined to become a nunchuck for the Wii/WiiU. That is until, the demographic that enjoys playing games while impersonating an epileptic T-Rex, petered out and moved on. Yes, the Nintendo Classic only had thirty games and people would have to hack it to get more. Oh, the sound was kind of weird. Was there sprite flashing? I think there was, but I can’t be sure. I think I commented on it because I wasn’t expecting it to happen.

Yet, there was something magical about it. The pixel perfect mode was great, the controller was responsive and the UI seemed like the creators cared. In other words, it had shortcomings, but it was a quality product. Unlike similar consoles that do the same thing, but craptasticly.

The Heroic Procrastinator’s Journey’s Destination

I had left Oregano’s desk fully prepared to write, Nintendo Classic: Maybe I Was Wrong. Yet, I didn’t for a myriad of reasons. Most of which involved me doing something else instead. I pondered purchasing a Nintendo Classic, but standing in line and paying an arm and leg for something because of scalping? That dog will not hunt! Now, I’ve written and you’ve read* this.

Ah, I do have one possible answer as to why Nintendo killed the Nintendo Classic. Not owning a Nintendo Classic has given me a lot of time to stare at the wall and come up with theories. Who wants to play video games?

I remember like it happened yesterday, back in nineteen ninety – whatever- Nintendo released the Virtual Boy. It was a giant, strobing, colossal failure. That was the moment when kids realized that Nintendo wasn’t perfect. Not very many people bought one. Fast forward twenty years to the Wii U or as I like to call it, the Virtual Boy 2. Similar story there too. People didn’t know what to do with it and they really didn’t want it.

Nintendo is just showing us not to bite the hand that feeds it. We did this to ourselves!


I’m going to go play Dreamcast!

 

*Hopefully.

Constipation: The Choice of a New Generation

My friend, Machismo Wainwright, recently suffered a bout with constipation. Now, I know you may not want to know about it. Hell, I didn’t even want to know about it. The thing is, we both know about it now, so what the hell.

Machismo simultaneously informed myself and several other infirmed souls of his constipation. I guess that’s how to tell that someone really values one as a friend. Telling someone about one’s own bowel movements, or lack thereof, is a level of trust only reached by the best and most trusted of friends. A quick gogel* search states that the only things higher than informing a friend of your constipation are, leaving in Vegas what happened between you two in Vegas and helping each other dispose of a body. Just like Jeremy Piven and Andrew McCarthy in that movie they were in! Now that’s friendship! Wait, or did one of them shoot the other one. Who cares I’m only watchin’ that movie once. Maybe twice in spirit, if I ever watch Rough Night.

Here’s the thing. I’m writing about Machismo’s constipation because I myself, was suffering from a constipation of a different nature. Not that I was suffering from Writer’s Block, it was more of a preparation thing. I needed a post and this topic just seemed to flow faster than the others. Sometimes, some things just percolate faster than others.

Along the way, I had an epiphany. I bet if Writer’s Block were called Writer’s Constipation, there would be a lot fewer MacBook toting, double chai expresso* macchiato, non-fat, extra whip drinking chodes talking about their affliction. Instead of prattling on to their, jealous of the creative lifestyle accountant friends, they’d probably keep it on the down low. Maybe read around for some inspiration. Then again, there’s always the tried and true writer’s ex-lax of adding a gun and killing everyone. Go all George R.R. Martin on that shit and drive it over a cliff.

 


Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go see a man about a horse. For more Machismo Wainwright check out this post.

*Yes, I meant to spell it like that.

**Yes, I meant to spell it like that as well.

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Another Sunburn: How Could It Even Happen?

I got another sunburn. This is the second one in two months. While the last one took place on a warm, sunny day, this one happened on on that was cloudy and cold. That’s right, it’s colder halfway through June then it was about a month ago. I’ve worn shorts and t-shirts on many occasions this year. I’ve perspired to radiant levels of glow. Yet this weekend, I had to hike up the jeans, button a flannel shirt and a zip up hoodie. Yeah right, climate change is a hoax. I’m dressed like it’s March, but it’s the middle of June. Seriously, a sunburn and a cloudy day go together like peanut butter and chocolate.

