Come for the politics, stay for the snark.

“Jesus paying for the sins of everyone is an insult to those who paid for their own sins.”

A democracy can’t function when people can’t distinguish facts from lies.

Trumpflation is an intolerable hardship for every American, and it’s Trump’s fault.

It’s a good piece. click on over. but then come back!!

My right to basic bodily autonomy is not on the table. that’s the new deal.

Do we throw up our hands or do we roll up our sleeves? (hint, door #2)

I’m more christian than these people and i’m an atheist.

Every one of the “Roberts Six” lied to get on the court.

So it was an October Surprise A Day, like an Advent calendar but for crime.

Jesus, Mary, & Joseph how is that election even close?

Insiders who complain to politico: please report to the white house office of shut the fuck up.

Incompetence, fear, or corruption? why not all three?

A sufficient plurality of insane, greedy people can tank any democratic system ever devised, apparently.

Accountability, motherfuckers.

They were going to turn on one another at some point. It was inevitable.

Not so fun when the rabbit gets the gun, is it?

This really is a full service blog.

GOP baffled that ‘we don’t care if you die’ is not a winning slogan.

When I decide to be condescending, you won’t have to dream up a fantasy about it.

A tremendous foreign policy asset… to all of our adversaries.

Today’s gop: why go just far enough when too far is right there?

We are builders in a constant struggle with destroyers. keep building.

It’s the corruption, stupid.

Giving up is unforgivable.

You are here: Home / Open Threads / Debacular

Debacular

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Everything about today was a debacle. A bunch of stuff I can’t discuss that were debacular (I just made that up, it means spectacular debacle, you can credit me Never mind. Debacular is already in the Urban dictionary- I checked before I posted. Damnit.), but I can describe the four hour ordeal of getting Holly’s car from the airport.

Holly, my friend who had the brain issues (I better narrow that down- my friend who had the aneurysm. I have lots of friends I am convinced have brain issues, but that is another story. I think that may be why I am friends with them. Moving right along.) drove her car to the airport in Pittsburgh so that she could fly to NY to spend time with her husband, and while she was up there became ill. The details are fuzzy, something about her stomach hurting bad and her head hurting, but she went to the hospital and something about the shunt in her brain needs to be dealt with and she is going to be there for a while. Apparently they are going to remove her shunt and then have an external shunt (?) for a bit and then insert a new shunt, followed by a week’s worth of antibiotics. That’s all the details I know, so don’t ask.

Since she is going to be there a while, we went up to get her car so she doesn’t end up spending eleventy billion dollars on parking. She fed-exed the keys, and there was a note that said Lot 744. She just bought a new car since many of us had teased her about her old car (which at one point had moss growing on the window seals from sitting dormant so long- she doesn’t drive much), a little Fiat clown car in that greenish color that all your stoves and refrigerators looked like when you were a kid if you are my age. According to Fiat, the color is technically Verde Chiaro, which sounds suspiciously like a drink that Starbucks would market to 30 something female professionals in New York City to drink in between yoga and trips to Trader Joes. I figured, “Ok. Got the keys, know the lot number, and that color is going to stick out like a sore thumb. We’re good to go.”

So Shawn and I piled into the Lezbaru and rode up towards Pittsburgh, going past the airport to Robinson Town Centre to hit the Giant Eagle and then go to the pet store and I wanted to look for some new down pillows for my bed. Finished our shopping, got to the airport, and when we arrived, I remembered that there is short, long term, and extended parking. I assumed she went extended, because that is the cheapest. So we went into the extended lot and… there is no Lot 744. Not only is there no Lot 744 in extended parking, there is no Lot 744 ANYWHERE IN THE AIRPORT. They don’t even have “Lots” per se, they just have signs with a number and a letter, and each number letter combination hold hundreds of cars. Shawn looked at me and said “I think the sugar free Klondike bars are going to melt.”

We tried to get hold of Holly, but Holly is on a morphine drip and has been for a day or so. I finally get a response, and she is completely befuddled. All she has in Lot 744 written down in her notes. So we drive up and down through extended parking for an hour, stopping every 50 feet for a fucking stop sign. No car. Since you only have a free first hour in extended, we drove around to the exit, turned in the ticket, and explained our situation to the guy. He asked- “Do you have her license plate number?” Apparently they take pictures of cars and store them in the office, so our new side mission was to find her license plate number. At this point, I must repeat that this is a new car and Holly is on a morphine drip. She still had the tag on her keys from the dealer, and it had a bunch of letter/number combos, but none of those worked. I texted Holly, and asked her to try to think really hard what it would be. In the meantime, we drove around the airport, back into extended parking, and picked up where we left off, going row by row, car by car, STOPPING EVERY FUCKING 50 FEET FOR A STOP SIGN.

I then had an idea- she just bought the car, I bet the dealership has her plate info. So I texted Holly, found out where she bought the car, and called them. They said they would look into it and call me back. At this point, it was time to leave the lot and get a new ticket. Left parking, turned in our ticket at the toll booth, and as we were looping around the airport to re-enter, from about a mile away, Shawn spotted the car in the back of nowhere in the “additional parking” for the extended parking lot. Gotta love Cav Scouts and their eagle eyes.

We then drove home, stopping at a great Mexican restaurant called Chico Fiesta which is, and I am not kidding, across the street from a business that has a sign that says “Party Dresses/Lawnmower Repair.” Talk about a niche business model. The dealer called with the license plate number while we were eating. Johnny on the fucking spot, those guys were.

The klondike bars are all melted, but they are the crunchy kind, so we are trying to refreeze them. I’m going to sit down and watch the hockey game.

Oh- wait. I almost forgot. Holly’s nurse is named A. Fluffy Bunny, RN. And no, I am not making that up. Apparently he is out and proud and just fabulous in every way. So she’s got that going for her- I always get mean nurses who look like babushkas. I’d love A. Fluffy Bunny if I am ever hospitalized.

