Reason to fear

Ouch time!

don't look up

last thing you see before the splat

Moving Day

Dave, his pregnant wife Jen and son Will were moving. While they had moved a great deal of their things, stuff was still there.
They asked for volunteers for the job. I wound up having the day to help them.

Their house was mostly empty. The obstacles that were the most difficult were:
the sectional sofa that, even with four beefy guys lifting it was, well, a challenge through not narrow stairways. The practical solutions was cables run over like straps, carrying the section gurney style. I'm not a beefy guy, those more able were the lifters there.

Piano. It wasn't too difficult, but if you haven't lifted one, especially without the wonderfully available piano movers, it is a "treat". The piano is long and the ramp onto the moving van was not long enough to be a slow incline.

The packing went well. Some things were there long enough that -- one forgets how to disassemble them. It was, uh, interesting ... the crib took some thought.

The best thing to move, most of all, was the cement planter, which Dave was, I think, not so happy to have to take with them. I think it was only 4 x 4 feet, like 4 tons x 4 tons. With all of us lifting it onto a truck, it was still an unhappy move. It could have snapped under its own weight.

Their transitional move went okay. I wasn't able to help them to their new home.

Ages

Monkeyjack, when in high school looked like a middle schooler. He also looked young. This once enabled him to get out of a ticket -- looking like a new driver.
I looked old in high school. Monkeyjack's early-developing cousin thought I was thirty-five. Boy! His cousin was not a good mix with horny teens. She was young, 14, but looked, well ... curvy. Too curvy for a 14-year old. We were around 17-18.

Monkeyjack always got carded and I never got carded. I still look about 5 years older than I am.

In that I looked old enough to buy, say liquor, earlier than I should, I never took this opportunity. I was too scared, chicken, whatever.

We didn't start the fire

Oh, wait ... yes we did!

Monkeyjack and I were the only ones to have Apple computers in 1988. So, we were intersted in file-sharing, that's how we met.
Hey, who's [my name]?
Look for the guy with his shirt open with a full beard and hair hanging out. Keith found me with no problem.

While file-sharing, an inspired thought came about ... why not start that wad of paper on fire?! Why not then?

Light ... hold ... ouch, fire! Fire! Fire!
Run to toilet flush the fire. Wow! That was pretty stupid.

My last trip to Denny's

I only went there twice. Circa 1990?

It was late, we were all hungry, probably in the north part of town when we all went to Denny's. Good food -- not present. Service -- tardy. Stupidity -- common.

Most memorable was EM talking about a fun thing with holding your wrist in pain with "boisenberry jam on it."
Boisonberry, how very common.

EM is also known as, the close talker ... uh, hey! Could you like, not be 4 inches from me when you talk?

He also had a brother who I saw twice. His brother had the Joker character from Full Metal Jacket, 1000 yard stare. He looks like someone you wouldn't approach.

More eggs, more fun

In most school systems there is the fragility test of protecting an egg from certain disaster when dropped. The students each have a couple of days to put a raw egg in a container to protect it from a fall.
Enter factor two: a teacher who, doesn't like you. She is the teacher for this science class.

MR had the misfortune of not being on her 'good' list. I didn't see it, but he reminded me of her special glee in flinging it horizontally to gain momentum having it destroyed. Gee MR ... you get an F. Thanks for the fair assessment!

She tried mightily to cast mine to the same fate, but it survived somehow. I talked too often and found her class to be ... uh, boring. I was probably deserving of her animosity. Frightening as that was, there was a common substitute teacher for her: Mrs. Burk, who we lovingly called Burp. She was loud, foul, and hated everything to do with people -- my perspective at that time.

Fianlly, you throw into that class, when alternately reading sections, M C who read much like grass growing. Syllables lasted days. Reading a paragraph was, well, not necessary punishment for us all, really.

Science of egg tossing

Really, there is a science in it. First, realize that eggs splatter in a wide pattern. Eggs, no matter how fresh, stink immediately after opening and they don’t smell any better with age. What to do; what to do? I know! Let’s play egg baseball. If you haven’t play this game … try it!

First, the batter should be well protected from the spray. I had an old shower curtain – that’ll do! Stand and get your proper stance.

There’s the pitch! Strike, an unceremonious death of an egg.
Pitch. Hit! The hit looks like the end of a comet! It spray everywhere, barely touching the batter. The pitcher, me .. was wearing some. MR called for another egg.

I tossed it and MR hit it with fury. The spray went farther – to the porch – not bad!

I believe I tried it and the egg all went on me. I stunk, both in talent and in smell.

At some later time, I grabbed some eggs and tossed them to someone in the lawn through the back door. Their catching it was astounding. TS tossed it back. I dodged it deftly and it splattered on the linoleum. I laughed about it. TS walked in and MR was there. They were stunned by my comic running in place on the slick of eggs the lay on the linoleum. MR claimed that it seemed like a minute of me constantly running trying not to slip on my face or back. I succumbed to gravity and fell backward. I wasn’t awarded applause.