I was on a boat tour. As such, I thought it prudent to layer up. I didn’t want to be freezing fifteen minutes into the journey. No one wants to be cold on a two hour tour of Harrison Lake. We kept echo island just off of our portside* the entire voyage. We saw the horned owl shaped rock formation at Echo Bay and then continued on to Rainbow Falls before heading back.

Traveling at breakneck speeds of eight miles an hour can whip up the breeze. My, Made In The U.S.A. and Indonesia, cloth armor deflected all cold damage for the most part. I’d prepared properly as far as the clothing was concerned.

The return trip had the head wind, so it was a tad cooler. As such, I had to zip up my hoodie that crucial last quarter of an inch and use an old lady as a wind shield. Don’t worry about her, she was bundled up in a winter jacket. My guess is, this wasn’t her first boat trip rodeo. Regardless, it didn’t help and I was still just a bit chilly.

My hoodie stayed zipped up when I was back on shore. The flannel shirt remained buttoned for most of the car trip home. In other words, it wasn’t hot.

At no point did I feel like I was in danger of getting another sunburn. Which is something that I’ve been trained to deduce. Recognizing the warning signs and symptoms is practically an act of my subconscious. Typically, I don’t even have to think about it, I just get the notion that something is out of whack. Then it’s evasive maneuvers. Apply sunblock, run inside screaming, or at the very least, walk in the shade.

The sun appeared every now and again. It was like playing flash light tag with that dipshit in safety orange suit with tons of reflectors. It would be hours before I would realize what had happened. Only once did I feel the sunburn sting set in when I scratched my forehead. That evening, I realized that, once again, whatever travesty the fair skinned people of the world have committed against the sun, had been avenged several times folded it.

How big of a loser am I? How do I get another sunburn on a cloudy day? That’s rhetorical. How does anyone even go about getting a sunburn on a cloudy day. Don’t answer that either. I don’t need any Bill Nye The Science Guy crap. That is, unless you are the real Bill Nye. In that case, “Welcome!” and comment away. Tell the internet how silly I am, Bill. Be sure to mention this on twitter. Drive some traffic my way. You owe me Bill Nye consumed and shared your content when you were starting out. Sure it was the eighties, but I did my part. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go slather on the aloe.


*No I didn’t have to google this. A true boatsman knows what’s up. Wait, boatsman is a real word? I figured it was a layman’s made up word, but it isn’t. Hm.

Powersliding Ain’t Easy: Prepare to Laugh

My bike has been a lot of trouble this year. Even before this powersliding fiasco. Something about sitting in the lock up all winter really made it get out of shape. I’ve had to set the rear wheel twice and then decided to take it to the shop. On the night I got it back, I happened to shove my bike into some metal fencing we have in the bike lock up. My bike simply stood there for a moment. Impaled as it was, I was hopeful that all would be fine. After airing my tire up the next day and enjoying the latex scented breeze gushing from the gash in my tire, I took it to a another shop.

After that, my bike seemed fine and, as of this writing, it still is. So I hit the road like some post apocalyptic warrior clad in metaphorical leather with a hipster bike and a safety green helmet. I cruised all over the town. Not having any destination, like a rebel without a cause and obeys traffic regulations. I’d ridden about ten kilometers before the harbinger showed up.

I was flying down a vacant paved bike line when I became thirsty. Wanting to maintain speed for the upcoming hill, I kept pumping my legs as I pulled out my bottle. The plastic flavored water sucked, but it was something. Then I tried to put the bottle away. Legs still pumping. Speed and course maintained. The hill was going to be a breeze! I was so proud that I was already having the conversation with my cyclist friends about how cool I was. It was a certainty that they would hoist me upon their shoulders and carry me through the cubicles. Ode-laly! Ode-laly!