We still have not solved the mystery of why she wrote down Lot 744. A modern day Rosebud.

Reader Interactions

169Comments

  1. 1.

    chopper

    sweet spreadable jesus on a buttery ritz cracker, cole. you need your own sitcom. like seinfeld, only in west virginia.

  3. 3.

    raven

    You are even killin my wife here and I usually don’t tell her much about what goes on here. Hope Holly is ok. With the addendum I am in tears laughing.

  5. 5.

    Just Some Fuckhead

    We lost the car once in the Disneyworld parking lot. We spent about two hours going row to row clicking the clicker on the key fob that makes the car horn sound.

    That was the only time I could have killed someone with no remorse.

  6. 6.

    Howard Beale IV

    Now that’s a story. Hope Holly comes out of her current crises successfully.

    (Myself-I was actually prohibited from driving for 3 months due to seizures; I finally got sprung from that restriction last week. Since I work from home that wasn’t that big of a deal, and I was able to ride my bike with panniers to the grocery store-but it was still a PITA.)

  7. 7.

    Corner Stone

    I’d love A. Fluffy Bunny if I am ever hospitalized.

    Isn’t that the fucking understatement of the day.

  8. 8.

    Iowa Old Lady

    OK, so I know this was a frustrating day for you and Shawn, but I still wind up admiring your kindness to Holly.

  13. 13.

    Ruckus

    Give our best to Holly.

    If you had a jacked up 4×4 that gets 8 mpg you could have seen over the tops of the cars and spotted it much faster. Of course there are a few negative issues to contend with but also on the positive side you may not have been stuck in a field a while back. I realize this may not be useful information but ya gets what ya pay for.

  14. 14.

    fidelio

    Poor Cole! No good deed goes unpunished! Poor Shawn, dragged helplessly in your wake, watching the goodies thaw! And especially, poor Holly, who’s been through enough shit already. Shunt blockages can get nasty; I hope this resolves quickly and happily.

  15. 15.

    The Fat Kate Middleton

    Oh my god. Bless you for doing this … but this is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read on the intertubes.

  16. 16.

    Eric U.

    @Just Some Fuckhead: I think GM vehicles of a certain age only allowed 256 clicks before the key fob wasn’t recognized any more. Only took the alarm going off once before I got over my nervous tic of clicking the key fob when I was nowhere near the car. If you hit that limit in the Disneyland parking lot, there would be no other choice than to make a road trip to strangle someone

  19. 19.

    seefleur

    As a big-time lurker, I have to give Mr Cole and Shawn mega-points for being such mensches. You guys are AWESOME. And I hope that if I were ever in Holly’s situation, I would have friends who are as supercalifragilistic as you guys are. Mega-mensch, that’s what you, John-Cole-and-Shawn, are…

  20. 20.

    Mnemosyne

    I used to work with a guy who legally changed his name to Renaissance Peace-Love, but he couldn’t get people in the office to stop calling him Mike.

  24. 24.

    John Cole +0

    @Omnes Omnibus: Shawn. We didn’t think I would be comfortable in it (he’s only 5’9″), but the inside of the Fiats are really super spacious and nice. The whole interior is great, and it has a surprising amount of power. The downside is it is so light that the wind blows it all over the damned place.

    @raven: Holly lives a block over from me.

    @seefleur: It’s really not that big of a deal- the airport is right near all these places we regularly go to shop. The Costco is up there, too.

    Not to mention, who wouldn’t want to have this story in their portfolio?

  26. 26.

    Belafon

    You almost want to share that name, but considering what wingers are doing with medical personnel’s contact information, I will laugh out loud and tell my family.

  28. 28.

    raven

    @John Cole +0: Ah, you are still a really good friend no matter what the rest of these people say!

    I used to take the “Wheeling Limo” from the Pittsburg Airport to Oglebay. They had steel plates welded to the bottom of the cabs to combat the potholes on that interstate.

  29. 29.

    Mnemosyne

    @John Cole +0:

    A friend of mine in college who was 6’11” (you read that right) absolutely loved his Honda Del Sol. They somehow managed to get a huge amount of legroom into a tiny car. And, no, he didn’t have to drive it with the top off all the time.

  30. 30.

    22over7

    Spouse wanted to remind you that Big Ben threw six touchdown passes. He thought that would cheer you up.

  32. 32.

    Omnes Omnibus

    @John Cole +0: I’ve been in one; I am about an inch taller than Shawn and I fit comfortably in the front seats. I wouldn’t want to be over 6′ and drive one though.

  33. 33.

    JCJ

    @raven:

    You are even killin my wife here and I usually don’t tell her much about what goes on here.

    Yeah, I am showing this post to my wife soon as well. Actually there are a few posts from b-j that she likes. She frequently hears me laughing at this site.

  34. 34.

    raven

    @JCJ: I share a lot of garden stuff from here with her.She likes me posting pics of her garden much more than she does of me posting pictures of her in FB!

  38. 38.

    Paul Harrington

    A tweet from John Cole that says ‘This was my day today’ really gets the juices flowing. Can’t click on that link fast enough.

  39. 39.

    different-church-lady

    We still have not solved the mystery of why she wrote down Lot 744.

    Because she has brain issues. Don’t you even read your own blog?

  41. 41.

    Kansi

    John, I love your stories and agree they’re Seinfeld-esque. I especially loved the party dresses and lawn mower shop. Had some great mental pictures of their customer base. Bottom line moral of the story: you are a good friend. What makes everything worthwhile.

  44. 44.

    JGabriel

    John Cole:

    We then drove home, stopping at a great Mexican restaurant called Chico Fiesta which is, and I am not kidding, across the street from a business that has a sign that says “Party Dresses/Lawnmower Repair.” Talk about a niche business model.

