Just Call Me Reece Bobby

So I’m not sure if I did something awful this weekend, or if it was just strictly badass. I’ll say I’m not entirely ashamed of it, it did feel pretty good, but a part of me says I could have let it go.

I cussed out a little kid at the International House of Pancakes.

Here’s the set up - I went to Indianapolis with a couple friends this weekend to visit another friend, and after a night out we went to the IHOP the next day for lunch. We were leaving straight from the restaurant to return to Columbus, so after paying Garth and I prudently decided to hit the bathroom before the three-plus hour drive. Turned out it wasn’t a large public bathroom - just the type with one stall and a lock on the door. Garth went in and I leaned against the wall, waiting my turn.

About a minute later, this chubby-bordering-on-fat little 10-year-old-boy comes walking up, completely ignoring me, and goes to step between me and the door.

“Hey kid. I’m next.”

So the kid, instead of asking if he could go first (which I’m sure I would have let him), informs me of what’s going to happen.

“You have to let me go first. My family is about to leave.”

I stare at the kid. I’ve got a good two feet on him, probably about 100 pounds, I’m wearing my dirty black leather jacket and sporting my scraggly beard and currently-unkept hair. I’m not in the best of moods, and I give him the flattest stare I can.

“I don’t have to do anything. My group’s leaving too, and I’m next.”

The kid smiles at me like he expects me to find what he’s doing cute, like it’s worked for him in the past. He continues to slide his way between me and the door.

“Look, kid, don’t be a little prick. Get out of my way or I’ll sit on you.”

The grin just sort of slid off his face. About that time the door opened and Garth walked out, catching the tail end of the conversation. The little brat still almost tried to make a break for it, but I took a big step in front of him.

“Get the hell out of my way.”

And the greatest sense of pleasure I took from the whole encounter came next. Visible through the open bathroom door was not just one urinal, but a toilet as well. The kid piped up: “Hey, you can let me go, too! There’s two -”

Slam. Throw the lock.

I took my time while the kid sullenly pounded his head against the outside of the door. He didn’t look at me when I casually strolled out of the bathroom.

Next time I’ll stick the little pot-licker in a microwave.

My Sister, call her Armstrong

Here's a video clip of my sister's senior tuba recital. She's with her brass ensemble, in the middle. The camera work is shaky, but you audio still comes through.

Someone was Bit as a Child

The libertarian in me shouts out at this one. In the past several years this issue has been all over the news, and slowly creeps closer to us here in Ohio, as illustrated by the Times Reporter . Yet again, some politician who thinks he should appear to take action when someone gets bit by a dog thinks it's a good idea to pass some legislation, shake some hands and remind his constituents to vote.

THERE ARE NO BAD DOGS. ONLY BAD OWNERS.

I know it sounds a little similar to the old saying that guns don't kill people, people do; but maybe they're not that different of concepts. I don't even have a dog right now, and this still makes me want to punch somebody.

I don't care what these politicians say, there is nothing that makes one breed of dog any more apt to attack someone than any other breed. A dog's temperament is a product of how it was raised by its owners, how it has been treated by humans during its life, and how it is approached by the alleged 'victim.' You can take any breed of dog, and if you beat it or mistreat the thing as a pup, or force it to fight other dogs, even if you neglect to scold it when it jumps up on someone, that dog is going to turn out bad. I'm talking from poodle to mastiff.

One of the meanest dogs I've ever met was a 10-pound Jack Russell terrier. Its owner had let the thing catch mange, kept it in its cage the majority of the day, and pretty much mistreated it in general. You couldn't walk in the room with the poor guy without him growling at you, hackles raised. Thinking myself Dr. Doolittle (which I usually am) I got a pretty bad bite when I reached out my hand for him to sniff.

In contrast, as a teen I remember a couple from our church (I think) who had a St. Bernard which probably topped out at over 200 pounds. The couple also had a couple toddlers. Those kids would climb over that dog like it was a jungle gym, pull on its tail, hang from its ears, and the dog acted like they didn't bother him at all. But if the kids were playing outside and a stranger approached them, you can bet 200 pounds of muscle and teeth stood between them and anyone that might do them harm.

