It has been brought to my attention by concerned ringers that perhaps it is time for a small reorganizing of Turnpike. As you may have noticed, should it work, I have switched from weekly to monthly archiving. At the behest of Mrs. Little, I will also be adding new links on the side somewhere so that my varied short stories can be more easily accessed and read sequentialy. If this reorganizing bug continues, I might be so bold as to change the color scheme, but I wouldnt get all excited yet.
So yesterday, the gang and I ventured out to Crownsville, MD to go to the Rennaisance Festival. My family has been going to the Colorado equivalent every year since we moved there in '90, so last year I talked everyone into going to the one out here. This makes the second year we have gone, and it continues to be a good source of distraction for a sunday. The highlight event this year, as last year, is the drunken competition at arms between my roomates and I. The competition spans 4 ancient martial disciplines- the hand axe throw, knife throw, spear toss for accuracy, and archery. Last year, though mostly sodden with mead, I still managed to best my fellow Ro-town warriors at the axe and spear, winning what the booth attendants call "the most coveted prize in all the realm... free beer!" I didnt compete in the archery contest, however, as the simple ability to make my friend Mark believe I could beat him without having to actually do anything was all the more sweet. Last year he was so disappointed at his performance in the first three events, that he spent nearly $30 at the archery booth until he managed a decent grouping that he could lord over the rest of us. What a momo.
So this year, I was informed on Friday when we made the plan to go that Mark had been practicing, and was going to kick all of our asses barbarian style. Never one to deny a man his right to trash-talk, I quietly accepted the challenge and waited. Sunday arrived a cool fall day, and I took my time getting ready. But to my dismay, Mark came pounding on our door at 10 am sharp demanding we be ready to leave in 10 minutes. No one demands anything of me on Sunday, with notable exceptions, of course (Katie Holmes demanding "You will make me waffles and then get back in this bed!" would be acceptable). By the time we were at the festival, and I was properly imbibed, it was nearly 3pm. The first event was the axe throw, my personal favorite. Mark stuck no axes, though he did throw them so hard he nearly broke two of them. Jay and Tyler fared about the same. I stuck three of five, but none in the kill zone. I was declared winner, but took no spoils. In the knife throw competition, Jay reigned supreme with one stuck in the kill zone out of seven blades. We all stuck at least one, but Jay was the only person with any bit of accuracy. Next came the spear competition, and though last year I was able get two in the bullseye, I found this year my aim was just a bit off. Tyler, however, did manage one in the red and was declared winner. Mark had only the archery contest to redeem himself, and he damn near dragged us to that booth. But the line was long, and the distant call of beer and wenches was too great, and the rest of us were drawn away. We told Mark he had won by default, making us all equally worthless, but he still insisted on spending three rounds worth of arrows. Oh well, you can only teach them so much.
Dusty's insightful list of 27 odd facts about herself inspired me to do the same. However, I could only think of 10, so I guess that makes me less than half as cool as Mrs. Little. I think I handle that.
1. I recently discovered that if you drink Coke while wearing Chap Stick brand medicated lip balm, it tastes like Dr. Pepper, neither of which I like.
2. My biorhythmic soul mate was born on August 30, 1982, according to my chart. And a psychic when I was younger told me she would have blonde hair. That means that I can narrow down my search to a little over 9 million people worldwide.
3. I’m Knight Commander (OSR), but don’t carry the title "Sir".
4. I am the first Nicholas Calkins in my direct paternal lineage extending as far back as I can trace (almost 5 centuries).
5. When I was little, I was hired by a farmer that lived across the street from my grandparents in Mason County, MI, to get rid of the doves in his barn. I hit one in the head with a BB gun, and was so sad that I might have hurt it that I cried. As I knelt there apologizing to the little birdie, the damn thing regained consciousness and leapt at me like some sort of aviary ninja, pecked at my head, and then flew away. I told the farmer about what happened, and he gave me my dollar anyway. Since then I havent been able to kill any animals, but I still help people track them down to teach that Dove a lesson.
