Monthly Archives: September 2008

The Carborundum Condom Conundrum.

    So my Mom’s got my nose to the grindstone, says I gotta write a post about “etwas wirklich“. ‘Something real’. I’d choose “Current Affairs” for $500″ if I thought it was xanga-safe to regale anyone with tales of midnight trysts under the Mediterranean Moon.

‘Con-current Affairs’ I will talk about, as a concept… to be avoided. I’m on record as stating that multiple romantic partners add together in net value as fractions multiply. That is, any  fool who thinks he can nicely ‘serve’ three masters, or mistreses ends up with a life about  1/27 as rewarding in the long term as I, for example, (and reluctantly so), have been lately graced with.
Well-dressed math buffs may note that we’re talking about a penalty significantly more severe than even the dreaded Fitzgerald Contractions, which due to their square-root factor give you a jet-set playboy bonus almost up to the speed of light, at which point your schvantze weighs trillions of kilograms, and fellow astronaut/paramours  avoid your advances with centuries-long “Eeww!”‘s
Speaking of contractions, (which never having experienced makes me feel only half a man), let’s get finally to today’s topic:

This being an election year, do you believe in condoms?”
Phrased thusly in flawless Xanga Featured Style, I will answer that yes, I believe they do exist. I saw one once. Used one, also ‘once’. (“No, Mom, not that one you found in my wallet when I was 14.” Shame, checking my pockets as I slept”). My Dad made me bury it in a sinkhole. (I dug it back up the next night, Haha.) But no, some girl once thought it would be ‘interesting’ to see how they work. Well, as we found out within oh, ten minutes of Olympic Synchronized Copulation. ‘They don’t!” Shredded latex was all that remained. So how did (do) I navigate decades of ‘activity without resort to this featured invention? Simple Rule: Never get ‘Squishy’ with a girl who A) has diseases, and/or B) isn’t like, dying to bear your children. These categories can and do overlap at times, but usually one is sufficient.My problem is being so in touch with my inner… hell, I’m in touch with my inner child’s inner child. The limbic system. Guess I ought to call it my ‘Inner Lizard’. I never ‘do it’ without thinking of the procreative function motivating the operation like G-d’s designated driver. And a condom is akin to swearing in The Almighty’s face.



There, Mom, do we agree on this point? . Hey, you wanted substance. What, now you’re saying I shoulda done “CONUNDRUM“. Eine ‘CON UND RUM’?  Bad combination, right?. Or mebbe “Fix the CARB OR {the motor will} RUN DUM.”….

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So nu, what’s in the box?

       Somewhere in Andorra, Pandora Spock’s taking in the vista of the Pyrenees, using a “P” and/or a “S”, as we speak.
    Ah Andorra, a principality and/or a postage stamp stuck on the slopes of what we’ve been trained to call the ‘Pyrenees’ Mountains. But as ever with Catalonians, united but with just-below-the-surface factions, those mountains have been called variously “Pyrenees“, “Syrenees, and last year in an election-eve compromise, “Spyrenees“. (Detractors on the op-ed page of the local daily suggested wryly “Why not ‘Psyrenees’?” )

But owing to her ‘parve‘ name, my beloved Pandora slid right in, her immigration petition flying to the top of the pile like Marilyn Monroe’s dress. Of course to the detriment of my carefully hand-scribbled plea. Seems like  the authorities take in new citizens much like patrons at a popular restaurant. “Please wait until one of our valued customers.. um.. ‘passes away’.” they might as well have told me, adding “..and one who chooses, oddly, not to be buried on our soil”. Hmm, table space at a premium, huh?” Just my dumb luck Andorra’s got the world record for longevity! Oh well, I’ll just twist in the windy queue here in the Promising(?) Land, watching the tax-men frenzy-feed on my meagre shekel collection. I could change my name, of course. “J Solberg-PisS” Nah. “SisP“? Give up, Johnny. They know a transparent ruse when they see one. Sob. Guess I’ll never get to see what’s in Pandora Spock’s box


.Momma sez: “Penguins are starving in Antartica and you’re playing with words?”
Me: Hmmm.. ‘Sometimes The penguin is mightier than the s-word.’ Nice , huh Mom?
Momma: Oy. My son, die grosse shrayber! Don’t mean gornischt to a little farshtarbene faigel.
Me: Ok, you win. Next post’s about something real, I promise, blee ayinora.
Momma: *spits*

 

Given a chance to meet and talk to any 3 artists (dead or living), who would you choose?

