Archive | January, 2013

I Get in a Wreck

26 Jan

Okay, I’m going to control the spin of this story. It’s come to light recently that Max Brown and I were in a wreck this morning. I’d like to share the events of the wreck so there is no misunderstanding of what happened.

Max and I drive down I-35E, soon to be the Kyle’s Civic Memorial Highway. We’re playing our favorite car game, where Max makes tiny mouse noises and I make tiny cat noises and we try to decide which noises we love more, then we name the mice and cats.

Ahead of me, roughly ninety feet or so, a man has parked perpendicularly
across the HOV lane to take night time photographs of himself and the bluebonnets. It is dark and the vehicle is unlit and there are no street lights. There is no way to avoid it.

I can remember just before I strike the vehicle.

“Max,” I say. “There is no way to avoid this.”

Max sighs and looks into my eyes. I look into his, deeply, as a dog does its owner while being given an unwanted bath.

“I know, bud,” he says. “You think I have time for a quick nap before impact? I have to go to work in the morning.”

I look up at the approaching vehicle. The driver waves at me from the median. I shake my head.

“Why don’t you just shut your eyes for a bit?”

I watch as the man skips across the HOV lane and gets into his truck.

“Looks like we’re about to have an ‘Armageddon’ moment,” I say.

Max’s eyes pop open.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You were always like a son to me, Maxy,” I say.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” he says, sitting up in his seat.

“Take care of Evan for me.”

“Bull shit don’t make me Ben Affleck. I’m Bruce Willis and you f–”

We slam into her vehicle with tremendous force.

“OH GOSH!” Max says, waving his hands in the air wildlly as our vehicle spins out of control.

“M-O-O-N THAT SPELLS MOON!” I scream, my brain misfiring from the shock.

“This is just awful!” The man from the other car screams from my backseat. Max and I turn around simultaneously.

“AHHHH!” We scream.

“AHHHH!” He screams back.

“AHHHH!” Max and I scream, now looking at one another. We turn back and the man is gone.

The vehicle comes to a stop.

“Oh my,” I say. “Oh my.” I am gingerly patting the stinky pillow in my lap. “Where did you get that stinky pillow?” I ask him.

“I think it’s the air bag.”

I look down at my bag and scoff. “Should have these on the outside. Could have turned that very bad experience into quite  a comical one.”

Max and I laugh hysterically, holding each other tightly.

“Oh,” Max says. “Smoke.”

There is smoke coming from my dashboard.

“Time to get out, I guess,” I respond.

Just then, an ambulance pulls up. It’s a convertible.

“Somebody in need of some emergency men-ical teet-ment? He asks, eyeing Max. We are all of us confused. 

“I am!” the man says. The ambulance driver rolls his eyes and says “No chicks allowed” and pulls out.

“No chicks allowed,” I whisper as he drives away. “Well Max–ready to get out of here?”

“God, yeah,” he says. I pop a Blue Monster, pour it down his gullet, pick up my guitars and hop on his back.

“Yah,” I say. “Into the abysmal night.”

And on we went.

The End.

*This is in no way intended as an actual statement of the events of that night. In reality, they were much sadder and more painful and there was a ton more bloody snot than shown in this post. Please pray for the soul of my Honda Civic, which is now in the most beautiful wing of that great parking garage in the sky.*

I Go to Fort Worth

19 Jan

I start my day with some light exercise.

Today, I’m employing a tactic I heard about in the grocery store last week:

“Anyway, so I’m starting this new plan this week. It’s supposed to really super-charge growth,” I hear a man with black hair say. His hair is black and straight and gelled without seeming stiff at all. It bounces as he speaks and never moves freely without ever compromising its appearance. I am immediately seething with something like rage. Seething with gayness.

This man and his compadre stand on the other side of this produce island. Melons on one side, oranges on the other. I am looking down at the cantaloupes, pretending like I’m scrutinizing each delicious, vitamin-rich orb. I don’t know what the Hell I’m doing.

