For Jenny G

Continuing with the theme which I'm dragging out as long as possible, Jenny G has a few questions:

1. Why are you so awesome?

This is an amazing question. I've thought long and hard about this one as it is one I am asked multiple times on a daily basis. It could be a number of factors:

• My devastating good looks
• My rapier-like wit
• My unparalleled sense of humor
• How jaw-droppingly amazing I appear when I am "happy in the pants"

But mostly, I think I am so awesome because of my humility.

2. What's it like to work with March?

Here's the funny thing about me and March. Despite knowing him for about 10 years or so, we have never worked in the same group. So, I don't really work with March, not that he does a lot of work to begin with.

Let me tell you the origins of Dim and March. We both worked in the same building years ago, yet we didn't know each other. I knew him as the kid who had towers of CD cases on his desk that he would rifle through and also as the kid who never seemed to have a work-related screen up on his monitor. One of these two characteristics still holds true. Guess which one? I'll give you hint: He has an iPod now.

So, one day, I went to Newbury Comics (a local music store) with some friends and saw March there. I was buying this CD at the store, which March noticed, because it was one of the 7,869 discs he also had at his desk. When I got back to the office, he sent me an e-mail about the disc and about music in general and that was it.

So, despite us having worked in the same buildings a couple of times, we never have truly worked together. And we rarely see each other these days, other than the occasional concert or hockey game, but we correspond daily and he remains a good friend to this day. Awwwww....isn't that nice?

3. We haven't heard much about your new house--any funny stories?

The house hasn't exactly been filled with funny stories yet. Things are going pretty well, but I envision a full-fledged post about battling squirrels to stay out of the bird feeders will be coming soon. Those bastards have some nerve. I heard that they don't like cayenne pepper, so I sprinked some of that in the birdseed in the hopes that they would taste it and leave the seed alone for the birds.

I look out the window and there is a posse of five squirrels all devouring the seed in the feeder. I yell out, "What about the cayenne pepper??" and they look back at me. All of them are wearing sombreros and drinking Coronas. They have absurd moustaches and are rocking out to the Gipsy Kings and yell back, "Screw you, ese!"

This means war.

- Dim.

For B.

First of all, I'd like to thank you all for the overwhelming responses I have gotten for my plea to help me with content for my blog. It will surely take me months to plod through the four responses! Heh. Anywho....

B. asks:

What would be the plans if you could spend the day with me, Rusty, and Jenny G?

Well, B., this is a very tough question. The first thing I can think of is DEFINITELY some pampering is order: hair done, soothing facial, manicure, pedicure, sensual massage...and that's all for me. You guys can watch if you wanna.

Honestly, my ideal time would be for you guys to drag me along to do what y'all like to do.

Let's assume we're all in the same place.

B., let's hang out and play the feud! Top 5 answers on the board...here's the question: What is the proper ending to this sentence? "Dim is _____?"

"Awesome"

"Survey says??"

Ding ding ding!

"100 points! You didn't give the other family a chance to steal!"

Then, I think we can chow down on frozen french toast sticks, after which, you can help me out with my post-up move. Maybe I'll let you show me how to change a diaper, since that might come in handy, since I am becoming increasing less continent. Oops! Did I say that out loud? Mostly, though, I'll just tell wicked funny stories and spend most of my time being awesome.

Next up, we hang with Jenny G. For fun, Jenny allows me to draw fake moustaches on all the posters of Ace Young and Jason Castro that paper her bedroom. Because we all know they can't grow facial hair on their own.

Then, we have a marathon showing of The Office (UK) before she shuffles me off to the library, where I run around making all kinds of ruckus so she can practice saying "Shhhh!!!" After that, we watch VH1 Classic and have in depth discussions, like "Who used more Aqua Net? Whitesnake or Slaughter?" After that, she takes me to that creepy place in Pennsylvania that's always on fire.

Then, we chill with Rusty. Some birdwatching is definitely in order, methinks. Then, she takes me to a NASCAR race and, feeling bad that I didn't get to meet MY driver, Danica Patrick (yeah, I know, she doesn't race NASCAR), Rusty decides to take me to a bar and talks to me over a beer for about 8 seconds before she leaves me in the dust only to leave said establishment with Elliot Sadler on one arm and Kasey Kahne on the other.
In case I didn't mention, through all of these adventures, I am being wicked funny and awesome and you guys are fawning all over me in a "You're really awesomer in person, Dim" kinda way. But just as friends though. I wouldn't want things to get weird.

After that, we all get together and play cribbage and drink a shitload of Mike's Hard Lemonade, because, damn it, that's how I roll.