6. There is nothing more relaxing to me than the sound of a running shower.
7. Philosophically, I would classify myself as an Augustinian Pragmatist as viewed through a Campbellian lens.
8. It is widely argued that members of my family on my Mom’s side wrote all the works that Sir Water Scott took credit for. In return, the family was ceded an ancestral home in Galashiels.
9. I don’t take dates to scary movies because I know I’ll end up more frightened than she will. I hide my eyes, I squint through my fingers at the screen, I cower… its not a pretty sight.
10. My career aspirations, in order, were: author, pilot, astronaut, archeologist, clandestine services operative, military intelligence officer, ambassador to Russia, CIA analyst, FBI agent, professor, and crime scene investigator, which brings us to today and my only aspiration being to get the hell out of my current job.
We've been dealing all morning with damage control from these silly World Bank/IMF protests downtown. Write a letter, you fucking momo activist... dont superglue the card reader at the metro so nobody can ride it... how exactly is that addressing your concerns about global expansionism? And get your unshaven weed-stank ass off my campus... this is a "no bongo" zone, Bhodie Dharma, take your little patchuli parade elsewhere....
More later, unless they fire me.
Matt had this posted, and I thought what the hell.
1. What's on your bedside table?
It’s a bedside trunk, to be specific. My TV, alarm clock, lamp, assorted pictures not in frames, and loose change.
2. What's the geekiest part of your music collection?
Hmm. It’s difficult to define "geeky"… I would say the oddest in my collection is a mixed CD entitled "Depression Rock VII". For some reason, it’s the background music we listen to while doing casework. Don’t ask me why, I have no idea.
3. What do you eat when you raid the fridge at night?
I work from 7 am until well after 9 pm most nights, so when I get home I eat whatever I can find that isn’t moldy or sentient.
4. What is your secret guaranteed weeping film?
Easy… the final charge in "Glory".
5. If you could have plastic surgery, what would you have done?
Too much beer and not enough running makes Nick a pudgy goon… liposuction.
6. Do you have a completely irrational fear?
Snakes…
7. What is the little physical habit that gives away your insecure moments?
I hold my breath and blush like a school girl.
8. Do you ever have to beg?
I do not beg… unless specifically asked to.
9. Do you have too many love interests?
No, the ones that I’ve had have been destructive enough on their own.
10. Do you know anyone famous?
Not directly. But I’ve met a few people. And Tommy Shaw was at my christening, though that may count against me.
11. Describe your bed.
Floor- single size box spring- single size mattress- green afghan.
12. Spontaneous or plan?
Spontaneous- much to the dismay of my superiors.
13. Who should play you in a movie about your life?
I have no idea. Who did we decide on, Gary Sinise? That works, I suppose, but I don’t think my forehead is that brooding.
14. Do you know how to play poker?
Of course.
15. What do you carry with you at all times?
Well, outside of work I have my wallet, keys, smokes, and cell phone. At work I have a whole list of other fun stuff.
16. How do you drive?
I drive as if it were a Zen meditation. I keep it simple, legal, and precise. And wish I had a bazooka most times on 270.
17. What do you miss most about being little?
Entire summers playing paramilitary in the field behind our neighborhood.
18. Are you happy with your given name?
I dig my name, though I kind of wish my parents would have gone with Laidley instead of Allan for my middle name. It seems more distinct.
19. What color is your bedroom?
Like and off-whitish color.
20. What was the last song you were listening to?
"Invisible Sun" – The Police
21. Have you ever been in a school play?
My buddy Pete and I used to do the same scene from "Antigone" in Jamaican accents each year for the High School talent show. It was a hack, but the kids seemed to like it and it gave us a month long "open season" each year in which to snoggle the theater chicks.
22. Have you ever been in love?
Oh yeah, they define the chapters of my life it seems.
23. Do you like yourself and believe in yourself?
I like the person I know I could be, and believe that the momo I am can achieve that goal.
24. Have you ever done any illegal drugs?
Do women count? If not, then no.
25. Do you think you're cute?
I have my moments. More so in the past than lately, but lets not split hairs.
26. Do you consider yourself to be a nice person?
Those who know me would say yes, I hope. But everyone else pretty much thinks I’m a scourge upon their good time. I will most likely finish last, but I’m taking some of those bastards with me.
