Spacy

While sitting here listening to “I Ran” by A Flock Of Seagulls I was thinking about outer space, specifically outer space TV shows and movies. Over the years I've become quite a fan of letting myself get amerced in space dramas. Star Trek with it's military order, and all of that exploration. Star Wars with it's Good Force vs Dark Side bad Force theme. Like all good nerds my very favorite was Firefly that lasted for 14 episodes and a movie. It was like the space wild west with smuggling.

Ever since I first saw Han Solo I've loved the space smuggler, and often played one in space games. I've joined virtual smuggling gangs, and have lived out my space smuggler fantasies. We would work together to smuggle contraband through space patrolled by the police, the navy, and groups that weren't too happy with us supplying to people that they didn't like. All of the unimaginative smack talk, and the “HALTs” as I ran away from my pursuers with my load of embargoed contraband always gave me a terrific rush. I always talked to my pursuers when I could to give them complements on their piloting abilities, or ask them about their intimate relationships with Wookiees. This usually threw them off long enough to bust a smart move and land at a friendly base.

I have no doubt that aliens live among us, have you taken a good look at your neighbors lately? What is that strange panel in the front yard, and what is living in that pond on the other side of the berm? Baby aliens? Space chickens maybe? Does a space chicken cluck? Do they taste good with barbecue sauce? That's a silly question we all know everything tastes good with chard on barbecue sauce. And those things growing in your neighbor's front yard, are you sure they are zucchini, and not body snatching pods?

Of course a lot of what you see on a show like Star Trek is a little implausible, inter species mating with half this, and half that as offspring. I mean hell you don't see half cat, half dog combos running around.

“Meow, rar rar rar” Is what a Chihuahua / Maine Coon would sound like before it bit and scratched your ankle to shreds. Give it a space helmet and call it an alien, then send it out on a little space ship with a crew of Guinea Pigs. What would happen if the Borg tried to assimilate their ship?

"We are the Borg, you will be assimilated." and "We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own..."

The Borg scan their ship.

“Oh, um, never mind.”

Maybe there are places on earth filled with aliens, and maybe they have erected huge antennas like the Eiffel Tower, or the “Space” Needle to talk to their planets. Maybe they congregate on earth in hot spots like San Antonio with its Tower of the Americas. All of those places serve food that could be contaminated with mind control powder that makes you shake your head up and down when Glenn Beck talks. Maybe the ten gallon hat is really an antenna to relay messages to the mother ship! Maybe “YEEHA!” really means “We are the Borg resistance is futile.” It's just a theory, you never know.

Tonight I'm going to drink three beers and stick my thumb up in the air while wearing a towel on my head; maybe I can hitch a ride to a new world. I could just toddle around experiencing all of the wild things there are to see without the expense of an expensive spacecraft. I'll watch out for those damn Vogons, they might recite some poetry and I would be in real trouble. But I think if I drank enough beers I wouldn't really care, I hear Vogons like to sing drinking songs.

But if it weren't for the expense I would love to have a space ship. It would have to be able to visit other solar systems without taking a life time to get there. I'm not to worried about the Borg, alien probes, or Siths. The universe is unimaginably vast, completely amazing, and we are all bits of it. I can feel it coursing through me when I lay quietly in silence, even without wearing a ten gallon hat.

Firkroy is Thinking About a Big Bang! And the Annihilator.

This week started off with a BANG! And ended with a SQUASH!

Tuesday is garbage day, the day I put all of the bins by the curb. The drivers of the lumbering trash trucks don't like getting out of their cabs to pick up refuse, they simply drive up, and a mechanical arm grabs the plastic bin and Whoooosh, away goes the trash. It would be nice if once in a while they would closed the bin lids that stay open after a dump, but nope, it's on to the next house.

The night before trash day I routinely move my SUV, and place the plastic containers out on the curb where I was parked. But I was sloppy this week, and I parked my Blazer semi sideways behind our minivan. A poor parking job indeed, but it's my driveway, and I can park all wonkey if I feel like it... That was mistake number one.

The next day I see people rummaging through my recycle bins before the trucks show up to collect cans and bottles that they can turn in for a nickel a piece. No big deal, times are tough, and they are at least showing some initiative; I go back to reading the paper. My wife says she's bringing my son's friend back home after a sleep over. I wave as I sip my morning brew, and go back to reading Dilbert. Wally is being his usual malingering self when all of the sudden there is a big “BANG!”

