This Does Not Exist

Yet.

Go to http://calculatoronfire.baltiblogs.com.
calculatoronfire at 15/02/05 11:07 PM | 2 comments

This is my old site

I used to write here all the time.Just about every day. Then one day everything quit. I was jonesin' to post somewhere, so I moved to another server. The address is calculatoronfire.baltiblogs.com .


If you want to take the time to read what I write check that out.
And while you're at it drop me a line. Tell me who you are, your favorite color. Tell me about beer. No. Not beer. Tell me about your favorite boxed wine. I love boxed wine. Let's share our thoughts about the beauty of boxed wine. Yes, let's.
calculatoronfire at 14/12/04 8:17 PM | 0 comments

Party Animal

In case you don't already know, I'm a cool guy. I must be, I get invited to parties left and right. Neighbors' birthday parties. Neighbors 6 years old and under. I think I've been invited to every toddler on the street's birthday party.
They love me for some reason. I think it is because I throw them up in the air and do other things that could potentially end with them injured and me forking over large amounts of cash.
This weekend my neighbor is turning two and having a party at the corner bar. I think it's a little early for her to be hanging out in bars and definitely to early for her to start drinking. I don't think I drank at my 2-year birthday party (I don't remember if I even had one).

When I turned 6 my parents threw me a birthday party. It was mostly an excuse for the extended family to get together and surround themselves with obnoxious hyperactive year olds from my neighborhood.
At some point during the party I was overcome with an intense need to urinate. I mean bad. I ran from the living room, where most people were gathered, over to the bathroom. To save time I undid my pants on the way. I dropped them far enough to give myself unhindered access to the equipment before I got to the door. The time saving manuever worked and in the bathroom all went as planned. When I crossed through the door again I was greeted by an upset extended family.
I was reprimanded for dropping my pants in front of the company and told to always keep my pants up until I got into the bathroom. I imagine now that it was intended to be only an admonishment, but I felt extremely put out. So badly put out that I hid behind the sofa for quite some time.
The other kids went outside to play and I stayed in my shelter from shame and the adults forgot about me. Without the kids around the conversation became laden with sexual innuendos. My Aunt told a story about my cousins, her daughters about my age, and their friends digging through some bins in their basement and then emerging clad in gawdy old lingerie.
Why was there a bin of gawdy old lingerie in my Aunt and Uncle's basement? Why for parties of course. The apparently frequented parties where couples showed up cross dressed in underwear only. Men in lingerie, the more hideous the better, and women in men's underwear.
Shocked my Grandmother asked, “What kind of parties is my daughter going to?” There was no reply. All conversation stopped on account of the newly turned six year old intensely giggling behing the couch. The embarrassed adults ushered me outside to play with the other kids.
There we stayed until it was time to clean up when the party was winding down. It was my job to pick up the beverage cans. I was picking up only empty cans until I got to my uncle's. His can wasn't full, so I asked him if he was done. He replied with something to the effect of, “I guess so.” So I took the can. I ditched the empties and ran outside with the half full can of beer.
The other kids and I huddled in the middle of the dead end street and passed it around nervously giggling and exclaiming how wretched it was. Somehow this attracted the attention of the adults inside and they came out in force. One of the kids (I like to think it was me) had the pressence of mind to drop the now empty can and kick it.
“What are you kids doing out here?”
“We're just playing kick the can.” Whatever the hell that game is.
Anyway, the quick thinking saved me from certain grounding. Still I did get another talking to for stealing my Uncle's beer – he claimed not to have told me to take it and it forced him to get up and grab a brand new beer.

Well, I learn from my mistakes and I tell you this. If I see a huddle of 2 year olds kicking a can of beer (or more likely a 40) in the street this weekend I know what they're up to, even if they only claim to only be kicking the can.
calculatoronfire at 22/11/04 5:37 PM | 0 comments

Gifts Gifts Gifts!