We'll just leave that one at the title. Hasn't happened as yet, but each new flock of workstudies tests the limits of my self-control more and more.
For those not in the know, I live in a development called King Farm. Brian will tell you it's "that place across the railroad tracks by the dump." He's not entirely incorrect. However, the location is much more classy than would be imagined. Though, as I sit on the deck in the evening, I have become increasingly aware that my specific section of the community is turning into an episode of COPS. Relax your mind, and allow me to treat you to a brief story. My roomates and I live on the third and uppermost level of what the developers have declared to be "manor home apartments." The two sets of neighbors that live on our floor are upstanding, respectable young married couples. Hi and Lois in 302 have a dog that is quiet friendly, and Ken and Barbie in 301 have, well... they have Barbie, who is also quite friendly. And who likes to take the garbage out in a terrycloth robe and slippers, but I digress. Whereas the third floor is relatively decent, save myself and my moron roomates, the second level is a different flavor of Kool-Aid all together. 201 remains vacant to this day, though I will swear I've seen the dude that owns the liquor store sneaking out of there early in the morning. Then you have a very quiet family that has upwards of 9 mountain bikes chained to the railing on the central stairwell. Also on the floor you have Dre and his mom and aunt. Dre is probably my age, maybe a bit older, and he's working on his third child with as many mothers. The most current girlfriend, whom my kind hearted roomates have dubbed "Big Snow", became fed up with Dre because, and I quote, "The child needs diapers... its your child." Now, I was still under the belief that she hadnt had the baby yet. She still looks pregnant... I guess I missed an episode. So Dre shouts back at her, "Hold on, lemme ask my momma..." This was followed, moments later, by "My momma wants to know how much the diapers be?"
I sat outside for the thrilling conclusion as Big Snow and her yokel brother drove off with Dre standing in the street yelling. It was quality programming.
I suppose I ought to do something this morning, given that I have access to the internet. Talk more later.
Went to the Maryland Wine Festival this weekend, and let me tell you- when the one major social event of the season involves mass quantities of wine, things have a tendancy to get out of hand rather rapidly. First of all, the entry fee of $15 provided would-be Bacchians with a complimentary engraved wine glass and 10 coupons each good for a sample shot. If you havent been to one of these things, that sample shot often turns into a full glass as the day wears on. In my mind (read- from a security standpoint), 15,000 winos with breakable wine goblets and heavy bottles sounds like an all around good time. Kind of like the Highland Games for our latinate French and Italian cousins. But there were no cabers or hammers, so I didnt know what to throw if the shit hit the fan. Luckily for me, it just rained a bit and everybody got really giggly. Once again, I nominated myself as designated driver and refrained from even using all of my samples. This is a trend that I simply dont understand. Perhaps I have turned over a new leaf and elected to progress beyond my youthful indulgence...
Nah. I'm probably just in a funk. It'll pass in a week or so. I have to pony express a delivery out to Bethesda (or in the local vernacular "Bedunda"), so I'll try and get online later. Take it easy.
That about covers it. I might just have to get a PDA or one of those Blackberry dealies so that I can chat online while I'm outside. The BRoF chat is active and I'm not there!?! This simply is no good and must change. Until then, I'll have to pull a old skool Brian fringe lurk and drop little tender morsels in post form.
Lets see, what can I share with the class.... well, its 9:41 pm and my sorry ass is still at work. Tonight the dinner special is idiot construction projects that decide to close major roadways on my campus during peak hours. But that should be done eventually, so I just have to hang around until I get the call that all is clear. Tonight has been dubbed "Noah's Ark Night" in all matters concerning theft- two laptops from the office of the Dean of Students, two wallets from the dining room, two of my no parking signs from the commuter lot... I wonder whats next? I should put out a warning to everyone not to leave their belongings in pairs. Beware the Couple Criminal! Funny thing is, I dont think it beyond the moron policy mark for my department to tell me to do just that. If I were a criminal, I would make serious bank off of this place. But alas, I'm a good guy. I'll just have to take sadistic pleasure in making the ones we catch squirm.