- Dim.

For March

OK, here are the answers to March's questions. Fret not, you others...I'll be answering your questions very soon. Feel free to keep them coming. Or, rather than questions, if you have a specific topic you want me to blog about, send it on in.

1) Your blog links..why link to so many bloggers who no longer update?

I'm wicked lazy and don't feel like cleaning up my main page. Besides, I still wake up every day with the hopes that I will find a new post from Annoyed. To remove him from my links would to give up on my dream. You're not suggesting I give up on my dream, are you??

2) You are able to put together a one day rock fest. Everything is paid for, legally all set etc...who is on the bill. (1 rule..bands must be active today..or have all members alive for a one off gig like Husker Du)

You gave me absolutely no limit, but I will try to keep it reasonable. And in alphabetical order!

- Afghan Whigs (reunited)
- Alison Krauss & Robert Plant (after which, she can go do a set with Union Station if she wants and Plant can do some tunes with that rock band he had back in the late 60s, early 70s...forget their name)
- Anthrax (on the metal stage and ONLY with John Bush singing)
- The Black Crowes (only if Marc Ford would re-join them)
- Bonnie "Prince" Billy
- Concrete Blonde (just to hear Johnette Napolitano...she's so incredible)
- the Cure
- the Dandy Warhols (Even if they just play "Godless" and that's it)
- Dread Zeppelin
- Elvis Presley (he's alive, so shut up)
- Eric Matthews
- Faith No More (reunited, and then Patton can do sets with Fantomas, Tomahawk, a reunited Mr. Bungle, and Peeping Tom just to make me happy)
- Foo Fighters
- Golden Earring (I want to hear "Radar Love" and then "Twilight Zone". Then, I'll boot their asses off the stage)
- Gomez
- Gorillaz (and then Damon Albarn can joing The Good, The Bad, & The Queen for a set)
- Grant Lee Buffalo (reunited)
- The Gutter Twins
- Husker Du (reunited, then, after an 8 round boxing match between Grant Hart and Bob Mould, they go off and Hart plays with Nova Mob and Mould plays with a reunited Sugar)
- Iron Maiden
- Jennifer Trynin (out of semi-retirement)
- John Butler Trio (just because these guys slay live)
- King's X
- Kristin Hersh/Throwing Muses/50 Foot Wave
- Monster Magnet
- Murder By Death
- Neko Case
- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
- Phish (reunited, but they need to keep it short. No 45 minute version of "What's the Use?")
- Pink Floyd (all of them)
- PJ Harvey
- Prince
- Queens of the Stone Age
- R.E.M.
- the Raconteurs
- Richard Thompson
- Rush
- Ryan Adams and the Cardinals
- Scorpions (well, maybe just Klaus Meine, who opens the whole day by screaming in a thick German accent, "Dimfest! There is no one like YOOOOUUUUUUU!!!!!")
- Sleater-Kinney (reunited)
- Soundgarden (reunited)
- Stars
- Talking Heads (reunited)
- Tom Jones
- Tool
- Urge Overkill
- the White Stripes
- the Who
- Wilco
- Willie Nelson

Is that too much to ask for? If so, I can narrow it down to just Neko Case for the whole day.

3) Paper or Plastic?

I we are talking shopping bags, definitely plastic. Screw the environment! I broke my back shovelling about 200 inches of global warming this winter, so frig off! If we are talking what's on the roll in the bathroom, that would be paper. I tried plastic in there and it doesn't work quite as well.

4) Would you rather have season tickets for the Red Sox or Bruins?

Red Sox. Hands down. 81 games of drinking and eating hot dogs vs. 41 games of drinking and eating hot dogs? Come on. You do the math.

5) Is bacon the best "side" to go with breakfast?

It's definitely the best meat to go with breakfast. A great order of home fries is also a tremendous side. We have a cool diner near us and my favorite breakfast there is the 3 eggs, any style, bacon, home fries, toast, and french toast. It's called the Defibrillator and comes with a free parking pass to St. Vincent's Hospital. Can't go wrong with that.

Side note, Xteen and I have bacon issues as she loves it too, but loves it burned to a crisp and I like it less well done. This is a big sore spot in our house and probably explains why she eats a lot of oatmeal and I go through a box of Grape Nuts a week.

6) What is your favorite beer at the British Beer Company? Does it go well with Buff Chix Pizza?

