How I Spent My Saturday III

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Until yesterday, I had never been inside a semi truck. You know, the kind with the 7-foot cab ceiling and the little walkspace and the bed in the back, and a refrigerator and TV & stuff.

Well, #1 Son had to get his truck ready to go. He leaves tonight for his first-ever solo haul, and Mama Fink is proud. He needed some prep work done on what will be his full-time office and part-time home from here on out, so he and I — along with Jake — went to the truck yard to get it all ready to fly.

Here is the beast

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That is one excited 2-year-old

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The bottom of those help-you-up bars were way above my head

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Jake, making sure everything works

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Bedroom reading light, check

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Our little hard worker - gone in sixty seconds

Then, there was some school work done. Then, this. You don’t say. :-)

Today, I’m having coffee with a friend from high school. Brad (the guy on the left) was my lab partner in chemistry class, and we were in other school functions together. He is now a managing director for the company named in the photo.

It’ll be great to catch up. And since he’s on my Facebook friend list, I can leave the 10-lb. Jake/Justin photo album at home. Always a good thing.

Happy Sunday, fiends. Your Fink hearts you.

Various & Sundry XVIII

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You know, a lot of people come to me and they say, “RF, how can you be so funny?” There’s a secret to it; it’s no big deal. Before I go out, I put a slice of bologna in each of my shoes. So when I’m on stage, I feel….funny.

All right, I kifed that from one of my favorite stand-up comedians from my youth (that would be the mid-to-late 70s, for those unaware of the extent of my current dendrochronology). I just thought it was an appropriate lead-in.

Some tasty bits for you this day, and no balogna:

  1. Please never write the word “alright.” Just please…don’t.
  2. Last night, the Thriller came home with some dandy tart cherries for me. I don’t have a fancy cherry pitter, and I hate the thought of cutting them up individually. So I used this, which normally functions as the siphon for my bottles of DaVinci syrup. Pulled the hard plastic straw off it, pushed it through the fruit, et voilà.
  3. Hit the next person who says, “Wall-AH!” After that, pinch the skin of his inner bicep really hard until he pronounces the phrase correctly three times. It’ll be like the day in 1998 when #1 Son forgot to put the drain plug in the boat until after he’d backed it into the water: Some mistakes, you only make once.
  4. I have to renew my driver license on Monday. Ugh. Hate sitting for the mug shot. I do not photograph well.
  5. Last night, my friend Todd in Pennsylvania sent me a link to a YouTube video. Todd is a longtime trombone player who plays with a Philly-based oldies band called Daddy-O and the Sax Maniacs (their claim to fame is being former president Clinton’s favorite band — he sat in with them once). ANYWAY. The vid was a brass group doing Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody.” I thought, “Yeesh, another cheeseball arrangement of that tired dog, except done by band geeks instead of la-las.” Well check this out. It’s a group of Austrian guys, and my goodness can they play – AND SING. It’s a little on the geeky side, but what a bunch of incredible musicians on one stage:


Happy Saturday. Think some good thoughts.

Fink out.

Au revoir, l’été

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And so it ends. Summer, that is. Oh, and our round robin story ended last night, but not without some zany contributions from many of my funny fiends. Thank you for making me laff!

BFFs Kay and Bob were over for dinner-and-movie night last night (Slumdog Millionaire – thumbs up), after which we sat at the laptop on the sofa and had a giggle about our little David Soul/Shrek/Dallas-dream-season-ending-ripoff yarn. Funny story I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my sharing:

Kay teaches English to high school students in Slovenia. She told me that she also uses the round robin storytelling strategy with them, to sharpen their conversational skills. However, as the story circulates around the room, without exception Chuck Norris shows up in the tale. Chuck Norris, every time. I think that is hysterical. Do not ask me why that just makes me howl.

Another howler about Chuck Norris: #1 Son, as you know, is a truck driver. Hauls steel everywhere east of the Mississippi. For the last 5 weeks, he has had to ride along with a trainer and learn the business/ropes/whatever. His trainer (we’ll call him Sonny) spends every available non-driving minute in front of a portable DVD player, watching reruns of Walker, Texas Ranger. HAAAA. Again … no clue why that janks my funny nerve. It just does.

The only thing funnier than writing about “Sonny” is hearing #1 Son tell about him. Mavis and I about fell off our chairs a couple of weeks ago, listening to the stories (and there are many, believe it). I will actually be sorry when the training run is over today and he gets his own truck this weekend — though I wouldn’t say that to his face. Heh.

Guess I’ll have to find stuff to laugh at on my own. Which brings me back to going to school this morning…

It truly has been a good summer, even though I didn’t get stuff done (see Wednesday’s post). It’s OK. I’m young, right? There’s plenty of time. Have a great weekend, dolls.

FO

It was a dark and stormy night…

I admit it. I love that opening line, tired and dragged out and rode-to-death as it is. Sue me, sue me, shoot arrows through me. But it’s also the first line of the round robin (very) short story we’re going to write; me, and yous — you game? Aw, come on.

There are several – many, actually – fine writers who read RtB on a (hopefully) somewhat regular basis. Ross has already guest-posted for us (any other takers?), and I know other good writers on a personal, face-to-face basis. You know who you are. Don’t make me name you.

Anyway, I’m interested to see what direction our little tale would go (although, knowing most of you, I have a clue). So let’s do it.

Rules of the Game

  1. Only add a few sentences at a time — but you can add on to the story as many different times as you like.
  2. Don’t click the “Reply” link. Just start a new comment altogether. That way, the story will read down the page, and we won’t nest ourselves into a 1-centimeter-wide column.
  3. The Fink gets the last line of the story. Because Kody will simply write, “Everyone died. The End.”

:P

When the tale is told, I’ll write The End and close the comments. Ready? I’ll start.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Too much undone

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Boo hoo.

As I sit here drinking coffee and reading news, I realize that in 48 hours, I’ll be driving to school for my contract day — and there’s a whole lot I didn’t get done this summer.

I know — I’m fortunate to have a summer break at all (such as it was). That’s the upside of choosing a career that pays lower than any other in which a majority of the workforce possess graduate degrees. No ax to grind here; just sayin. Still, there was so much I wanted to accomplish, but didn’t. Behold the loose ends:

I Did Not…

  1. Replant the gardens
  2. Lose 15 lbs. (actually, over the last week, I’ve gained six – ugh)
  3. Totally rearrange my classroom
  4. Finish that arrangement of Say Hey (it’s almost done, however)
  5. Save more money for next summer’s vacations to Florida and Texas
  6. Get any choreography done for the fall musical
  7. Remodel the last of our three guest bedrooms
  8. Do the heavy spring cleaning I didn’t do back in April
  9. Get the air conditioning fixed on my truck
  10. Cook a bunch of meals and freeze them

Other than that, it was quite the productive summer.

Seriously though, the best part was getting to spend time with family — something I have not done for several years because of coursework. Feels good to be (almost) free of the “I’m a student” ball and chain. On 2 September, I start the last graduate course I will ever take, for as long as I live. That makes me happy.

I got really, really sidetracked last spring, but now I’m back on the horse, and for good. I’m “in it for the long haul,” as I’ve heard it said. La vida es buena.

So…why so serious? I shouldn’t worry about my list of undones, so I won’t. I’ll worry about yours. What all didn’t you pull the trigger on this summer?

Fink out (of vacation time).