July 07, 2005
Adventures of Acinom # 7.2: Percoset Experiment
Well it was 4th of July weekend. Because of the wisdom teeth surgery, I got an extra long weekend. I stayed at my grandfather’s house and my uncles came in for the weekend.
Now I learned the day after the surgery that Percoset and Australian beer did not play well nicely. So on Saturday, 2 days after mouth surgery, I decided to run an experiment to test whether domestic beer would work better with percoset. You know, it being an American drug and all.
Not so much. With a start time of 3 PM, the uncles, cousins, and I all thought it would be super neat to have a beer pong tournament on the deck of my grandfather’s house. After thirty minutes, it was decided that Budwieser did not play nice and I became rather inebriated. The uncles and cousins not wanting to leave a brother in arms behind decided that they needed to increase their alcohol intake so that they could catch up.
I’ll tell ya, the hardest part of beer pong on a deck, aside of course from getting the ball inside that goddamn dixie cup, is trying to keep errant ping pong balls from bouncing off the deck. That and trying to prevent drunks from falling one story because they think diving halfway off the edge of the deck and saving the ball is a noble cause.
Well, a couple of city noise ordnance violations later, my grandfather herded us inside to keep the noise level down. He had us sit with him and watch his favorite show on PBS: The Lawrence Welk Show.
My God. Keep the painkillers coming.
There’s not much I can say to describe the Welk Show other than to say it is definitely part of a by-gone era. Check it out on PBS if you are really interested. Here’s a snapshot of the situation: six drunken relatives singing along to a country duet version of John Denver’s ever powerful, “Country Road (Take Me Home).”
Believe it or not Sequin Jacket Guy, Guy Hovis, sang his way into Senator Trent Lott's Chief of Staff slot after over-qualifying himself for political office by being a cast member of the, you guessed it, Lawrence Welk Show for several years. Country Road......
Looking back I doubt if I’ll ever get that hour of my life back, but I guess it did Grandpa some good. He was tickled to death that for the first time in 20 years he had somebody to watch the Lawrence Welk Show with.
By the way, the results of my experiment: Beer origin, whether foreign or domestic, have absolutely no bearing whatsoever on compatibility with domestic percoset. In other words, unless you want to end up taking more percoset to deal with the pain of a beer/percoset-laced hangover, DON’T FUCKING MIX THEM. Its like having a civil union between George Bush and Jon Stewart. Pretty picture? Not so much.
Posted by Acinom the Intern at 03:02 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Adventures of Acinom # 7.1
First of all, I’m going to have to apologize for this submission of the Adventures of Acinom.
I mean let’s be honest: I was probably way too ambitious using “adventure” in the title of my word vomit.
(Wow: it’s like every lousy introduction warning my English teacher ever gave me just popped into my head….and you know what? I’m still too stubborn to change it.)
It’s not my fault though. I had my wisdom teeth taken out last week after what was supposed to be a simple trip to the Dentist for my six month cleaning. Needless to say (that is the most useless and redundant figure of speech in HUMAN HISTORY) I didn’t get to “adventure” much last week….. Well, maybe just a little. So this week I’m going to break it out in little mini-shorter-short-stories. But I’ll start out with “10 Things I Said After Getting My 3rd Molars Pulled.”
“10 Things I Said After Getting My 3rd Molars Pulled”
DISCLAIMER: During most of these I was either on Painkillers, Oxygen or whatever they give you to knock you out. Unfortunately I wasn’t completely knocked out because they needed me to quit snoring and kept having me take deep breaths throughout the procedure. Fun times. Seriously.
10. (To Oral Surgeon while on all sorts of drugs) “THAT FUCKING HURTS MAN!”
9. (Again to Oral Surgeon) “Make sure it’s the right tooths your getting, Chief. And I better only be missing four when I wake up.”
8. (Yet Again to Surgeon) “Dude. Seriously….Your secretary is smoking....SMOKING HOT!!!!”
7. (To Nurse right after saying #8) “Hi. HOW YOU DOIN???”
6. (Following surgery) “If you screwed up make sure it’s something that will keep me from going back to work…..Forever.”
5. (Upon learning that I was getting a Percoset prescription) “No Days of Thunder fans here huh? He can shove those vitamins and exercise UP HIS ASS!” (High five to the nurse)
4. (To Nurse) “War of the Worlds came out yesterday. Want to see it?”
3. (To Sister driving me home) “Complete stopping is for the birds.”
2. (Upon reading Percoset warning label to “DO NOT take with alcohol”) “Oh they must mean hard alcohol.”
1. (After mixing Percoset and Foster’s) “OK. They meant all alcohol.” (THUD as body hits the floor)
More Percoset induced mini-shorter-short-stories posts to follow.