    It was a very profitable business venture in the late 1950’s – early 1960’s when suburban wives used to put on their party dress and pearls, then mow the lawn so it would have that fresh cut smell for the cocktail party at 5:30 pm.

  45. 45.

    PhoenixRising

    a great Mexican restaurant called Chico Fiesta which is, and I am not kidding, across the street from a business that has a sign that says “Party Dresses/Lawnmower Repair.”

    Well, they’re across the way from Boy Party, so that sounds about right.

    Seriously, though, best wishes to Holly. Shunt replacement’s potentially a big deal, though if she’s getting great nursing care–as one would assume–from A Fluffy Bunny, every reason to expect all to be well. In time.

  46. 46.

    Steve from Antioch

    You know what handwritten “lot 744” spells when you hold it upside down, don’t you?

  47. 47.

    The Dangerman

    744 could be the number of runs the Royals score tonight (since the Giants can’t burn out their bullpen going into Game 7, the final score could be ugly).

  48. 48.

    Corner Stone

    I’m pretty sure “Lot 744” is actually the scrip she was given when drawings for The Lottery were about to happen.

  56. 56.

    gogol's wife

    Wow, reading this just after watching Dead of Night and it sounds as if it should be the sixth in the series of dark British-accented tales of the supernatural, maybe with Michael Redgrave and Googie Withers.

  57. 57.

    CaseyL

    @chopper:

    sweet spreadable jesus on a buttery ritz cracker, cole. you need your own sitcom. like seinfeld, only in west virginia.

    chopper’s right, Cole. You totally need to talk to an agent about a sitcom based on your life. Mopping while naked, half-killing yourself while walking the dog, the mustard-eating Bermuda Triangle in your kitchen, half-killing yourself while sitting in a barbershop chair, cars left in fields until there’s corn growing out of the windows, and now this Keystone Kops adventure in the airport parking lot, complete with melting ice cream.

    Hell of a cast, too: your Dad, who’s also prone to exciting medical emergencies; your frat brothers moving in and out of the house; Shawn and your other old army buddies; plus your extended family, which apparently includes everyone in Bethany.

    And Holly of course… my best to her for a quick recovery.

  58. 58.

    NotMax

    Lot 744 sounds like the title of a minor Stephen King story.

    Back in the swingin’ sixties, a friend of Mom had surgery. Afterwards, when she was awake and lucid she was introduced to the team who had done the job. All three had Italian surnames, which in English translated to Heaven, Angels, and Bells.

  60. 60.

    GHayduke (formerly lojasmo)

    “sugar free” anything is shit food. Don’t eat that stuff.

    This debacle is exactly why I keep a bright orange mountain bike on top of my car.

  61. 61.

    PurpleGirl

    Loved the interview with A. Fluffy Bunny. I like to meet the guy, but not to get an injection. Sounds like an interesting person to talk with about life and stuff.

    ETA: Hope every thing goes well for Holly and that you and Shawn find the car tomorrow.

  62. 62.

    SiubhanDuinne

    Holy fuck, that is possibly the single funniest thing I have ever read in my life, except maybe for that time you were completely hopped up on drugs after you dislocated your shoulder while saving Lily from the ignominy of getting her little feets all cold from the snow and ice when she had to pee in the winter. That was pretty funny. But this is too.

  66. 66.

    Jay C

    In order of importance:

    1. Give our best to Holly for a speedy recovery: after all the medical crap she’s been through (and come out smiling from!), she could use a break.

    2. How many refrigerator-green Fiat 500s could there have been at the Pittsburgh airport? I know they’re small, but they can’t be that common…

    3. Didn’t the Fiat key have a signal button on it?

  67. 67.

    Southern Beale

    My mother had a shunt in her brain and I’m convinced it killed her. Shunts are major sources of infection. Any little thing that the normal person’s immune system can fend off — minor infection from a cut, or a bad manicure, or even a zit on your face –is suddenly a threat because of the shunt.

    I don’t think I’d ever do one.

  72. 72.

    PurpleGirl

    Cole: tip for the next time you buy Klondike bars or any ice cream. Bring a cold bag to put them in. Something that will zipper close and be insulated so cold things stay cold. There are cheap plastic ones or get one at Trader Joe’s. They do work.

  73. 73.

    mikej

    @Southern Beale: It was the only way to get the then current chemo accross the barrier when my brother got one. Got him another couple years, but it was meningitis that killed him.

  77. 77.

    Jay C

    @PurpleGirl:

    Also: it may pay to pop for a small re-freezable cold pack (not the gel ones, preferably the solid “brick” type) to help absorb heat in the cold-bag. Ice cubes will work just as well, but the “bricks” are tidier (no melt).

  79. 79.

    srv

    I literally had the very first Fiat 500L in Dallas. A Hertz rental. They had just put the plates on it and hadn’t unwrapped the others.

    It was a week of random people honking and approaching me wherever I went wanting to fondle the damn thing. Kids taking pictures of it like it was some secret prototype.

    Tell her to upgrade, you don’t have to look for the car, you just have to look for the crowds. If the Walking Dead ever happens, the zombies will all be at the Fiat dealership.

  80. 80.

    danielx

    Cole: Ehhhh….shunt troubles, ugh. But usually the outcome is good.

