Illinoir

Mitch reached the boat where Matt was stranded. He helped the shivering young lifeguard onto the Baywatch patrol cruiser and then secured the disabled Scarab to a tow line so that they could bring it back to shore. Matt helped himself to some coffee and wrapped himself up in a thermal blanket. He’d spent many nights on the open sea before, but it was no fun if you weren’t prepared for it.

As soon as Matt told Mitch the entire story of what had happened, Mitch started laughing.
“What’s so funny, Mitch?” he demanded.
“I know you were afraid to live up to your claim that you could ride a long board but that’s the worst made-up excuse I’ve ever heard, and I’ve got a 15-year-old at home,” Mitch said between guffaws.
“Ha ha, Mitch,” said Matt, very annoyed. “It’s all true except for the part where I said I was making out with Summer Quinn when I heard the stolen boat. I made that part up.”
“Oh yeah? That was the one part I did believe. What were you doing then?”
“Uhh… Watching television,” Matt lied.
“So you went, alone, in the middle of the night, after a stolen boat, made an unauthorized dive, fought a giant squid and didn’t catch your man?”
“That’s right,” Matt said ruefully.
“That has got to be, single-handedly, hands down, without a doubt, unquestionably, the king of the hill, top of the heap, cream of the crop, A-1, acme, superstar, all-time….” Mitch paused for breath.
“Do go on,” said Matt.
“…dumbest thing you’ve ever done!” finished Mitch.
They reached the shore where various nameless and faceless Baywatch lackeys were waiting to deal with both boats.
“I know. I wasn’t thinking,” admitted Matt.
“I should say you weren’t!” Mitch shouted. “Next time, you call for backup. Next time you do not go running off by yourself. Next time….” Mitch trailed off.
“Next time what, Mitch?”
Mitch started sobbing uncontrollably. “What if something had happened to you? What would I do without you?”
“Oh Mitch!” Matt embraced his friend. “Nothing happened! I’m okay! And I promise I’ll be more careful in the future. Okay? There there.”
Mitch’s cries quieted and his heavy breaths slowed. Soon, he was recomposed. “Do you promise?” he asked.
“I promise, Mitch,” Matt said. “Now are you going to be okay? I need to take a shower. I feel gross.”
“I’ll be fine,” Mitch sniffed. “Go on ahead.”
Mitch watched as Matt walked off towards the shower room. He sure could use a few more Matt Brodys around Baywatch. He grabbed a passing lackey.
“See to it that that man gets put in for a commendation,” Mitch told it. “I’ll sign the paperwork myself.”
“Um, which man are you talking about, sir?”

The squirrel on parole that mickeysacks gave me has a new home. It’s my own personal balcony gnome. It will gain a position of prominence once the balcony furniture is decided upon and purchased.

Decided every once in a while to totally break from the Baywatch-novel structure:

Did you know that Matt Brody lives on a house boat? Well, he does, and that makes him even cooler than his leather jacket or his motorcycle. Cooler than his bad-ass haircut. Matt Brody kicks serious ass 24/7. The motherfucker lives on a houseboat, for the love of God. Just try and top that.

Just so you see how it works, sometimes — I’ve gone off the deep end (no pun intended):

Max removed an electronic lockpick from the satchel he wore around his waist and inserted it into the lock. He pushed a button and the device made a whirring noise, beeped six times, whirred again, clicked, did a sort of “gunkwhistleshtoop” nois, ticked, tocked, clanged (softly), and finally beeped twice more. Max replaced the gadget in his bag and turned the knob. The door swung open easily.

Behind a day and a half on NaNoWriMo, but there is an excerpt available here.

It’s going better than last year, just in terms of being able to keep the story coherent and moving along. I’ve really learned a lot about how to avoid work stoppages. If I hadn’t just driven 800 miles the last two days, I might actually be ahead of schedule. Think I’ll be able to pull it off though. Writing while Chia-Jung does her work should be enough for now…

So I set out on Saturday afternoon in my overpacked car, heading east.

And yesterday at 2:30 eastern, I was in Princeton.

And now I’m in my apartment. Contrary to my concerns, the Comcast guy was here (at 9:30 AM, fantastic) and set it all up and it’s all good.

….

Soon as I find some time, I’ll get all the photos I took (75 pictures waiting to go from camera to computer) online and we’ll have a little party.

Blammo.

…second to last night in chicago. how bizarre. after 16 years in the area, i’m outta here. i don’t like to stay in one place too long, you know. can’t tie me down….

so, barring the inevitable issues with comcast, i’ll be back online on tuesday, and we’ll see how we feel then. wish me luck, send me cash.