Anyway, this is going to go on forever if I don't cut myself off. I haven't even gotten into why it's wrong for government to legislate something like this (which I'll address later in the week) but for now, let's just say this topic pisses me off.

You scared little politicians should think about adopting dogs instead of banning them.

For some updated info on the topic, this website has a pretty decent bulletin board.

A Long Time Ago, In a Galaxy Far Away...

It's a boring night. The roommate is out, I've purposefully turned off the TV, and Counting Crows is crooning on the CD player, and there's one hell of a storm on the way, or so the weather channel says.

It's Monday, and all my copy for the paper is already turned in; I don't have any money, so I don't want to blow any on random out-of-the-house activities; and it's too late to indulge in my bad habits and still make it to work early tomorrow.

So I'm gonna try to blog.

I know I'm a little obsessed with movies, but does anyone else live in a constant state of anticipation for some of the bigger projects down the line? I've been like that ever since I can remember - after reading Silence of the Lambs, when I heard they were filming Hannibal I couldn't wait. The Star Wars prequels... good Lord. And don't even get me started on the Lord of the Rings films, I had waited for them since I had learned to read.

Right now high on the list is the end of the Harry Potter franchise, the eventual Wolverine movie, Transformers, GrindHouse, a habitually-rumored sequel to Boondock Saints, the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie... the list goes on.

My breath is held in anticipation of The 300.

But once the movie comes out, I see it, I usually love it, I copy the DVD, file it in the collection and go on to the next big project. Does anyone else do this? For you music folks, I guess it's equivalent to waiting for your favorite bands' next release.

I don't know. It's just a boring, cold night, and I'm grasping for topics to write about.

Taylor Killian

In a blatant attempt to draw more traffic to my pathetic little blog, I thought I'd share with y'all that I FINALLY covered something first that was picked up by the Associated Press. As weird as the story may seem, it happened in my little ole coverage area. I actually saw a columnist this week from the UK Times comparing Tony Blair with Taylor Killian, the Westerville North High School student who was tasered twice after running through the school naked. Anyway, here's the link to the story for those interested.

ThisWeek Westerville

For Once, I Don't Have Anthing to Say

So instead of droning on on some oddball topic like I usually do here on MMNIE, I present a list of odd, random things I've seen in the past few days.

1. A grown woman transformed into a leukemic 12-year-old by the blue moon

2. A young man in a sports coat who sounded exactly like Willie Nelson

3. In the laundry, random strands of hair from a girl I used to date

4. John Cusack wearing a purple hooded sweat shirt

5. Two drunk blondes doing the Time Warp in public

6. In a Super Bowl commercial, two car mechanics eating a Snickers bar Ala Lady and the Tramp, and the image turned out pretty unsettling

7. Someone who doesn't know the definition of the word 'naive'

8. Received a phone call from a friend I haven't spoken to in almost two years, because she needed help burning a DVD

9. A bald man organizing a wedding with less than two weeks to go

10. And most notable of all, I met Replacement-Lin. He's real, he even looks a little like me, and we own the same sweater. And now he blogs.

Heaven help me.

You Know Who You Are

That's right. Those of you out there with personalized license plates. Why in God's name would someone drop an extra $50 to get some goofy, often unreadable message scrawled on their tags? Most of the time I'm in a fairly good mood on my morning/evening commute - I look forward to driving alone, where I can relax and listen to my latest book on CD. But yesterday morning a little red Mustang ruined it for me.

NVIABLE.

Some jackass thought his ride was cool enough (and a reflection on himself/penis size) that other drivers might stop and think, 'Wow, I wish I was that guy. He's just like Fonzie!'

Not me, friends and neighbors. The first impulse was to sideswipe the guy into a concrete embankment. I settled for cutting him off and tapping my brakes.

Too much pent-up anger? I don't think so. If you must have a personalized plate, please limit it to supporting your favorite sports team or something (I always honked in Athens when I saw the guy whose plate said GOCATS). But I don't need that much insight into your life. I don't need to know that your car is EDSTOY or that your favorite Bible verse is JOHN316.

Or, heaven forbid, the worst I've ever seen: That DADPAYD.

Post some of the weird personalized plates you've seen as a comment on this post.