    The daughter unit has had one since she was a few months old, and it’s been revised, as the docs say, twice since then. No, I lie – three times counting the last procedure which was summer before last. Symptoms are classic – severe headache and nausea. The purpose of the shunt, assuming Holly has a ventriculo-peritoneal shunt, is to drain off excess spinal fluid, which is generated inside these chambers (ventricles) inside the brain. Ordinarily the fluid moves through various passages to the spinal column. If those passages become occluded/blocked for whatever reason – various premie issues, injury, illness – fluid builds up inside the brain, pressing the brain against the inside of the skull. Also known as hydrocephalus – note here, the body produces about a quart of spinal fluid a day. If left untreated, it results in brain injury and eventually death. A VP shunt amounts to pushing a straw through the brain to the chambers where fluid is generated, allowing fluid to be drained off at a metered rate through a valve and then a line running down the neck into the abdominal cavity, where the excess fluid gets absorbed through osmosis and eventually peed out. If the shunt malfunctions or becomes infected, as Holly’s evidently has, a neurosurgeon has to go in and replace the shunt line, the shunt valve (which passes fluid at a set rate) and the long part – the distal/abdominal end of the shunt line. They usually have a general surgeon on hand to assist with threading the shunt line down to the abdomen. It’s not that complicated a procedure, but as with any procedure or appliance involving the brain, or anywhere else for that matter, infection is always a major concern as far as postop complications go. She will probably be on serious IV antibiotics (vancomycin, gentamicin, etc) while she’s in the body and fender shop. It does sound like her shunt became infected for whatever reason, although it might simply have become blocked. An externalized shunt is used while a patient is receiving antibiotic therapy. The good news is that once she gets through this, her shunt should be good for quite a while, although she will always need to monitor herself, so to speak. Daughter’s second vp shunt revision lasted from the time she was three until she was nineteen, although I admit I acquired any number of new grey hairs summer before last. It varies; some folks go through several a year – or so the neurosurgeon said last time around.

    And now you know more than you ever wanted to know about this topic.

  81. 81.

    Omnes Omnibus

    Okay, this has been nagging at me… Why did you buy ice cream after you knew you were going to be heading to Pittsburgh? Also too, I would take a 13F’s eyes over a 19D’s any day. I may be biased because I trusted my career to them and they always came through.

  83. 83.

    karen

    We still have not solved the mystery of why she wrote down Lot 744. A modern day Rosebud.

    Bad Wolf.

  85. 85.

    Steeplejack

    I still have nightmares about the Fiat 131 I had back in the ’70s. Of course, they were far from alone in making crappy cars back then. The new Fiats look like they could be a credible assault on the Mini Cooper market.

  86. 86.

    NotMax

    So what’s up with some states reporting how many early or mail-in ballots have been received, by party affiliation?

    No hard numbers of any type relating to received ballots ought to be permitted to be released until the polls have closed (or the designated end of the voting period in states without physical polling places).

  87. 87.

    Punchy

    Royals gunna take this in 7, yo. Giants gunna pitch Bumgardner starting in the 3rd and his arm will actually fall off in the 7th. Just you watch.

  88. 88.

    NotMax

    @Steeplejack

    One model of the Fiat 500 (at least initially) was the only auto I’ve ever seen stats on which listed a higher city than highway mpg rating.

  90. 90.

    srv

    @Omnes Omnibus: Abarth? wtf is an Abarth? Is like Vader’s illegitimate son?

    And now there’s a 500 Lounge? Lounge? Is that french or does it come with glow sticks?

  91. 91.

    Omnes Omnibus

    @srv: Karl Abarth was a tuner. He worked with Fiats and made stupidly fast versions of the original Fiat 500. The new stupidly fast version of the Fiat 500 is named in his honor. And it is stupidly fast.

  92. 92.

    srv

    SAN ANTONIO (AP) — British pop star Phil Collins on Tuesday handed over his vast collection of artifacts related to the Battle of the Alamo and the Texas Revolution to the state of Texas.

    Collins was in San Antonio to donate what’s considered the world’s largest private collection of Alamo artifacts. It includes a fringed leather pouch and a gun used by Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie’s legendary knife and letters from garrison commander William B. Travis.

    “There’s things in there that will make your mouth drop,” Collins said.

    The 1980s pop artist and Genesis singer-drummer has joked that he spent all the money he made from music on artifacts related to the 1836 battle in which 1,500 Mexican troops laid siege to 200 Texans.

    Whut?

    Land of Confusion intersects Wingularity…

  93. 93.

    cckids

    @PurpleGirl:

    Cole: tip for the next time you buy Klondike bars or any ice cream. Bring a cold bag to put them in. Something that will zipper close and be insulated so cold things stay cold. There are cheap plastic ones or get one at Trader Joe’s. They do work.

    Seeing as how you’re both guys, I cannot believe the easiest solution didn’t present itself to you: eat the damned things before they melt!

    Homer wept.

  95. 95.

    Steeplejack

    @Omnes Omnibus:

    The ones I’ve seen look good from the outside, but I haven’t been in one.

    My brother-in-law has a Mini Cooper convertible, which I don’t like. I feel jammed in (6' mesomorph) and the side/rear visibility is bad.

  96. 96.

    Omnes Omnibus

    @Steeplejack: As Cole said, they are okay (at least in the front seats) and the Abarth versions are really fast (and fast seeming). One review described the car as a drunken Italian midget. It might not win but, fuck it, if there is a fight, it wants in.

  97. 97.

    John Cole +0

    @Omnes Omnibus: We were at Giant Eagle, which sells the crunchy Klondike bars that Shawn likes and can eat (he is diabetic), and that is ten minutes from the airport, figured we’d spend ten minutes there, then drive home- 30 mins. They would have been fine under an hour, because I had other frozen stuff in the bag. Alas, it was not that easy.

  99. 99.

    dance around in your bones

    @Steeplejack: I put this reply to you re: Kwaidan in a dead thread:

    Watching Kwaidan right now!

    And anticipating my best friend in the whole world’s arrival at the SB airport tomorrow evening, She’s from Canada, so we only get together once every year or two – but we have been best friends since 1978 or so.