I came home from work and to my surprise buried amongst the credit card preapproval letters and flyers for stores I will never in my life shop in I found actual mail. Actually a package.
I thought about it for a second and couldn't figure out why I would have gotten a package. I didn't remember ordering anything since I ordered the Color Flash Holga, which I got last week. I took a look at the package and the stamps alerted me to the fact that it came from overseas. That's when I knew who sent it, but I still didn't know what it was. I excitedly ripped the package open and found the best postal-sent surprise since I got the dollar off on adult diapers coupon (if only I had occassion to use an adult diaper). I couldn't wait to get it(i.e. the surprise in my surprise package) in my mouth, but I held off.
Instead I went out to take my dogs for a walk.
I went out into the back yard where I was greeted by my excited dogs and my neighbor on the other side of the fence. She attempted to invite me to a Thanksgiving dinner, but I deftly avoid an actual invite, which I would have accepted while wishing I could figure a way to turn her down. But still she insisted I take a bowl of home cooked beef vegetable soup she cooked up early that day.
After I ate the surprisingly unbad soup I finally got around to taking my dogs for a walk. I got the the mouth of the alley with them when I saw someone digging in a mailbox across the street. Not only had I never seen the guy before, but he went about the task in a odd, and therefore suspicious, manner. So I slowed and watched.
Then he yelled something to me. I stopped and he yelled again, this time I was able to understand what he was yelling. It was the tried and true, "are you walking them or are they walking you." Ha Ha. Funny.
I've found that the best reponse to this is a reply (lest it be repeated) of something unintelligible. "Blah blah walk grumble." Their response, and usually the final volley, is a huge chuckle.
This time, however, he followed up. "That's a border collie, right."
No, she's half greater swiss mountain dog.
Oh. And border collie, right?

He hurried across the street to me and held out his fist saying his name was Troy. I got the impression he wanted me to touch his fist with mine, so I did. I mistakenly made contact. To me it was humoring this man. To him it was bonding.
He went on and on about how smart his dogs were(from childhood to present) and how he was watching his friend's lab. 90% lab, anyway.
Then he begged me to go see his puppies. He wanted me to take one of his puppies.
No, thanks.
It's free, no problem. Come see. I live right here.

He walked me around into the alley. I found he had a dog, but no puppies. He tried to give me a puppy some months in advance of their actual appearance. Then his pregnant dog tried attacking my dogs.
He ushered the dog inside and I tried to hurry away. He caught up with me and told me he worked two jobs, he was a mechanic. He liked the G Gordon Libby radio show. He was born at Johns Hopkins. He was the youngest of 8. The next youngest lived in Columbus, Ohio. Maybe. etc. All inside of the 5 minutes I spent trying to get my dogs to stop smelling things so we could get around him.

I did finally get away and spent an uneventful night waiting to use the surprise I got in the mail.
Finally, before I went to bed (again in a real bed, with a mattress and everything) I pulled out the gum massaging toothbrush, and spent several joyous minutes massaging my gums.
calculatoronfire at 18/11/04 4:23 PM | 2 comments

Stoop Night

I used to work with this guy that was a couple years older than me. We hung out outside of work and on one specific occassion my friend's girlfriend insulted him. I didn't think it was an insult, and neither did the alleged insulter, but he claimed to be insulted.
She simply said that she couldn't picture him at a rave.

He took it as a personal attack about his age and lack of "cool." So he demanded we all go some place he could show off his dancing skills. I didn't know where to go, since I don't dance. (I'm no John Ashcroft, I just don't do it), in fact only the offended guy and the offending girl knew where to go, and they bickered about it for several minutes.
Finally they settled things and dragged the rest of us out to some clubby type place. Most of us stood around drinking while a few went out to dance. The offended guy was dancing up a storm. He pulled out all the stops and the fake ball or something. Yeah, he was pretending to dance with a ball until suddenly he threw his back out.
It was pretty noticable, but he tried to play it off as a new dance move that could earn him "I guess I could see you at a rave" status, whatever that meant. He then slowly danced his way off the floor and over to a phone to call his wife to pick him up.

He was married. That's why I don't understand why when we went out he was always hitting on women. Especially at parties.
I brought him to a party and he chased a couple girls around all night. They kept running away from him, but he kept at it. I'm pretty oblivious when it comes to the ladies and all, but I saw things there. They tried everything short of "Get the hell away from me."
A couple female friends pulled me aside and asked me about the creepy guy I brought. Wasn't he married? Why would I bring such a creepy guy? Would he ever leave her alone?