“What the hell!” I say jumping from my chair and heading outside.

Oh no! My wife who thinks the gas peddle is an on/off switch has run the minivan into my cockeyed parked SUV.... That was mistake number two.

If your going to run into something with your car you may as well run into another one of your own vehicles, it's less messy that way, and your insurance premiums won't go up.

I assess the damage, and it doesn't look too bad as I pick tail light chunks out of the Blazer's molding.

“Sigh, no big deal. This should only cost about $50 to replace the tail light lens” I tell my wife.

She apologizes for crunching our rides. She said the backup obstacle alarm was going off but it was too late.

“Back up the Enterprise Mr. Sulu, warp nine!”

“Ay Captain.”

“Engage!”

I think to myself.

I call the Hyundai dealer's parts department. “Ay Carumba!” The new lens cost $225!

The tail light lens is part of the tail light assembly, and you have to buy the whole thing! What a racket, “Sigh.”

I reluctantly pull my credit card out of my wallet. “Yes I will be paying for it with Visa, yes overnight it, the expiration date is...”

It took me a whole 5 minutes to replace the lens assembly.

It's time for breakfast, and 98% of the time I have oatmeal for breakfast, with blueberries, walnuts, and other assorted super foods to help keep me alive. Yes, I know oatmeal conjures up some horrific thoughts (and only God knows why) of Hannibal Lechter in some people. But oatmeal is good stuff, but my mind wanders off, and I start thinking of doughnuts, Voodoo doughnuts.

A thought bubble appears above my head. Ah the Voodoo maple and bacon bar, oh how I would rather have you than oatmeal. My mind starts to wander, they make a doughnut shaped like a joint called the Maple Blazer Blunt, with maple frosting, and red sprinkle ember.

“It must be for stoners that have the munchies.” I think to myself.

Then I think about the Old Dirty Bastard doughnut with chocolate frosting, Oreo’s, and peanut butter that never really appealed to me. And what kind of pervert at Voodoo developed the Bavarian cream shaped like a Willy called the bleep-N-bleep with bite me written across it.

“POP” goes my thought bubble... let's go on to another subject.

Coffee! Dutch Brothers makes my favorite on the road coffee called the Kicker with 3 different espresso beans, Irish Cream, and the secret “Kick Me Mix.” They also make the Annihilator which is the same as the Kicker but with Chocolate Macadamia Nut instead of Irish Cream. Some of the Dutch Brothers baristas are packing, and recently one of their baristas in Eugene shot and killed a would be robber, dead as a door nail. A little severe but that'll teach that bastard not to mess with our coffee providers.

Speaking of injury by weapon, later in the week I tried to cut my thumb off chopping sweet potatoes to make sweet potato, and black been burritos. I need to slice a body part about every ten years to remind me that knives are sharp.

OK after crunching up my cars, chopping up my thumb, and paying that outlandish price for a stupid tail light lens, it was time for a beer. My favorite local Eugene brew comes from Steelhead Brewery in Eugene, they make a fine porter called French Pete that is dark brown, creamy, and is all malty and smooth. But if you like beer that makes you pucker, then you must try a Hopasaurus Rex. Billed as “the king of Imperial India Pale Ales, and is extra bitter!”

You have to have some serious nads to drink that sort of thing. The thought of a Hopasaurus makes my tongue cringe, and I start getting a headache.

Another of my favorites beer joints is McMenamins. Now for an authentic stout you would have to travel to Ireland and get a real Irish Guinness. The Irish hoard the good stuff to themselves, and they don't let it leave the country. But if you can't afford a trip to Ireland for a stout, then a McMenamins Terminator is my favorite choice, and it's cool because it's called Terminator. Hasta la vista baby.

Now you may be thinking, what kind of people are these crazy lunatics that name their drinks Terminator, Annihihlator, Hopasaurus Rex , and shoot would be coffee hut robbers deader than that racoon on Donald Trump's head? Well that's a good question, and I would tell you but, it's a secret.

Looking across the street I see my neighbor Darryl picking a bag of zucchini. He has 11,373 zucchini squash in his front yard, and what? He's headed this way, he's giving away zucchini!

I'm closing curtains, and pretending I'm not home.

“Shhhhhhhhhhh!” I'm hiding.