Posted by Acinom the Intern at 12:53 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 26, 2005
Adventures of Acinom #6
It seems like Acinom has been responsible for more of the content recently than I have. Don't worry, he's still just an intern. I'm back from vacation and will taken the reigns again soon. Until then, here's Acinom's latest adventure, late as usual, but still funny.
Episode 6: Acinom meets a girl
I'm typing on a brand new keyboard—sort of giving it a test drive. Here's how I broke the old keyboard:
Today I realized that I am still in my awkward phase. For those who don't know what the awkward phase is, it is that period of time in your life, common during puberty, when everything about you (and I mean everything) is completely awkward. It's when your braces were huge, your voice cracks high/low mid sentence, your arms were too long, your legs were too short, your head was too big, your wore jean shorts everyday…the list goes on. What makes an awkward phase especially painful and potentially lethal is when your social skills are somewhat less than average. So today I was reminded that I am still in my awkward phase—but I don't wear jean shorts.
A gorgeous woman walks into my office today and seeing my name thingy on my desk says, "Hi Jay, my name is Megan."
I've never seen this woman before and I froze. So I said to her: NOTHING. Yeah that's right. I said nothing and just sort of gawked at her somewhat…awkwardly.
I'm not saying that this is the first time this happened to me where I am stunned stupid by someone very attractive. BUT…this is the first time that I did it while the gawkee was standing there trying to have a conversation with me. All the other times I had the comfort of doing it from across the room or at a television screen. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is this voice mentally abusing me for being so stupid.
Megan starts to talk and I find myself nodding and grunting in agreement even though I am completely unable to comprehend what she is saying. It was like she was speaking in tongues—I just could not concentrate on what she was saying. All I can recover from that one-way conversation is "new employee," "looking forward," "college," and "coffee."
At one point I think Megan realized that in the five minutes since she had walked into my office I had not uttered a word aside from my grunts of agreement. So she decides to get evil on me and asks me a question. I'm still not following the conversation and when I see that her face is now a question face I COMPLETELY FREAK OUT.
I can't tell you what the question was but I can tell you what my genius response was.
"Ummm," I squeaked. "This is my IBM laptop…."
THIS IS MY IBM LAPTOP?????????? I know. I AM WORTHLESS. My mind raged at itself for saying that. I felt like Milton showing off his fucking red Swingline stapler. The instant those words left my mouth I knew that all was lost. (I suck again)
She sees a picture of a girl and me on my desk and asks, "Who is that?"
I'm beet red with embarrassment and don't even remember what picture she is talking about. I just say, "This girl."
"Your girlfriend?"
"Yeah," I mumbled. I was in bad shape.
"Where are you in the picture? That water looks beautiful," she says.
I finally focus on the picture she is talking about and say, "That's when we lived in Honolulu."
"You guys lived in Hawaii?" She asks excitedly. "You must be pretty serious."
I gave her a funny look. I didn't realize that I had answered her in the affirmative when she asked if the girl in the picture was my girlfriend.
"….sister," I mumbled. "I meant to say earlier…that's my sister."
She gave me the weirdest look and finally realized that she was talking to the biggest weirdo ever. I'm still staring at her with this meek pathetic look on my face like someone just made me eat my dog. Then she notices my bottles.
By the way, I have this fascination with Nalgene bottles. People collect coffee cups for their office…. I collect Nalgene bottles. I got some with stickers, some with school logos, and some plain ones. I just love those bottles. So I had one that I had been drinking out of and she notices my collection and says, "Hey I like those bottles too."
Now when she says the word "bottles" my arm, on reflex and with a speed I've never seen before, shoots out to grab it. Well apparently my hand didn't coordinate with my arm and I just end up backhanding the bottle. Chaos ensues.
The water goes all over my keyboard and desk and I start flapping around like a fish out of water trying to clean the spill. I grab some tissues and start rubbing the keyboard vigorously trying to save the damn thing. I'd forgotten that tissues tend to disintegrate when in contact with water. So the handful of tissues disintegrated in between the little keys of my keyboard and joined the rest of the soup that was in there. I look in terror as the scroll lock light begins to blink erratically finally fading into….nothing.
I start mumbling something about my IBM keyboard and Megan is now staring at me. But not like I had been staring at her. She's got to be wondering what kind of medication did I just run out of.
She gracefully ends the conversation saying something like "nice to meet you" and ducks out of the office. She was real nice about everything even though I was ACTING LIKE A COMPELTE BO-TARD in front of her. Anyways this episode taught me three things:
1. I absolutely SUCK at life; my pathetic-ness knows no limits.
2. This new keyboard works pretty nice.
3. For the sake of all people and electronics around me, I am gonna avoid Megan like the PLAGUE.
Posted by Elyas at 12:42 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
June 10, 2005
Adventures of Acinom, take 5
I'm officially on vacation right now, which means I probably won't post as regularly for the next couple weeks. I apologize to all the loyal readers out there (all two of you). In the meantime, I'll need some "filler" to take the place of regular content. And by filler, I mean another installment of The Adventures of Acinom.