(by the way, in case you’re wondering, rainbow six 3 kicks serious ass.)

Before I get into this: please know that I am well aware that fast food is poison, bad business, and I really shouldn’t be patronizing these establishments. It’s convenient, a guilty pleasure, and I’m in the midst of moving so I’m not doing any cooking at all. Furthermore, I shouldn’t be surprised by these experiences in the least.

Three fast food transactions in a row have gone sour (or nearly sour) and I’m wondering what the hell is going on around here?

1. McDonald’s, two days ago. I order, and pay for, a double quarter pounder value meal. I get home and have received a single quarter pounder value meal. Now, I’m thankful that it was just one patty on that burger and not two, because it turned out to be enough food for me and I really shouldn’t be doubling those nasty things up, but still. It’s an extra buck, or whatever, and no dice. I know I should be checking the bag before driving off, but after so many drive-thru’s without a problem…
2. Wendy’s, last night. After the movie (see previous entry) I was hungry (for sushi, but where can you get sushi that late at night?) I go to Wendy’s. Instead of my usual (double….why do I always need the double?) I go for the enticing homestyle chicken strips. I ask for ranch sauce. Driving home, I am looking forward to chicken strips dipped in ranch sauce. Right? Right. Get home: no ranch sauce. What the crap? Not only that, but there’s only 3 smallish chicken strips in the box. This is worth $4.98? Did I mention they forgot the fucking sauce?
3. Philly’s Best, today. Go in, order a cheesesteak sandwich (is that the sound of hardening arteries I hear?) and don’t receive an order number as is their usual method. Other people have order numbers. I get no order number. A minute or two later, I go back to the counter, ask the guy my order number. Says he, “What did you order?” I tell him it’s a cheesesteak. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. Okey dokey. So, I sit and read News of the Weird and 10 minutes later, he’s got what is obviously a single cheesesteak sandwich. “Order 50? Order 50?” Perplexed, he puts the sandwich in the warming oven and asks other workers if they know who ordered it. He starts calling out the number again. I approach the counter. Before I can say anything, he asks, “What’s your order number?” “You didn’t give me one.” “Oh yeeeeah. I think this is yours.”

*sigh* Don’t get me started about: the XBOX game rented from Blockbuster that doesn’t work, the dog shit smeared on the lid of the dumpster, the real estate people gouging me for 3 months rent or a long term sit-and-wait pay-as-you-go, the woman at Blockbuster who took 15 minutes arguing about a late fee (understandable, actually), the Blockbuster employee not taking over at the register after seeing the line and the bottleneck, the woman not going through the proper line system at Blockbuster and then looking at me like I’m a maniac for not standing inches behind the woman mentioned above in order to secure my place in line, the annoying controls on Wallace & Gromit: Project Zoo, the weird feeling I’m getting from my keyboard right now or the clicking noise my car makes when I apply the brakes.

Don’t even get me started.

I think it was mostly terrible.

It’s so weird to be the one that’s leaving this time. I’ve had so many friends leave Chicago before, and felt their absence and such and such, but not been the one to do it myself. And here I am… Said my first goodbyes today, to Steve and Jason (to hell with them!) and it was just…strange. Very very strange.

On one hand, many many people in my life these days are only apparations in email, instant messenger or XBL (and therefore, figments of my imagination) and so moving isn’t going to make that much of a difference in those relationships. On the other hand, as I physically get together for a beer with friends and then say goodbye it starts to sink in….

I did once leave a place behind — when I moved here from Columbus. That was back in 86 — I was 11. So happy to get out of Columbus, the city which had become a negative place for me (dramatically portrayed as a suburb of Hell in that infamous epic of mine, “Gates of Hell” back when I used to tell stories [*ay me!*]) that it didn’t matter much. I left some family behind and some friends too…. But there, most of my friends lived far from me, and I only saw them in school. And I was going to family as well (Dad and Joyce) and new friends already….

Don’t get me wrong — I’m certain this is the right decision. Chia-Jung is the future (she’s a space-age polymer!) and I’m really excited to do something crazy (like pack up everything I own, go into debt, and move to a state I’d never even considered before) at this point in my life…. There’s just these little…nicks? bumps? nodes?…that keep popping up as I brush past on my way out the door.

Dave told me you never learn so much about yourself as while you’re going through serious upheaval and there’s never a better time to grow than at those times. And you should really take advantage of the opportunity to observe yourself and see how you react to change. Dave’s a Buddhist. Of course.