Plastic bottles make some funny sounds as they hit the ground and shoot out from under a rear bike wheel. I slammed on my brakes. As I did so, I passed over a dusting of, well, dust. My rear wheel slid a bit, causing the back of my bike to scooch around and my heart to go all aflutter with the joy and excitement of powersliding. Twenty years have had to have passed since I felt such joy. I felt like a bearded nine year old. The simplicity of it all. Go fast! Hit brakes! Slide! Put your foot down! Do it again.

I shoved the bottle into its holder with the certainty of a half-elven ranger sheathing an ancestral blade after saying something particularly cheeky and rode off. Not knowing my fate had been sealed. After another ten kilometers, I came upon a sign indicating location filming was taking place. It’s fluorescent arrow simply pointed down a dirt road. Usually, I won’t go out of my way, but this time, it was for a show that I truly love. I had to check it out, even if it was Sunday and I was sure there was no filming taking place.

The crickle-crackle of dirt and rocks kept me company as I began to wind my way down the lonely road. I was careful to avoid the potholes and rocks that were too large to ride over. When I came to the fork in the road, instead of choosing one of the prongs, I decided to go back. There was no filming happening, not that day anyway.

I’d picked up a fair amount of speed and thought I’d give powersliding another try. This time I could really give it hell. Surrounded by dirt, how could I not slide for miles and miles? Quite easily in fact! I’d slid for about two seconds before things went awry. Gravity was coming to collect on the cheque I’d written, fully prepared to make my body cash it. There was nothing I could do but put my hand down and land on my knee.

I was up in a flash, trying to play it cool. While it was a dirt road, I wasn’t even a hundred meters away from a popular bike lane. I’d hoped no one saw me or the cloud of dust I’d kicked up. With that, my skinned hand a knee throbbed the last twelve kilometers home. Powersliding was out of my system.

via Powersliding Ain’t Easy: Prepare to Laugh – Sweatpants Life

Phone Case: The Case of The Missing Case

Posted on June 16, 2017 Edit “Phone Case: The Case of The Missing Case”

Phone case, does one’s phone truly need one? I mean they protect our phones and everything, but are they really necessary or are they just one more way to milk us for every dime we have? For those that missed it, I got a Google Pixel, but I didn’t get a phone case for it yet. I know, that sounds crazy. Why walk around with a beautiful metal and glass phone in your pocket. Phones are so expensive and ever so slightly slick to the touch as they’re pulled out of said pocket. No case, no rules. Naked as gawd intended.

Here’s the thing, the purchase of the phone was rather impromptu. One moment we were eating lunch and the next we were buying a phone. I didn’t have time to look for cases. Furthermore, at some moment in between those two extremes I said, “I don’t want to buy a case this time.” My wife gave me the look anyone would give someone who’s catastrophically dropped their phone twice and then says they aren’t going to buy a case.

It doesn’t help that my old phone is physically coming apart. However, that falling apart really comes from me pulling the case off to shove the phone in my armband when I run. The phone case always got stuck on the buttons and recently caused the screen to separate from the frame. I could see the little glowing lights underneath. It certainly was a mesmerizing peer behind the curtain. One that I can’t unsee and may have contributed to the unraveling of my sanity.

It doesn’t help that my old phone is physically coming apart. However, that falling apart really comes from me pulling the case off to shove the phone in my armband when I run. The phone case always got stuck on the buttons and recently caused the screen to separate from the frame. I could see the little glowing lights underneath. It certainly was a mesmerizing peer behind the curtain. One that I can’t unsee and may have contributed to the unraveling of my sanity.

Moving on! I feel like I need to add – possibly jinxing myself – I haven’t dropped the phone yet. This story will end fine, hopefully. I love my new phone, a lot. While I think it looks great, it is very slick when I hold it. When I’m standing with it in my hands, I imagine I look like a toddler with a sippy cup and a beard. Both hands cling to it, for the sustenance it contains is all that matters. There’s a maladroitness to the whole scene. Of course, the chances of me losing my shit and flinging my phone with rando toddler rage are very low. In fact, mental cognizance is fully off the charts. I am fully aware of myself, my surroundings and all alternate futures that fork into a web from my current position in time and space.