I now turn it over to the intern:
Last weekend I had the honor of serving as the “decoy.” Ok let’s rewind:
It was my five-year reunion last weekend. I had plans on dropping by until I heard that it cost $85. Yeah you read right. $85 per head. EIGHT FIVE with a Y in the middle. Now the $85 doesn’t really get you anything—that’s just for the pleasure of showing up. Drinks cost extra. Food costs extra. The snazzy alumni golf tournament costs EXTRA. The real kick in the shnaseberry is that I LIVE near my alma mater so its like I’m paying to go to this place that I see on average of once or twice a week. Did I mention it was EIGHTY FIVE FREAKING DOLLARS?
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6….Okay I’m calm. And here’s another thing. It’s not as if it was the Class of 2000 reunion. It was the 5 and 0’s reunion. Which means that if your class graduated in a year that ended in five or zero, it is your reunion. Doesn’t this make it that much more personal and meaningful? Does this sound like a pyramid scam to anyone else? (If it doesn’t that is because, and I will be honest with you, I don’t really know what a pyramid scam is—aside from that it sucks…)
Basically the school is hosting hundreds of old and middle aged folks and they are making a killing charging 85$ a head and $45 for kids. Ironically, 2 people from my class showed up to the actual reunion. Everybody else who came into town just skipped the damn thing and went out to spend their $85 bucks elsewhere.
Which brings me to my decoy duty. We went out to a bar and by mid-evening, we were pretty hammered—Don’t judge, we were celebrating our unofficial five year psuedo-reunion. I was with a friend of mine talking to these two girls who liked us enough to spend the rest of the night at the bar with us. Anyways after an hour or so of heavy drinking and not-so-subtle flirting, this girl’s cell phone rings—I know: ACINOM, ALWAYS WITH THE FUCKING CELL PHONES!
She gets real quiet and puts her phone down and glances nervously at her friend. The phone is still ringing so, amazing drunk that I am, I pick it up and answer it for her.
“WHAAAATTSSSSSAAAAPPPPP?” I slur stupidly forgetting that it has been in years since that was couth (word of day calender hollaaaa).
“WHO THE SHIT IS THIS?” I hear.
“Hey you called me,” I said. By now our lady friends are rolling. So they ask me to be a “decoy.”
I told my phone buddy to hold on. “What’s a decoy?” I asked. They told me that I was talking to one of the girl’s ex-boyfriend, Drew B. Drew had cheated on Heather (one of our companions) with his ex girlfriend. So Heather had deep-sixed Drew B. (Does this sound like a bad R&B name to anyone else or is it just me?) and now Drew B. was back with his ex. Heather and the ex, Stephanie, were not quite friendly.
I agreed to this decoy duty and decided to take the Drunk Phone Guy route. OK, it wasn’t much of a decision because I was, in fact, drunk and on the phone.
The following conversation ensued:
Me: Drew B. My man, whatsup?
D.B.: I want to talk to Heather.
Me: So do I.
D.B.: You got her phone.
Me: Its one of em video phone jobbers. Its nice. Who are you?
D.B.: It’s DREW. Where is Heather?
I decided to begin my attack.
Me: Heather is with Stephanie.
Heather and her friend nearly died of laughter.
D.B.: BULLSHIT.
Me: NOSHIT. They are fighting. They are engaged in hand to hand combat.
Note: I get a little dramatic and wordy when I’m hammered.
D.B.: BULLSHIT. Stephanie is right here with me. And she wants to talk to Heather.
Me: A lot of people want to talk to Heather. (Pausing) Ok. Let’s quid pro quo.
D.B.: WHAT?
Me: (Feigning exasperation) Quid pro quo, Drew B. What kind of R&B singer are you anyways
D.B.: (Utterly confused) What are you talking about?
Me: You put Stephanie on and I’ll put Heather on.
D.B.: Fine.
Stephanie: Heather?
Me: (In Dark Helmet Spaceballs voice) FOOLED YOUUUUU!!!!
Stephanie: I want to talk to that BITCH!
Me: Which one?
Stephanie: HEATHER. Tell her that if that fat ass bitch wants to fight I’ll whup her ass.
So I started staring at Heather’s ass and for the life of me it wasn’t very fat. And honestly, I was kind of aroused that she wasn’t offended at me for so blatantly staring at her beedonk.
Me: I’m sorry Steph. But Heather don’t got a fat ass. Its nice in fact.
Stephanie: Well, you are probably gonna get to know it at the end of the night. That slut.
