Okay, it's time to tell the story of the Monegasque Monkey Attack. Several of you have indicated a mild curiosity about the tale of the monkey, and Dan even called to beg me to write it.
Actually, that's not true. I called him. But the story did come up in our conversation, and he can at least vouch for the fact that I do have an ex-wife, and that she was (and presumably still is) a very nice person who
a) did not deserve to be attacked by a monkey.
2. did not deserve the irritation that being married to me might possibly have caused.
In fact I'm not sure how one would even go about deserving to be attacked by a monkey.
So there we were in the Principality of Monaco. I was presenting a paper at a conference there. Monaco is wonderfully nice, but not a great place to be a poor graduate student (and, I'm forced to admit, probably an even worse place to be the spouse of one). Since we weren't really the casino, Grand Prix types, we decided to go to this little zoo they had there. It was an old-school, cages with bars type place. The monkey cage had plexiglas screwed to it to thwart their coproshenanigans.
The smear and glare on the plexiglas was such that in order to view our simian cousins we had to get kind of close to it and cup our hands around our eyes, Viewmaster style. We were, at least, on the clean side.
While we enjoyed the antics of the cavorting little homunculi, one of them crept close to the cage and perched over the plexiglas, reached out, and SNATCHED a huge hank of my wife's hair right out of her head, banging her head into the cage as it did so! And then it scampered back to the back of the cage, laughing--yes, laughing--and grimacing, and then shoving all of the hair (and probably some scalp ... this was a fairly brutal attack) into its mouth.
She was in pain and so surprised she could hardly figure out what happened. I mean, who expects to be attacked by a monkey?
Needless to say, this was a sensitive situation. So there were two reasonable things I could have done at this point:
a. I could have given her first aid and attempted to succor her.
2) I could have demanded assistance from the zoo staff, and satisfaction in the form a big payment from the Prince of Monaco (which I would undoubtedly have gone on to lose at the casino).
The third choice, of course, is the one that tells you why, less than a year later, I was living in my hopping East 18th Avenue bachelor pad across from the convenience store, the storefront church, and the Salvation Army (okay, yeah, I'm skipping some of the other life choices that got me there, but fun as they were at the time, they're predictable and trite, so I prefer to blame my divorce on the monkey attack):
Can you guess what I did?
Yep: I. Laughed. My. Ass. Off.
I know, I know. But what was I to do? I'm only human.
Listen, if that had happened to me, wouldn't I have laughed about it (eventually)? Wouldn't I be telling pretty much the same story as I told you here, with me as the butt of it? Even as I tried to stanch the blood flow and effect a debonair combover, I would have been composing the story I would tell everyone when I got back to Ohio and somebody asked me, "How was the trip?"
"'How was the trip?'! I got attacked by a f---ing monkey!"
It would have been awesome. Instead, I have to tell it this way, and it kind of makes me look like a jerk. Still, it's pretty funny though.
October 31, 2008
I need you to
Lately I've been sucked into the first seasons of two prime time soaps--uh, serial adventure shows--that everybody else has been watching for a long time and is probably already tired of: Lost and Heroes.
On both of these shows--and on that X-Files ripoff that looked promising but I've already gotten tired of and quit watching--I've noticed that at least once per episode, somebody--maybe Jack (there's always a Jack, isn't there), maybe Skinny Freckly Federal Prisoner, maybe Humorless FBI Agent--will begin sentences with "I need you to ..." As in, "I need you to tell me where the bomb is!" "I need you to quit bleeding!"
Why? Is it just one person with one particularly annoying mannerism writing all of these characters? Or is it part of some greater mandate?
I need you to explain this phenomenon. Because it's irritating me.
On both of these shows--and on that X-Files ripoff that looked promising but I've already gotten tired of and quit watching--I've noticed that at least once per episode, somebody--maybe Jack (there's always a Jack, isn't there), maybe Skinny Freckly Federal Prisoner, maybe Humorless FBI Agent--will begin sentences with "I need you to ..." As in, "I need you to tell me where the bomb is!" "I need you to quit bleeding!"
Why? Is it just one person with one particularly annoying mannerism writing all of these characters? Or is it part of some greater mandate?
I need you to explain this phenomenon. Because it's irritating me.