That’s no good! No one wants to look at their phone with such awareness. People want to zone out. It’s the only way to internet. I don’t even know if twitter could even function if people actually knew what they were doing. To that end, I’ve softened on my anti-phone case position. I can’t tell if it’s familiarity or actual necessity, but there’s a sense of security that comes from having a phone case.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder. Why do laptops, tablets and phones – in particular – have an entire symbiotic industry built up around them? Phone cases invade our phones and, on the off chance they are dropped, may provide some level of protection. That’s all the good they do!  That’s almost parasitic! Why do phone companies not just make the screen look nice and leave the guts hanging out the back of the phone? At least the case wouldn’t detract then. What’s the point of making a nice looking product if people are simply going to cover it up?

It would be like buying a Lamborghini, which, according to some people is a great looking machine. I’ll take their word for it. Mostly so they quit asking me to do coke and cease giving me high fives. And besides, I can’t hear anything they are saying over Don Johnson’s Heartbeat. Look, someone designed the Lamborghini to look appealing and go fast. Not in the same manner as technology, but the principles are relative. Look good! Go Fast!

Could anyone imagine buying a Lamborghini and then covering it up with a case? Obviously, it would detract from the, “Look Good!” However, it would also cause drag and effect the, “Go Fast!” What would a case even look like? Maybe it would be like one of those eighties sling shot bikini things – that were essentially four shoelaces radiating from an oven mitt – and some puffy boxing headgear. Before you ask, yes, of course, it’s red! It also comes in yellow.

via Phone Case: The Case of The Missing Case – Sweatpants Life

Phone Case: The Case of The Missing Case

Phone case, does one’s phone truly need one? I mean they protect our phones and everything, but are they really necessary or are they just one more way to milk us for every dime we have? For those that missed it, I got a Google Pixel, but I didn’t get a phone case for it yet. I know, that sounds crazy. Why walk around with a beautiful metal and glass phone in your pocket. Phones are so expensive and ever so slightly slick to the touch as they’re pulled out of said pocket. No case, no rules. Naked as gawd intended.

Here’s the thing, the purchase of the phone was rather impromptu. One moment we were eating lunch and the next we were buying a phone. I didn’t have time to look for cases. Furthermore, at some moment in between those two extremes I said, “I don’t want to buy a case this time.” My wife gave me the look anyone would give someone who’s catastrophically dropped their phone twice and then says they aren’t going to buy a case.

It doesn’t help that my old phone is physically coming apart. However, that falling apart really comes from me pulling the case off to shove the phone in my armband when I run. The phone case always got stuck on the buttons and recently caused the screen to separate from the frame. I could see the little glowing lights underneath. It certainly was a mesmerizing peer behind the curtain. One that I can’t unsee and may have contributed to the unraveling of my sanity.

It doesn’t help that my old phone is physically coming apart. However, that falling apart really comes from me pulling the case off to shove the phone in my armband when I run. The phone case always got stuck on the buttons and recently caused the screen to separate from the frame. I could see the little glowing lights underneath. It certainly was a mesmerizing peer behind the curtain. One that I can’t unsee and may have contributed to the unraveling of my sanity.

Moving on! I feel like I need to add – possibly jinxing myself – I haven’t dropped the phone yet. This story will end fine, hopefully. I love my new phone, a lot. While I think it looks great, it is very slick when I hold it. When I’m standing with it in my hands, I imagine I look like a toddler with a sippy cup and a beard. Both hands cling to it, for the sustenance it contains is all that matters. There’s a maladroitness to the whole scene. Of course, the chances of me losing my shit and flinging my phone with rando toddler rage are very low. In fact, mental cognizance is fully off the charts. I am fully aware of myself, my surroundings and all alternate futures that fork into a web from my current position in time and space.