I've only been to said establishment uno time-o (which is Spanish for "one time", for all you non-bilinguals out there), but my favorite beer, of which I had quite a few, was the Fullers ESB on draft. Heavenly. And it most certainly went well with buffalo chicken pizza. Then again, Schlitz in the can probably would have went well with that delectible pie. I know, I know, hold the onions, right, Hodge?

Thanks for the questions. Keep them and any other ideas coming!

- Dim.

All Request Hour

Well, as usual, I'm dry for content for this blog. If anyone has any ideas for a topic I should write about, leave it in the comments field and I promise to stare at it for three minutes and then reply "I can't write about that."

This means you, B., Rusty, JG, March, and Hotwire. You are my readership and I am here to serve you.

Oh, and anyone else reading can chime in too, if you want.

Love, Dim.

Carma

This post is for B., who has grown understandably inpatient with my infrequent posting and also has a soft spot in her heart for all of my car woes.


Perhaps I should have used a tad more discretion before posting this little ditty in my Church experience. God, being the merciful God that He is, did not send thunderbolts to strike me dead in retribution. But He did the next best thing. He fucked with Xteen's car.


Now, Xteen's job requires her to drive all over creation, so the demise of the Saturn was neither sudden nor unexpected. I just really would have appreciated it if it could have held off shitting the bed before I spent $140 on Iron Maiden tickets. Speaking of Maiden, 666 may be the number of the beast, but I'm pretty sure the letters of the beast are AAA.


OK, so here's the gig. I get a phone call at work about 8 seconds before I am about to leave, which is never good. My immediate relief that it wasn't some wacko from work with an utterly unreasonable request was immediately tempered by Xteen on the other end of the line. She usually doesn't call my work when she thinks I am on the way out, so I knew something was up. Turns out that she was about to leave her last appointment when the Satanmobile wouldn't turn over.


She asked me what I thought was wrong.


Now, you would think with my vast experiences with my own shitbox that I would have a modicum of knowledge as to the maladies suffered my these truly nefarious devices. Personally, I believe I have this knowledge:


"Uhhh...flux capacitor?"


Xteen, not so much:


"No. What should I do?"


"Uhhh...get a jump?"


"I don't think the battery is dead."


I get defensive about her all hatin' on me:


"Well, I certainly can't diagnose the problem over the phone! Who am I? Mr Goodwrench?"


She, thankfully, doesn't say aloud what we are both thinking, which is that I could have my head shoved in an empty gas tank and still not know why the car won't run.


"Maybe you should call the letters of the beast."


"Well, I called our guy."


Our guy is a local mechanic who absolutely LOVES our Mastercard.


"He said that maybe something is wet under the hood, since it is raining and that's causing the problem."


Is the Saturn a fucking Gremlin? You can't get a car wet now? Are you gonna tell me that I can't gas it up after midnight or it will sprout a white mohawk and slice my face to shreds?


Side note: This was the only thing that really bothered me about Gremlins. "Don't feed him after midnight." Well, every time is technically "after midnight", Eric Clapton. I'm typing this at 9:22 pm on a Tuesday. It's after midnight. It's also after 8:30. So basically, the movie has a serious plot flaw which blows the whole thing to shit in my opinion.


Back to the car. Fuck the a/c. Can I get a giant umbrella in my option package so my car doesn't explode when it drizzles out? Is this why all the highways and biways of Seattle are strewn with the carcasses of automobiles? Because they got WET?


I start to doubt "our guy" when Xteen notes that the car has started up and she's going to try to drive it to "our guy" who is probably waiting for us with a blow dryer and a bill for $350.


I leave work and get about 6 steps from my own car when my cell phone rings. I know what awaits me on the other line.


"My car died."


"Where are you?"


"Right where 495 meets the Pike."


For those not from the area, you quite possibly couldn't be broken down in a more pinpointed area of two main roads. It's not like the thing crapped out somewhere between Mile Marker 52 and where the dead wildebeest (the Happy Meal of the Jungle) is being mauled by 837 leopards, which is what wildebeests are born to do. Keep this in mind.


I tell her to get out of the car and stay on the other side of the guardrail and to call the letters of the beast. Dim's a-gonna rescue you.


I arrive expecting to see some sort of police entourage since, uh, it's a disabled vehicle, almost immediately at the end of the offramp of a major friggin road, and it is rainy and foggy and cold out. Not to mention, the letters of the beast told Xteen that all dead cars on said Pike fall under the jurisdiction of the Staties, so now we have a dual layer of incompetence on the job.


I join Xteen as we stand amongst the most vile and wet filth and muck you can possibly imagine which I attribute to Xteen having the unfortunate luck to break down where all of the snow plows gather to vomit after their all-night Penzoil benders.