    We fled Afghanistan in 1979 just before the Russians invaded. With my 7 yr old kid in tow. It was too dangerous anymore, and the American ambassador (Adolph Dubs, who lived right across the street from us) had been murdered on Valentine’s Day in 1979 during a bungled kidnapping attempt. We had to pick up my kid from her school, and we huddled on the floor in a taxi as we motored to a friend’s house.

    Many people gathered there that afternoon, and we all spent the night. We all listened to the radio, drank a lot, and took Val.ium to sleep.

    It was a really weird time, with night time curfews that we repeatedly broached, tanks on the corners and soldiers everywhere ( all seemingly about 17 or so) – so my friend and I decided to book it home with my kid.

    My husband was not so lucky – he stayed behind to finish up a shipment of ethnic art and got caught up in the hysteria, and was stuck in AFG for over a year.

    Good times, bad times , you know I’ve had my share…

  100. 100.

    Joel Hanes

    @Jay C:

    Didn’t the Fiat key have a signal button on it?

    One presumes they tried that and it didn’t work.
    It’s a Fiat.
    That’s the common everyday tenor of Fiat ownership.
    I’m sorry Holly has one.

  102. 102.

    NotMax

    @NotMax

    Lot 744 sounds like the title of a minor Stephen King story.

    Was kind of hoping that might inspire some to toss out some opening lines. Okay, I’ll try to get the ball rolling:

    “All that was found on the corpse was a still-wrapped slice of Kraft American cheese and a crumpled scrap of legal pad paper on which ‘Lot 744’ had been scribbled in green ink.”

  103. 103.

    dance around in your bones

    Here’s a Wikipedia link to Adolph Dubs – it’s fairly compelling reading.

    Linky

    Oh frack – I have been having trouble doing the linky thingy lately, and I haven’t changed my methods at all. FYWP!

    Just google Adolph Dubs, you’ll find him.

    eta: so naturally it worked after I thought it didn’t. FYWP doubletime!!

  104. 104.

    Steeplejack

    @dance around in your bones:

    Good to know the old bat you’re working for lets you have cable! All the comforts of home.

    Do you have photographs to illustrate your forthcoming memoirs? Because those would be cool.

    Kwaidan is so beautiful visually, although I’m a little bummed that even on the HD TCM channel it’s letterboxed so they can put the subtitles underneath (instead of superimposed).

  106. 106.

    Violet

    Best wishes to Holly for a speedy recovery. And Cole your stories are hilarious. And you are a good friend.

  107. 107.

    dance around in your bones

    @Steeplejack:

    I lost most of photos in several disastrous moves, but I still have a few. I can probably beg some off my old friends as well.

    I swear to you that this is ALL TRUE!

    I’m mostly just enjoying the visuals on Kwaidan :)

    @Omnes Omnibus:

    Weirdly enough, my mom went to Beloit. My dad to Wheaton. Their parental units were fairly religious, though Episcopalian.

  108. 108.

    Suzanne

    My grandma had a shunt and she died of something else. So: SUCCESS.

    This story was hilarious and you are good people, Cole.

    I have to buy a new car. Damn.

  109. 109.

    Anne Laurie

    @John Cole +0:

    They would have been fine under an hour, because I had other frozen stuff in the bag.

    Get a collapsible cooler you can leave in the trunk.

  110. 110.

    dance around in your bones

    So everybody has gone the fuck to bed already?!?!

    When I’m here willing to spill the beans? Life ain’t fair.

  111. 111.

    Steeplejack

    @dance around in your bones:

    Kind of a weird time of the night, very erratic. Sometimes there are good discussions, sometimes it’s completely dead. I multitask and mash refresh periodically, and then I say screw it and go to bed—which I’m about to do right now. But I’ll check back in the morning to see if you dropped another episode of your memoirs.

    I’m always slightly surprised that there seems to be not much of a West Coast presence late at night. It’s only a little before 11:00 out there!

  112. 112.

    dance around in your bones

    @Steeplejack: Yeah, no kidding! I have 10:55pm on my laptop.

    I used to only be able to access BJ for a few hours a day (borrowing a neighbor’s wireless) and I’d save every BJ thread that I could with an app for Firefox called ‘Read It Later’, only now called ‘Pocket’.

    It was a godsend to me, as I could read BJ offline, and I used to wish I could take part in the late night discussions and music threads.

    So here I am, live and in person and everybody has gone the fuck to bed. Well, sheeeit.

    Sleep well, Steep :)

  114. 114.

    PurpleGirl

    @NotMax: So you want to have a BJ contest of who can write the (worst?) opening line of a novel based on “Lot 744”?

  115. 115.

    dance around in your bones

    @Steeplejack:

    Ok, even though nobody’s around, I will tell a story (perhaps Steeplejack will check back in the morning).

    My boyfriend – soon to be husband for the next 42 years – and I were on one of those wildly decorated buses from Eastern India going to Kathmandu. Think wide expanse of dingle balls over the top of the windshield, and pictures of Ganesh and Krishna everywhere.

    As anyone who has traveled in AFG, Pakistan, India and surrounding countries knows – gastrointestinal diseases are common. Think about staying in a hotel that has a communal bathroom on the same floor, and having to to race to the one bathroom ahead of the German guy, while shamelessly knocking him out of the way.

    So, we’re on this bus heading to Kathmandu, and my boyfriend desperately has to, well – you know – squirt water out of his butt. He shouts at the driver to let him out so he can relieve himself in the field we were passing – and then, some kilometers down the road he realizes that he left his leather Afghan pouch (with all our important documents in it) out in the field.

    The driver lets him out to go back and find the pouch, and my boyfriend tells me “Go on to Kathmandu, I will find you”. (Guys, I was 16 yrs old at the time).

    So, I get to Kathmandu, check into a hotel rather tentatively, and in the middle of the night I awoke to hear someone calling my name. I think it’s a dream or hallucination or something, so back to sleep I go.