That’s no good! No one wants to look at their phone with such awareness. People want to zone out. It’s the only way to internet. I don’t even know if twitter could even function if people actually knew what they were doing. To that end, I’ve softened on my anti-phone case position. I can’t tell if it’s familiarity or actual necessity, but there’s a sense of security that comes from having a phone case.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder. Why do laptops, tablets and phones – in particular – have an entire symbiotic industry built up around them? Phone cases invade our phones and, on the off chance they are dropped, may provide some level of protection. That’s all the good they do!  That’s almost parasitic! Why do phone companies not just make the screen look nice and leave the guts hanging out the back of the phone? At least the case wouldn’t detract then. What’s the point of making a nice looking product if people are simply going to cover it up?

It would be like buying a Lamborghini, which, according to some people is a great looking machine. I’ll take their word for it. Mostly so they quit asking me to do coke and cease giving me high fives. And besides, I can’t hear anything they are saying over Don Johnson’s Heartbeat. Look, someone designed the Lamborghini to look appealing and go fast. Not in the same manner as technology, but the principles are relative. Look good! Go Fast!

Could anyone imagine buying a Lamborghini and then covering it up with a case? Obviously, it would detract from the, “Look Good!” However, it would also cause drag and effect the, “Go Fast!” What would a case even look like? Maybe it would be like one of those eighties sling shot bikini things – that were essentially four shoelaces radiating from an oven mitt – and some puffy boxing headgear. Before you ask, yes, of course, it’s red! It also comes in yellow.


New Phone, Google Pixel: Anxieties of the First World

Yesterday I bought a Google Pixel. I’m upgrading from a Nexus 5, which has been a great phone. In fact, it still works as well as the day I got it. I never had the button issues or any other problems. However, there a few reasons that I upgraded, one is the fact that my plan price stays the same whether I’m paying off a phone or not. I’m afraid if I did any tweaking to it, I’d end up paying more when I got a new phone. Secondly, I’ve had a crack on the screen for the better part of two years and one time my screen began to peel away from the frame. I managed to get it to stick together again though. Lastly, the Nexus 5 quit being supported in October of 2016. It’s a ballsy move to wander around these days without security updates.

I bought my new amazing phone. It was everything I liked about the Nexus 5 just better and newer. The body is metal. Interacting with the interface is snappy. It came with an OTG adapter which allowed me to transfer apps and text messages from my old phone to my new one. It was very much like the premise for X-Men: Apocalypse. Plus, I can use that OTG adapter for plugging a controller into the phone for gaming. What’s not to love?

Well, nothing. It’s all great! And yet! I was flying through the phone, checking stuff out when I come across a news story. It’s something that I’ve read about in a general sense and then completely forgot about. Google’s three year plan. The Google Pixel will only be supported until October 2019! One year of that time will only be security updates! I know that technology is ever progressing, but reading that your brand new phone has a year and half of good updates and one more of security updates is a head-butt to the no-no’s. Especially when reading it on the new phone after purchasing it two hours prior. In fact, I have the authority to say, “Google, that fuckin’ sucks!”

Sure, one could argue that people typically update their phones every two to three years or so due to plan renewals. However, people typically do trade-ins and other people purchase those trade ins*. Yet these phones will be useless unless the user puts LineageOS on it. No carrier is going to do that! Furthermore, three years of life from the release date is a little tight. Not all parts of the world get the phone at the same time. Will people only have a year of support left when they get their Pixel?

Seriously, my Nexus 5 is still running fine despite its physical maladies. I think it’s still got one good year of life in it at least. It’s one of those things where if it were a four year plan, I’d feel better about it. Hell, how about a nice round number like five? The same number the Apple is apparently using as the iPhone 5s is going to get the iOS11 update. Google! Fix it!


I also own a Nexus 7 (2013). Same story, but in perfect physical condition.