October 27, 2008
An open letter in which I get political
Dear Representative Paul Kanjorski,
I'm sorry to inform you that I won't be voting for you in the November election, because voting for you would indirectly reward your decision to plague my household--a household of three voting citizens--with automated phone calls. I'm not kidding.
We received three such calls--one for each of us, I suppose--over the weekend. The first, on Friday, was a hangup, which was convenient since I was in the middle of making a meatloaf and would not have had time to listen anyhow. Also, the phone kept slipping out of my hands, covered as they were with raw hamburger, eggs, bread crumbs, and my secret blend of herbs and spices (which tastes and looks suspiciously like A-1 sauce). If I didn't have caller ID, I'd simply blame one of my daughters' stupid friends ... but as it turns out, even hormone-crazed adolescents have more phone courtesy than you do. Rule 1: don't call me. Rule 2: If you call me, don't hang up on me. These rules are not just for you--they're almost universal.
Saturday's call, the second, was merely a minor annoyance. I was watching a movie on TCM and hoping Mike would review it so I could open up a can of snark on him. I listened long enough to verify that there was no human on the other end, and then hung up, after ordering my daughter to wash the dried dead cow and chicken embryos off the phone. Rule 3: If you call me and don't hang up on me, be a person and not a machine.
Jack Lemmon as Shelley "Machine" Levene
Sunday's call is the reason I respectfully will not vote for you in the coming election. It came during the Steelers-Giants game, specifically during the first-half goal line stand. The Steelers' finest moment in the game. Rule 4: Person or no, if you are not bleeding or on fire, do not call me during the game. Again, it's not personal.
Sir: do you know what state--nay, Commonwealth--you're representing? This is Pennsylvania, in the United States of KMA, and we spend our fall Sundays in prayerful contemplation of the Eagles and the Steelers. Your fake phone calls are not welcome.
Sir: do you have any understanding at all of the people you represent? Most of us answer ourown phones, and you do not. How about if I call you in your home on a weekend when you're making a meatloaf sometime? Would that be okay with you?
And don't just call me when you want something. Even my brother in law has more courtesy.
Sir: do you have any evidence, provided by somebody other than the people you're paying to automate these phone calls, that they work? I'm willing to bet that this strategy angers as many people as it persuades. For the sake of your continued tenure in office, I hope that most people are less irritated than I am.
You see, I want you to be re-elected, and I assure you I will not be voting for your opponent. If you have any questions, please feel free to give me a call sometime. Apparently you have my number.
I'm sorry to inform you that I won't be voting for you in the November election, because voting for you would indirectly reward your decision to plague my household--a household of three voting citizens--with automated phone calls. I'm not kidding.
We received three such calls--one for each of us, I suppose--over the weekend. The first, on Friday, was a hangup, which was convenient since I was in the middle of making a meatloaf and would not have had time to listen anyhow. Also, the phone kept slipping out of my hands, covered as they were with raw hamburger, eggs, bread crumbs, and my secret blend of herbs and spices (which tastes and looks suspiciously like A-1 sauce). If I didn't have caller ID, I'd simply blame one of my daughters' stupid friends ... but as it turns out, even hormone-crazed adolescents have more phone courtesy than you do. Rule 1: don't call me. Rule 2: If you call me, don't hang up on me. These rules are not just for you--they're almost universal.
Saturday's call, the second, was merely a minor annoyance. I was watching a movie on TCM and hoping Mike would review it so I could open up a can of snark on him. I listened long enough to verify that there was no human on the other end, and then hung up, after ordering my daughter to wash the dried dead cow and chicken embryos off the phone. Rule 3: If you call me and don't hang up on me, be a person and not a machine.
Jack Lemmon as Shelley "Machine" Levene
Sunday's call is the reason I respectfully will not vote for you in the coming election. It came during the Steelers-Giants game, specifically during the first-half goal line stand. The Steelers' finest moment in the game. Rule 4: Person or no, if you are not bleeding or on fire, do not call me during the game. Again, it's not personal.
Sir: do you know what state--nay, Commonwealth--you're representing? This is Pennsylvania, in the United States of KMA, and we spend our fall Sundays in prayerful contemplation of the Eagles and the Steelers. Your fake phone calls are not welcome.
Sir: do you have any understanding at all of the people you represent? Most of us answer ourown phones, and you do not. How about if I call you in your home on a weekend when you're making a meatloaf sometime? Would that be okay with you?