    The next day I went to the Post Office where everybody checks for their mail via Poste Restante – knowing that if I will find him anywhere, it will be at Post Restante.

    Well, golly gee if he wasn’t waiting there for me to show up! I asked him if he had been calling my name in the night, and he said yes…..but since he never heard me call back, he checked into another hotel.

    Thank gawd we found each other, because we had many wild adventures after that, including a trek through the Himalayas from Pokhara to Jomsom and back – in the course of which I wore my cool Tibetan felt embroidered boots right off my feet, and I had to walk barefoot for two days.

    My boyfriend/husband traded a shirt of his for a pair of rubber flip flops for me (that felt fan-fu-king fantastic!)

    We passed many wild fields of mary-joo-juana on our trek which turned out to be about 200 miles, in all.

    We finally got back to our base camp in Pokhara (where we were staying with the Hog Farm commune in tie-dyed teepees (the tie-dying ruined the waterproofing on the tee pees, plus they had set them up in a nice little grassy spot otherwise known as a rice paddy – LOL)

    Yes, Wavy Gravy, Bonnie Jean, Calico Girl, Red Dog – we hung out with all of them.

    But when we got to the camp late at night in Pokhara we were SO hungry that we went into the camp kitchen, and all we could find to eat were potato peelings. Which we fried up and enjoyed immensely.

    There’s nothing like REAL hunger to stimulate the appetite!

  117. 117.

    dance around in your bones

    Oh, and P.S. – I was actually an extra in the movie Hare Rama Hare Krishna, where I can be seen jumping out of the back of a jeep (long blonde hair flying) and also smoking a chillum, We actually smoked hash & tobacco at first, getting mightily fucked up, but we smoked all the hash we had – at which point they had us switch to tobacco only, which oddly enough spun me put even more than the hash/tobacco combo.

    I can still hear the Hare Rama Hare Krishna song in my nightmares, they played it that many times. Most of us signed up as extras for the free food they gave you on the set, plus I think we were paid 10 rupees a day. What a deal!!

  119. 119.

    dance around in your bones

    @SWMBO: Last story good enough?

    Fuck, it sounds like I am making all this up, but it is 100% true.

    I’d had some slight experience with the Hog Farm Commune as they did ‘happenings’ on the campus of UNM (close to my house, walked through every day, never attended UNM – my boyfriend/husband and I ran across them at the American Embassy in Kabul. I was wearing a maroon velvet embroidered dress; my husband a turban and an Afghan silk chapan,

    We were told later that we’d made a big impression on the Hog Farm people, but they seemed just as exotic to me. First time I ever saw someone nodding out from opium was on the Man Bus. I won’t say who it was.

    but, my boyfriend/husbands ran across the

  121. 121.

    dance around in your bones

    ok, last sentence in that story was some kind of error – prolly PEBCAK, LOL

  124. 124.

    dance around in your bones

    Here’s a link to images of that film I was an extra in – Hare Rama Hare Krishna….you can see a few images of people smoking chillums. I am currently poring through them trying to see if I can find an image of my younger self, but no luck so far.

  126. 126.

    Duane

    Laugh my ass off to a Cole story, then get mesmerized by another incredible tale from dances… this thread is a winner!!! And I am up at this hour representing the East Coast/midwest… that’s what doing the midnight milking on a 3X dairy farmer will get you for a schedule.

  129. 129.

    dance around in your bones

    @SWMBO:

    Yea, REALLY!

    Here’s a link to the song that drove me crazy from the movie, but I am tired of looking for myself..

    “Dum Maro Dum”

    If you see a young girl with long blonde hair either 1) jumping out of a jeep, or 2) smoking a chillum — that’s me :)

  134. 134.

    chopper

    @PurpleGirl:

    i would think something a bit on the Dickensian side would be great:

    John Cole was not a handsome man, nor was he wealthy, nor was he of high-standing. His waistcoat was worn and threadbare around the edges, leaving low-hanging fringes around the bottom which occasionally caused embarrassing encounters when he walked past the local synagogue; its pocket was similarly worn through, and his pocket-watch it would not hold, at least had he not accidentally stepped on it the previous month while sweeping his kitchen clean of mice.

    His face was rarely clean shaven, as the town had bandied together one dismal fall morning at city hall to officially declare that nobody was to sell him any sharp implements of any kind. Still, on the occasion when he visited the town barber, he still managed to lacerate a tendon or break a hip in ways nobody was able to predict. The barber, having previously been described by townsfolk as the most solid and rock-ribbed member of the downtown business consortium, was now grown into an overly anxious fellow with a slight wheeze and a condition commonly called ‘piss shiver’.

  135. 135.

    chopper

    To say that Mr. Cole was accident prone would be putting it mildly. The local constabulary had only recently installed a small manned station at the end of his block, not fifty feet from his front door; officers sat in shifts for most of the day manning an ear trumpet and listening for any odd sounds from his abode that would signal that he had yet again fallen over while mopping, or broken his jaw whilst eating corn.

  136. 136.

    chopper

    Still he was a jolly man; and being of general sound build, ruddy-cheeked and plump of fetlock in a manner than indicated good health and vitality, was considered useful to others. He adored being helpful and offered his aid to all his friends and neighbors who considered such an attitude to be a great service, at least as long as such help did not involve being near anything generally breakable or of value.

  137. 137.

    dance around in your bones

    @chopper: Those last three fantasy posts are so freaking good.

    Kudos!!

    ETA: I think ‘piss shiver’ should be a tag :)

  138. 138.

    chopper

    Mr. Cole was engaged at the local College as an instructor in the field of communications and rhetoric, which most found suitably confusing as his interactions with men-about-town were typified by grunts and loudly-shouted expletives. However, his employ did allow him sufficient salary to own a carriage, or rather to purchase a proper used one after his previous carryall found itself stuck fast in a farmer’s glade and subsequently abandoned. For this he was doubly useful to his neighbors and compatriots, though not very much to the farmer.