*or maybe they all just wind up on a barge in the Pacific that eventually sinks

Facebook Party: Reminding Me My Birthday Is Coming

Facebook told me that it’s party time. It’s had enough of my lack of planning birthday parties and felt that I needed to get a head start on it this year. Especially since I’m getting older and need more time for everything. Reaction time is at historical lows. Hell, it took me a good minute to recall the word, reaction. Thanks for looking out for me Facebook, you know me better than I know myself! Time for a Facebook party! (Bwa-bwa-bwahing of airhorns)

Now, I’m not one of those people that traditionally fear the annual age increase. The promise of good times and putting more distance between me and my formative years is still enticing. If I’m surrounded by friends on the day I put another tick on the board of death, so much the better. Simply put, I enjoy it, I just don’t make a big deal about it.

Part of it’s because I find it unbecoming when people pump up their birthdays. Sure guests love to have a good time, but does anyone need eight reminders for a White Rose Formal for a thirty one year old? I don’t even know what a White Rose Formal is! It sounds like something I made up on the spot, but whatever.

That’s just a personal opinion of course. No need to have witch hunts and put people on trial. Calm down internet, because here comes the twist. I also find it unbecoming when people don’t promote it at all. People need a heads up. Especially those that are close. This also includes coworkers. No one wants to discover it’s the big day while sitting on the birthday person’s lap. That’s just awkward Steve!

Of course maybe all of this is a symptom of my birthday remembrance guilt. I can’t remember people’s birthday for anything. Yet, many people can remember mine. Sure it helps that it’s on a holiday, but one can never tell if the people in my life are just super duper and remember my birthday or have an annual alcohol fueled Jim Morrison adventure and are told it’s my birthday by a French orangutan in the desert.

Yet, who needs drugs and a chatty ape when one has Facebook? It’s been reminding people of birthdays for years. Which is great for schmucks like me. Now, it has a new feature that reminds the birthday person the big day is approaching. That way they can go about setting up some gnarly shindig. Facebook party! The reminder contains all the Facebook information necessary to throw a great party: date, time, place and of course, the people. Making my life better and my wife’s life easier because she doesn’t have to prod the information out of me. But then, what would we have to talk about? I closed the window and went on with my life. Thus ensuring a communicative marriage.

 


 

Powersliding Ain’t Easy: Prepare to Laugh


My bike has been a lot of trouble this year. Even before this powersliding fiasco. Something about sitting in the lock up all winter really made it get out of shape. I’ve had to set the rear wheel twice and then decided to take it to the shop. On the night I got it back, I happened to shove my bike into some metal fencing we have in the bike lock up. My bike simply stood there for a moment. Impaled as it was, I was hopeful that all would be fine. After airing my tire up the next day and enjoying the latex scented breeze gushing from the gash in my tire, I took it to a another shop.

After that, my bike seemed fine and, as of this writing, it still is. So I hit the road like some post apocalyptic warrior clad in metaphorical leather with a hipster bike and a safety green helmet. I cruised all over the town. Not having any destination, like a rebel without a cause and obeys traffic regulations. I’d ridden about ten kilometers before the harbinger showed up.

I was flying down a vacant paved bike line when I became thirsty. Wanting to maintain speed for the upcoming hill, I kept pumping my legs as I pulled out my bottle. The plastic flavored water sucked, but it was something. Then I tried to put the bottle away. Legs still pumping. Speed and course maintained. The hill was going to be a breeze! I was so proud that I was already having the conversation with my cyclist friends about how cool I was. It was a certainty that they would hoist me upon their shoulders and carry me through the cubicles. Ode-laly! Ode-laly!

Plastic bottles make some funny sounds as they hit the ground and shoot out from under a rear bike wheel. I slammed on my brakes. As I did so, I passed over a dusting of, well, dust. My rear wheel slid a bit, causing the back of my bike to scooch around and my heart to go all aflutter with the joy and excitement of powersliding. Twenty years have had to have passed since I felt such joy. I felt like a bearded nine year old. The simplicity of it all. Go fast! Hit brakes! Slide! Put your foot down! Do it again.