First off, I’d choose ‘living’  artists. Lots easier to talk to ’em. They like, respond, ask follow-up  questions: stuff like that there makes the experience a bit livelier. Andof course I’d much prefer to be living myself.

Ok, seriously, I’ve had more than my fair share of opportunities to hang out with artists of renown, mostly musicians. And I must report that  admiring, even coveting someone’s gift does not necessarily imply that a conversation will be inspirational or fruitful. Past saying “G-d, you have monstrous chops, bro. How’d you get there?” and learning that “Um…I practiced a lot..” you mainly co-miserate about the weather, agents, airplanes, or whatever’s handy. I’m not sure what I could ask my hero Tchaikovsky, other than “How do you say ‘awesome’ in Russian?”.

   One memorable conversation of several hours I did have, though, was with Duke Ellington. z”l  He was writing some tune at that moment, we sat at the piano, I cracked him up pretending to know better than him what the horns should be doing at this bar, etc. Altogether an individual so human in almost a child-like way that we lost track of time. I must say I learned something, “meeting and talking” with that artist .

Oh, and it’s “khorosho” if I recall, I didn’t write it down so I forgot already. Pathetic, right?

   

I just answered this Featured Question; you can answer it too!

Seven Things you can now say… in TransVowel

Trans-Vowel Television ©, long a pioneer in progressive programming (“We put the ‘vision‘ in ‘television’), today lifted all restrictions on allowed speech, putting an end to, in their words, “this boring war of the words.” Richard Hertz, a spokesperson for TVTV (known variously as ‘Square TV’ or ‘TV to the Tooth’ singled out the highly rated quiz show,”Research Jamboree” which pits college-age contestants against each other in a race to dig up obscure information, for special mention, hinting that its petition for a name change, to “Go Get Fact!” would shortly be approved.

      Not everyone is keen on the decision, as is to be expected in a country known for changing leadership frequently, and often over vowel-related controversies. Said the Reverend Ezekiel ‘E.Z’. Leigh, “It’s unacceptable when the public doen’t see decency as I do.

     Meanwhile, other shows rumoured to be angling for a name change include the art-instruction series “Seaside Drawing-on-the-air”, to Scene of a Beach“,   “Lucky Come Home”, the cartoon adventures of a young lad and his lost feathered friend, (“Seek my Duck”),  ‘Micah’s Rockhound Round-up’ , the weekly geology series, to “Tough Schist!”, and even “Leighing it on the Line” the church-sponsered Sunday morning broadcast, featuring inspiring sermons from none other than the above-mentioned bitter opponent, is considering “‘Cant’is not in My Vocabulary.”
    Yes, this fall season promises to be interesting;  new shows, new names…oh and the long-awaited return of that french Circus show, “The Flying Entendre Twins.” Fridays at 8:00.
Transvowel Times ,  jsolberg, entertainment editor.

“This may be my last post…”- -(more-)

-for today, or for the week.. or for ever and ever, Amen? That would of course still leave Dear Reader facing ‘The First Day of the Rest of His Life’ tomorrow, but seriously. People get run over every day. Me, young and in perfect health, I can afford to be blithely irreverent. I ride through these Israeli streets, treating each car as a runaway driver-less vehicle. Half of ’em seem to have the horn stuck ‘on’, like the end of Chinatown but without Faye Dunaway. And what happens to Xanga sites when  the Great Unpredictable does happen?? My password will go with me to my grave, if they even find the body. And so this site will linger, a putrefying corpse, un-shut-down-able. Perhaps some next-of-kin will leave a Last Comment, announcing, (like Dick Nixon did, regrettably prematurely), that “You won’t have Solberg to kick around anymore“. Perhaps not. And so with that end  in mind, I won’t mention here my dinner plans for tomorrow evening:. “Hmm.. Eight thirty already? Where could he be?” In the larger Xanga world though, I do wonder what provision the Terms-O-Service make for posthumous site shut-down. A certain percentage of my Subs are dying to know, so to speak, floating in deep space, batteries long exhausted, toward the Oort Cloud and cosmic points beyond. Shouldn’t this issue be Featured Question material?