We wait.


And wait.


And wait.


Xteen calls back and gets the State Police again.


"We were given the wrong location."


Uhh. Pike. 495. Where the twain shall meet, which is only ONE FUCKING PLACE. I suggest to Xteen that she tells the cop that, actually, we killed someone and stuffed their body into the trunk of her car, which incidentally, happens to be broken down, so we would be obliged if they would also send a tow when they break out the paddy wagon.


We wait.


We're now working on 45 minutes in the cold and rain. Xteen is cold. I'm holding her umbrella, which is about as emasculating as watching an all day Ryan's Hope marathon on SOAPnet. I see one of those behemoth rigs that carry like 20 broken down cars at once pass by. I scan it. 10 cars that look like Xteen's and 10 police cruisers. Not a good omen.


Xteen calls the cops again. I'm temped to walk a mile to the nearest rest area in an attempt to lure them to us with crullers. The officer, no doubt sitting in his heated office, in a bathrobe and slippers, watching a Ryan's Hope marathon on SOAPnet says, "Just be patient."


Thanks.


Eventually, Jabba the Tow Truck Driver shows up. He's not svelte. And not very chatty.


Our collective internal temperatures have dipped to Paris Hilton's IQ levels. And Jabba decides he is going to take 20 minutes to pry himself out of the cab of the truck. He walks over to us. Xteen approaches him.


Now, keep in mind we are on a major fucking highway that the state police apparently couldn't locate because the North Star wasn't out yet, but is still loaded with vehicles loudly going well over the speed limit.


If the volume of Xteen's voice were a font size, it would be this. She says something to Jabba that even I can't hear and I am right next to her with an umbrella in one hand and my castrated testicles in the other.


The tow truck driver has an obnoxiously wicked pissah Bahstin accent. And replies, HAH?!


This goes on for awhile as he gets the paperwork he needs, hooks the car up to the thing, blah blah blah.


"Where's this goin'?"


"Dim City"


"HAH?!"


You get the idea. I try to yell to him. "That's my car behind hers. Just follow me there."


To which he replies, "I don't have GPS. Someone's gonna have to ride with me."


Of course you don't have GPS. You're only in the business of travelling on strange roads to find people who are broken down and then towing them on other strange roads to strange towns and strange "other people's guys". Why would you possibly need some useless newfangled technology like a GPS? In fact, why don't you just get around like I do? Send a carrier pigeon to your destination ahead of time and wait for the fucking smoke signals you ask them to send up so you can figure out where you are going. Do you mean to tell me that Mr. Rand and Mr. McNally's work was all in vain?


Then, Sherlock notices my car.


"Who's car is that?"


"Uhh. That's mine. I'm her man-servant (can't you tell? I'm holding the umbrella and valiantly having a bitch-slap fight with the wind to keep it from turning me into Mary Poppins...thankfully, my own Jabba-ness is keeping us firmly anchored down in the filth and muck) and, what are the odds, I just happened upon this scene and my car broke down right behind hers!"


Only I didn't say that. I said, "That's mine. I'm her husband."


"Oh," says Einstein. "I can just follow you there."


"Brilliant! You're in the wrong field. With that kind of brainpower, you are wasting away towing cars. I can easily see you in a much more challenging position, like filling the soda machines at rest stops or letters of the beast dispatcher."


He hooks the car up and tows it to "our guy."

Once there, he starts to take Xteen's car off the bed. The car is at a 45 degree angle from the ground, nose in the air.

"OK, I need you to get in the car, release the emergency break, and put it in neutral."

I figure this is as good a time as any to believe in women's lib.

"Go ahead, honey," I say.

"Nuh-uh."

So I climb in. The driver's seat is reclined all the way, like a massage table, because the driver needed to climb in to do something and his girth could not allow him comfort unless the seat was pushed back into the trunk.

I climb in and am instantaneously scared shitless. I feel like I am about T-minus 6 seconds away from blasting off to dock with the Mir.

I'm able to finagle the car off the bed and into a space in the parking lot of the garage that belongs to "our guy". It takes the Jaws of Life to get me out of the reclined driver's seat.

Our guy called this afternoon. Apparently, toweling it off didn't fix the problem and now we need to drop 500 clams to fix the damn thing just to get it running. A mere few weeks after proclaiming (after another monetary molestation) that the car should last a good long time, he now decrees, "You might want to start looking for a new car. This one is trying to tell you something."

Yeah.


"Bright light!! Bright light!!!"


Feeding it after midnight,


- Dim.