I shoved the bottle into its holder with the certainty of a half-elven ranger sheathing an ancestral blade after saying something particularly cheeky and rode off. Not knowing my fate had been sealed. After another ten kilometers, I came upon a sign indicating location filming was taking place. It’s fluorescent arrow simply pointed down a dirt road. Usually, I won’t go out of my way, but this time, it was for a show that I truly love. I had to check it out, even if it was Sunday and I was sure there was no filming taking place.

The crickle-crackle of dirt and rocks kept me company as I began to wind my way down the lonely road. I was careful to avoid the potholes and rocks that were too large to ride over. When I came to the fork in the road, instead of choosing one of the prongs, I decided to go back. There was no filming happening, not that day anyway.

I’d picked up a fair amount of speed and thought I’d give powersliding another try. This time I could really give it hell. Surrounded by dirt, how could I not slide for miles and miles? Quite easily in fact! I’d slid for about two seconds before things went awry. Gravity was coming to collect on the cheque I’d written, fully prepared to make my body cash it. There was nothing I could do but put my hand down and land on my knee.

I was up in a flash, trying to play it cool. While it was a dirt road, I wasn’t even a hundred meters away from a popular bike lane. I’d hoped no one saw me or the cloud of dust I’d kicked up. With that, my skinned hand a knee throbbed the last twelve kilometers home. Powersliding was out of my system.


Bob’s Bazooka and Street Sweeping Service


 

Something exciting happened today! Alright, it’s probably sad that I describe it as exciting, but the nosey neighbor inside me has been satiated. I also got an idea for a business. Which is a fabulous opportunity for a real self-starter to get in on the ground level of an exciting new venture and also, anyone who has lots and lots of money. Read on!

There are neighborhood festivities today. An entire kilometer of street will be shut down. Which means all the side streets are sanctioned for event parking and preparation. As such, for the last two weeks, there has been signage informing people not to park on these streets today. Lo and behold, people didn’t listen.

I heard the street sweeper come by. Which was the first time I actually looked out the window. It was truly a must see TV moment, as the driver circumnavigated some purple car while maintaining the level of quality of street sweeping he is known to provide.

The vilest Hydeian part of me was rooting for a little fender bender. Something that would probably result in the street sweeper dragging the eggplant about four feet. Then I realized that’s a terrible thing! Sure, eggplant wizard would learn the hard way that one can’t park ye olde chariot wherever one wants, but it would really screw up the street sweeper’s day as well. C’mon! All the driver wants to do is sweep the streets and then go snag some funnel cakes and hang out with the fam’.

Moving On

The street sweeper left. Life returned to normal for a bit, but I knew the good times were coming. Justice on six wheels! That is because a tow truck has a dual-wheel rear axle. And during the commotion with the street sweeper, I spied two tow trucks heading off to haul away some offenders. Like shooting fish in a barrell!

It was just a matter of time. I carried on with twitter, blogs, and duolingo. Then, this post was born from the fires of a car alarm going off for five minutes straight. A period of time where people, on the brink of insanity, looked out their windows and went on about their business, because who cares about car alarms anyway? The pinot noir continued to bleat in terror as the man ran a chain through its undercarriage. Something tells me that Pinot, may have enjoyed it somewhat, but I can’t be certain. Then, Pinot was gone.

Ground Floor

I’ve realized so much time could have been saved. That both events could have been combined into one. As an opportunistic blogger and visionary, I’ve had an idea that just can’t be ignored. Bob’s Bazooka and Street Sweeping Service. An exciting, efficient and self-explanatory way to rid the streets of illegally parked cars and teach people the to obey the law. Plus, the city can fine the drivers for littering and then offenders have to go buy a new car. Car manufacturers love it! Best of all, no car alarms, just explosions!

I’m looking for some startup capital. Holla! keepyourpantson@sweatpantslife.com or just leave a comment below. Bob’s Bazooka and Street Sweeping Services, You’ll Be Blown and Swept Away!


Note: It’s critical that the actions be carried out in the order of the company name. All bazookaing must be completed before the street sweeping.