And don't just call me when you want something. Even my brother in law has more courtesy.
Sir: do you have any evidence, provided by somebody other than the people you're paying to automate these phone calls, that they work? I'm willing to bet that this strategy angers as many people as it persuades. For the sake of your continued tenure in office, I hope that most people are less irritated than I am.
You see, I want you to be re-elected, and I assure you I will not be voting for your opponent. If you have any questions, please feel free to give me a call sometime. Apparently you have my number.
October 26, 2008
Alternate Halloween-related content
Since the haunted picture turned out to be a bust, here's some alternative Halloween content for you:
Actually, this one is more topical:
The trick-ee, Mr. Schnitzel, is rather Flandersesque. Incidentally, "Umm ... you're a weenie" is one of our favorite family sayings now. In fact if you say "umm" in our house, somebody will almost certainly volunteer, "You're a weenie?"
Actually, this one is more topical:
The trick-ee, Mr. Schnitzel, is rather Flandersesque. Incidentally, "Umm ... you're a weenie" is one of our favorite family sayings now. In fact if you say "umm" in our house, somebody will almost certainly volunteer, "You're a weenie?"
Deleted
Hmm. I deleted the haunted picture post because when Mike followed the link, it went nowhere, and when I did, I got a virus warning from Avast. I don't really think there was a virus threat there, but better safe than sorry. Dammit.
October 25, 2008
Tiresome technology linkfest
The other day, while finishing up what should have been a routine "update" (couldn't find the SNL Weekend Update video I wanted to link here--Quinn was the best Weekend Updater, and that's not open to discussion) my home computer refused to boot. Very irritating. Needless to say I had ALL of my photos and personal documents backed up. Yeah, sure. It helpfully offered to reformat itself and restore itself to its pristine, untouched state (which reminds me of a story, but not now).
I figured my stuff was still on there. So I made a USB drive bootable with Linux and backed up all the vitals onto DVD (and a USB-connected hard drive). Then I left it to reclaiming its retroactive virginity. I'm very pleased at its quieter performance, and I spent a pleasant morning trying to tinker everything back to the way it was before, or better.
So I got to thinking about this underpowered laptop I'm writing on now. It's an XP machine, and it usually runs at a snail's pace ... it will spend a week downloading some update and another day or two trying to install it--this even though under normal circumstances (increasingly few and far between) it runs most day to day applications acceptably. I figured the XP installation was pretty much screwed, but the recovery disks are long gone at this point.
Instead, I installed Linux: Ubuntu to be exact.
Anyhow, this puny Gateway laptop seems to be running a little happier than before. I don't know anything about Linux, but the computer is doing what I want it to do--light document editing, Firefox, reading the occasional PDF--a lot more quietly and happily than it was before. Now if I could just have the first half of my weekend back!
I figured my stuff was still on there. So I made a USB drive bootable with Linux and backed up all the vitals onto DVD (and a USB-connected hard drive). Then I left it to reclaiming its retroactive virginity. I'm very pleased at its quieter performance, and I spent a pleasant morning trying to tinker everything back to the way it was before, or better.
So I got to thinking about this underpowered laptop I'm writing on now. It's an XP machine, and it usually runs at a snail's pace ... it will spend a week downloading some update and another day or two trying to install it--this even though under normal circumstances (increasingly few and far between) it runs most day to day applications acceptably. I figured the XP installation was pretty much screwed, but the recovery disks are long gone at this point.
Instead, I installed Linux: Ubuntu to be exact.
Anyhow, this puny Gateway laptop seems to be running a little happier than before. I don't know anything about Linux, but the computer is doing what I want it to do--light document editing, Firefox, reading the occasional PDF--a lot more quietly and happily than it was before. Now if I could just have the first half of my weekend back!
October 23, 2008
I need a henchman to help with my minions
We have so many animals in the house that I've seriously considering acquiring a monkey to serve as their overseer. That way I'd only have to deal directly with the monkey, who would presumably walk the dog, clean the litterboxes for the three cats, and vacuum up all the pet hair.Something tells me, though, that the monkey would cause as many problems as it would solve.
This seems like a great opportunity to tell you about how my ex-wife was attacked by a monkey, but since there seemed to be little interest in the story last time I mentioned it, I won't bore you.
Pictured: Doc, the youngest of the cats.
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