In that vein, we got a solid lead on the bike theif, and have authorization from the higher ups to nab him. And how, might you ask, did we find such evidence? They will claim it was the civil-rights violating shake-downs and "interrogation" sessions in the storage room out back, but this is largely false. In all honesty, it was a report from one of my ticket goons, which tied to a liscense plate, which tied to a name, which had an alias, which matched a prior theft report on campus, which was supported by a visual ID from another of my goons, which was enough for local gun-carrying 5-0 to take the case. After about 30 minutes of sifting through the horrible police work done by officers on our end, we pulled it all together and felt the smallest bit of vindication for countless man hours spent pretending to read while really watching a bike rack. I'll let you know how it goes.
Oh, did I mention I havent had to play bomb dog in a while? I like that trend, and hope it continues.
What else. Hmmm... I think thats about it. I'll post again the next time I can get access to the net. Until then, feel free to send email (which I am allowed to check in the morning right before they search me for hidden modems and send me out into the yard for my mandatory 30 minute walk). The qrio account is no longer valid, as qrio cant seem to decide if its going out of business or not. And its not on the university server, so I couldnt check it regularly anyhow. But my work account is still active. I think one of you should have the address and can give it to whomever wants it. More later.
I attempted to take that Political Compass test this morning, and immediately ran into problems.
A. It's way too early in the morning to deal with people who spell "globalization" with an 's' instead of a 'z'. Yah, yah, yah... I know- only a silly Yank would say something like that. I guess this morning I'm reveling in stereotypes.
B. Much to the dismay of my Political Theory professors over the years, I dont point fingers at some socio-political or economic construct to blame for the problems in our society.
C. Some bastard stole all the spoons in the office, so I couldnt make my coffee this morning.
Long story short, I didnt even answer the first question.
Let's see, what else has been going down.... ah yes. The department instituted a new program where we supervisors are assigned enlogated shifts to act as a sort of "Desk Sargeant" 24 hours a day. Not that we dont already have a shift sargeant and a dispatcher, but together their mental faculty couldn't power a Light-Brite. So I'm on duty thursday night until 11:30 pm. At around 9:30 pm, this dude comes in to pick up his wallet and ID that was found turned in to us. After some brow-beating, I discover that this lost and found item has an evidence number. Odd. So I mosey down to the lock-up (which sounds much cooler than 'the old file cabinet we keep bongs and fake-ID's in') and find the wallet. Curious, I sit down at my buddy's desk downstairs and think to pull the record. In horrible grammar, it explained that the wallet was found, and when we checked for ID to contact the owner, we found two valid ID's. Well, it didnt take much to piece together that both ID's were fake. The real interesting part came when I searched further through his wallet for evidence to support one of the two ID's. Folded neatly in his wallet, right between his ESPN SportsZone card and his Giant Pharmacy card was a pen and ink rendering of a... hmm... how to put this... in official terms, a male phallus complete with testicles. So my WTF alarm went off, and through the laughing, I managed to call by buddy to tell him what I found. Wishing to share in the levity, he jumped in his car and drove to work. Mind you, this cock-artist has been waiting nearly 45 minutes for his ID now. So we sit downstairs for a bit longer, attempting to compose ourselves, and then we walk upstairs to confront the penis-picasso.
"Hey buddy, you here for the ID?"
"Yeah man, what the fuck took so long?"
smile "Which one did you say was the real ID, and which one is the fake?"
"The Texas one is real."
"Ah, of course. The one that puts you over 21. What's your birthday, Champ?"
looks up and to the left, in a hesitant voice "July... 18... 19...79?"
"You have any idea why the university thinks you were born in '84?"
Shoulders sink, eyes to the floor. Then we had a brief exchange where he told me he thought this was a bit over the top, and postulated that I must have drank while underage. I replied I had, but was never stupid enough to need a fake ID to do so, and further suggested that should he get another fake ID, he might want to consider changing his address or not carrying an assortment of them. But the crowning comment came as he dug through his wallet to ensure everything was there, and we reassured him we had searched it thuroughly. The terrified look in his face when his proding digits re-discovered his "art work" was well-worth the 12 hour day I had to endure to get to that point.
