Worst Viewmaster reels of all time:
No, Aerosmith. I will not walk this way. Not even the pleas of Reverend Run or DMC will sway me, either, so don’t bother trying.
No, Was (Not Was). I will not walk the dinosaur. I’m not even sure what you mean by that. Are you referring to a dance of some sort, or is there an actual dinosaur that needs to be walked, as a dog might?
Sorry, Bruce. I was definitely not Born to Run.
I Ran, Runnin Down a Dream, Band on the Run, Run Run Rudolph, Run for Cover, Run for Your Life, and Just My Imagination(Running Away With Me).
No, no, and again, no. And I will most certainly NOT Walk Like an Egyptian.
I will, however, Walk the Line.
I got a new phone about a month ago. Its main draw, besides a keyboard, was the palm operating system it uses. It works well, it’s fast, and it feels like it’s 2001 all over again.
It’s a “smartphone.” This sounded ominous when I first got it. How smart, exactly, are we talking? Smart enough to be able to get rid of people I don’t want to talk to? Smart enough to turn on me? They don’t say. Here’s what Palm says about their precious Centro:
The Palm® Centro™ smartphone gives you tons of ways to keep in touch with friends. Call up Brian. Fire off a quick text to Jen. Text message Chris. Or shoot an email to Kat. All you need is a Palm Centro. (And a few friends, of course.)
Clever little tag at the end there, Palm. Nice jab at my pathetic social life and poor self esteem. Why not finish it up with this?
What’s that? You don’t have any friends? Then it doesn’t sound like the Centro is the phone for you, my friend. Why don’t you go curl up in the fetal position with your non-web-enabled Motorola, and leave the Centros for us healthy, normal types.
It doesn’t even matter. You probably wouldn’t like Brian, anyway(to say nothing of Kat. Her laugh is so grating. It’s like, are you trying to be that annoying? Seriously.)
How I envision it:
It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon. I take a stroll to a park, and notice a league softball game in progress. I stop for awhile to take in the game, and sit myself on a bench well past the centerfield wall. My attention is drawn for a moment to some ducks floating down the river, when I am suddenly brought back by a sharp crack of the bat and a joyous cheer. I look up in time to see the ball clear the fence and roll to my feet. As the triumphant batter rounds second, the dejected center fielder motions to me to toss him the ball. I pick it up and, without so much as a thought, fire it all the way to home plate on one hop in time to beat the batter. Most of the crowd is too busy celebrating to notice, except for one man. He used to be a major league scout - the best there was - when some tragedy befell him(I’ll think of one later,) and he was forced out of baseball.
He tracks me down and tries to get me to make that throw again. I refuse, stating that I’m not a baseball player. He insists. I refuse again, this time questioning his hearing. He insists again. I suggest that his intelligence is below the national average. He insists again. I give in, and amaze him again. He calls up his old best friend - now a major league manager - and convinces him to give me a tryout. I make the team.
The players on the team have varied reactions to my presence. Some question my abilities, others seem to be offended by my purely natural ability. Others wonder aloud if pogo sticks are really allowed in the clubhouse. The manager stands by me, however, and I am given my first assignment as starting pitcher against the New York Yankees.
The first inning is rough. I allow two singles, walk the third batter, then give up a grand slam to the cleanup hitter. He is very large, has facial hair, and is verbally abusive to me. My teammates are upset.
As the year progresses, I get better and better(partly due to the corrective lenses I now wear to correct my horrible, horrible eyesight. The frames, however, are unflattering at best), eventually winning over my teammates. This whole time, there is a voice in my head saying things like “Go the Distance,” but since that’s always happened for as long as I can remember and seems unrelated to this narrative, I continue to ignore it.
My story reaches its zenith as I am chosen to pitch game 7 of the ALCS against (who else) the Yankees. With the game on the line, the mean, bearded Yankee from earlier in the story steps up to the plate. I strike him out with no small amount of drama, and we win the game.
How it would actually happen:
It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon. I take a stroll to a park, and notice a league softball game in progress. I stop for awhile to take in the game, and sit myself on a bench well past the centerfield wall. My attention is drawn for a moment to some ducks floating down the river, when I am suddenly brought back by a sharp crack of the bat and a joyous cheer. I look up in time to see the ball clear the fence and roll to my feet. As the triumphant batter rounds second, the dejected center fielder motions to me to toss him the ball. I pick it up, and as I raise my arm to throw the ball, I lose my balance and fall backwards over the bench. I land on my head, and start cartwheeling down the embankment towards the river. I hit a tree halfway down, and in the process jar loose a robin’s nest which lands on my head. The parent robins defend their nest by immediately attacking the most sensitive areas of my face, and in an effort to escape, I run away, straight towards the bleachers, screaming and pinwheeling my arms. Blinded by the vicious bird attacks, I slam into the rickety bleachers at full speed, causing them to collapse and creating all sorts of chaos and confusion amongst the crowd.
There’s more, but I’ll spare you. It ends with me accidentally putting a semi truck with a fully loaded trailer in neutral, then being chased by it down a hill.
I bought some socks last week, and they came in a resealable bag.. thank heavens. Someone finally read my letters. The package even said that the bag was resealable for my convenience. I’m not sure why that was important. Do they go stale? Is that in case I just want one pair now, and want to save the rest for later? Should I refrigerate the rest after opening? I guess I could put them back in the bag after I washed them, but then again, that is what the floor is for. I didn’t want to waste the bag, though, so I filled it with grapes and put it in my freezer.