My daily walk with Jesus: Saved by the Blood of the Lamb

As I pause this Eventide on bended knee, meditating on the bountiful blessings we receive from the Lord, and how He calls us, like a candle to a moth— (more)


-er-humping candle-holder. Shit, I almost died this morning at work. A crane was lifting some stupid HVAC thingie up onto the roof there at Mass-Gen and the clevis or something broke. Hell, I woulda been right under it; I go down that street every day to McDonalds with my buddy from Hematology. We talk along the way. He’s an ex-major leaguer, Jesus Alou, you probably heard of him. Seems like I keep running into ball-players, in their after-life gigs. Clay Dalrymple, the famed catcher from the Phillies worked with me a week a couple years back installing a solar-panel system on a house I built. I just loved throwing tools up to him. Felt like the real thing. Anyway Jesus called me on my cell about 11:00, told me he was tied up. Some ‘bad blood’, ‘malasangre’ he called it. Long story short, they got a couple liters for transfusions from a new supplier, it didn’t look right, and so  my buddy did a few quick tests. Guess what? Sheep’s blood! Ha, I didn’t believe it either when he told me. What the hell’s happening to our morality these days? So anyway, by the time we went to lunch the street was closed off while they cleaned up the mess where the chiller-unit fell. I hurt my left leg pretty bad climbing over a bunch of debris. It only bothers me if I try to straighten it out. But seriously, we coulda been right under the dumb thing when it fell. Soon as we realized our good fortune I turned to him with a big grin:
“Hey Zeus, Thank you, Zeus, I owe you one.” He gave me that shrug, like “Hey, I only done what any other hero woulda done in the situation.”
But still, you can’t count on miracles every day
. Tomorrow we might hit Burger King. He likes their fries better anyway.
Note: I’m thinking about posting this on Revelife. It is inspirational.. So now I’m looking through their “The Bible: Part II”, trying to find where Jesus like, told a joke. Close as I can get is when He threw the ‘luft-geschaefters’ out of the temple. Gave one guy a nice kick in the ass and said “From this you make a living?” Hmm..

I OUSTED TED. YES, TEDIOUS TED, I OUSTED HIM

Ok it’s all over. Well, Ted’s all over… he’s all over the  sidewalk, that is.
I showed Theodore the door. Ok, the window. it was quicker.
‘Tedious Ted’, I ‘ousted‘ him. Could have said ‘outed‘, but that verb’s been scarfed up lately by the scarf-removers. Plus Ted isn’t (wasn’t?) gay. He’s probably not even all that happy, where he went…
  But I did the right thing. ‘Ousting‘ him, you know. I like the airy feeling of that verb.
And his crime? He was ‘tedious’. is all. He owed me money. For too many years. Don’t be messing with Johnny’s money. I’d called to remind him:
“IOU’S TED! ……..TED?” He hung up on me. The gall.
So ‘Defenestration. Defenestration of pragmatic necessity. Google that. No I don’t expect you to have heard of it. Happened before you were born.
Oust oust, damned Ted!” I cursed him, perched there on the window sill.
“{*Shakes spear*}?” He asked, crossing himself.
“No time for that, deadbeat. Plus it’s not in the script.”
“Well neither is this…um… this death scene
. You be makin’ a big ado about nothing..”
“Nothing!”.
I shouted. “You call five thousand shekels ‘nothing’?” Bad move, TED. Or perhaps I should call you ‘WASTED’? Yeah, I’m-a like-a dat. ‘TED’ is now ‘WAS-TED’. Haha, Funny, no?”
Ted read from his script like chanting a prayer:
“Ponga lo en la ventana, en un situo peligroso.”
“Now say ‘Adios‘, Was-ted!”
I glanced at my watch. Damn, late for my tennis lesson.

One push was all it took. He lost his grip, flung the script at me thoughtfully, with a look which seemed to say “Here, Johnny, You might need it in Act III.” Yes, That Look. I’ll never forget it. Peaceful, oddly tranquil. As if what was about to happen had been decreed by G-d, and on the day he’d been born. Yes, Meet TED, destined to be OUSTED, just killing time before becoming WAS-TED. Fate. I’ll never see him again. Or my money. Wait! My money!. Oy. “Ambulance!”