Me: YES!!
Stephanie: You tell that chicken I’ll kick her ass next time I see her. I don’t mess around.
Me: Steph what does your ass look like?
Stephanie: Whatever I’ll beat that skinny bitch down.
Me: Why’d you call her fat ass then?
Stephanie: You just tell her I’m gonna destroy her.
Me: Why are you taller than her or something?
Stephanie: I’m 5’4.
Me: That’s not very tall.
Stephanie: I don’t need to be tall. I’ll whup her ass.
I asked Heather how tall she was. She said 5’8 and 125 lbs.
Me: Sorry Steph, but Heather here’s got a good four inches on you.
Stephanie: Yeah well does her four inches and 90-pound anorexic ass want to mess with 227 pounds of pissed off bitch?
Now this latest comment kind of caught me off guard. See, I’m 6’2 and around 225 lbs. I’m not a small kid. So when I hear this girl telling me that she is 5’4 and 227 lbs I’m rather caught off guard. My state of sobriety coupled with that tidbit of information made for a bit of a volatile situation. And I’m not insensitive to weight issues either. I was a lineman in my football days so I know what’s its like to carry a little extra weight. But this was too much. DAMN YOU SHINERBOCK FOR TURNING ME INTO A DICK!!!
Me: (Incredulously) 227 lbs and 5’4. Um Steph, you are a hoss.
At this point Heather and her friend are dying of laughter. In retrospect I feel bad for Steph but I guess I don’t know the whole story and let’s be honest….she walked herself into that one with all the fat ass and skinny references.
Stephanie: Listen you asshole, I’ve had three kids.
Me: Then maybe you should be home with your kids on a Saturday night instead of worrying about kicking Heather’s ass.
Stephanie: I’m still 24 and I’m gonna work it for as long as I can.
The idea of 5’4 treetrunk working it was too much to handle.
Me: Listen I gotta go.
Drew B.: What did you say to my girl mother fucker?
Me: Dude I’m gonna go.
D.B.: No man, you disrespected me and my girl and now I’m coming for you.
Me: You’re coming for me?
D.B.: Yeah man. How big a boy are ya?
I looked over at Heather and my friend and reported what he’d just said. They got wide-eyed and told me that Drew B. loved Roy D. Mercer. They also told me Drew was a shrimp.
Me: What’s with all the weight talk tonight? I’m a big guy man. How big are you?
D.B.: 5’4 and 119.
It was at this point that I imagined a kid that was 5’4 and 119lbs. It took me back to sixth grade when I was around both. And why the heck where these people so frank about their bulk or, in Drew’s case, utter lack thereof?
Me: (after a long pause) Sorry Drew, I was just trying to picture a guy next to a girl whose got over 100 lbs on him. Dude, have a good night. (hanging up)
Now, I’m not a bully but I had mixed feelings after this conversation. First, I really was sorry for making anyone feel bad but they sort of walked themselves into it. Apparently after I left with my buddies Drew B. showed up with Stephanie in tow and tried to find me. I’m a regular and the other regulars told me that they were rather amused that this short kid was so determined to find me. What are you gonna do? So ends my duty as a decoy.
Posted by Elyas at 12:49 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack
June 03, 2005
Adventures of Acinom #4: Barbershops and Purple Hearts
I was in town to see my sister graduate and needed a haircut bad. I'm
not too particular about my hair but I do like to keep it short because I have very straight hair that DOES NOT gracefully swing a la Pantene Pro-V Commercials. It sticks straight the #$@& out at a PERFECT 90° angle from my scalp. I have to wear a freaking hat to paste it into place. Rather sad actually.
Well I had two hours to get to the Honor's Day Ceremony so I looked up a barbershop in the yellow pages and dialed away.
"Waaak'n-Air-Care-SaLong. Thays is Betty Joe. May ah hell'p ya?" I heard.
"Um, Hi is this the barbershop?" I asked.
"No thays is the Waaak'n-Air-Care-SaLong," the lady corrected.
I looked back at the yellow pages and saw "Walk-In Hair Care Salon."
"Right, well can I schedule a cut for around 11 AM?" I asked.
"Ah can cut ya at 11:10."
"Great. Be there at 11."
Let me give some background info. I'm "from the south." But there
are limits to how "from the south" I am. These limits include that I
too sometimes need a sentence repeated or, at the worst of times, a
translator to understand some of the southern dialects that are
prevalent in my hometown. That's not meant to be insulting—it's just
the truth.
Back to hair. Now all I wanted to do was clean up my sides and get
the hair off my ears and collar. I used to be in the military so I've kind of grown partial to shorter hair—not the high and tight marine look, just fairly short all around with enough on top to prove I really have hair.