What else- dropped a $600 bar tab on Friday, of which I ate $200 some of it. Fair, aw hell no. Fun- you bet your ass. And I only had a few. Interesting evening to be sure.
Sunday's concert went off without a hitch. We had one uninvited stage diver who was summarily asked to take his acrobatics elsewhere, and one dehydrated Banana Republic punk sporting a neatly groomed mohawk puke on the floor. That was my excitement for the day. No fist fights, no naked coeds, no sneaky fanbois and gurls to make cry... they didnt even have those little soft pretzel bites with the nacho cheese sauce at the snack bar. Oh well, theres always the next concert.
Time to go outside and do my thang. Post again soon.
The fateful day came and passed with little more than a numbing paranoia accentuated with two heart-stopping coincidences. The first of which involved a huge tree snapped in half by high winds that subsequently crashed onto power lines behind my office, causing the high voltage transformer to explode. While all the intelligent people were diving under their desks, guess who the momo was grabbing his orange emergency bag and heading out the door to see what was going on? Yup, it was me. Then later in the day, while I was manning a mission critical barricade, a duce and a half carrying beer (on a dry campus, nonetheless) blew a tire, sending an amphitheater full of attendees at our 9/11 memorial dedication sprawled out on the ground in fear. But in the end, it was two events that were easily forgotten, so I have no complaints. Regardless, I still garnered curious and nervous glances as I strode onto the main quad on my lunch break. It seems even a year later, people still associate my presence with impending danger.
But I wasnt splattered against the windows (Hi Dayna :P ).
I was, however, asked to head up the security detail for the Bosstones concert to be held in the arena on sunday. We only found out about this event yesterday, which sort of tosses a kink into some silly rules they have for us. You know, like the two weeks notice it takes to get MPD personnel assigned so that we can search people on the way in. And we might have an issue with the three weeks notice it takes to have an ambulance crew on scene... you know, just in case people get drunk and then dehydrated. I know thats a long shot, but I have a suspicion. Oh, and not to mention the week at minimum it takes us to organize a squad worth of the mouth-breathers that work for us to man these events.
They owe me for this one. Dont think I wont add it to the list of a million other shit assignments I've done for the Man. A list that I fume over in private to my friends and then neatly tuck away and forget as soon as I'm beckoned again. Gah.
So, I'm sitting here staring at the abomination my desk... or more specifically my 'old' desk.... has become. She's got family pictures up, she took down my wall of shame, there are little scented notepads and fuzzy writing instruments neatly housed in this horribly provincial faux-grass pencil caddy. Between lotions and candles and other nonsense, I wonder how this silly woman gets anything done at all?
I had something else to say, but I've just handled a phone call with an irrate person and now only wish to rain destruction on something. Hope everyone has a good weekend. I miss chatting with you guys.
Woohoo!!! Congrats to Dusty and John. Like we toast to newlyweds in my family as they set out on their journey "May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall gently on your fields, and until we meet again (well, for the first time actually), may God hold you in the palm of his hand." And if it were a wedding in my family, this would be followed by everyone getting ridiculously trashed and singing. In fact, there are very few events in my family that dont end that way. Birthdays, anniversaries, christenings, funerals, washing the car, grocery shopping, lunch, fist-fights.... well, fist-fights often both preceed and follow christenings, wether drunkeness was involved or not. And there's singing irregardless. Dusty- the dress and the bride were both very lovely. John- The dress and the bride were both very lovely (add congratulatory high-five).
Life around here is hot, busy, and sucks. But I've nothing novel to complain about, so I wont. I finally got a lamp for my room, so I dont have to be ghetto and use the closet light anymore. Hell, I've only been doing that for a year and a half now... I've kind of gotten used to it. Next step- a dresser to keep my clothes in. Yeah, thats the ticket to the good life. Nothing says responsible, mature man like a chest of drawers, neatly organized. Thats sure to get the ladies. And I have a Honda Civic, which is always a plus.
Well, I should scurry back outside with the other rats before they find me in here using someones computer. Hope everyone is doing well.