  140. 140.

    dance around in your bones

    @chopper:

    OMG, his ‘carriage stuck in a farmer’s glade’ is incredibly fantastic.

    Way to nail The Cole Man via Dickens!

  142. 142.

    a hip hop artist from Idaho (fka Bella Q)

    @chopper: That made my morning. It’s hilarious. And of course Hog Farm people stories and the tales from AFG and surrounds are delightful. Thank you both.

  143. 143.

    dance around in your bones

    And of course, you remember the little old guy in the striped trousers using his – not ear trumpet – but voice trumpet, I guess, to shout at the clouds.

    I miss that old logo very much, which I expressed in various bitchy comments after the last site “re-do”.

    At least I still have my BJ coffee mug with the old logo….I am drinking chai latte from it now as we speak!!

  145. 145.

    dance around in your bones

    @chopper: Trader Joe’s.

    Expensive, but very easy to fix (boil water – add a scoopful of chai latte mix). Then, if you are me, add a good dollop of half and half :)

    No, for whatever reason I am not fat. No idea why.

  146. 146.

    shelley

    that says “Party Dresses/Lawnmower Repair.

    Reminds me of an old New Yorker cartoon: Sign in front of a lot: ‘Fill Dirt/Croissants.’

    The ‘lot 744’ sounds more like a McGuffin than a Rosebud.

    Holly, man. Hasn’t she been thru enough?

  147. 147.

    chopper

    So it came as no surprise to Mr. Cole when, the tuesday prior to All Hallow’s Eve, he received a message from his good friend and neighbor Holly requesting his aid. Cole was nursing a weary shoulder that morning; his right shoulder had been previously dislocated in a disconcerting imbroglio with a mop, and his other had been damaged in a fall typical of the man which need not any further elaboration. This morning it was his right’s turn to kick up a fuss. Holly, on the other hand, had recently undergone a frightening ordeal at the local infirmary involving the extirpation of an angry blood-vessel in her belfry. And now, as it turned out, she necessitated another visit to the barber for a further blood-letting, though thankfully not the same barber Cole had over so many occasions put completely out of kilter.

    Holly had recently obtained a diminutive new brougham for herself and her groom in honor of their recent nuptials, and her recent medical condition thus disallowing her the ability to take possession decided to call upon her good friend John. Mr. Cole knew of her particulars here, having found her choice of model the source of fun; people who knew him found this somewhat ironic given that the model Mr. Cole had picked for himself was widely associated with stout, sapphic women.

  149. 149.

    dance around in your bones

    @chopper: gads, you are on FIRE this morning!!
    ‘A disconcerting imbroglio with a mop’? perfect!

    ‘Holly, on the other hand, had recently undergone a frightening ordeal at the local infirmary involving the extirpation of an angry blood-vessel in her belfry’ – PURE genius.

    Ok, and the car shit was sofa-king funny :) Thanks!!

  150. 150.

    Tone In DC

    @chopper:

    Mr. Cole was engaged at the local college as an instructor in the field of communications and rhetoric, which most found suitably confusing, as his interactions with men-about-town were typified by grunts and loudly-shouted expletives. However, his employ did allow him sufficient salary to own a carriage, or rather to purchase a proper used one after his previous carryall found itself stuck fast in a farmer’s glade and subsequently abandoned. For this, he was doubly useful to his neighbors and compatriots, though not very much to the farmer.

    LULz.
    That’s some good stuff, right there.

  151. 151.

    chopper

    Holly was already in repose, but had thankfully forwarded by courier the key to her new carriage and a terse note describing its location in a large lot the next town over. However, upon inspecting the note, John found the detail somewhat lacking; “LOT 744” was the extent of its specificity. John read the note again, fumbling it in his large, clumsy fingers. The note fell through the crook of his oversized, ham-like hand and floated carelessly to the ground. Bending over to retrieve it, he felt three of his vertebrae pop loose and felt it necessary to lie down on his sofa for some time. This, however, gave him time to think of the note between the bouts of agonizing pain radiating from his posterior.

    John called for his roommate and closest confidant, Shawn. Shawn was a quiet man and perpetually hatted. Most townsfolk who visited the Cole domicile described him as a whisperer of animals as the house pets were almost consistently borne on his lap, to the point where he spent much of his day sofa-bound. John knew he would need Shawn’s aid in bringing his own conveyance back home after gathering Holly’s new vehicle, but currently he had bigger fish to fry, namely securing verticality. After an hour or so of heaving and the purchase at the local market of a long prying bar, John was standing again.

  153. 153.

    chopper

    Shawn inspected the note. Ah, this will require some sleuthing, he stated matter-of-factly. He strode into his bedroom to change hats, and returned topped with what he called his ‘thinker’s pork-pie hat’, a headpiece a haberdasher worth his pence would properly refer to as a Trilby. Shawn, however, would have none of it. It’s a pork-pie hat, goddamn you all, and that’s my word, he shouted whenever some well-intended gentleman challenged him on the subject of hats. Shawn was still banned from the local market over an altercation involving the proper epithet for what he called his ‘down-in-the-dumps tam o’ shanter’ that escalated to full-on fisticuffs. Thus, as John noted that the larder was somewhat bare, the two would have to travel forthwith to a market out of town for foodstuffs. However, by luck there was a substantial such market near the holding lot that had lien on Holly’s carriage. Brilliant! Our adventure begins! Shawn said, gay with the feeling of the unknown that lay ahead.