Stupidly I went to the barbershop in my nice clothes figuring I could
just head straight to the ceremony afterwards. Looking rather dapper
in my white shirt, tie, and pants I walked up to the counter and
before I could say anything, the cashier/woman reading the Inquirer
gave me a dirty look.
"We don't allow no so-liss'tin in hea," she hissed.
"What?" I asked genuinely confused and in need of my Dad's linguistic expertise.
She pointed to a sign that read "NO SOLICITORS."
"I'm just here for a haircut."
"You ain't Mo'mon or one of 'em Jay-hova Witnesses?"
"Not that it matters but no," I said starting to get pissed.
"Then whys you dressed up in a shirt and tie?" She asked.
"Is there a dress code for getting a hair cut now?" I was starting to get a bit exasperated.
"Don't need to be rude 'bout it, I was just asking. What's yer name?" she asked.
"Jay." She entered it into the computer.
"What's yer last name?"
"Norton."
"Phone number?"
"Why do you need my phone number?" I asked starting to get really annoyed.
"We use the phone number to identify customers in case they come back."
I submitted and gave her my cell phone number.
"What's your address?"
"Why do you need my address? Are you offering to come out to my house next time I need a haircut?"
"Listen, SIR, I'm jest tryin to do my job," she said getting rather
testy herself.
"Well, I'm sorry but I don't think it is necessary that I give you my address."
"Fine," she said clearly not meaning it. "What is your place of work?"
"Why do you need my place of work? This is getting ridiculous," I
said. "I'm here for a haircut not to apply for a loan."
"We jest want to make sure we can serve ours cus—"
"I have hair. I have money," I said cutting her off. "If I have both of those it should be pretty easy to get a haircut. I don't recall the Patriot Act requiring people to go through a FREAKING NATIONAL BACKGROUND CHECK prior to getting some hair cut!"
"Fine, Sir." She said with a menace. "Please sit in that chair over yonder."
It was at this point that I realized that like waiters, maybe a barber is a person customers don't want to piss off during their work. She asked me how I wanted my hair cut and I asked her to take a bit off the sides and blend it in up top.
Now going to some barbershops is a treat. When I was in the military
we had this Korean barbershop next to the base that absolutely doted
on the soldiers. The ladies had these soft hands that would just make you sleepy whenever they gently touched your ears and face to move your head at the right angle to cut. They would use the hot lather and shave around your neck. Then they'd use the small clippers without guards to clean up the lines. The small clippers would then be run against the back of your neck giving you a tingly rush—like a r'gasm with the OOOOO (Every guy who has gotten a haircut from a woman other than your mother knows what I'm talking about whether they admit or not—the haircut big O). Afterwards the ladies would actually give you a little neck massage right after the haircut. I don't know about the other fellers but when I walked out of that Korean barbershop I went back to base with a dreamy little smile on my face.
This barbershop, however, was definitely NOT like the Korean
barbershop of my memories.
First of all the lady had some pretty rough hands. They were rougher
than my feet. Second, she was not gentle in placing my head where she wanted it. After a couple of minutes of her jerking my cabesa this way and that I felt like I had been rear-ended by an 18 wheeler and had whip-lash from hell (probably had something to do with our psuedo-argument earlier). She also was going to town with the clippers. Every time I started to ask her to take care of something
that didn't look right, she would cut me off and say, "Haven't got
thare yet. Okay?" And then she would just take the clippers and go
to town on that particular spot like she was mowing a 5 acre lawn with a weed-eater.
I was starting to get pissed.
"Can you just take it easy with the clippers? Also could you blend
the top in with sides?" I asked.
"What do ya mean?" She asked.
"I don't know…. I mean can you cut the top and the sides so it doesn't look like a deck of cards sitting on top of a shelf!" At this point I've pretty much had it.
Apparently so had she.
"You're gonna have to leave," she declared taking the cape off of me.
I have to admit I wasn't expecting that.
"You can't kick me out," I said (okay shouted). "You're not done and
my hair looks like horrible."
"Yes I can kick you out," she replied. "That will be 15 dollars."
"WHAT???? I exclaimed. "You can't kick me out before you
finish and then demand that I pay 15 bucks!!!" (By the way, since when are freaking haircuts 15 bucks?)
"Unless you start using some manners I ain't gon touch your hair and
when you leave this place ya'are gonna pay 15 dollars," she said.
So I demanded to speak to her manager. Unfortunately she was
the manager so I had to calm down. I tucked my tail in between my
legs realizing that I was running out of time before the ceremony
started.
"I apologize," I said. "Can I please just get my haircut finished now?"
"Why, you got somewhere to be?" She asked knowing that she had won.