The next time I was invited to a party at the same house I was specifically told not to bring the creepy guy. Luckily, I found an even more creepy guy. Miles.
Miles was my neighbor's half brother and really wanted to hang out with me before he went home to North Carolina or where ever it was he lived and stored his library of home movies. Yeah, you know the kind I'm talking about.
I went down to Cincinnati with Miles and my neighbor and Miles talked almost the entire time about filming first person pornos. He was a real sleazy looking guy, so I don't know how he found his co-stars, but he did. Apparently enough of them to fill a cabinet in his trailer in NC.
If he wasn't talking about filming the pornos he was talking about having sex with his step sister. How great it was, right in front of his step brother, her brother.
Hanging out in Cincinnati we stopped at a bar on the river. It was pretty empty, so the bartender stayed to chat with us much of the time. She told us about how much fun she had with, and how deeply in love she was with her new husband.
Miles took this to mean that he had a very good shot with her. That was what he talked about on the way home.
I decided he was perfect for the party I was going to that night.

Miles burst into the house behind me and quickly made the rounds, asking every woman to do body shots with him. A few were disgusted, others were concerned that it was only Tuesday. No body shots for Miles.
He moved on to talk of movies. He was looking for a co-star. When he was again turned down by every one of the dwindling number of ladies he came up to me and told me he wanted to leave. "This party sucks."
I said, "Miles this is a more refined crowd. Pick one girl and work on her."
He did, for as long as his attention span allowed, and I was again pulled to the side. Who is this creepy guy? He just told me about having sex with his sister. Can you get him to leave?
I thought it best, now that my reputation as the guy that brings creepy guys was solidly locked, to take him away.

As I escorted him out he announced we were hitting a strip club and asked if anyone wanted to come with. We didn't go to any strip club and Miles decided I was a loser. He didn't want to hang out with me anymore.
He left to NC soon after.

I still search for creepy folks to bring to parties.
I will be having a party of sorts rather soon and anyone and everyone is invited to come and to bring their creepiest friends.

Stoop Night. We'll be drinking forties on the stoop. And since a majority of my neighbors will be coming by begging for a sip, there'll already be plenty of creepy people, a few more wouldn't hurt.
calculatoronfire at 17/11/04 7:21 PM | 3 comments

Last Night I Slept without Trouble

Some people will try to make you believe that I spent all of last night chatting up strangers in a bar. This is not true. A good part of my night was spent sleeping in a bed.
Finally a bed.
After about a month or so I finally slipped between the sheets and set my head upon a pillow atop a real bed, thus concluding my longest bedless stint to date.
This however was not my most uncomfortable bedless stint by any means. There was the time I had to spend a couple weeks sleeping on the floor, and the time I, under the influence of Kerouac and cashlessness, spent a few weeks sleeping in the back of my beat up Toyota Corrola in Mississippi.
I started out cooking beans in a campfire by the beach then retiring to my car parked in the parking lot at the Bucaneer State Park on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. In the sweltering heat. Getting eaten alive by mosquitos.
That is until I got kicked out by the park rangers. They threatened arrest and I moved to a nearby state park.
Well, I went to the park and found it was really a campground and I'd have to pay to enter. That would defeat the point, so I continued down the (gravel) county highway and turned into the first dark road into the woods and went to sleep.
I went to classes during the day, after returning to Bucaneer to take a "shower" in the sink in public bathroom. At night I would read books reinforcing my new lifestyle until the light dwindled.
That's when I would stuff myself into the cramped back seat and sleep constantly worrying that a crazed local with property rights would wake me by tapping a shotgun on my window.
That lasted about a week. Then I realized this whole sleeping on the streets stuff was nonsense. I needed a real shower. One where I could get totally naked without fear that some stranger would walk in and get me arrested for public nudity.
Honestly, what was I thinking?
Last night after leaving the bar, where I did chat up some strangers for a few hours, before sleeping in a luxurious Bed I went out looking for trouble.
Seems I can never find it when I look for it, it finds me when it wants to spend time together.

Like the night before Thanksgiving a couple years back when I hung out with my brother and my cousin in Madison, Wisconsin. After proving to our cousin that we could indeed over-indulge we decided to get some food: Burritos as big as our heads at La Bamba, a popular closing time destination.
We met a guy with "LOVE" and "HAT" tattooed on his fingers. My brother called him a pussy for not getting "HATE" tattooed on his hand. The stranger removed a large pinky ring and offered to show the tattoo to him up close. He declined, apologized, and then called the guy a pussy for not tattooing his hands himself. I eased him out the door.
On the street a car full of guys began cat calling toward my cousin. My brother told them they were being very rude.
Somehow things happened and I ended up dropping my pants, jumping up and landing my bare ass on their hood.
That's when they stepped on the gas and gave me a ride down the street, only to cut it short, slamming on the brakes, sending me flying, when the owner of the car, Mr LOVE & HAT, sauntered out of the restaurant.