“What’s it called?” his friend asks. His friend must be very short, because I can’t see him beyond the island. I hover back and forth in front of my side of the island, like if they had grandparent’s day in the NHL.

“It’s called muscle confusion.”

Muscle confusion. My muscles tremble at the phrase. I stand there and jiggle for a few seconds. I walk around the island to where the two men are standing. The man’s friend stands up straight, and ends up being the taller of the two.

“Oh, well that makes sense,” I say, looking at him. They stand one in front of the other (Beautiful hair in front of Suddenly-tall friend), totally silent.

“I heard you talking about a new workout plan,” I say.

“Oh,” the black-haired man begins. He seems surprised, but his hair seems totally cool, totally collected. He acts like he didn’t know other people could hear what he was saying if he wasn’t speaking to them personally. “It’s called muscle confusion. It–”

“Muscle confusion?” I ask.

“Yes, it’s a–”

“Stop,” I say, holding up one muscular index finger. I turn it a bit in the light so that he can see that I am no novice to fitness. I smile smugly and bring the finger down. “I know about muscle confusion.” I don’t know about muscle confusion, and want to know desperately, but I can’t give any ground to these behemoths.

“All right. So–is that all?” his tall friend asks. I clench my fists. Then, I unclench my fists, thinking why did I come around the island and oh yes I came around to ask about what muscle confusion is. It’s too late now, though, I can’t ask them after showing them my finger’s mass and saying that I know about muscle confusion.

I stammer a few glottal phrases. I start flexing my fingers and toes. I am holding a cantaloupe in my left hand and suddenly want to throw it up in the air and run off.

“You want to know about it?” the black-haired gentleman asks.

“Oh, sure!” I say. I throw the cantaloupe in the air and run off.

I’m sure I got the gist of it from listening to them say what it’s called and from looking at the way they moved in their jackets and jeans.

I go to my closet to get my workout clothes. I take out a white oxford button up, a pair of running shorts, a boot, and three socks. I put all three socks on one foot, the boot on my hand, and walk out.

Fully dressed to perplex my muscles, I get in my car and go to the gym. I walk in, swipe my ID card. Hit the weights.

I start running in place, then with one arm I start waving frantically, as if to someone setting sail. I begin whooping and I throw the boot on the ground. It hits my foot . I know my body would expect me to respond by bending down and rubbing the toe, so to confuse it, I do the opposite.

“Get away!” I scream in a big, loud Old-South accent. I stretch my foot away from me as far as it will go. I begin hopping around.

“Be quiet!” I yell at my biceps. “Now what are your names?!” Their confusion is palpable. I go pick up a two 25lb weights, start to do a curl then bend over, letting the weights dangle limply from my arms. I hang like that, completely still for what feels like a minute.

“HOURS HAVE PASSED!” I scream at my hamstrings. Totally baffled, my hamstrings tense and relax, tense and relax. Then they tense. I smirk into the mirror.

I rack the weights, then skip until I’m roughly ten feet from the cable machine, then break down and crawl the rest of the way, whispering the phrase “Holy Bible baby” over and over again.

I stand up, say, “I’m not gonna do this,” put my hand on my hip. “Not gonna do this.” Then I do it. I grab the rope that hangs there and begin doing tricep pushdowns. My triceps are aching.

“This is a fantastic lift for your glutes!” I say to a passing stranger. My glutes overhear this and, confused, begin to twitch wildly. I smile and wink at the stranger, then glance down at the shuddering hams in my shorts, demonstrating the power of Muscle Confusion. He seems put off and jealous and walks off, his muscles totally sure and totally bored and tiny.

I throw back my head and laugh loudly, deeply, from my belly, tensing my abs, choking off the laughter after a few seconds. Sounds like I’m being pummeled.

“Sounds like I’m being pummeled!” I say, grinning like an idiot.

Totally exhausted, I grab a protein shake from the vending machine and head home.

Oh god damn it, I didn’t even mention Fort Worth.

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