I just nodded. I wanted to say: NO I'M JUST WEARING A SHIRT AND TIE
BECAUSE I LIKE TO DRESS UP TO DEAL WITH CRAZY ASSHOLES LIKE YOU. But
I didn't. And I sat back down while she looked at my head. Only this
time she looked like she was seeing it for the first time.
"Well, I can't do much with this hair now, since you came in here with such a bad hairstyle," she determined.
It was this point that I was considering just walking out of the shop, cape and all, and running down the street until I was apprehended by the local law enforcement.
"What I can do is to shorten it up even more so's it looks like yer in the army or mah-reens," she said. "It would be sorta like a starting over for yer hair."
This seemed a better option than leaving it to her creative skills
and I figured that I've had army haircuts before. Wouldn't look that
odd.
"That will be fine," I said politely as possible.
Surprisingly she did a good job with army cut. It had been a long
time since I had my hair that short but I knew it could have been
worse.
"Do ya want fer me to shave the neck and sides?" She asked.
Now the smart thing would have been to say no. But I then I
remembered back to Shangri-la back with the Korean barbers and with a
dreamy look on my face said, "Yes, please, I think I've enough time."
She began to spread shaving cream on the back of my neck. She was
actually careful not to mess up my clothes and for this I was kind of
grateful. She then whipped out her straight razor with a little bit
more gusto than I was accustomed to and began scraping the cream off
my neck. Now I don't know if she thought the blade was dull or
something but she was really pressing hard. Pressing hard enough that I knew exactly what happened when I felt the blade catch at the lower part of my neck. SHE FUCKING CUT ME.
I gave her an evil look that said YOU FUCKING CUT ME ON PURPOSE! Now
when a person with a straight razor slices your neck open usually the
person who did the cutting is a lot more hysterical than the cut-ee.
But not this piece of work.
"Its not that bad," she said.
Not "Oh I'm sorry" or "Oh my god you're gonna die." No she says ITS
NOT THAT BAD.
I can literally feel the warm blood starting to drip down my neck and
I'm still sitting there not quite knowing what to do. She wiped the
rest of the cream off—probably because of the look I gave her when she asked me if she should finish shaving my neck. She gives me a
band-aid because she says she always has some handy. With the way you work, you'd better, I thought.
Then she takes off the cape in such a manner as to allow all of my
hair to fall right on to my clothes. She didn't even acknowledge she
did it. Did I mention I HATE this person?
We walk back up front with me looking like I'd just been bitten by a
rabid dog that happened to be shedding profusely.
"That's 15 dollars," she said. I said nothing and gave her the blood
money (literally).
"Have a great day and come back to see us," she said robotically. I
HATE YOU WOMAN!!!
I get to the ceremony and walk through dejected. People are looking
at me like I just got back from a war. I walked to where my parents
were sitting and my Mom gave me a look.
"Do you know that you are bleeding through your white shirt?" She
asked. "I can't get that stain out."
I just looked at her.
"Your hair looks like it did in the Army," my Dad said. "You got hair all over your clothes. Are you bleeding?"
I just looked at him.
I was asking myself how my morning could get worse when fate decided
to answer for me. (
For any of you not familiar with my cell phone history, see here)
In the middle of the invocation while the rest of the place was dead
silent my cell phone decides to make my day:
"An incoming call you have," Yoda sang. "Answer it quickly you must."
All eyes darted to the bloody, shedding guy with Star Wars cell piece. I looked at the caller ID and saw the number to the Walk-In Hair Care Salon.
Posted by Elyas at 09:30 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack
June 02, 2005
My boy is famous
Someday, when young Acinom has graduated from his lowly rank of unpaid intern and risen to the god-like status of a Jon Stewart, he can trace all of his success back to me. I submitted one of his previous adventures to the Carnival of Comedy, and now handfuls of visitors are pouring in each hour to read about his latest shennanigans.
Yes, loyal readers may recall that I fired Acinom last week after he turned fluff piece about movies instead of an actual adventure. But his semi-celebrity status has redeemed him for the moment (although I am still taking intern applications). Be sure to tune in this Friday for the next installment of...
The Adventures of Acinom!
Posted by Elyas at 01:03 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
May 27, 2005
Maybe 'adventure' is the wrong word
Well, folks. It's time for the weekly edition of The Adventures of Acinom. But, it looks like everyone's favorite intern wasn't that adventurous this week. Maybe we should change the name of the segment to The Semi-Exciting Musings of a Lazy Intern.
Um...well nothing fun happened this week aside from my purchase of Airwolf: Season One and Transformer's: Season Three, Part II DVDs. So this week I'm gonna talk about my Top Ten HOLY SHIT Moments in Movies. Enjoy.