  154. 154.

    chopper

    Having put the dogs and cat aside, the two men gathered supplies and sundries for the long foray and prepared to sally forth. Shawn brought forth the idea of take along a so-called ‘cooling box’ in order to keep any cold goods purchased at the market from losing their integrity, but John thought such an idea completely unnecessary. Piffle, we shan’t be out that long, you ignoramus! he scolded. We will likely be back home within two hours, we have no need for such gewgaws.

  155. 155.

    chopper

    The first leg of the two men’s junket was surprisingly trouble-free. The two arrived at the market without any serious complications after making satisfactory time, and John had, surprisingly to all, not injured himself along the way; the last time he had attempted such a trip, to pick up a friend the next town over, he had implausibly broken two leg-bones and cracked his skull merely attempting to get out of his carriage. Aha, he thought, the stars are certainly with us today! The market was even half-empty, and within minutes the two were back in the fully-stocked cab. Next stop the lot, and then glory to us both! Shawn whooped loudly.

    When they arrived the two chums noted that the lot was astoundingly spacious and was divided into a number of smaller-lots. John, however, felt prepared for this particular scenario, having thought ahead as to such a possibility. He was sure that Holly had left her carriage in the longest-term lot for storage of a fortnight or longer, as he was sure that she was a spendthrift sort. So they picked the first access drive and ingressed with aplomb and a sense of enterprise and derring-do.

    First they encountered a sort of turn-pike, where a pale, underfed-looking gentleman in a badly-fitting uniform and worn green cap manned a sort of raising-and-lowering bar blocking the way; he gruffly, and with a bit of a grunt, looked at a small clock hanging next to him and scribbled the time on a small card which he handed to John. First hour’s free, guv, he grumbled, coughing at the end loudly into a grimy kerchief. The two crept along.

  156. 156.

    chopper

    At first the men’s intention was to find Lot 744 by process-of-elimination, noting the numbers of the first lots they encountered and determining which direction they should continue. John had thought of this strategy along the way and was quite proud of it; however, their scheme soon revealed an underlying predicament – the lots were not numbered in such a fashion. There is no “Lot 744” here, John fretted. We may have a problem, Shawn confided to his friend. Shawn had also just come to the realization that he left his ‘thinker’s pork-pie hat’ at home. Fiddlesticks! What kind of help can I be now? he reckoned to himself. He did remember to bring his ‘shame bowler’, which he quietly adorned himself with as John looked around impatiently.

  157. 157.

    chopper

    Soon the better part of an hour had passed, and John seethed. These lots aren’t numbered, the signs have blasted letters on them! Fie, fie and a pock on the firstborn of whatever beslubbering, rump-fed puttock designed this rubbish!

    We’ll have to pay for this blasted ticket soon, so we best leave and come back, Shawn muttered. Even without his thinking hat, he was still paying attention. The two sojourned and turned around and reentered, hoping the grimy man at the turn-pike would not notice that they were the same men as before. The man recognized them, but as luck would have it, the consumptive, cadaverous-looking guard made no mention of the fact and gruffly thrust another ticket at John, coughing all the while into his stained rag. Whatsa matter gents, you lost? he spat out.

    John explained the dilemma as best he could. The guard coughed up what looked like a large portion of wet eel onto the ground and said Well guv, you’re in luck then. We number and write down all them carriages what come in here for a while. You have your friend’s carriage number then?

    John shook his head. Dang and blast! This is getting more bedeviling by the minute! Shawn snapped.

    ‘Ow about you contact your friend there, eh? Get ‘er to tell you what’s what? said the guard.

    She lies in repose, I’m afraid. I’ll reckon she’s huffing at a sack full of ether at this very moment, John replied.

    Well, you’re welcome to look as long as you like then, guv. No charge, the guard declared. John sighed loudly, thanking the man, and they continued their search.

  158. 158.

    shelley

    Love the ‘the two chums.’ I see a whole series of Andy Hardy-type adventure stories on the horizon.

  159. 159.

    dance around in your bones

    @chopper: Jeebus, you are outstanding today!!!

    SO much enjoy your 18th century comments re: John and the Shawn and the Holly and the ‘carriage’ and etc etc etc.

    ETA: I just want to say that I usually go off late at night with my stories (which are TOTALLY TRUE!!!)[ and I admire your ability to spin yarns in a certain style by (let’s see, not quite 11:00 am here on the Left Coast).

    Kudos times dos!!

  161. 161.

    chopper

    the problem is going to be ending it without it being too anticlimactic. this must be how neal stephenson feels every day.

  164. 164.

    chopper

    Another hour passed, and John was feeling more and more irritable. What devilry is this, he seethed as they turned another corner, glancing to and fro ruefully. We will have to give-up on this cursed lot and return on the morrow. ‘Twill be nightfall soon, and I have trouble seeing very far in the dark. Let us bid leave of this godforsaken place.

    As the two men decamped, Shawn caught a slight glint in his eye – could it be? His heart started racing like a champion steed. It was! It was, and he had found it! He whistled loudly and began to shout. Ahoy hoy! Indeed, I do believe I’ve found it, old boy! To the left, look! It’s right there! Eureka! Eureka!I do say, the day is saved!

    John whipped his head around, which pulled several muscles in his neck; the pain was a blade thrust deep into his collar-bone. Confound it! Drat the luck, and curse this lumpish, knotty-bitten body! he screamed. But when he saw Holly’s carriage he quickly forgot his neck and rejoiced. John threw the door open and jumped out, however his legs, weakened by sitting for the last few hours, wobbled underneath him and he flopped on the ground like a rotten codfish. Undeterred, he crawled on all fours to Holly’s carriage and produced the keys, and the door opened. Hoo-ray! Together the two triumphant friends prepared to end their remarkable journey together.

  169. 169.

    mainmati

    @raven: It’s Pittsburgh with an “h”; the only one in the USA allowed to keep the “h” after Pittsburghers nearly rioted about the Government’s proposed spelling change.

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