The car emptied and everyone wanted to kick my ass, which at this point was re-covered. Somewhere in the crowd was trouble, but I wasn't looking for it.
I ran without looking back.
calculatoronfire at 17/11/04 4:26 PM | 2 comments

Leave Your Clothes at the Border

They say, "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," but I'm here to tell you your clothes stay in New Orleans. It's not an officially endorsed message from the New Orleans tourism machine, but trust me, it's true.

I headed down to New Orleans (from Chicago) a couple times one summer: Memorial Day and Labor Day. I found, to my pleasure, that the spirit of Mardi Gras is exploited by the business community and the debauchery continues with only slightly less crowded streets.
On Memorial Day I headed to the Big Easy with two friends, one male, one female. Being in college we opted for a room in the less than glamorous, but entirely affordable, East New Orleans. We stayed in something called the Family Inn, a hotel that was seemingly untouched by skilled labor (save the addition of bullet proof glass) since the mid-seventies, or whenever it was that orange and brown were the only two colors with which hotels were outfitted. The trip from the Family Inn to the French Quarter is short enough, the three of us had to finish the bottle of MD 20/20 in the parking lot before heading down to Bourbon St.
We walked the street with drinks until we got a mental map of the place and we found a convenience/liquor store that sold bottles of booze.
See, there's two schools when it comes to drinking in bars.
1 The school that claims drinking at home or alone is an indication of alcoholism. I know a guy that graduated from that school. After graduation he moved into an apartment upstairs from a bar.
2 The school my dad went to. The "why drink in a bar when you can go to the store and buy a bottle for less and get totally smashed?" school. Like father like son, as they say.
We walked around passed the bottle of cheap store-bought booze passing the kids tap dancing and twirling bicycle tires on their heads until the breasts started popping out.
Then we goaded our female companion to show hers. She did. Over and over. She earned so many beads they covered her chest. I pressured her into going topless, covered by the Mr T-like amount of neckware.
Around that time our male companion started getting jealous he wasn't getting any beads, so he went to the end of Bourbon St to get some. (If you've been to New Orleans you know the end I'm talking about...) He started flashing the guys in the bars to no avail. He said some of the guys even demanded he pay them with beads after having seen what he had to show them.
While he was busy doing that the girl I was with put her shirt back on and we went around, most likely drinking even more.
That's when we were propositioned by a couple of parking garage employees. Apparently they were in town for a parking garage manager's conference (really, how hard can it be?) and were both married, but not to each other. The female admired my friend's daring topless stunt, and the guy, well he made it very clear that all four of us should head back to his hotel room so he could have sex with all of us. We declined, only his original partner accompanied him from that point on.
After that we paid and earned some beads for a couple hours without our friend. We were about to give up on him when he approached us and said, "Have you guys seen my underwear?"
Your underwear? Why would we have seen your underwear?
I lost it. I don't know where it went.

I'm not sure how he could have lost his underwear, he wasn't sure how he did, but we all agreed it was time to head back to the Family Inn.
The next morning we left New Orleans, without the underwear.

The same group went down to New Orleans again on Labor Day, but we were supposed to meet some other people who had reserved a couple rooms again at the Family Inn.
When we got there our friends hadn't shown up and we couldn't get a room because there was some hip hop family convention and all the rooms were full. So we waited by the pool.
After a couple hours of waiting in the hot sun I decided it was time for a bottle of grape MD 20/20. Then two.
Our friends finally showed up in the late afternoon and wanted to start drinking. So we out to the liquor store down past the old oil tanks and campgrounds and got beer, vodka, and a bottle of Night Train for me (What can I say, I'm a sucker for fortified wine).
The several bottles of grain-neutral-spirits-fortified wine and dehydration caused by hours in the hot sun mixed in just the right amounts.
I got naked.
I ran around the balcony of the hotel, across the parking lot and jumped into the pool
For some reason this upset the family oriented hip hop fanatics and they complained to the management loudly enough to be heard through the bullet proof glass.
The management searched the hotel for the "naked white kid." I don't think I was too hard for them to find.
And there I was, naked, without shelter in New Orleans.
calculatoronfire at 16/11/04 6:49 PM | 4 comments