I had a movie conversation with my boss and we were talking about what he calls the greatest movie fake-outs. I prefer to see them as the greatest movie HOLY SHIT moments—you know the movie moments where you turn to the person you are watching the movie with and all you can think of to say is HOLY SHIT because you can't believe what just happened. So here is my Top 10 list, which I open to everyone else and ask that you submit some of your own HS moments.
DISCLAIMER: Understand that this is not a Top 10 greatest movies or
anything. These are simply moments that thoroughly shocked or
surprised me while watching. Also I was born in the first Reagan year so understand that there are 75 years of movies I probably missed. Anyways here goes:
10. Top Gun: Goose (Anthony Edwards) dies after ejecting from an F-14 due to a spinout. Some of you might say, "Of course, Goose was going to die. He was the funny side-kick in a military movie." Well I say, "SHUT UP and DAMN YOU FOR JUDGING ME!" I was five years old when this came out and was literally crying when Goose died.
9. The Godfather: Horse's Head in a Bed. Sounds like the
name of a song. I was as scared as the dude in the movie when I saw
that.
8. Seven: Detectives and SWAT find a tortured emaciated body
of a criminal tied to a bed. When a SWAT officer goes in for a close
up, the body takes a breath and begins to panic scaring the SHIT out
of everyone in the theater.
7. Pulp Fiction: Two for one: When the pistol accidentally
fires and blows away the kid in the back seat and then again when
Travolta stabs the syringe into Uma Thurman's breast plate (which
forever turned my away from ANY type of injection).
6. Sixth Sense: When Bruce Willis discovers that he died
almost a year ago. Now for all you smart A-Holes who KNEW ALL ALONG
that Brucie was dead I want you to know that I know that I HATE YOU.
For me, this moment in the movie was a complete mind-#$@! and made me
an instant M. Night fan.
5. Something About Mary: I still can't believe that
this scene happened. Watching Ben Stiller do his err…thing and then
seeing Cameron Diaz find his um… stuff continues to weird me out to
this very day.
4. American Pie: Apple Scene. Which, by the way, contributes to the international confusion over American culture. That we celebrated the porking of an apple pie is the reason (well, aside from Paris Hilton) the rest of the world hates us.
2. (Tied) Seven: Final Scene with discovery of Ms. Paltrow's
murder is one of the biggest "Oh my god" endings ever.
2. (Tied) The Usual Suspects: Final Scene where Kaiser Soze's identity is revealed. Amazing ending.
1. The Empire Strikes Back: Darth Vader reveals to Luke that
he is Luke's father. I know what you are thinking? How is that
surprising or shocking? Well you gotta look at it from before the
advent of VHS, DVD's, and the "prequel" phenomena. I know that for my generation (1980's and beyond) the Star Wars series was part of our growth—Star Wars Lunch Boxes, Play-dough Ewoks, and Han Solo action figures. I can't even tell you the first time I ever saw the
movies—it was like church. You can't remember the first time you went but you knew what it was about. In other words, my generation grew up knowing that Vader was Luke's father. Now think what it must have been like to see that movie for the first time only having seen the original Star Wars.
"Luke, I am your father."
You're telling me that anybody could have predicted that Vader was
Luke's father? That would have kicked my ass had I seen that without
already having known it. That would have made me say... HOLY
SHIT!
Posted by Elyas at 10:37 AM | Comments (16) | TrackBack
May 23, 2005
The Adventures of Acinom
Everyone's favorite intern is back for the second installment of The Adventures of Acinom. This is supposed to be a weekly thing, but Acinom was late turning it in. Looks like I'll have to dock his pay
Episode II: Revenge of the Kids-th
I thought I was being sly early Friday morning when at 10:00 I blew
off work and went to my local 97-screen theater-with-zip-code to catch the morning showing of Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the
Sith. I figured I'd be one of the first to see the end of a era.
I was feeling pretty good: a work-free day, some light saber action,
and seeing Darth Vader get his force on with Natalie Portman.
"I'll take one for the 10 AM Sith," I said coyly, already
feeling like an insider using abbreviated title lingo—Jedi-jargon if
you will.
"I'm sorry, Sir, the 10 AM, 10:15, 10:45, and the 11 AM are all sold
out. The earliest I have is 11:15," the bored-out-of-her-skull
cashier told me.
"What? I mean it's 10 AM on Friday! How can this be?"
"Sir, some local schools have decided to make it a field trip," she
explained. The Imperial March started in my head as I looked
way over to the right of the parking lot and saw 10 odd school buses.
Looking inside the theater I saw scores of little children standing in line having imaginary light saber battles, impersonating wookies, and driving their teachers and the theater staff absolutely nuts.
"Add that to all the other people…," she paused, "blowing off work and we are pretty busy this morning."
Defeated, I took my 11:15 stub and morosed over to the Area 51 arcade
game (Proving yet again my senior thesis—that every movie theater in
the U.S. has an Area 51 arcade game) and took my frustration out on
some aliens. Well, when it comes to video games I tend to get a
little focused….an artillery barrage could take place and I wouldn't
think twice to seek cover because, "Damnit, I'm on Level 17 with 7
lives!" So I kind of missed the line forming behind my back. I turn
around, saw the line, and accidentally dropped an F-bomb in front of a group of little kids immediately earning a nasty stink-eye from the
teacher and a chorus of "Ooooooooooooo's" from the itty bitty kiddy
committee.
I got to the end of the line and got behind a couple managing to sneak in front of a group of sixth grade age-level kids. Its about 11 AM by now so I'm getting pumped up about the movie.
All of a sudden my cell phone starts what used to be my favorite
ringtone: "An incoming call you have," warns Yoda. "Answer it
quickly you must."
This earns me the heckling of the sixth graders and the couple in
front of me (whom I will say now were rather homely-looking anyways).
I'm so embarrassed (Why? I don't know—I mean the cool couple in front of me is skipping work to see Star Wars on a Friday morning—we will ignore the fact that I am too. And the little dorks behind me are mere months away from discovering their first short'n'curlies) that I decide to play it off and pretend its not me.
BUT NO. Somebody has to call back to make sure that I wasn't in the
shower because, No, I would never be so busy that I would ignore
someone's phone call…. So yet again: "An incoming call you have,"
warns Yoda. "Answer it quickly you must."
More heckling ensues but this time the wonderful caller decides to
leave a message. So now my phone, who, by the way, must hate me
immensely, decides that it will play the little message tone—the
piece'de'resistance': (Obi-Wan) "May the Force be with you" (followed by Chewbacca's absurd howl).
So while these prepubescent jerks and the couple in front are laughing at me I notice that it is 11:10 and that the line is not moving. I look ahead to the front of the line and see a little hand-written placard that indicates that this line is for the 11:45 show.
"Oh look," I say probably a little too loudly. "I got an 11:15
ticket." My smile to the teens and ugly twins said it all:
BEEE-ITCHS!!!!
Well that stopped their laughing and earned me yet another nasty look. I made my way to the front squeezing in between some annoyed folks.
"Sorry, I got an 11:15," I explained as I bumped into people trying to make my way up to the front. Finally I made it and walked into the theater to find it FULL of little kids. The only seat left was right smack in the middle of a group of them so I gingerly made my through trying not to stumble and crush some little kid. They were chattering away and I knew this was going to be a long movie.
In between previews, as the teachers finally got their little kids to
quiet down, Cingular and Yoda failed me yet again: "An incoming call
you have," warns Yoda. "Answer it quickly you must." This set off a
riot of laughter as kids found this absolutely freaking hilarious.
I was sitting next to one of the teachers who was younger and closer
to my age….and rather pretty. Apparently my ring tone earlier had
given it away that I am somewhat of a Star Wars fan so she starts
asking me all these questions about the movie. Because she is rather
pretty I entertain her questions at first which are along the lines of, "Which one is that?" and "Who is she again?" But then the questions start getting annoying….And downright insulting to a Star Wars fan:
"So this is happening before the old movies, right?"
"Is Obi-wan in the old movies?"
"Is that the same R2-D2 in all the movies?"
"Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could fly in space like that?"
"Is the Senator really the Emperor from the old movies? Are you sure?"
"Does Yoda die in this one too? No wait don't tell me."
So I'm getting pretty annoyed with this teacher who as it turns out is not as pretty as I thought (She actually is but I just can't justify giving her credit when this person is supposed to be forming the young minds of the future and the following happens.)
(SPOILER ALERT—By the way if you need this alert let me tell you about some of the inventions that have been discovered while you were
away…LIKE THE INTERNET) After Anakin becomes Darth Vader the teacher
starts tearing up because, and I quote, "I had no idea little Anakin
becomes the Vader." THE VADER??? I lost it.
"Wait a minute. You didn't know how this movie was going to end?
You're joking right?"
"No. It's just awful. And poor Natalie Portman. She has to give up
her twins," She cried.
"How did you not know how this movie was going to end? They
knew in 1977 how this movie was going to end. You've got to be
kidding me!" I was stunned stupid. Yes, maybe I like Star Wars a
little too much but I think that anybody who goes to this movie and
also takes her class with her should at least have a clue what is
going on. I couldn't take it anymore. As the credits rolled I darted to the exit and couldn't wait to get out of there.
As I waited in, yet another, line to get out of the place, I kept
shaking my head and wondering if I was taking crazy pills. But the
fun (for everyone else) and ridicule (for me) didn't end there.
"An incoming call you have," warns Yoda. "Answer it quickly you must."
Posted by Elyas at 11:15 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack