Fleeting History

A Lobster I Can Fight, A Fire I Cannot Part II

2012-01-22T18:16:00.004-05:00

You might remember in July 2010 the condo building next door to the one I live in suffered a devastating fire, and to this day occupants are finally just moving back home. If I thought (as I did then) that was too close for comfort imagine my heartbreak when I heard a young woman crying outside my window minutes before my alarm clock chimed for me to get ready for work the other night.

Then I heard the sirens followed by "What's on fire?"

Off went the covers, on went the work clothes (though I WAS in violation of dress code as since I would likely be evacuated I was going to save an X-Men shirt or two), grabbed my SD cards, cooler and work bag and a pair of special model train locomotives before the FD was pounding on my door.

So it was happening again, but now in my own building.

It was surrealistic being inside a burning building checking all of cats's hiding spaces to evacuate them, staying just ahead of the fire which clawed its way through a neighbor's kitchen soffet. By the Lord's grace I was making it out of my bedroom with the last cat when thin white/gray smoke began filling my hallway. Time was up, no saving the bishoujo, photos, trains or music beyond the mp3 player I tossed in my bag.

"I'm out, I'm out!" I yelled to the fire department awaiting me and the cats, as I bled from the scratches the neurotic Himalayan gave me on face, neck and hands.

Once I'd booked off of work and called my family to assure them I was okay I mentally checked off what meant the most to me to salvage after this disaster.

Fortunately, not all was lost. In fact, five hours after the 911 call myself and six other units were cleared for occupancy -- the blaze confined to the originating unit and the one above. Vent holes had been cut into the building, but it was spared significant water damage due to the fire being caught so quickly.

Of course, my place smells like I sat around the campfire, but I'm so lucky that's all. There's no visible smoke damage and no water damage from the fire. (And so soon after replacing that comics run, phew).

I'm concerned though, as I had the water heater flood in December and the fire scare the other night; I fear there'll be a plague of locusts in February! (Just kidding)

Rebuilding the Archives

2012-01-03T01:25:00.005-05:00

The Communications Dept partook in a Secret Santa exchange this past Holiday Season. Even at work, people know I like superheroes and my Secret Santa gifted me with a gift certificate to one of the many comic shops located in the region where I live.

Naturally, on one of my days off I took advantage of the gift certificate to fill in the holes of my X-Men collection; to replace what I sold when I was married, thinking that part of me was past (and it was at the time, but it's come back). I'm happy to say I've completed the run I originally had of Uncanny X-Men when I first started collecting the title with #319 (and originally stopping around #397 or so). Now more than eight years since I last had these issues, and one year since I started grabbing up back issues again, I have back what I first had in one of the titles (only a dozen or so more to rebuild!)

R.I.P. The Heathen

2011-12-30T21:08:00.003-05:00

I've been a few people in my employment lifetime: a fast food employee, stone quarry laborer, disc & karaoke jockey, and emergency services dispatcher. That's quite a range of tasks, I'll admit. Along the way, I've worked with many an interesting person. None of whom would normally earn a blog post.

However;

One can't deny the stuff of legend. through the magic if recollection (and the lack of special effects on this board) we travel back in time to the booming mid-nineteen nineties; when I was at the quarry earning twice as much as I used to at the fast food joint under a freckle faced red headed girl, yet with half the stress. Times were good, except for the nasty seasonal lay-off every Winter (who wants to do construction when the ground and stock piles are frozen?) So when it came time for call-back in the Spring, I was open to do anything just so I could have a paycheck again.

This one particular Spring I was called back prior to the commencement of second shift production, which meant I'd be on the maintenance crew. I was intimidated, because the maintenance crew was a tightly knit, small crew of burly manly men. I could never hold my own among these guys. Yet there I was. The maintenance foreman was nicknamed The Heathen because he could out muscle and out endure anyone on his crew. Quarry legends have him hauling weighty electric motors up numerous flights of stairs all by himself. Another story has him pushing up a one foot square wooden truss beam by himself for it to be jacked as it was sagging under its heavy load and old age (in other words he was pushing against an entire section of floor in the building!) and yes, I'd witnessed his strength first hand. He expected almost as much from his men, yet if you put your best foot forward and you were reliable, he could be your best friend too. Many a night when the weather was nice in the Summer and the work was on schedule, there'd be a cookout for dinner. That's camaraderie. Over time, my muscles bulked up enough from the workload and I too could hold my own with the crew, even earning the moniker myself!

Alas, all of that machismo took its toll. In later years The Heathen was watching from the sidelines; back and muscles no longer invulnerable. Sadly, we lost our friend Heathen this week. He will be missed.

Facebook, You Fool and Fickle Friend

2011-12-19T12:47:00.005-05:00

I know I've blogged about this before. The only reason I even set up a Facebook account was so that I could search for a crush I had throughout the later half of my public school years, just out of curiousity whatever had become of her; only to no avail.

Today I logged into Facebook, one of the few times each year that I do, and I'm bombared with a list -- a SUPER LONG LIST that is -- of people I might know and whom I might wish to friend. Well, once I realize the page is going to keep adding all of these folks (like a sick six degrees of friends of Mr. Oz) I'm just about to bail out of that page when her name flashes across the screen, freezing me in my seat and prompting this entry.

Before I'm even logged into Fleeting History I've decided I'm over her. I;m not going to friend her just to glean what's happened or happening. I'm over her. Obviously not enough to have kept me from writing this entry, but I'm still not going to friend her. That's a part of my life that's best left alone.

IN the so mentioned previous entry about this I concluded any relationship would never have worked based on things I learned about myself through my failed marriage. THAT still holds true also.

But, oh, Facebook, you evil, demented friend for revealing her avatar to me. That's as cruel as the April Fool's Day joke from Jr High School.

Lunatic Fringe

2011-10-21T20:57:00.001-04:00

I KNEW you were out there...

I Destroyed My Ankle on the Journey to Heaven and Back

2011-10-17T23:00:00.011-04:00

2011 has been a relatively good year to me. Granted I've had my share of frustration throughout the year but I've also been lucky. How many people can say they've attended two comics conventions (besides vendors and professional cosplayers that is).

That's right. The day Hurricane Irene made landfall in New York City I was attending the second annual ComiCONN (I split for home to rest for work ahead of the storm's arrival). Fast forward approximately six weeks and I made the trek to New York City's Jacob Javits Center for New York Comic Con. Of course, I had to buy a multi-day pass to get in on Saturday because the single Saturday tickets had sold out before I could guarantee someone filling in for me at work, but it was worth it.

I clocked off of work at end of tour 7am Saturday morning, stopped at home to change clothes, and headed right out for the train station getting into Manhattan's Grand Central Terminal sometime after ten (I wasn't too worried about time). Immediately exiting onto 42nd St I saw a group of cosplayers headed for the Con, including The Baroness

Following that photo I power walked a good six blocks (hence the ankle injury) for another group of costumed folk en route to the convention.

Upon arrival it was as if I walked into an actual Superhero Convention. You're familiar with the political party conventions or say carpenter's conventions or policeman's conventions? Imagine the same kind of event but with superheroes

A veritable Who's Who of crime fighting AND villainy were in attendance.

The Nutmeggers who put on ComiCONN do a fantastic job, but New York Comic Con is an incredible experience. The convention immerses you into the character's world and it's as if you're really hanging out with and talking to your idols from the printed page or big and little screens.

What might have been cool would have been to have Magneto at the Chevrolet display where he could have acted as if he were using his mutant powers to levitate the car (which was actually a giant balloon in the shape of a Chevy which flew about people's heads. An Obi Wan cosplayer though did take advantage of the situation and made like he used The Force to levitate the car over our heads)

Many of the costumes were very well done also:

Including those which lit up:

Iron Man's repulsors and Jubilees "fireworks" at her fingertips

Of course Star Trek and Star Wars were well represented

I think it'd be pretty cool to have frozen Han Solo cubes in my beverage or Solo shaped chocolates in a dish.

But I digress. The whole reason I attend is for the heroes and it's pretty neat, in my opinion when characters mix it up, like Waldo's Avengers

So not only was Waldo found, but a Green Lantern and Luigi assembled too!

Sadly, my day had to wind down. My tired body (which had been up almost around the clock at this point) didn't have the stamina to endure the long food lines (though I admit it's pretty neat mingling among heroes doing such mundane things as eat lunch and share stories) but alas, I could no longer hang. It was time to trudge my aching ankle the dozen or so blocks back to Grand Central Terminal and a well needed restful train ride. As I began the trek my eyes caught another group of heroes gathering outside the center and how fitting they belonged to a group close to my heart

So yes, being immersed in New York Comic Con was certainly a heavenly experience for me. It was an eye opening experience (like moving up to major league baseball from little league) and I have a better idea what to try when next I visit NYCC or even in the future maybe the granddaddy of all: San Diego.

I was the ugly bearded guy with sunburn and vacuous look in his eyes.

2011-09-19T12:43:00.010-04:00

That's how one might describe my appearance at Susquehanna University's Homecoming 2011 this past weekend (September 16-18).

Now, as I'm a story teller I have to start at the beginning. Thursday I left work after the graveyard shift and made sure I had everything packed for my trip the next morning. I still needed to print out some writing pieces to bring just in case I got to participate in an alumni reading. Well, I wanted a bedtime snack (at what's considered traditionally as lunch time) and while gnawing on my last handful of spicy trail mix I noticed my trusty steed had a flat. Not surprising per se because there's all kinds of debris on the ground from the roof replacement debacle at HQ. That turned out to be an omen.

I was frustrated because bedtime was now abolished in favor of getting my flat fixed. In reality, both front tires got replaced. Now, before my trip I not only needed to print out the pieces I wanted to read (and failed to find one) but I also needed to get the lugs retorqued after the first 25 miles. Okay no big deal, I don't REALLY need to be on campus until 4pm.

By the time I was done arguing with my parents' computer I had been awake for over 36 hours, but I got the important stuff done and hit the road for the four to five hour trip to Selinsgrove, PA.

The drive was fine. Now, I'd been aware of flooding along the Susquehanna River throughout the region, but seeing first hand how families were STILL recovering over a week later was an eye opener. West Nanticoke and Shickshinny were gutting their basements filling roll-off dumpsters and piling destroyed items in large masses at the curb.

Skid steers were scraping mud like snow removal from parking lots and driveways (PennDOT should be commended for leaving nary a trace of earth on Route 11 so soon after the flood). In Bloomsburg, Fisher's Creek and the mighty Susquehanna both rose to converge upon the causeway which holds the fairgrounds and a neighborhood, opening up the earth and swallowing two homes up to their second floors.

A gazebo roof was balanced by Mother Nature against the water side of the railing on the Route 11 bridge over Fisher's Creek. The National Guard was keeping order. I could easily believe the area to be a war zone.

I made it into Selinsgrove with about 15 minutes to spare and immediately set about attending the events I'd signed up for Friday night. There was a bittersweet memorial for a beloved instructor -- long time fixture on campus and following a fantastic off-campus dinner at Hoss's (of my own choice) I was back on school grounds for the ghosts and legends tour. The theme for Homecoming 2011 was Fear (hmm, wonder if it has anything to do with a certain Marvel Comics event or if Fear is a trend this season, like warm hues in fashion...achem I digress).

The tour Friday night was enjoyable but not very scary. Given more investigative time the SU Paranormal Society might have had a more informative and spooky event -- which they made up for with Saturday night's Haunted House -- but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Saturday morning I'd slept in feeling a bit under the weather. Likely the tainted air of the smoking room (I don't smoke and can be easily affected by it)combined with over 48 hours of no sleep the previous two days. Ultimately, that meant by the time I would make the pig roast lunch and catch up with classmates for our 15th reunion I would need to be at my next function, so I went to the Communications Department reception for noon. That was enjoyable as I got to mingle with my beloved former student advisor. The other side of the coin, however were the couples stopping by. I felt some pangs of loneliness.

My beacon of hope and intellect in the sea of uncertainty (my advisor from above) suggested I take in the book reading next on the agenda, which I hadn't originally intended, but she always pointed me in the right direction back in the day so I went and listened, stopping at the 9/11 memorial for that service along the way. (It came out of nowhere, it was listed TBA in all of the fliers. I happened to be in the right place at the right time for it).

There was a little bit of time to add some morsels to my system in order to partake a pain reliever (how did I EVER power-walk that campus 15 years ago? My ankles STILL hurt!) and then it was on to the Writer's Institute reception, where I got the warmest of receptions from the one person I recognized in the room, the department head. Turns out, I was the only author present who never benefited from a writing Major, as the program came into fruition the semester after I graduated. However, those who minored in writing were also invited, hence my being welcomed.

Here's where the other hiccup occurred. The Homecoming parade was scheduled and published to be at 4:30 pm. They ran it early so I missed all of the floats which were supposed to depict horror movies. B'ah!!!

So back ALL THE WAY ACROSS CAMPUS AGAIN for the alumni reading (which I wasn't a part of due to timing constraints which would have precluded me being behind the podium even if I had been able to RSVP sooner -- there's actually more to the story but due to space and time constraints those details aren't important at this time). Regardless I'm still bummed because I like to orate. (obviously right?)

Then, you guessed it 100% back to the opposite end of campus for the alumni dinner, which is winding down as it was concurrent with the alumni reading I'd just left from.

After dinner, back across campus AGAIN for the Haunted House. The Paranormal Club transformed the Chapel for the night. Some I've heard from since have said it was silly or hokey, but that's the nature of these attractions which need to be all ages. Hey, costumes, acting and decorations were all good -- especially the freaky thunderstorm and lightning in the auditorium of the building). I even got surprised by a decoration hanging into the hallway in the dark. That's my measure of a good attraction.

Once more back across the campus for the Badlees concert and one more last time back to the car. I wrote on Facebook I felt as if I watched everything (except the parade *frowns* instead of living it. All in all a bittersweet time overall. One really can't metaphorically go home again. I pined that night tweeting away in my hotel room that I was born too soon (instead of too late as in the old popular song) and wished I was the person I am now back then, things would be so different now. But then I rationalized I'd just get myself into trouble somehow anyway, and basically my feelings of loneliness are what's behind my ruminations anyways. Realizing this, I'm not sure how many future reunions I'll be attending. I've become the dirty old man ogling the women like who we used to make fun of in our younger days. It's very sobering.

So after tallying the scores, the low points outnumber the highs this year, the only thing that's the University's fault is events held concurrently with other events but admittedly there's only so few hours in a day. That's why agendas are drawn and followed by attendees. I just tried too much I think and had high expectations borne from nostalgia.

After checking out of the hotel and psyching myself up to be home and asleep to go back to work on graveyard shift I pointed the van home and made a brief visit atop Shikellamy's profile for some photos.

I navigated the steep decline with no troubles and headed for a bite to eat and pit stop in Danville. As I eased to a stop at the intersection of Routes 11 and 54 the brake pedal suddenly lost pressure and went to the floor, allowing the van to gain momentum and run the red light. THANKFULLY being a Sunday no one else was on the road at that moment. One last let down for the weekend and additional expense on an already pricey adventure.

So I limped all the way home, 200 or so remaining miles without brakes. Yeah, fun. Then, I couldn't sleep once I made it home. That graveyard shift was difficult.

How was YOUR last adventure?

Our Banner Yet Waves

2011-09-11T07:00:00.001-04:00

Two symbols of freedom are represented in this slide. Obviously, the twin towers of the World Trade Center as they appeared on a beautiful May 1991 day. Also, a point belonging to the Statue of Liberty can be seen on the left. That's because this view was photographed from inside Miss Liberty's crown.

This post is my tribute to those victims we lost (I knew two of them).

I wrote the following on October 1, 2001 to get some emotions on paper:

"Our Banner Yet Waves"

I can't believe what just happened today
in a neighborhood that's not far away
This blind hatred for you and me
People running and no one can see

At first I was surprised
at those unfriendly skies
Such a beautiful day
We all had not much to say

Well, it's not Jericho
It's New York dontcha know
Our freedom's at stake
In these terrorists's wake

With Mixed Information
The news washed over the nation
The Twin Towers had fallen
Our great land was balling

We'll never find all who are lost
The loss of life's a high cost
While I know we're all hoping
This great nation is coping

And now our ire's in rage
This man must be put away
For what he did to our friends
Our nightmares will never end

Well, it's not Jericho
It's New York dontcha know
Our freedom's at stake
In these terrorists's wake

Our memories won't fade
of the heroes that day
Whose resolve makes us strong
And Our Banner Yet Waves

--Mark J Osmun revised 9/9/2011

Another bizarre concoction from the brain

2011-08-26T19:46:00.003-04:00

Imagine, if you will, Hamlet in the late 1960s just crossing the border into the early 1970s. Okay, the visuals are all your own, so don't blame me if you're suddenly picturing paisley print shirts and super wide flared bell bottoms, unkept scraggly hair and bandanas.

Hamlet, being the (then) modern day hippie counter culturist holds up the skull of his dear departed friend and begins to sing (with apologies to Dion DiMucci)

"Anybody here, see my old friend Yuric? Can you tell me where he's gone? I thought I saw him walking up over the hills with Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and John"*

(Originally Abraham, Martin & John)

If There's A Rock & Roll Heaven

2011-06-26T15:46:00.003-04:00

(title from The Righteous Brothers song of the same name)

RIP Clarence Clemens, big man of Bruce Springstein's E Street Band. Saxophonist extraodinaire, who also played on numerous big hits (including a duet of his with Jackson Browne).

We know darn well Santa brought him that saxophone way back on that chilly boardwalk night immortalized in song, and he's playing it now on stage inside the Pearly Gates.

Ah, Just One More Thing...

2011-06-25T21:38:00.002-04:00

Lt. Columbo, actor Peter Falk passed. May he rest in peace

Dangerous Imagination

2011-05-09T19:57:00.005-04:00

Back in the early days of the 20th Century, as travel became popular, especially cross-country rail travel, entrepreneur Fred Harvey set up hotels and restaurants for the weary travelers to enjoy some amenities away from their homes. the waitresses became known as Harvey Girls and were expected to follow strict policies while in Harvey's employ. Upon mention of a Harvey Girl one will picture the long black dress with starched white apron hanging from neck to hem.

Well, what would happen if these ladies were Lee Harvey Oswald girls? Certainly travelers wouldn't make it much past Dallas before encountering black leather bustier clad goth chicks in fishnet stockings with hardware pierced faces.

THAT would be a wild west for sure; good, bad and such. Just another tidbit from the warped mind that is mine.

For My Mom

2011-05-08T20:53:00.005-04:00

This Mother's Day my Mom is recuperating at a physical therapy rehab facility following knee replacement surgery. It done gave out after 35 plus years of dealing with arthritis. Now, I'm not a smushy "aw isn't that a nice sentiment" card kind of guy. I'm the one who buys the Maxine Shoebox cards kind of humor. So I presented Mom with a card about Good moms letting their kids lick the electric mixer beaters but GREAT moms turn the mixer off first.

She loved it.

BECAUSE once she made a pumpkin pie, but super talented cook that she is pulled the mixer out of the bowl before shutting it off, so pie mix went splattering ALL over the kitchen. 25 some odd years later I still laugh about it, and every once in a blue moon will bring it up to her. (Of course my family has MANY embarrassing moments -- some inappropriate for blogging!)

But on the schmaltzy, romantic, sentimental side of the equation -- despite the pie mess -- I have a great mom fer sure.

Horses, Whiskey, Women & The Loot

2011-04-26T20:25:00.005-04:00

A tip of the writer's cap to Tom T Hall, whose lyric I've altered slightly for this title.

It dawned on me listening to his "Faster Horses (the Cowboy and the Poet)" that a lot of the common sense people used to learn came from those who came before's experiences and observations -- a good amount of which was then passed along in song and text. Personally, I can't recall a modern day song which conveys wisdom. In fact, not since the mid 1980s can I put a finger on a tune which might relay some tidbit of education.

I think that lack of passing along such information has contributed to what our Global Society has become. Because of the political correctness of not wishing to offend any one single being, such lines and topics are being shied away from. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's how it seems to me in casual observation.

Sure, at some point I'll contradict myself and eludicate about how imbibing of that magical amount of alcohol will turn the partaker into a blithering idiot -- I've seen it enough throughout my professional careers -- or how whatever certain topic I feel shouldn't be posed to impressionable beings is readily accessible to them, but hey, that'd be alright so long as they learn the right and wrong of it and make the appropriate decision wisely. Well, that much sounds like a load of Buffalo Chips, but that's my reasoning.

Nowadays, it's all about flash and eye-candy -- and while I'm all about the eye-candy -- lest we not forget how we get to enjoy all of that awesome visual stimulation. It's by being smart, taking the lumps when you have to, working hard for what you believe in, and being true to one's self -- for like the poet who gets called out by the cowboy in "Faster Horses" other people can see through the charade and one will just wind up alienated.

So, irregardless of how embarrassing a situation was to go through, share it with the next generation. Extemporate even the inane, forging past their reactions, for -- as I did growing up -- they do actually listen and figure things out, though it may take longer for some. Though, again, to overly generalize, I fear this rationalization is fading away from society, and I greatly miss it.

Can the mysteries of life be summed into four words? Perhaps not, but every three and a half or four minutes clue us in.

Look! MORE X-Men

2011-04-08T17:57:00.004-04:00

Indeed it's true! I knew 18 months ago I had more good guys than bad guys and that I needed to rectify that situation. Additionally, Feral Female at Thoughts from a Yodelling Goatherder challenged me to do a Nightcrawler. I stepped up to the task and voila:

Kurt Wagner hangs from the eaves of the florist's shop by his prehensile tail awaiting the cue to teleport into the fray below.

And what's a battle with the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants without Magneto?
He's as much a staple to the mythos as Cyclops.

So there you have it. Sure the good still out balances the evil, but isn't that how justice prevails?

New Paparazzi TV Show

2011-03-11T19:11:00.003-05:00

The fascination the American Public has with their celebrity actors/actresses, sports figures, and entertainers is legendary. That's why the tabloids sell so well and programs like Entertainment Tonight, The Insider, and TMZ garner such a following.

So I thought, why not spill it all? Even the embarrassing little routine stuff in one's life that no one should ever hear or see and mash that with a popular colloquialism for a program called TMI: Too Much Information. It could be an hour long, the first 30 minutes full of snippets and sound/visual bites about gross surgeries or poor private habits when one thinks no one is watching and the second half could be devoted to has been stars who would otherwise wind up on their own self-produced reality show and/or Dancing With The Stars.

And why stop there? Some animals are celebrities too, we can show them watering the backyard -- potty humor still sells.

Legend in His Own Mind

2011-02-15T00:09:00.007-05:00

You might recall the anecdote I shared about gyrating my Underooed hips on the playscape at nursery school. So then it shouldn't come as a surprise that I make acceptible sounds with musical instruments (and have made musical instruments out of other objects by forcing sound from them). Additionally, then, this should come as no surprise:

Made with the Random Album Generator at Mflow (discovered through a link from a link from one of my favorite band's Twitter feed), so I'll hope all rights to the image allow me to continue to display this.

This cover pretty much sums up what my band (if I'd actually had one at the moment) would be like. Funny, trashy, and a scary wreck :-)

Hit Play and turn it up to eleven. Then look for a new place to live because the neighbors will hate you.

I Stopped Counting at 31

2011-02-12T01:36:00.006-05:00

With my 31st birthday, an undisclosed number of years ago now, age became just a number. In fact, when asked I actually have to stop and do the math; sometimes I'm even wrong -- not even on purpose! Chalk it up to getting older.

What I'm getting to is this: I forget just how long I've been on this earth. My life over the past couple years has brought some stark realizations and friendly reminders that I'm 'getting up there'. For instance, one of my train buds would mention something that happened in the past that he'd read about and I'd reminisce about my own experiences along the tracks in whichever area we'd happen to be discussing -- implying he should recall himself -- except he's ten years younger than I so his reply is "Yeah but you were alive then." I needed a few minutes to reel my eyelids down from my receding hairline after that dosage of reality.

Just tonight at work we happened to be discussing the wonders of the internet and video entertainment providers hosting movies and television programs on the information superhighway. We'd tossed out old tv show names like Airwolf, The A Team, Quantum Leap, Northern Exposure, Greatest American Hero and more; rattling off actors and actresses names and such. During one point in our discussion the shift supervisor made a comment which made me realize I was a couple grades ahead of him in school. Then when I asked if my desk partner remembered "The Mighty Heroes" he said they were before his time. That was my next reminder that there are people younger than my age all around me and the number will continue to grow. But at least it doesn't hurt as bad as the time my disc jockey asked who the Beatles were.

So of course, thank goodness for the internet, I came home from work and searched for Diaper Man, Strong Man, Rope Man, Tornado Man and Cuckoo Man and laughed until I woke up the neighbors. Then it made me realize I'd been ingrained with superheroism from the earliest days of my youth...not that I'd ever complain about it.

I'll leave you with this quote from a friend of mine, who was speaking from experience "You're only young once, but you can be immature forever".

Next time I discuss anything number related in regards to myself it'll be a headspinning doozy. Stay Tuned for "How Many Roads" reprinted and revised. You've been warned.

Le Printemps Lament

2011-01-31T00:13:00.004-05:00

I haven't minded the snow for the past few years. No reason to; I was indoors, it didn't bother me.

Now that I'm gainfully employed throughout the Winter instead of being laid-off for the season, there's been three major snow storms (one of them even got named!) and there's more predicted. Okay, seriously; whatever happened to January thaw? In Southern New England we traditionally get a week or two where the white stuff goes away on its own to make room for the last dregs of Winter's punishment. There was one nice day (today) with mild temperatures. Roadways are down to single lanes and lawns have mountains higher than houses. Yes, many of you readers deal with much more snow than I describe, but it's really hampered our geographical area.

So much so that I'm actually already looking forward to Spring. That doesn't usually happen until March 1 for me, as I'm a realist/pessimist. Usually Spring just doesn't do it for me, and I'm not much of a fan of Summer's oppressive heat and humidity, but I can't wait for the Crocuses, Daffodils, Cherry Blossoms et al to break the dirt and blow in tree boughs.

The six foot high piles along my sidewalk were a novelty for a few days, but I want to see green again, please?

Magical Mystery Beatles

2011-01-21T23:48:00.006-05:00

Coming up next on ow-er blawg, four handsome lads from Liverpool *the sound of screaming young tweens erupts* The Beatles!!!
*Music swells and mop tops wave side to side as the lads harmonize about love*

"Who are the Beatles?" a young female disc jockey (yes they're still called that) at the college radio station I managed (that's a blog in and of itself) was playing something from Wing's Greatest Hits during her shift one afternoon and she turned to me and asked "Wasn't Paul McCartney in a band before Wings?"

"Yes, he was part of the Beatles," I replied, to which she posed the above question.
I continued, "You've heard of John Lennon?"

"Yes, I love his music," she gushed.

"Do you know about George Harrison and Ringo Starr?"

"Yes I do."

"All four were the Beatles."

"No, you're pulling my leg, that would be too awesome."

I reached down for the Digital Audio Tape of what's best known as the Blue album, and handed it to her saying "Give this a listen sometime," and had to step out of the room because even though I'd heard of young folks asking who the Beatles were, I'd hoped to avoid it myself for sometime longer than had happened. I think I blanched when she asked that also...

Frankly, I guess I shouldn't know so much about them either as they broke up three years before I was born. But it's well documented I'm a music junkie. Heck, I'd rock away the hours in my childhood home living room listening to the Blue album, the Grease Soundtrack, Barry Manilow... I was always asking Mom to put on the stereo. She must have been a least a little grateful, it kept me occupied and out of her hair. Guess it's no surprise I had a brief career (and a brief resurgence) as a disc jockey.

I'm certain none of the Beatles imagined the long lasting impact they'd have. As I lurk about the internet I see blog entries whose titles are lyrics from Beatles songs and young folks who could ALMOST (if I were just a tad bit older) be my own kids. It makes sense, in a way, that this newest generation (following Gen X -- not the comic, that's another facet of mine) would latch on and either discover the lads by nosing around the house or because someone like me or my Mom introduced them by exposing them to the tunes. I'll count those uninformed (such as our female jock example) as exceptions. After all, well, actually it's best if I discuss 21st Century popular tunes in its own entry, but it's because of today's seemingly "cookie cutter" music that kids are rediscovering what I stumbled upon and heard growing up and even what my parents listened to and bought when they were these current kids' age; because it's -- well, musical -- and not sample driven.

Where was I? Ah yes:

I practically wore a hole through the "Paperback Writer" 45 loving both sides equally ("Rain" is on the flip) and have just about done the same with the compact disc version as well. There's something simple but lasting in their music. Sure, some of it is whimsical and some of it just bizarre ("Revolution Number 9 anybody? Number 9, number 9, number 9), but the majority of the catalog is so universally known there's a Cirque du Soleil show based on their music and of course the video games.

Not only do the songs make us feel good, even forty years later, but John also made people think. He was inspirational and though I never met him I instantly felt his loss December 8, 1980. But his spirit is still out there. I can attest to that first hand, if I were to delve into sharing another dream I had, also relating to my brief marriage. In a conversation I don't much recall now, but it was mainly small talk, I initially didn't recognize the visage, but as I explained more about what I was feeling to this guy (in my dream) he nods in understanding and tells me "It's not worth getting yourself all worked up over. Do what you need to do and it'll all work out, you'll see."

Then the voice and face recognition hit me and my eyes opened up, I was laying in bed and I gained a little bit of perception, while I was stunned and honored by it. To this day, eight years later, I couldn't even say why we had that spiritual conversation, but I'm glad we did. It was such a treasured moment for me, that until now I've only told a few of my musician friends about it, and they, in turn, were honored that I thought highly enough of them to share that.

How's THAT for a band's influence upon society? This entry took some time, but then it was pretty chock full of ideas. I'd been thinking about it for a number of weeks, even contemplating not posting it until a relevant date, but tonight just seemed to be the right night to put it out.

(And had nothing to do with dusting and Elvis, honest)

Thank God Mom Never Did This

2011-01-21T01:18:00.005-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSb47kRzbfI&feature=player_embedded

As usual, you'll likely need to copy and paste the link in a new browser window to see it. If you're lazy like me, it's a six minute long prehistoric infomercial for a Westinghouse refrigerator, advertising customizable panels to match whatever your heart's content.

I can't imagine having to grow up looking at some busy pattern in the kitchen day in and day out reaching in for my Snack Pack puddings or Frosted Shakes. Most likely I'd have developed epilepsy, so I'm thankful I never had to deal with such a tacky scene in those groovy days of growing up during the mid to late seventies and into the early eighties. After all, the kitchen set was some kind of green and yellow jungle pattern or something sea-sicky like that until the chairs self destructed. That's when the oversized padded set replaced it in the mid eighties -- around when fashion was big padded shoulders and more sedate tones. Anyways, I digress.

So, thankfully, there was no designer fridge (or any other furnishing) in the household, although during the re-roofing project my Mom made contact paper Easter Eggs to stick on the large dumpster to spruce it up while it sat on the lawn...

(I get no monetary endorsement by mentioning brand names)

Snow Storm

2011-01-12T09:59:00.004-05:00

One bonus of working in a stone quarry was not having to be out in weather such as this. Alas, now I'm driving around in blizzard conditions to save people as stupid as myself for going out in such bad weather; not to mention the falls and heart attacks brought on by digging out.

The photo was taken early during its assault on the homestead. Rarely does a snow fall impress me, but there was something about this one that made me imagine the Canadian Prairie Winter images I'd seen in my lifetime. So with that in mind, I snapped away from the toasty side of the kitchen window. Oh, this is the third storm in a seven day period, two of which (the first and this one) dumping significant accumulations of the stuff upon us.

I already know before going to sleep at 0-dark-30 in the morning that it'll be a struggle digging out, driving to work, and dealing with the call load. Small price to pay for personal success. So when I hear the plow truck 30 minutes before my alarm rings, I throw on some clothes and open the door.

The snow is higher than the step. *sigh* I trudge through the white stuff which is fluffy and swallows me up to me knees. That's a record snowfall for my area, it must be; and it is still coming down as I write. I'd brushed a good four plus inches of snow off of my van just to move it so the plow could futilely open my parking space. And while he's not waiting for me and plows out all around -- including the walkway fronting my building -- I indignantly try climbing over the halfway up the van tall snow mountain piled on the grass just to deny the plow guy any appreciation I may have had for his making an opening. (There's friction between myself and the plow crews which goes back all seven years since I moved in...blog for another time).

Now it's just as snowy INSIDE the van as outside of it. I don't care. Hopefully, it'll get me safely into work and safely home again when I need it to.

To top it all off, there's almost as much snow back on my trusty steed as there was when I cleaned it off for the plow and there's still no end in sight and *sigh* I still have a whole day of work (at least!) ahead of me yet...

It's Serendipity All Over Again

2011-01-07T01:43:00.004-05:00

Happy 2011 everybody. I was initially going to post about the bizarre display of fireworks exploding above the horizon which borders my neighborhood, except fireworks launched from a sports complex don't hold a bottle rocket to ones fired off on your own land.

Instead, I'll relay musings of the coincidental kind. ever have a moment when you get a song you haven't heard in a while stuck in your brain, and then within a day or two it comes on the radio? Me too!!!

But that's not what this is about either. This time it happened with a person. That's right. I found myself the other night reflecting on one of my previous lives -- that of my college days, and in particular this one young woman, high school student at the time. We gelled at certain levels, but being the paranoid agoraphobe that I was, once I had trained her to be a disc jockey and the semester ended, we parted ways. Just tonight, through that mysterious hinterland known as Facebook, I received a message from said young woman.

Funny how life works sometimes...

Blog of Thunder

2010-12-29T00:28:00.004-05:00

Sometimes inspiration hits in the strangest of places!

I was reveling in my childhood again (it's a recurring theme) by blasting Kiss' "Destroyer" through my minivan speakers from my portable disc player, enjoying one of my favorite albums now on cd when track 3 came on, "God of Thunder"; as bassist Gene Simmons would say "OH YEAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" (those who know will understand;-]).

Well, I like a play on words as much as the next person, hence "Blog of Thunder". Now if I only had the means of keeping that intensity year round, I would rename this little hovel of the informational superhighway accordingly.

No Matter Which One You Celebrate

2010-12-25T00:11:00.006-05:00

I'm a Christmas guy. And I still find, 26 years after learning the truth about Santa, there's still a magical quality to December 24th and 25th. Sure some years the magic has slipped by me, but then I seem to find it again.

I also find that Christmas Eve and Christmas go hand in hand with trains and Egg Nog -- rather, a specific brand and flavor Egg Nog, before all of those frou frou gourmet varieties hit the store shelves starting a couple of years ago. Yes, I have discerning tastes.

Any rate, there was something surreal about sitting at the desk at work this evening (The first Christmas Eve I had to work in roughly 15 years!!) listening to Christmas songs on the radio. Surreal but pleasant.

Which brings me rather nicely to my point: No matter which Holiday this time of year you celebrate; be it Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Festivus or something else -- It's with hope that you find it enjoyable.

Merry Happy Joy Squeal

More Random Thoughts from My Brain*

2010-12-21T17:24:00.003-05:00

*The first installment can be found on my first blog by digging hard enough for it, or if you wait long enough it will likely migrate here...

If I ever appear on Wheel of Fortune and I have the opportunity to buy a vowel, sometimes I'll ask for a Y.

Happy 'Versary

2010-12-17T01:49:00.004-05:00

December 17 marks Fleeting History's birthday and what better way to celebrate it than by having a number of underpaid foreign wait staff come in and sing "Happy Anniversary" to the tune of "Happy Birthday" (hey, it worked on my honeymoon cruise).

And while Fleeting History is actually older than one year, we're not going to count it's previous incarnation over at another venue, as it never truly developed over there as it has here.

So Happy Versary, Fleeting History. Have some cake, and eat it too!

Hopewell Animal Hospital;August 1988

2010-12-06T01:18:00.004-05:00

In one of those rare times when I open up a little to reveal a private smidgen of myself to the Universe at large, I present to you, dear reader(s) -- a poetic recounting of a particularly hot August Sunday morning in 1988.

This is what happened moments before my poetry professor arrived for one of the final classes of the semester. Upon entering, he glanced over my shoulder, seeing that I happened to be writing, read my clipped lines rather quickly and stated it was the best piece I'd written the whole course!! So, in it's December 7, 1995 glory I offer:

Hopewell Animal Hospital; August 1988

Hot summer day
Humidity for deoderant
Chocolate chip cookies for breakfast
Junkyard dog for entertainment
sun for a clock, the car a sundial
we wait for the owner
to open his garage
and fix our burned-out automobile.

We asked the question
"Why is the Animal Hospital
Open long before the garage?"
Was it because of Sunday

An unwritten law
stating "No business important to travellers
shall open its doors before nine a.m."
We wondered if the Animal Hospital served food
The deli was closed
Actually, it was gone. The store was empty
Elvis was dead -- we knew -- for eleven years

The town was asleep
We'd been towed into the Twilight Zone
The State Police didn't know what state they were in
Rod Serling was mayor

The tow truck freshly painted the night before --
awash in metallic speckles
like a Hot Wheels car
that's kept in its package
shared the stall next to our Chevy
As batteries charged and grinders wailed

"Memories" the King sang
"Pressed between the pages of my mind"
And why was it the Hopewell Animal Hospital
when we were in Fishkill?

Could we cross the street
and escape the ordinance
and the wrath of maneating mosquitos
The yellow line a mock border for insanity

We yearned to examine the town boundaries
For a way of finding civilization
certainly there must be people there -- the Animal Hospital was open

Reality was evading us
But this was very real indeed

fin

This was one of the many close calls I've had in my life (you'll remember the near drowing in Pine Creek and the glancing blow from the airborne automobile).

After stopping at the Stormville rest area, my father, family friend and I climbed back into the 1973 Monte Carlo and continued to our ultimate goal of Binghamton, NY, for a day's worth of train photography. FAIL. Not five minutes later a fog develops, except it's not clearing from the windows and we all start coughing. So we pull to the shoulder of Interstate 84 once we realize the fog is an asphyxiating smoke from the car.

We trace the source to where my heavy hiney was deposited and pull the rear bench seat from the vehicle, discover a smoldering cancer melting the foam core of the seat and delve into the cooler of drinks to cool the ulcer and prevent further damage.

Having negated the crisis, we pile everything back into the car and prepare to head home for repairs. The car won't start.

This is in the days B.C. -- before cell phones -- so we're stuck in the breakdown lane of the highway for over 90 minutes. Did I mention nearby Newburgh Prison was under lockdown and no State Police officers were available? That's why the three of us guys were being eaten alive by some very hungry mosquitos while we sat on the guardrail in Fishkill, NY, awaiting rescue.

Yes, once off the highway and at a service station, we waited ANOTHER 90 minutes for further repairs to get us limped home. That's how we found the deli, animal hospital and nothing else that quiet Sunday morning. It truly was a surreal experience.

Decisons,Decisions

2010-11-12T12:00:00.002-05:00

Pizza Hut or Frog Hut??

Also Inspired by Actual Events

2010-11-11T00:06:00.003-05:00

My Audi is an Innie.

Five points for anyone who gets that :-)

I really do enjoy playing with words...

I'm Not Part of the Target Audience

2010-11-04T23:31:00.004-04:00

As a railfan photographer, that is as a person who is a train enthusiast who takes pictures of trains, anything new or unique is more interesting than the day-to-day routine. But before I go any further on that thought, let's back the train up to Labor Day weekend 2009. For almost two decades (that's right ALMOST 20 years) I'd wanted to visit Letchworth State Park in order to photograph a train crossing the Genesee River.

While talking with another railfan friend of mine about my plans, he suggested since I was spending the long weekend in that area, to visit the Western New York & Pennsylvania Railroad only a little further west, and I'd not only be able to catch one or two of the regular jobs which run, but also the specially made up freight train, eloquently called "the movie train" as well. So naturally, I followed his advice, and I'm glad I did.

Once I finally found where I needed to be, I spotted the movie train (see top most photo) and learned from other visiting railfans that it was for filming the movie "Unstoppable". Well, at the time, nobody knew much about the production other than it would star Denzel Washington. Once home I did a little research to learn the plot. Okay, it boils down to a cross between "Runaway Train" the sensationalist flick starring Rebecca DeMornay from about 1985, and that sensationalist Rob Lowe made for television movie about a runaway train carrying nuclear materials. Well, it DOES have trains in it, it's likely worth a look.

You can see the weather was fantastic the Sunday of Labor Day weekend 2009. Rental security kept an eye on the train in a futile attempt to prevent images from leaking onto the interent so other production companies don't steal ideas and designs. Well, rental security had no jurisdiction over public property in full view!

Now, I explained all of that to say I was shown a preview for "Unstoppable" this evening.

It's not fair for me to review the movie based solely upon my impressions of this trailer. But I will say, I won't be seeing this in theaters, unless it's a matinee and I've absolutely nothing left to do with my free time, which we know is not likely. While trains may play a prominent role in the flick, the plot came across as rehashed and sensationalistic. The only positive thoughts I took away from watching this trailer was the interpersonal character development, and not enough of that comes across in the preview either, though as a writer myself, I saw a potential for empathy and championing, but I just know I'd be the one in the heater moaning at the silver screen mumbling "That's not how it's done" just like I did when "Armageddon" was popular and the crew was drilling the asteroid. When an improbable result occurs for the sake of the plot which goes against what I'd been trained (no pun intended) the project loses its credibility with me, and I see a lack of credibility all over "Unstoppable" just from a 60 second preview. Obviously, I'm NOT the target audience for this motion picture because I know better. Is it a great fantasy that poeple who know nothing about railroads will get scared and excited and forget the troubles of the real world for awhile? Absolutely, but then there's that other side of the double-edged sword: the movie will capitalize upon these people's ignorance about railroads and that ignorance will harm the genral public's perceptions concerning just how safely railroads transport dangerous and non-dangerous materials. What's worse is the promo boasts the film is based on actual events. That'll hype the public's ignorance.

Now, if they made a movie about a trucking convoy of radioactive waste (or something much more sinister) which wrecked on a superhighway within a wind's blow of a crowded city; a cross between "Convoy" starring Kris Kristofferson and "The Day After Tomorrow" I'd probably make an effort to watch that when it hit cable.

I Love this Season

2010-10-18T00:12:00.007-04:00

It's all about the spectacle:

Eye candy costumes (and ingestible candy...mmmm, caaannnndyyyy, chocolate aaaaahhh)

Scary Decorations (or at least campy ones!)

"Haunted" Rides and attractions

There's something about going out into the dark unknown night traipsing through barely familiar neighborhoods as the chill night air seeps through your costume slowly so that you don't notice until a couple of hours later when you're done trick or treating or having successfully navigated the attraction you went through and you're in the car warming up getting oh so toasty.

But also, and this goes along with the eye candy and ingestible foods, there's the colors, smells and tastes of Fall/Autumn. Reds, oranges, yellows, and browns in the trees and fields, not to mention pumpkins and Jack-O-Lanterns!

And the unsettled weather, whose blustery winds make strange noises in the trees and the rain which turns the streets into a Noir film adding to the sense of general unease.

Foot steps echo down the hall, some lights are on but not them all
The Spirits wait with baited breath, to see who's next upon their death
Within this night of unbridled doom, A creature wakes within a tomb
The casket lid slides to one side, there is not one place to hide
A piercing shrill splits through the night, another person falls to fright
Heed the words of those who know, or else wind up six feet below.
---Mark Osmun 10-18-2010

Grab an Apple Cider and Some Donut Holes; Here's a Spooky Story

2010-09-17T18:32:00.005-04:00

The temperature was way too mild for two weeks before Halloween, but that didn't stop the feelings of uneasiness. The gusting winds battered the trees raining orange, red, and gold leaves onto the narrow, well-worn streets around the cemetery. The full moon illuminated dark black clouds that just radiated doom, even to the casual observer.

"This really isn't the night to be out," she told her date as they walked back to their car from the restaurant. The young man and woman, in their mid-twenties, hadn't noticed that the other couples had seemingly disappeared as they walked until their footfalls on the macadam made eerie reverberations off of the headstones, "I don't feel comfortable."

"What do you mean?" he asked looking at her.

"It's a little scary that's all. Passing the cemetery, the wind blowing the trees, the moon making shadows on the ground like that," she pointed at a particularly lattice-like shadow which darted and swayed across the ground and nipped at the toe of her pumps. If she weren't trying to be so bold, she would have run back towards the restaurant again.

"Really, I don't see what the problem is," he turned to face her and just then grasped the situation, "outside of the wind" which kept whipping her hair across her face while it blew the neighborhood flora into a frenzy. He grabbed her arm reassuringly (and to lead her because she seemed frozen in place) and she gripped his arm a little too eagerly she felt, but then she'd do just about anything to get out of there.

Little by little the golden glow of the neighborhood lights went out as homeowners went to bed and less vehicles were on the roads. Dan and Jennifer graciously eased into his car, grateful for its reprieve from the elements. Their sense of security was dashed though as Dan found the car wouldn't start.

"Let me try," she offered climbing over the floor-shift into the driver's seat, knowing it wouldn't start for her either. The battery was too weak.

"I'll call for a jump," he reassured her, only to find he couldn't get a signal on his cell phone. He figured the weather must be affecting satellite transmissions, "I'll have to find a payphone or something. Wait here." She nodded sheepishly. Staying put was certainly better than having to walk past Darklocke Cemetery two more times tonight.

Jen brushed her ash blond hair back out of her face. Something moved out of the corner of her eye on the left. Darted really. Too quick to see what it was. But as much as she wanted it to be Dan, she knew it wasn't him. She leaned out from behind the steering wheel to close the door and lock herself in the car and that's when she saw it. Her scream gave out with an unanswered whelp and had Dan made it back to the car, he would have seen she was gone. Instead, Dan was found the next morning alongside the cemetery fence, having been struck dead by a felled tree limb of some girth, never having made it for help in getting the car started. The only trace of Jennifer was the beret from her hair on the driver's seat.

**~**

The above story first appeared on October 21, 2007, on my first, now rarelY!, used blog. The trolley happens to be relevant as the weather and location were inspiration for the above story, although I doused it heavily with creative license.

Haunting Season

2010-09-10T18:19:00.014-04:00

For those who may not be reading along I've stated numerous times how much I really, I mean REALLY love Halloween. One day just isn't enough. I like to stretch it from the Tuesday after Labor Day until roughly Veteran's Day. It's a time frame I call Haunting Season; not just for the spooky tales and urban legends, but also for the chilled blustery winds which thrash at rickety gnarled limbs and the contrasty sky of dark cumulus clouds against a setting red-orange sun. The kind of weather a person wants to bundle into cozy clothing and sip hot beverages.

The colored leaves; the spooky, scary decorations; the Halloween costumes and the suspenseful ghost stories when all combined really excite and entice me. And yet as a youngster since when the actor in the Jaycee's funhouse in my home town "spooked" my mother when I was roughly six up until I discovered the legend of Ichabod Crane - The Headless Horseman -- through Troll's at home Library -- I couldn't stand to be scared, I hated being scared, and didn't want to be.

In the following years I was more mature, smarter, more cynical, more of the scientific belief than the spiritual belief and frankly, it got really had to scare the wits out of me. Sure, I startle fairly easily to this day, but out and out scared, not so much. So I went in search of the scare thrill after college. I'm not one of those risk taking thrill junkies who plays chicken, but I do enjoy a good theme park decked out in spookiness, or a "haunted" trolley ride, or a spooky maze.

So I'm looking forward to the spooky, macabre, dark, murky, damp, ghoulish fun this year as in past ones. Rest assured I'll be sharing more examples of why I love Haunting Season. It's not ingestable candy anymore it's the eye candy.

Why yes, that DOES happen to be my home in these photos.

A Thriving Garden

2010-09-03T17:57:00.003-04:00

One of the recurring themes throughout my five years of blogging is "Not everything is gloom and doom". Yes I've experienced more than a few close calls (some a little too close!) recently. Yes, my finances aren't as secure as I'd like them to be -- which means I need to get busy if I want heat this Winter...and yes, I've fought off two court summonses this Summer alone from outfits I owe money to.

The bright side is, the debt monkey is again standing on his paws and not on my back for the time being. Both outfits have been willing to negotiate new payment plans. I feel a little bit like I've made a deal with he devil, but these were the best options available at the time.

Yes, metaphorical dark skies (and literal dark skies) loom in my future, but as long as trouble comes knocking one at a time, I'm confident I can muster through it all. Indeed, this year has been the first in five where I haven't felt oppressed and depressed about my life situation. Life is intimidating and daunting, and I've been so scared and overwhelmed that I've been nauseous and heartburned for weeks on end and afraid to go to sleep, but for the time being all of that has passed and I feel confident I will be able to sleep a little more soundly these next few nights.

Fortunately, I recognize that I am currently blessed to have the job I have, the people I work with and the understanding to be grateful for it all.

I also wish to thank my friends (close and internet pals) and family, and God.

En Route to my Final Destination

2010-08-21T20:36:00.008-04:00

"What are you doing tonight?" one of my co-workers asked me as our shift wound down.
"I'm going to Yonkers for train photos," I replied, "So if I'm not in on Monday I'm either arrested or dead."

I thought I was joking.

Here's the thing: there's at least a small supernatural aura or something connected to my family. My Mom has had two or three premonitions come true, I'm pretty certain I had a brief subliminal conversation with my then wife's dead uncle (who passed 20 years before she was born), and there's been other instances in which I've hated to have been right. Little did I know at 3pm how close I'd be to both of those terrible outcomes.

Things were going well, my friend offered to drive (in contrast to our scrapped attempt the previous week) and we indeed recorded the images we set out to photograph. Even we he'd forgotten his portable one-way radio on the station platform in Ardsley it was still where he'd left it upon our return 30 minutes later. That's where our story begins.

Now, I've only been working in public safety for one month and I'm not even on the street. I'm inside at a desk, but hearing about questionable people, and having lived in a larger city for eleven months I recognized this individual was of questionable stature, and he was milling about the entryway to the station platform. As I approached he kept his hand in front of my face and began verbalizing something. I immediately disarmed the situation with a stern "No" and avoided eye contact, mounted the steps and retrieved my friend's electronic device in the time it took said friend to round his compact car and say "how are you," to the questionable character. Since one of the trains we wanted to photograph was approaching we stayed at Ardsley -- a hamlet of Irvington.

Low and behold, an Irvington patrol officer pulls into the train station parking lot. We're driving an out of state vehicle and parked in a permit required resident's only parking lot. Uh oh.

BUT, the questionable male milling about is the policeman's top priority as he's likely been troubling the previous commuters passing through. My friend and I can overhear the conversation between unwanted and officer and the unwanted gives the officer a story about waiting for the next train to head home -- which he's lied about twice up to that point - and the unwanted comes on the platform to join us, followed not long after by the officer.

Well, you had to be there to get the full understanding, but my friend engaged the officer about why we were there ourselves and though he could have done without it, the officer got a brief working knowledge about the local freight operations!! Okay, so said our goodnights after the freight train passed and using some judicial editing and leaving out the stuff that happens next for a future blog entry, we're on our way home after a long but fun (and briefly dicey) night of train photography.

Since my friend was driving, and neither highway nor parkway home are the most user friendly I suggested since he was driving he should go with his gut as per which road we should travel.

This was one of those "if only I'd" moments. "If only we'd left for home earlier than we did" or "If only we'd taken 95 instead of 15"...

There wouldn't have been an airborne car headed right at us at 2:15 in the morning.

I was in the midst of explaining how major freight railroading would never return to Connecticut when my friend yelped as a car came flying through the air from the southbound lanes, clipped the center median guardrail and gave my friend's car a glancing blow as we swerved across two lanes to avoid it. THANKFULLY my friend did a great job of keeping the compact under control, but what a scary thing to see!!

And what a way to be reminded of one's mortality. These close calls are becoming more frequent I'm afraid. February 2009 I was the passenger in a vehicle which did a 720 degree spin (That's nearly two full rotations) on the way down a hill slicked with black ice. It took me eleven months to not get shivers driving through there. July 3, 2010, a condo fire destroyed the building immediately next to mine in the complex, I still sometimes have trouble falling asleep in the dark seven weeks later. At the quarry four days before my last day there a loader operator chose to get too close to my truck and miraculously didn't hit it, but had my co-worker put his arm out of the window, or had he gotten out of the truck he would have been clobbered. Now this incident.

I've watched the first two Final Destination movies, and though I know it's Hollywood fiction, there's definitely an element of truth in it. I've believed from a long time before those films that a person dies when it's their time -- and I have also wondered about when it was MY time to go. Sometimes scared of it, sometimes able to accept it but ultimately, that's one of life's and God's biggest mysteries and until the end; after I'm deceased and in the coffin, I don't think I want to know when my last breath is. Honestly, I don't even want to think about it, ignorance is bliss, but that too is an irresponsible way to go about life.

It always seems too that the bad things always compound on top of each other (not just always come in threes -- but that can apply too) and I tend to feel that evil is just a centimeter away when I'm overly stressed by life's responsibilities which makes getting back up on then proverbial horse which threw me that much more difficult and I just want to hide, which begins to bring about agoraphobia. I'm not sure how much more my poor heart can take.

I've Got More Facets Than A Gemstone

2010-08-10T20:18:00.002-04:00

C'est vrai. It's true. After all I'm a writing, photographing, musical, train guy with a yearn for adventuring once again. Usually my wanderlust will come about when the stresses of life begin to oppress me. Tonight, it seems more akin to the old saying "idle hands make the devil's work".

Life is good overall, which is something I haven't felt for at least five years. Three weeks at my new employment have me feeling settled in and the more I develop my work abilities (I'm developing a new set of skills at an entirely new career than railroading) the more confident I am that I will in fact succeed, of course there's a long way to go still, but my new employers already knew such and in fact have been pleased with how I skewed the bell curve.

Back to my original thought though. After four somewhat grueling days on duty I have a pair of days off. The first I basically wasted by taking it easy despite having home chores in desperate need of getting done, but the tingle to experience re-ignited today, and with such personal freedom at my disposal, and so many places to visit and things to be experienced I just can't decide where to go. But, as Whisperin' Bill Anderson sang "I get the fever"

Poor Substitute for a Small Bird's Vocalizing

2010-07-23T22:01:00.003-04:00

As a comic reader and fan-fiction writer, I naturally looked up one of my favorite scribes, Marjorie Liu, and discovered her blog and Twitter. This weekend (second to last in July 2010 should you be reading this years into the future from tonight) is the great big San Diego Comic Con -- of course, Ms. Liu is participating. So I followed a link from one of her tweets and discovered Stan "the man" Lee's Twitter.

But the only thing that crosses my mind is "Stan Lee is the Hugh Heffner of comics". Granted, my brain is super-fried after it's first week on the new job (there's an incredible amount of information to learn in conjunction with my new career and it's overwhelming at times. I've been almost vegetative upon finally trudging through the door well after dinner each night so that needs to be taken into consideration).
seriously, though. They both smile non-stop, with a genuinely big and sincere smile -- because they love what they do and it shows. Both are of the same generation, that awesome one mine can't even comprehend how to come close. And they're both insanely successful publishers (I won't go into the perks train of thought). Just sayin' -- even if I DID take an awfully long round about way to say one sentence!!!

My Last Train

2010-07-15T21:25:00.009-04:00

It's official. With bittersweet feelings I swing off of the stirrup as the locomotive engineer eases the line of hopper cars to a smooth and gentle stop. My cooler swings from my hand much as the traditional conductor's lantern would as I trudge across the wide driveway to the time-clock. Upon climbing the stairs to the locker room, I hang up my hard hat and reflective safety vest for the very last time.

After ten and a half seasons of being a brakeman, I'm no longer a railroader. I've worked my last train. This crazy world we call home has forced my hand and necessitated a radical change of careers. It's for the best and it will benefit not just myself but many others as well. However I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sad to be walking away. Railroading is in my blood. I've said before the iron in my bloodstream is of the iron horse. Leaving railroading is like leaving a piece of myself behind.

There's a lot to look forward to in this new career also. For one, it's indoors. No more being pelted by rain, sliding around in the mud, or the cold, or as of late: the extreme Summertime heat and humidity. My eating habits will improve instead of forcing down a lackluster hard roll because I don't have time to eat. No more renegade particulate matter finding its way into my eyes, ears, nose, or mouth regardless of personal protective gear. There's other drawbacks I will no longer need to deal with also.

Perhaps some day in the far future I'll be swinging aboard that great fast freight, or the crack passenger limited for that glimmering ride along steel rails into the sunset.

A Lobster I Can Fight, A Fire I Cannot

2010-07-02T20:47:00.006-04:00

"Get out of the building! There's a fire next door!" Greeted me upon answering the earth shattering pounding at my door at O Dark Thirty this morning.

"I've got to put something on," I sheepishly pleaded in my underwear and socks, with my ragged work shirt in my hand -- as it was the first scrap of clothing I grabbed jumping out of bed to answer said pounding -- though it never made it on my body.

The heavy knock upon the door in the middle of the night is never a good sign, and when one's eyes open and the walls are reflected emergency vehicle rotating lights parked right outside of one's window -- there's only so much time to discern what NEEDS to get done.

And so I grabbed the work shirt and flicked the hall light switch. When that failed to light, I flipped the stairway light and realized the electricity was cut for the first responders. Dash down the stairs to the first sentence of this entry.

"Okay but make it quick," the fireman allowed and made sure I was exiting the building before moving to the next unit.

"Fire next door" to me means the adjoining condo in my building. Fortunately for me, that wasn't the case. It was in fact, the neighboring building. Next concern, make sure the people I know from that building have made it out. They have.

Next concern, how will my own building fare in this disaster? Again fortunately the wind is carrying embers away from the buildings and over the parking lot. How big is the blaze? Sadly, when I looked, my suspicions were concerned and it's burning inside of two units. Then the roof collapses. Hope is beginning to flee.

The water lines become active and a ladder truck from the next town over arrives to assist the one on scene. Whatever the flames didn't get the water has. The eaves begin sagging and the crowd of evacuees is pushed back further from the blaze.

The conflagration is angry but the firefighters are aggressive and they beat the fire down until it's only spotty smoldering. A safety check to make sure the residences closest to the fire are habitable and everyone in the neighboring buildings are allowed to go back inside. There's no official preliminary cause yet and following the building inspector's examination, the structure may need to be razed.

What a way to start the morning. My own adrenaline finally abated seven hours later while at work (which I called in late for because I was blocked in by fire apparatus). The blaze was lead story on many broadcast stations, including the morning radio show I listen to on the local rock radio station. This rock station occasionally plays a sounder about a renegade crustacean which goes "Everybody get out of here there's a lobster loose" etc. etc. (it's a soundbite from somewhere).

Well, I can fight a lobster if I had to save my home, but if I had to fight a fire, the flames would win.

In Another Life

2010-06-26T19:20:00.000-04:00

In another life I could have been a sailor.
Throwing off the ropes holding ship to dock.
Sailing the high seas to God knows where
Feeling the wind blow my hair wildly about my face
The salt air filling my nose like the comforting scent of hot biscuits
Hard work bulking my body and soul.

In another life I could have been a cook
At a roadside diner, Italian restaurant, hotel kitchen, fast food joint
Flinging meat, dunking products in the fryer, sloshing drinks
Stains on the apron, smells that never come out
Creating fine blends of tastes to please the pallette
From a multitude of ingredients

In another life I could have been a doctor.
Bringing to life little babies
Girls and boys new to the world
Postponing the loss of loved ones
Through medicines and life support
My vast and specialized knowledge doing the work of miracles.

In another life I could have been a long distance trucker.
Hauling goods ‘cross country.
Living the glamorous life like a gypsy
Hitting all of the hot spots for pleasure
Seeing the great USA every day
Beauty and savage hand in hand.

In another life I could have been an entertainer
Not just an actor in motion pictures
But a singer, dancer, narrator, mime
Multifaceted crowd engager
Reinventing myself to stay in the public’s thoughts
Through good or bad press

In another life I could have been a lumberjack!

Why Does it Always Have to be Spiders??!!

2010-06-22T19:11:00.005-04:00

If I may steal from Indiana Jones and make it my own (his phobia is snakes). As written in the previous entry, the quarry where I work sees its share of nature in its wild element. I mentioned Jurassic sized bugs (how's that for an argument about Steven Spielberg's influence upon society? -- I digress) well, now it's time to relate a tale starring a much smaller sized insect. In fact, many dozens of smaller sized insects; allow me to explain:

Every morning my responsibility is to trudge along the railroad track leading out of the facility and open the property gate which stretches across the rail entrance. One early June morning I notice a very pregnant black furry looking spider hiding in the space between the upright bracket and the hinge bracket. Plenty of room for her to nestle into and go for two rides daily without getting smooshed. I dislike 98% of spider types but since this one appears to be leaving me alone, and since I'm trying to better myself as a person, I leave her alone too. I even tell her if she leaves me alone I'll return the favor.

Each morning I'm very careful to not get my hands anywhere near her, and her silken web is a visual reminder to keep my eyes open and pay extra attention. (Like that neon lime green reflective safety vest I wear on the job). A couple of weeks go by and all is well. One recent afternoon, closing up shop I notice she's changed her stance, her big bladder is gone and dozens of little tiny pollen sized black furry spiders are scurrying everywhere. I felt almost like a proud uncle...ALMOST. Well, I might have said "congratulations" I don't recall as I had other things on my mind that afternoon and my brain wasn't interpreting much at that time other than the important stuff -- which didn't include a brood of spiders running amok.

The next morning I swung open the gate, noticing the new momma spider wasn't where she normally was, but my hand had already grabbed for the pin which keeps the gate form swinging back shut. The brain told the hand to pull back and when it did I saw the momma spider drop from my glove to the ground and disappear.

"okay, don't panic" went through my thoughts, "she realized she messed up too, no harm no foul right?" and then I thought "Why'd you have to go and do that Charlotte?" in honor of the well known star of book and movie. I shook my head and carried on with my day, knowing I'd never see her again, having disappeared in the grass and weeds. But around lunchtime a new thought came to me. I was mulling over how respectful I was to her and how she unnerved me and it made me realize...what if she were saying thank you for my respect with a ladylike handshake before moving away to raise her clan?

So There I Was

2010-06-15T19:05:00.004-04:00

So there I was, hopping across the rocky desert thirsty as hell praying for salvation. I'm not religious by any stretch of the imagination, but I got myself into quite the fix. I was getting worried, anxious as to whether I was ever gonna get back home. Oh what I wouldn't have given for an ice cold beer and air-conditioning!

I'd gone too far to just turn around and go back. Lordy but I thought I could make the trek, until I'd been moving along for a seeming eternity. I struggled to keep going, becoming desperate, but knowing keeping going was the only chance I had at survival. At my wits end I asked the Almighty for help. I was just about to offer my soul and welcome the sight of the Pearly Gates when this disconcerting deafening noise, worse than a Bull Frog convention, filled my ears to runneth over and then stopped.

Huge two footed creatures, world's tall, pounded the ground as they approached me. By all means was I scared!! Then one of them split off from the other, but the one, he kept coming. I had nowhere to go, there was no protection from the pending death in this dusty rocky desert, and the being bent and reached towards me. Oh why couldn't I have a massive coronary and deny the intended fate this being had planned for me? Why wasn't I worthy enough to master my own destiny?

Then the darndest thing happened. The being scooped me into its leathery hand and carried me away from that desolate floor. Golly but there was air! A cool breeze blew across my parched back as he moved himself along that barren outland. I'll never know if he sheltered me from the blazing sun out of kindness or because he planned something more sinister for me and didn't want me to escape, but either way the shade was welcome for that brief time.

All was not looking swell, though, because the being previously with him had joined up with him again. Man, I kept a wary eye on that one, but he seemed to not be too interested in me. They conversed in some bizarre language I didn't understand and we seemed to be headed back in the direction we had started from. Oh this was not good at all...

Then, the creatures stopped. The second one split off again as I was carried over to some greenery. I could see water from way up in that lofty perch in the giant's hand. Perhaps it was a miracle, I don't know because this toad never believed in them, but I was being set down in the soft moist stuff near the water and the giant walked away, allowing me my destiny after all.

**~**

And so that's how I imagined what must have been going through the mind of a toad that my co-worker plucked from the quarry floor today as we went about our daily routine of locking railroad cars.

Beauty in Nature

2010-05-24T19:37:00.012-04:00

While the above photo is NOT from my work, it was photographed by me and exemplifies what I am privelidged to witness while toiling at work.

This post was inspired by "The Other Side of Hunting" on Thoughts from a Yodeling Goatherder.

I'm employed as a railroad brakeman in a stone quarry. Not exactly a place which instills visions of owls, turtles, deer, frogs, or ravens is it? At first I didn't think so either. When I began employment I was warned about the black snakes and copperheads and I've seen and shared the same space with them subsequent times, all thankfully with positive outcomes (I think the copperhead was more frightened than I was that day)!

Deer frequent our facility, as we border water company property there's lots of land for them to roam, and most of last year I was able to spot a doe and some others either lazily sunning themselves in the grass which borders the quarry, or hopping the berm to get away from the obtrusive pick-up truck and noisy train. Some of them are brazen though. My first encounter was just a shadow of a frightened deer which ran along the travelway next to our train between two front end loaders (one backing up and the other approaching) which were busy loading the empty rail cars.

One morning while cutting new flangeways in the mud between the rails, a turtle happened to try crossing our tracks. The locomotive couldn't stop in time, but the space between the ties was large enough for the turtle to duck and avoid becoming soup. The loco backed up and the engineer and I scooped the critter up and drove it across the street to the swamp where we let it go. (There's a photo in my collection of the turtle in the back of the pick-up. I'll have to go digging for it).

I almost forgot to mention the geese which graze on the quarry's front lawn for passers-by to see, and the swans that live in the swamp across the street.

One day at lunchtime, during a Winter shut-down for repair, we men were summoned up into the mill. An owl had made its nest near the top of one of the spires in the complex, and seemed to tolerate all of us gawking hardhatted workers. The day before start up a wildlife specialist was brought in to relocate the owl so our noisy production wouldn't disturb it or the family, but each Winter for three years the owl returned to that spot. It even made the company magazine one year.

There was the Summer the track department was installing a spur and one of the crew discovered what appears to be a tomato horn worm. It looked like a green caterpillar but with a spike on its rear, and it stabbed at anything it felt provoked by!!

Then there's the spiders and deadly flying insects. I haven't been fond of spiders since being bitten in my youth by a hairy brown arachnid (I had a lump on my neck from the bite for over ten years). So when I see the eight legged beasties scurrying about, I usually scurry the opposite way, especially if they're larger than my big toe.

Speaking of Jurassic sized bugs: how about dragon flies and gypsy moths with six inch wingspans? Yeah, we got 'em.

Anyways, 90% of these encounters generally bring a smile to my face, as I'm witnessing nature in the wild, all by myself. Nobody else experienced it, just me, and that tiny connection is a special thing (like the chipmunk my father would feed every morning by tossing a piece of hard roll from his front end loader while he parked for coffee break).

Of course, work isn't the only place I can find the beauty of nature in the raw. One afternoon while in college, I photographed a squirrel eating a brownie.

Those Old Classics

2010-05-23T20:42:00.007-04:00

I'm of an age to have grown up on 33 1/3 rpm records. I fondly recall being a little boy rocking in my Mother's oversized rocking chair enjoying The Beatles, Barry Manilow, the Grease motion picture soundtrack, the Bee Gees, Bread and letting my imagination wander. Their lyrics painted locales and situations which formed in my mind and I could watch the story play out to its conclusion three to four minutes later.

Within a few years I received a record player of my own and my own records to play on it. Saturday nights after dinner were spent listening to the radio and the music of my parents's generation. I grew up on the rock and roll and country tunes of the 1950s, sixties and seventies.

One of my favorite albums was K-Tel's Kookie Klassics featuring Ray Stevens "Ahab The Arab", The Royal Guardsmen "Snoopy vs The Red Varon", Blanchard & Morgan "Tennessee Bird Walk", "Little" Jimmy Dickens "May the Bird of Paradise Fly Up Your Nose", and many others.

Well, with the digital age many of these songs have seemed to have been forgotten about. The other day, my father handed me a two cd set of classic humourous country songs and spoofs and all of a sudden, my childhood came back for two minutes at a time. Honestly, nothing beats a good comedy song. That's why "Weird Al" Yankovic does so well.

In fact, I have to give a shout out to "Weird Al". Don't just listen to the lyrics (which are quite ingenious really) but listen attentively to the musical arrangements too. Sure, his earliest works are rather simple, but his stuff since is quite extraordinary (listen to "Pancreas" or "Hardware Store" for instance) and I'm not just espousing raves because the liner notes included with the 2disc "Essential "'Weird Al'" hope to encourage the reader to petition for "Weird Al"'s nomination and hopefully induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. But really, he does deserve it.

Anyways, I digress a bit. Karaoke the other night was refreshing also as one of the singers belted out Johnny Cash's "One Piece at a Time".

Well, there you have it I guess. In this day of lack-luster television (which I've felt for a few years now) I've really only missed having watchable t.v just a couple of times -- and only when I haven't been able to listen to tunes or write.

Hopefully, I'm not regressing in the face of current life stressors...

A Comics Convention in My Own Backyard

2010-05-16T14:17:00.006-04:00

Well, not literally, but less than a mile up the main drag from my childhood home, still dwelled in by my parents. Naturally, this is right up a comics fan's alley. Of course I attended.

There was much in store for the first 125 people to buy premium level tickets (proceeds went for the Tommy Fund) and there were many exclusives done just for the show. There was a nice mix of comics dealers, toy and figure dealers, re-enactors, and artists.

The show organizers did a good job of getting people to come. In fact, 30 minutes before show open someone told him there were a lot of people in line. He came outside to see for himself because he didn't believe it. The line at that point was wrapped around the building's corner.

Stormtroopers ensured no one would be cutting the line, or blocking vehicle access. The 501st Conn Squad and Rebel Legion-Kamino Base groups were absolutely fantastic all day and roamed the convention. There was even a working R2-D2!

It towed the builder's children and even played "Born to be Wild" while leaving the show at the end of the day. That R2 is a cool droid.

There were many comics artists on hand as well, including a couple names I recognized and I sat in on the artists discussion panel (no spoilers, this was more of an informative discussion about Charlton Comics of Derby, CT, and how many of its employees migrated to D.C. in addition to honoring the late Dick Giordano).

But the real reason I was compelled to go (besides comic back issues -- which I didn't even peruse...) was the costumes. You've seen how well the Star Wars groups looked, here's some of the attendees:

Invisible Girl's costume was so well done, she and Supergirl kept disappearing throughout the day!

Wonder Woman took home first prize for her costume.

Organizers are promising 2011 will be twice the size. I'm looking forward to it already.

Godspeed Friend

2010-05-14T17:21:00.005-04:00

"I can't STAND dogs! I don't want him," I insisted in August 1993, especially when the mixed mutt of some terrier descent kept yapping all afternoon. But it was cute to watch him struggle with a stuffed plush toy half again as big as he while he dragged it around the kitchen.

I acquiesced though as I was headed back to college and my Mom was determined the little guy would stay regardless of my feelings. Over time of course I came to love him. How could I not? I mean, look at him.

Growing up I was traumatized by ill behaved dogs who either intimidated me through loud scary barking and growling, or by jumping on me and knocking me around. Winston, though, helped me understand how to behave around dogs and to no longer be afraid of them.

His mellow (and sometimes mischievous) personality made the acceptance super smooth.

The canine contingency had to say goodbye to their best ambassador today. The Honor Guard Dogs all lined up for their 21-bark salute in their coats of arms as the old fellow was taken on his final walk to eternity.

Winnie lived the best 17 years any dog could ever hope for, and even though I don't feel I was ever super close to him, his loss is saddening. In some unexplainable way, this song seems appropriate:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mSRMUq2Zl0

Godspeed, Winston, I'll miss ya, bud.

I, Wood.

2010-05-13T22:11:00.004-04:00

Cue the musical fanfare horn section, toss out the throw rug (admittedly this piece doesn't deserve the red carpet in some people's opinion) I hereby solemnly introduce -- re-introduce actually as it's been published on my former blog: the college poem which made my classmates groan!!! That's right! It's the one which rhymes EVERY line.

I, Wood.

My name is Woodrow.
I live in Buffalo.
Near Ohio,
Not Colorado.

I just ate an Oreo.
I found it on the window.
How long it's been there? I don't know.
Momma, in cleaning, has always been slow.

My Mom's name is Flo.
She watches her t.v. show:
"Search for Tomorrow"
I prefer "G.I. Joe"

I broke my toe.
I was playing with Daddy's hoe.
Eenie Meenie Mineey Moe
It fell on me when Billy let go.

I'd like to go to Tupelo,
but on board a boat I'd have to Stowe.
It'd have a motor, I hate to row.
I have no money, I'd need to owe.

My sister is the one who sews.
Except for seeds my uncle sows.
They ask me to work but I tell them no,
I'm headed out to catch a doe.

"Earn some dough!"
Yells Auntie Zoe
While doing so,
Cooks Chicken Gumbo

I used a bow
and arrow
to kill Yoko
Oh, no!

(revised May 13, 2010)

The Power of Words

2010-05-10T18:24:00.004-04:00

If a picture is worth a thousand words, and the pen is mightier than the sword, doesn't it stand to reason that words can invoke infinite imagery?

The time has come for another dredging of my first blog, as I've been inspired again through words and I again reminisced about my college days. The following originally appeared on December 3, 2005:

**~**

There are many talented and thoughtful people in the world who share their talent with the rest of us who share not as broadly. Poets, sculptors, musicians, novelists, orators, talkshow hosts, comedians, blog writers...

I'll stick with writers for now for this entry. I was inspired tonight by a compact disc I've had for about ten years and never listened to until tonight called The United States of Poetry. Ladies and gentlemen there is such a diverse group on this earth. I grew up being told that's what makes us great. But I'm digressing. The real point I want to make is it reminded me of Poetry 101 at Susquehanna University, once nestled in the borough of Selinsgrove,PA but now has grown quite a bit since I graduated in 1996.

In this class were about 12-15 eager poets with ideas and convictions and a voice in their fingers which sometimes blew me away. After all, here were the next bards of rhyme with a sharp wit and biting sarcasm. Benders of irony (what an image, as when a blacksmith forges iron so do writers with words). Many of my contemporaries I admired for their words and mental images such words brought forth.

Then there was me, odd man out, the pop sell out poet who rhymed EVERY line in a poem making my classmates groan in painful disgust as if my ignorant childish creation had ripped out their hearts and left them beatless and torn jaggedly on the tabletop like forgotten thawing chicken breasts oozing goo. yeah.

This is what my blog was gonna be all about, thoughts and phrases and twists thereof. Profound thoughts for a moment's ponder, because they're not meant to be slept on really, more like a passing hmm. But feel free to let it grasp you. Should something really grab you, then continue to think about it. Let it brighten or sadden your day however you feel because once its out here its everybody's and you can keep your own little part of it as it applies to you. Like a song. (sharp turn of thought) Music is a mystical, wonderful entity and many feel this way. We each are touched in our own way by a song or note or lyric and we connect to it. Music isn't just passive, its dynamic, entrancing. Songwriters are poets and imagists too. Again I'm digressing.

Ultimately, this compact disc drew me in tonight with its words and support music, leading my brain from review to reminisce. And the irony is my ten year college graduation anniversary comes around in June 2006 and I wonder some days what happened to my classmates. Are my future world changers in power now? writing and invoking and provoking? or did they turn out to have traditional work overcome them and suffer among the bourgeoisie?

**~**

Since the above first appeared the Facebook phenomenon and my 10 year college reunion have both occurred. It turns out one of the above poets is a father and seemingly lives a normal life best I can gather.

As for the four year old 10 year reunion? There were so many classmates jammed into the private room at the venue I couldn't hear anyone and was entirely overwhelmed, winding up out on the sidewalk tables with six others who aren't mentioned above, but who are still awesome if not world changers.

Number 3's Revenge

2010-05-03T20:41:00.003-04:00

It's well established I like trains.

It's not so well established I'm a professional railroader. Yes, I get to work on life sized real trains, as a brakeman in a stone quarry.

When I was promoted to this position in 1999, there were two pretty tired small locomotives, number 3 and number 5. Throughout that year we were swapping between the two because each would suffer some kind of crippling ailment.

In August 1999 our facility received an acquired used slightly larger small locomotive and number 3, being the more ailed of our two went into storage in 2002 (yes it took three years to be sure we wouldn't need her anymore).

Number 3 languished out back for another six years, becoming quite the habitat for insects and rodents (and a bird's nest for a little while until a predator discovered it).

Fast forward to 2008. Old Number 3 is finally getting attention again, albeit the wrong kind if you're a locomotive with operating aspirations.

That's right, Number 3 was getting dismantled. The parts in good order which were becoming hard to find on the market would be saved and the rest sold to a new home or scrap.

But priorities shifted, and like that purply-bruised and swollen prize fighter in the eighth round, near the end of his stamina, Number 3 got a stay of execution so to speak. Dismantling work was stopped.

Skip 2009 to today. Near the end of the shift, some parts were wanted for a project and so myself and two others crowded the dilapidated cab and wrestled the pieces loose. In addition the remaining headlight shroud and glass were needed -- but wouldn't budge (the whole reason they were left on two years ago actually). Today the bracket met a hacksaw, but upon finishing an asphyxiating cough overcame me as I clung to the front railings of Number 3.

Perhaps we'd stirred up microscopic dust particles, or maybe particulate matter of a more serious nature. Whatever the cause, Number 3 got in a lick of her own before the bell rang marking the end of this next round, exacting if for just a moment a bit of her own revenge.

I'm Still Here, I'm Just Feuding with My I.S.P.

2010-04-30T17:30:00.002-04:00

Well, through my own stupidity, my account became disconnected. But not just disconnected, it was as if I had disappeared. Well, I hadn't, but it didn't matter.

I've been fighting, frustratedly for nine days to get my account reactivated, and need to wait another three.

Just saying, if I were this slow in my job, I'd have been fired.

I promised I wouldn't complain here on Fleeting History, but I felt all y'all deserved to know what happened to me.

See you soon.

Beautiful Blogger

2010-04-18T20:54:00.003-04:00

The secret's out. I'm a beautiful blogger. Okay, yes I look scary in a little black dress and heels...I'm not talking THAT kind of beautiful.

Feral Female of Thoughts From a Yodeling Goatherder http://thoughtsfromayodelinggoatherder.blogspot.com/
awarded me with the beautiful blogger award and I thank her very much. I'm quite honored to have been bestowed with such a prestigious offering.

Ten things about myself, in order of how they came to mind (not in order of importance or relevance)

1. After 5 pm I am unable to do math.

2. I really like trains and enjoy photographing them.

3. Despite being scared out of my wits at the tender age of six, I really, REALLY love Halloween and everything associated with it; especially haunted attractions and the costumes.

4. Although I have a crippling case of claustrophobia, I like spelunking.

5. Pizza, 'Nuff Said.

6. I harbor a secret desire to be a world famous musician/singer

7. I'm an award winning documentarian (don't bother looking for it on Amazon or E-bay, it was a high school project...)

8. Timothy Leary's dead -- oops, this is supposed to be about me ;-)

9. My favorite color is blue.

10. I accidentally dumped the same carton of french fries into my lap at a Mass Pike rest stop twice during dinner.

There's my top ten, er...well they aren't all in my top ten, and they're not even my ten best or greatest hits even. But they're ten things about me, and one concerning a 1960's pop culture icon. Hopefully, you've learned something new about me. There may or may not be a quiz...

Now, some of these blogs aren't necessarily beautiful, but they are what I read:

http://bobbyderailed.blogspot.com/

http://www.nanosphoto.com/blog/

http://www.thebadassgeek.com/

Now, I went exploring, because it wasn't fair of me to not discover new blogs. In doing so I discovered all kinds of families sharing their lives, on-line versions of baby books (should I rephrase and say on-line biographies of a child's life written by a parent?), the ubiquitous fashion bloggers, foreign sites written in all blank squares, a version of the beautiful blogger in which the recipient must post seven items one finds beautiful and pass on to seven new recipients (hmm and I thought I would be the one perverting the premise) and the occasional gem such as:

http://winedrunksidewalk.blogspot.com/

That's all I've got for now. I know there's other wonderfully enjoyable blogs waiting for me to find them, so off I go...

(for whatever reason links won't function. As usual you'll need to perform the labor intensive action of copying and pasting into an address bar to follow the URLs, sorry)

Spring Evenings

2010-04-10T20:29:00.000-04:00

There's something about a cool but sunny evening, between 4 and 9 pm that is really magical. Creatures and people mingle (not necessarily mixing together mind you but among their own species). Maybe it's a special dinner or a fun activity. Maybe it's the tranquility of a blissful sunset and/or the excitement of what's to come in the nighttime. Whatever the je ne sais quoi, it spurns the sentimentalist in me. Tonight as I tried to discover its origins in me I found myself recalling my Freshman year in college, after a month of gray and overcast days, after most of a semester feeling down, the sun came out one evening and I just sat in the windowsill of the dorm building's lounge for some time.

Another recollection was a Saturday evening in my parents' basement operating the HO gauge model trains listening to the radio and killing time waiting for pizza.

Maybe it's the warm fresh air after a Winter of cabin fever, when folks can finally get out and socialize for hours and hours into the night laughing and partying and playing Frisbee or Wiffle ball in their yards.

Whatever it happens to be, on those nights, it's a wonderful thing.

Conversation at Work

2010-04-05T21:56:00.000-04:00

Boss: "How are you feeling?"
Me: "I'm exhausted...dehydrated"
Boss: "Good :-)"

Limited Edition X-Pansion Luminar Bishoujo Statue

2010-03-28T23:14:00.000-04:00

For those readers who aren't aware, I write fan fiction stories over on the Mighty Marvel.com Message Boards about my own team of mutant superhero X-Men, called the X-Pansion team.

One of the characters is code-named Luminar and I'm proud to publicly unveil the Limited Edition Luminar Bishoujo statue!

What makes this very rare besides its limited availability (only one was made *snicker* and it's privately owned) is the straight hair. Normally, Luminar's brunette hair is curly.

She joins previously released Black Widow (both Natasha and Yelena versions), Rogue, and Scarlet Witch. Future editions will include Psylocke, Phoenix and Dark Phoenix (I've also seen a possibility of the White Queen as well).

Now it's back to the little ones for my model trains :-)

Here's What I've Been Doing Lately

2010-03-27T00:35:00.000-04:00

This past three months have been almost a whirlwind of train photography. And why not? The only way to get the photos is to go photograph them, right? And who knows how long I'll even be able to keep photographing trains and other stuff? (sorry to get all existential there for a sentence)

Well, suffice it to say I've been having some pretty good times trackside, enough to want to share some of my pictures with you.

While the story begins in mid January 2010, we're actually only going to look at a some of the most recent images, beginning with March 17, 2010 -- Saint Patrick's Day (there were at least some green containers on board the train)

Two days later I was along the same railroad, but with a much different train at a different location

The whole reason I was even out so soon was to get THIS photograph

Which I could only guarantee getting on a Friday.

Lastly, a good friend and I explored a new area for us and found this setting

That's our last stop this trip. Hope you enjoyed the ride!

I'm not quite sure why the embedded linked images are getting chopped like they are though, I assure you the originals are composed quite well.

Amazing Adventurers conclusion

2010-03-22T23:16:00.000-04:00

Okay, really quickly, I think this is a better name for our new adventurers -- now back to our story!

Unfortunately, there was no trail of breadcrumbs to follow. Robbie had had to refuel the bus twice in their exhaustive search for Priscilla, who, when she woke up on the moving baggage cart was less than thrilled to find herself in such a skimpy outfit and very cold.

Little wooly beings, like Ewoks, powered the cart at all four corners. Pris figured she could just jump off if it weren’t for the fact she’d likely snap her ankle in such high heels.

Their language was funny. It had to be speech, as not even grown up teddy bears laugh or giggle or make gibberish sounds all the time UNLESS it was speech.

“Hello?” she tried speaking to them. The two in front turned around and freaked out. All four had raised their gibbering voices and they sped the cart up to a blistering rate of speed which seemed it would topple the cart and Priscilla at any moment. And there was no handhold for her because when she went to grab an end, it made the Ewok creatures scared even more.

It took a lot for Rock-head to be scared. But if someone asked him at that moment he would admit to being cautiously anxious, which is quite the revelation for such a hard headed stubborn man as he, but between looking for Priscilla and Robbie’s stunt driving with the bus, Rocky may have been wearing down some. About the point when he would have thrown up, Rock saw without a doubt the baggage cart

“Robbie, stop!” Rock shouted over the cacophony of the bus interior, which Robbie had redecorated into his own version of the Disco Arches.

Robbie slammed on the brakes, and for the second time this adventure, Rocky proved how strong his head really was by slamming it accidentally into a part of the bus. With a bleeding scar reminiscent of a former Russian leader now adorning his head, Rocky ran from the bus to the empty cart, turning it onto its side with a mighty heave in frustration. That’s when he heard the giggling gibberishness of the walking furry midget bear beings.

“You think that’s funny? I’ll show you funny,” Rocky threatened, sending the creatures who were responsible for Priscilla’s disappearance running, “Come back here you overanimated stuffed teddies and I’ll SHOW you funny. I’ll be laughing so hard I’ve wiped the road with you, you’ll need to be rebuilt at that mall store!!”

The creatures fortunately stayed ahead of Rocky. They ran back to their lair for safety, which led Rock and Rob (tweet tweet tweet) to where Priscilla was held captive. Upon breaking down the thatched doors Rocky was speechless.

“Don’t just stand there ogling, compose your bad self and get me out of here,” Prissy instructed.

Rocky set about a destructive rage not even the hotel bathroom had seen and it crescendoed with the whole building collapsing on top of the adventurers (no bipedal teddies were harmed in the action sequence of this paragraph or any other).

When the dust settled, The three adventurers stood up and climbed over the wreckage to get back on the bus with an orange sunset and triumphant sounding music behind them.

The End

Disaster Blockbusters

2010-03-15T17:07:00.000-04:00

(Portions of the following entry were originally published on mY! first blog in March 2007. Some editing was done to make it appropriate for re-print).

Along the top of Fleeting History I have a feed from my Flickr.com photostream. Many Flickr users have created something unique through fd's flickrtoys. I decided to do the same and the image below is my result.
I played on the name Pan Am Railways (yes they were/are also an airline and in fact are supposed to be serving my local regional airport, but that has nothing to do with my image.) and through this name recognition (that it was once a popular airline) I spoofed the AIRPORT movies with this movie poster for RAILROAD 2007, high flying adventure on the rails. (Airplane! and Airplane II were also inspirations).

The idea came to me because I wanted to make something with one of fd's flickrtoys but I didn't want to do something that everyone on Flickr is making. I haven't seen too many (actually none) movie poster images, so that's why I chose that toy. The inspiration, as you read came from PAN AM and I happened to notice AIRPORT was on television, so it wasn't hard to put two and two together and make a spoof movie poster. I used all made up names to avoid any trouble with Hollywood, but I'm sure George Kennedy would star. Or maybe Peter Graves, David Hasselhoff, John Travolta, Harrison Ford? Nah, Eileen Toodarite is much hotter and sexier (except that one leg is shorter than her other)... Anyways, I digress. Just wanted to share my poster with you and drop some celebrity names.

**~**

Fast forward to March 15, 2010. As you've no doubt learned Peter Graves has passed on. In tribute, I made a sequel to my Railroad 2007 movie poster with Railroad 2010 again spoofing Pan Am Railways

Again with more made up names. Sadly, the entire cast, and 99 percent of the production staff were unable to be signed for the sequel. Only one original cameraman and the poster graphic artist have worked on both films.

Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

2010-03-15T00:38:00.000-04:00

"We have clearance, Clarence"
"Roger, Roger, What's our vector, Victor?"*

Ever wonder what the consequences of turning down one of those impossible missions was? I've not seen every episode to know and it's been probably 20 years since I've even seen one, but I can spout "Airplane!" dialogue when triggered.

RIP Peter Graves

*from the motion picture "Airplane!"

blog title comes form the television series Mission:Impossible

I Play Guitar and Sometimes I Play the Fool*

2010-03-14T03:21:00.000-04:00

These are the times that try men's souls, or whatever. I found myself tonight psyching myself for another Saturday night of karaoke jockeying. Sitting or standing through nine acts of moderate to little talent just for that one great amateur singer to blow me away. To shorten this tome, there were a pair of young ladies who have been regulars at the establishment from the days back in November when I started training (in fact longer than that) and while shy at the microphones (unless one of them is doing Cher, then she's just like the recording) they are fun to share the same room with.

Well, I haven't seen them since the Saturday before Christmas and to be honest I've missed them. Therefore it was a pleasant surprise that they were present this evening, if only for a short time.

Now, I'm a fairly confident guy (well, except for the nursery school underoos stage dive and um...a few other instances) but really, one can't be shy and a public performer (okay I admit it happens but not in my case).

I thought I looked presentable this evening, and in my capacity of jock assistant dealt briefly with the ladies as they handed in request cards.

About two hours later, and well after they had left the venue I was washing at the men's room sink when I noticed my neck was covered in dried blood!! COVERED!! Now, I wasn't bleeding when I left the house, I made sure of it. I purposely shaved so as not to look grubby tonight and made sure I wasn't nicked anywhere -- yet I was covered in dried blood. And nobody told me!! It never fails, whenever I'm out to put my best foot forward in front of a lady, fate seems to conspire against me.

Back in my college days I was walking down the hallway of the campus center, taking my dinner back to the radio station in advance of an air shift I was substituting in, when I dropped the ketchup packets on the floor after saying "hello" to one female student.

Another time, during Winter on campus, I was walking along a sidewalk as two female students approached me from the other direction. I promptly fell on some ice!!

I've got a decent singing voice, better when I stay within my vocal range, but many times I wind up clearing the room. I may be a relatively confident fellow, but people leaving -- especially the pair of lasses who used to attend every week but who don't on my night any longer blows my self assuredness into smithereens.

So I was in a funk after looking like an idiot half the night, but then my confidence was restored by realizing the world isn't about me. I can hold onto the pipe dream that somewhere some girl will love me for who I am and that anyone, male or female, who doesn't isn't meant to be in my life. Frankly I'm not even interested in any kind of relationship with the aforementioned singers other than singer/jockey, because my dysfunctions preclude any successfully lasting one.

At least with trains, there's a certain kind of stability there. I pretty much know what to expect, and if I look like a fool in front of one, I won't have made a negative impression.

*This entry's title comes from a recording of John Lennon introducing himself at a Beatles concert.

Nonseq Explorers part 3

2010-03-07T01:22:00.000-05:00

Out in the parking lot, a Mariachi band whisked them away into a cacophonous street festival. Though Rock and Priscilla suffered a bit of dizziness from the supersonic body slide, Robbie was having the time of his life, jumping up and down (like the convertible they previously rode in – it was also at the street fest) and saying “fun fun fun” in his own version of the song of the same name recorded by a Californian beach group.

How, you ask, did they get out into the parking lot? They ran, natch.

Yes, I did forget they were in the dressing room at a sci-fi/fantasy/comic convention, but that’s not important right now, because somehow while changing clothes they ended up back in the Disco Arches parking lot. Yeah, it confused them also (well, Rocky and Priscilla at least. Robbie was having fun dancing with the convertible up on it’s rear tires, *shakes head* but you knew that already).

Pris was determined to keep what shaky little balance she had left. Between the lightheadedness of getting jostled around so quickly and the stilettoes threatening to topple her, she was just about staying upright.

“I could kill you right now,” she barely rasped at Rocky, “If I could stand long enough to do it.”

“Come on, Pris. It can’t be all bad,” Rocky said from a Storm Trooper costume. Priscilla’s itsy cloth coverings were hardly sufficient for the cool night air, even though it was borderline mild. She was about to attempt to deck Rocky anyway out of sheer frustration, ruining her reputation as a lady of manners and finishing, but that’s when the Mariachi band came in, playing their famous tune (you know the one. It’s in all of the commercials on television – which I no longer am able to watch but that’s not part of this story, I digress).

The dust and the hot dry sun compound Pris’ nausea. It took her and Rock agonizing minutes for their eyes to adjust having instantly gone from cool night to blazing hot day. Asphalt to dirt. Appropriate clothing to...

From across the street someone whistled a cat call at Pris but she couldn’t see from where. After coughing, she and Rocky began walking in order to find Robbie.

“No, this isn’t working,” Pris alerted after 30 minutes, “but I’ll be damned if I’m walking barefoot in this environment. You’ll have to carry me.”

Of course, Rocky was all for that and an uncontrollable smile the size of North America spread across his face.

“I’ll be happy to accommodate you.”
“And no funny business. It’s bad enough you got us stuck here in the first place,” Priscilla chided after climbing on his back, then kicked his waist like she was spurring a horse. Rocky’s smile faded.

They searched the town three times over and the desert sun was taxing them. Near the point of exhaustion, Rocky set Priscilla back on her spikes and they tottered into the shade behind an old western looking bank building, discovering the surprise of their lives.

Robbie had found their bus. Some body panels were missing and Robbie was deeply immersed in polishing his baby, whistling “You are so Beautiful”. The sight was enough to bring tears to the others’ eyes. This went on into the evening, Robbie seemingly oblivious to his teammates, and they too enthralled to interrupt him (well they were probably too tired also as Priscilla fell asleep on an old baggage cart).

“You got her running,” Rocky noted walking over to Robbie sometime around 11pm. The bus gleamed in the glow of the bright white spotlight and her motor hummed a good road tune. The interior beckoned Rocky and he turned to call Priscilla, but the baggage cart and she were gone.

“Oh, *rhymes with rap*, we need to find Prissy!” Rockster called over the roar of the bus to Robbie. The semi-mute driver donned a Chauffeur’s cap and dove into his beloved seat, happily reaching for the door handle. He made a clenching motion to his seat to tell Rocky “hold on!” and away they sped off into the night

Bloggus Interruptus

2010-03-03T22:48:00.000-05:00

Don't worry friends, our adventurers are just fine (well as fine as they can be with law enforcement agents bearing down upon them while they're in the midst of changing clothes at a comics/sci-fi/fantasy convention)

While we wait for them to slip into something less comfortable (and while I dream up the rest of the story) I would like to share with everybody the great time I had on Tuesday, March 2, 2010.

It's well-established I'm a big fan of trains and that I photograph many images of them. Well, one such train (which in fact operates over the stretch of trackage which appears in "The Ride Home") was delayed several days as a result of the wicked winter weather the Northeast U.S. had in the last weeks of February 2010. This delay caused the normally nocturnal train to run in daylight (well, overcast mostly cloudy light -- which didn't bother me because that's how I cut my teeth as a burgeoning railfan photog along that very same route. Piece O cake)

But I decided against chasing after this train for a pair of personal reasons, in spite of the fact I would have given almost anything to chase one last train through the scenic Delaware River valley separating New York and Pennsylvania.

Hard cut ahead to mid Tuesday morning when my cell phone jars me awake from sleep. A friend of mine asks if I'm willing to help him on the near impossible task of photographing said train I'd decided not to (hey, he knows where to go to beat the odds!) so we got together, learned the late train's progress and hit the road like underdogs. We had a feather in our cap as one of our friends who lives closer to the action was out photographing this train also, and kept us apprised of it's progress (which was terrible in comparison to the old days) In contrast, I made sure we made better time than the freight train, and not just because it had such a big head start over us.

Dissolve to four in the afternoon, my friend and I are trackside in Hancock, NY, in position for the train's arrival 30 minutes later. It was a train chase to rival one I did with my father and brother 22 years before almost to the day (early by three).

My friend and I were indeed successful in beating the odds and catching this rare event a number of places along the route until the train reached its destination at nightfall, we cut it THAT close. The goal on Tuesday was to catch the train crossing Starrucca Viaduct, and we did, but my slides of Starrucca from that 1988 trip aren't here to be scanned and offered as comparison. Instead I offer the next closest at Gulf Summit, New York:

March 5, 1988

March 2, 2010

You'll notice a number of changes occurred during those 22 years, the obvious one being the closest track has been removed.

Ironically, this is only a side step from our adventure, as the inspiration for the "Disco Arches" lies along this railroad, albeit just a lowly normal appearing Golden one and not the version I depicted.

We'll return to our scheduled blog after this break.

Nonsequitor Explorers 2

2010-02-28T23:44:00.000-05:00

Their bus was missing! Someone of short-mindedness had the audacity to steal their thoroughbred. Robbie was devastated. He loved driving that bus.

“Aw, it’s okay, Robbie,” Rocky consoled, “We’ll be able to find it at some point. In the mea...”
Rocky had only glanced away from his partner for the briefest of seconds but it was enough that Robbie disappeared.

Priscilla, the female member of this team, called out to Rocky upon finding their driver around the corner in a sky blue convertible with an appropriate name. Robbie was jamming the person’s mp3 headphones into his ears and yelled “Vrooom!!!” in his rather brusk, harsh tone and the car miraculously sped forward.

“Just our luck,” Priscilla muttered, “he found something that understands him.”

“It doesn’t just understand him, it LIKES him,” Rocky noted, “Hop in before it changes its mind!”

Burly man and proper woman entered the car in each their own way (by jumping in over the side and using the door respectively). Once Prissy was belted in Robbie yelled “Vroom Vroom!!” and they sped off.

The convertible was ultra sensitive to Robbie’s desires. He could look right and the car would turn right, Robbie could close his eyes and the car would stop for a red light. When two very attractive young ladies passed going the other way on the sidewalk, the convertible spun around 180 degrees and hopped the curb, reared up on its back tires and strutted up alongside them, but Priscilla glared at Robbie and the car slumped down on all fours again and slowly turned back onto the road.

Our three adventurers searched every bus terminal they could find, without turning up Robbie’s pooch coach. They’d driven around all day cruising like movie stars and evening looked like the cover of that Californian hotel album everybody seemed to have back in the old days.

“Yes, Robbie, that misfit is a glimmering knight,” Rocky confirmed as they passed a person in a shining suit of armor. Then just beyond were scantily and not so scantily clad men and women in recognizable fantasy costumes.

“Looks like some sort of convention,” Priscilla remarked as they pulled up to the valet outside of the hotel entrance. Once the three were out of the car, Robbie said “Vroom Vroom!” and the convertible sped off before the valet could get in. With the headphones still dangling from his ears, Robbie jumped up and down laughing with glee and skipped into the convention. Though she loathed to, Priscilla looked at Rocky (cuz she couldn’t stand him) and asked:

“Do we dare follow him in?”
“Alright!! Sexy Ghostbuster!! Where’s your patch?” an over zealous conventioneer gawked sidling up to Pris.
“On my arm.”
“Where? I don’t see it,” the OZC said, leaning to look for the slashed apparition. Prissy rolled up her sleeve and showed OZC a nicotine patch and apologized, emotionally crushing the kid.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Rocky commented trying to make small talk.
“I don’t. I wear the patch,” she deadpanned and stared at him.

For twelve seconds.

Until she decided to continue looking for Robbie in silence.

Rocky felt like an idiot, and he needed to use the Men’s room. Once inside, he lost his composure and started bashing his thick head into the wall above the urinal, caving in the drywall and making the hotel manager (who happened to be in the same Men’s room at the same time) angry. When confronted, Rocky grabbed the manager by his belt and collar and threw him out of the bathroom.

Now dishonored in front of a convention full of patrons in his own hotel franchise location, the hotel manager called the police to come arrest Rocky for his rage of destruction. Panicking, Rocky grabbed Priscilla and Robbie and dragged them into the costume contest where he mugged three contestants for their outfits...

Consider This Your Warning

2010-02-25T18:27:00.000-05:00

Two years ago I tired of the three adventurers form Hartsdale (you'll be happy to learn that the contingency to change the town's name failed to garner enough support so the town keeps it's name), and I figured I'd likely never write about them again. To this day, that holds true (granted, I did repost their exploits, but have not written anything beyond the one-shot which will likely not repost anytime soon. There's no point in doing so at the moment).

However, revisiting their exploits (in addition to sheer inspiration upon waking up not long ago) you have nothing to fret over. In other words:

Second upon a time three intrepid explorers were properly dressed for what they were about to do. Each wore a beige jumpsuit, a little baggy looking, but still figure flattering; finished off by black leather belts and heavy lug soled calf high boots.

Robert, Priscilla, and Rockefeller – Rocky (cuz it’s easier to type and he happens to like HIS nickname) stand looking like unarmed Ghostbusters on the polished, smooth concrete floor of the otherwise empty building, save for the bus with the dog pictures on it which once belonged to a popular cross country bus line. The three clomped their way to the awaiting vehicle. Rocky stopped at the open door.

“Ladies first, Pris,” he smiled trying to offend her. Of course, she really was prissy, so she just smiled and boarded. Rocky stole an admiring glance at her derriere and swung on board once Robert had.

“Okay, Bobby boy, where to?” Rocky asked once Robert had made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat. Robert couldn’t talk that well, so he made a bizarre series of hand gestures which neither of his teammates could ever dream of deciphering, and he tore off out of the hangar like the Magical Mystery Bus. Robbie (as we’ll now refer to him) made a sudden gesture with his arms like he was protecting his face from pending impact and even vocalized a whine or moan of some sort which caught the other two’s attention. The bus swerved a little bit without Robbie holding the wheel.

“Robbie, this isn’t ‘Speed’ and there’s not a bomb on board so you can relax, buddy,” Rocky called forward from his seat across the aisle from Prissy. She sat with her feet together and her hands in her lap. Rock raised an eyebrow at his thought of pranking her, but relegated that to the back of his mind.

The sunset was tropical, like those photos of Californian ones, which go from purple to orange top to bottom, and they were driving into it. Priscilla eased a demure set of headphones over her ears and after the lull of a cushy ride, soothing music and the monotony of nightfall, had fallen asleep. Noticing Prissy’s eyes were closed, he quietly made his way to the floor at her feet and stealthily undid the bows of her boot laces, intertwining the round cotton/polyester strings into an utter mess capped off with all kinds of knots that would keep a genius busy for hours trying to correct.

Their ride came to an abrupt stop halfway across the Pennsylvania Turnpike, causing Rocky’s dense skull to smack against a seat mount. He picked himself up just as Robbie was immediately returning from a pit stop (it was THAT instantaneous).

“All set already?” Rocky asked. Robbie nodded yes and was closing the door again, but Rocky had moved alongside and stopped him. Priscilla’s eyes opened at the cooler night air wafting in through the open door and the suggestion of vision dictated her desire to also visit a restroom.

“Give us time to go too, Robbie,” Rocky instructed and dismounted before knowing Priscilla was awake. He would have enjoyed watching her struggle to walk with her boots tied together. Instead he witnessed first hand how strong she could be when she punched him as they passed in the parking lot; she going in laces flailing and loose so very unladylike, and he on his way back to the bus feeling really good until her punch.

Once Pris had clomped back onto the bus and seated herself, Robbie hit the gas and they were off like a spit ball out of a straw, leaving dual trails of rubber in their wake. Their highway coach’s tail end swung to the left out from behind it but under Robbie’s skillful racing appendages, came back into line obediently.

“Hey, this isn’t ‘Spice World’ so cool it,” Rock-head instructed to his teammate at the helm of the highway vessel.

As the next morning awoke, the three jumpsuited adventurers dismounted their rubber clad liner into the chilly pastel Spring air amidst yawns and stretches. Rocky leaned to his left to glare at Priscilla’s figure as she bent at the waist to finally retie her heavy boots. She caught him though in her peripherals.

“You’re a jerk,” she informed facing him.
“What?” Rocky defended playing innocent. Robbie made an M with his arms like he was dancing to the Village People. It was a bizarre sight as he was in direct line with the golden arches of a famous fast food location. It was after all where he wanted to eat breakfast. While it looked empty and normal from the outside, once they walked inside however it was more like a disco club. A driving disco beat loop lulled the hundreds of patrons into a trance like state of keeping the beat with a part of their body (some their feet, some hands or fingers, some their heads, some their tails).

Their tails realized Pris as she slowly walked along the full to capacity bar rail. All kinds of lights and lasers in all the colors of the spectrum danced about the establishment and reflected off of mirror balls which spun at different rpms and really disoriented her and Rocky. Robbie whipped around the far corner of the bar making a ‘yummy’ gesture with his hand on his stomach and headed back for the bus. The other two followed knowing they walked into a bizarre adventure they weren’t ready for and exited the Disco Arches only to find the real adventure had begun outside...

The Ride Home

2010-02-23T01:55:00.000-05:00

One of the pieces I've looked forward to sharing with you here at Fleeting History is a fictional story I wrote for a class in my Junior year at Susquehanna University. While I had initially enrolled in Advanced Composition as part of the required core curriculum, the class was really enjoyable with a great professor and my experience there (coupled with an awesome advisor and a desire to have a Minor) inspired me to make the effort in Senior year to Minor in Writing.

Let's go back fifteen years, to February 28, 1995, in fact, for the second essay assignment, lovingly hand transcribed on February 22, 2010 (as I've long ago lost the disc with the file and don't feel like scanning the paper copy). Keep in mind as you read this that GPS wasn't commercially available to the public, let alone talking ones, but that didn't stop me ;-) It's like the hover car, someday it'll happen, and talking GPS is readily available nowadays. (now if only I could get a hover car, jet pack or the ability to fly...) Anyhow, here's:

"The Ride Home"

Five hours is a very long time to spend in a car, especially if it's a compact automobile. My trips to and from college weren't as long as they used to be. I believe it takes less time now. After all, I must have made the trip at least nineteen times, like a nomad with wanderlust that just keeps walking in a perpetual wide circle. They once seemed at least nine hours long, but now it's almost as if it only takes three to make the trip (though the clock never lies).

Well, there goes Lung Fung Restaurant -- we must definitely be headed somewhere -- I never pass this way often. The in car compass says, "We're heading North."

"Cool," I think, "this compass can talk. But can it hold an intelligent conversation?"

The river appears on our right and way off in the distance is the quaint mecca of Sunbury. Boy, do I really feel privileged...passing this way must mean they're taking me someplace important. Why else would the person driving bother to navigate the maze of streets of Northumberland? A lack of schoolwork probably.

"We're headed North," the compass says again. Smart compass; and it's oriented too. The other branch of the Susquehanna River spreads itself to our right, as if jealous of the first branch having already met us.

Onto the Superhighways of America for a thrilling ride through the Commonwealth. After riding I-80, I now know how a pinball must feel after a really intense multi-ball session. Masochism aside, we turn onto the second superhighway. This one I recognize because it has a red S painted on its chest. Kryptonite has no effect on this roadway, tough, because the Pennsylvania State Department of Transportation have just finished making it invincible.

"We're headed North," the compass spits out again.
"Obviously," I figure, "it's incapable of an intelligent conversation."

To the left and in the valley are the sprawling ruins of the anthracite empire of Wilkes-Barre and just up the road is its partner in crime, Scranton.

If Interstate 81 is the Superman of highways, than I-84 must be the Boy Wonder. It wonders if any cars will ever ride upon it.

"And now I know why," I think out loud, scaring everyone else in the car.
"What?" they all ask. They never expect me to speak; I'm always secluded behind my headphones.

"We're headed East," the compass drones.

The road looks like something a seven-month old would draw on an Etch-A-Sketch; up, down, curly-Q...

There's a car -- oh, sorry, that was just a hallucination.

Way off in the distance is the monument that marks the corner of Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey; Robin swings into Port Jervis and we stop for a quick snack.

The section between the Delaware River and the Hudson River is like a bad acid trip; the Dead Tree Forest, The Permanent Detours, the Flying Debris...

"We're STILL headed East," the compass is really getting ticked-off now. It reminds me of a manager I once had when I worked at a local fast-food joint in High School.

I snap to attention for an instant upon reaching the Shop Rite warehouse in Middletown, New York.

"Oh, you and your trains, have you seen one yet?"

"No," a very long pause and then a resounding, "but I still might."

"I swear, those tracks must be abandoned by now."

"Perish the thought," the compass says sarcastically. Then it changes its attitude and breaks into Jerry Read's "Eastbound and Down" from one of the "Smokey and the Bandit" movies. This compass isn't as dull as I'd first thought.

Seventy-five cents in tolls and three-fifty in tips later, we're approaching the Connecticut border. Captain Kirk beams into the economy car we're in...cramping us even tighter.

"Warp factor two, Mr. Sulu," he manages to squeeze out. There's a loud whooshing noise and the windows rattle.

"No -- US -- THE CAR -- oh, never mind. Scotty, Beam me up," and he disappears.

We cross the border at Saw Mill Road. It's not long now, only twenty seven more exits to go until Cheshire, then an infinite number of traffic lights and backroads until I'm home.

"You can't go home again," the song goes. I like to argue.

We pull into the garage and enter the house. It's just as I'd left it -- plenty of leftovers in the fridge.

fin

I'm going to revisit this project, freshen it up, fix some bad grammar, and present it more along the lines of my original intent, which I was incapable of producing back then, but think I know how to do now. It's going to change the tone of the piece quite a bit but it'll still be a fun journey to make.

Sadly, in the fifteen years since this was written, Lung Fung fell to progress. The toll has increased to one dollar. I learned you really can't metaphorically go home again, although you literally can and do after you've been out -- I digress. Those train tracks are hanging on by the skin of their teeth. If it weren't for commuters, there'd only be the one freight train a day. (sigh) Permanent Detours and Flying Debris -- can't recall the circumstances, lol, and are obviously no longer a factor (at least in that section of the ride).

When at Last I Find Our Way Out of Here or Ice Cream Fixes Everything

2010-02-18T23:51:00.000-05:00

This was originally posted around March or April 2008. The secondary title is absolute truth in my own experience. Whenever my head is messed up in emotional turmoil (such as the night before my marriage and many many subsequent post divorce ones) a bowl of ice cream, or a hot fudge sundae put me in a better place.

Now on with the story!!

After much gurgling, suffocating, and choking, Steve had finished navigating the gelatinous zone into which he had stepped ignorantly into at the end of the last installment. He coughed out some orange gelatin of a popular name brand and set out along a river of what seemed like chocolate flowing rather rapidly from right to left. In the distance he could hear what sounded to him like chanting, or workmen singing. At this distance it was difficult for his exhausted brain to comprehend. Then a narrating voice carried above the singing but still faint under the rush of creamy milk chocolate (I'm really hoping that the references I'm in the midst of making are of popularity enough to be so super well known and that by not naming names I can avoid licensing fees, fingers crossed).

"And there's only one other place in the whole world, heck, the galaxy, that stirs its chocolate by waterfall and that's our first factory which is so well known..." and the narrator's voice trailed away. Steve figured he had just heard a tour of the factory pass by. He decided to follow the sweet gooey goodness of the river and quickly found himself at the top of a chocolate waterfall that rivalled Niagara in Steve's mind. From up here he could see the tour just disappear from his view at the far end of the room where they passed through an opening in the wall headed for another area of the tour. As Steve scanned the area, he noticed what everyone has come to expect out of a fantastic candy and chocolate making factory, edible Easter grass and all. He racked his mind to remember the legends of six or so children on a tour of a place such as this and was very careful to prevent any similar fate befalling upon him.

It took him some time to climb down from the top of the chocolate falls and Steve decided through some semi-illogical reasoning that like ancient cities, he could find civilization along the banks. He wasn't totally wrong per se, but the little singing people of funny skin colors (and they ranged across the spectrum) seemed more happy to laugh at him instead of assist him. But soon enough, once he too finally entered the next room was grabbed up under the arms and whisked as best as the little ones could carry him (with his toes dragging along the factory floor) to the holding area where Jacob was sitting, gnawing on a licorice twirl like a cigarette (because of state and federal non-smoking laws, he wasn't allowed to enjoy any type of tobacco product while indoors-especially since this was a sterile food producing environment). For the first time in as long as he could remember, Jacob voluntarily swallowed his licorice juice and looked up when he saw Steve's shadow.

"Oh man am I glad to see you," Jacob said emotionally, "she fell. She fell far and hard, I don't think it's good at all." And Jacob began weeping a bit. Even he, with his tough guy bravado, couldn't believe after all the three of them had been through together, that this could very well be the adventure that ended it all. Steve of course was confused. After getting Jacob to get all of the broken pieces of his explanation told and assembled into chronological order Steve too began to think things looked pretty bad.

But this was no ordinary chocolate and candy factory. It truly was a magical place. Steve and Jacob had been in a waiting room reminiscent of a dingy linoleumed empty but for some chairs room for at least a couple of hours when a man in a white lab coat entered with a shower cap on his head and a surgical mask pulled down under his chin. The two men perked up.

"How is it? Will she be okay?" Steve asked excitedly.

"I suppose so, it took some time for us to get all that caramel in her without blowing a seam...but it looks like the boys got a handle on that now and she should hit the shelves in about a month." Mr. Lab Coat proceeded to the half-empty vending machine (ironic no?), inserted his coins and chose a package of the competition's cookies. Steve and Jacob shared a look that was diverted to the door because a man who was dressed in a top hat and purple velour three piece suit with a white carnation in the breast pocket walked in and grabbed the boys around their shoulders and gave them a big bear hug.

"Congratulations, men," he told them squeezing like they were an icing anointment utensil over in the muffin division, "Your friend his going to be just fine. She took a pretty good fall, but we got her awake, gave her a bowl of her favorite ice cream, and she's happily resting comfortably. Follow me!"

Sue was just finishing her bowl of ice cream and a big smile came to her face when the three men walked in. She was very happy to see them. The following day the three friends departed the chocolate wonderland and got a ride home in an old yellow cab from 1950s New York City but with some very bizarre dents and modifications which the cab driver was all too willing to tell them about. It started making their heads spin to understand it all and when they thought this cab might have been a bad idea (even Steve) they left the earth's surface and headed for space, making jumping out a non-option.

the end

"I can't believe you got us submerged in a giant glass of soda!"

2010-02-16T21:44:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's true, instead of being diced into tiny human bits by the ginormous soccer net, Susan and Jacob were now paddling to stay afloat in this brewery sized vat of cola, while large carbonation bubbles blasted them with the sticky liquid and threatened to drown them.

Neither one could remember who actually said the above phrase as both had been thinking it, but it was out there, unlike the two of them, who kept paddling and spitting the mouthfulls of bubbly goodness out of their mouths to keep from choking, but to no avail. Each looked a mess with saliva, etc, oozing down their chins with more flowing with each hacking exhale.

What a mess thought Sue, but she somehow found the stamina to work her way over to the edge of the open topped vat and after a few brain refreshing breaths at a semi-relaxing perch at the edge of the vat she noticed dozens of foreign tourists staring at her and Jacob from the observation platform that ringed the vat like a walkway at an aquarium. Susan now knew how those fish felt. She wasn't too happy.

Seemingly long moments went by until she had gathered the last of her strength and climbed over the edge of the vat not caring if the fall would kill her or not, this drenching was the last she would ever take, feelings for Steve, adventure, or not. It took all of her might to break free from the syrupy viscosity of the cola vat, like climbing out of very cold and thick molasses. She let herself flop the fifty or so feet down the stainless skin of the vat to a lifeless thud against the floor, evoking a gasp from the gathered tourists. Jacob by then had worked his way around the rim of the cola vat and found a coolant hose he could slide down like a fireman's pole and he did so. He had to crawl across the floor to where Susan lie as he had no energy to stand and walk. He too collapsed, on top of the motionless Susan, when he reached her. Jacob, too, was spent...

Steve, on the other hand, was coming to in a very different place and swore, which was very unlike him. In fact, he was so at his wit's end he swore a number of times making a run-on sentence from them all and one could say he created a few new ones.

I feel like an abused soccer ball he thought next. And rightly so because he too had been kicked about by the gold medal winning team of Fuzz Freaks. I need a pill the size of...

and there it was. Steve looked up and was standing in the shadow of a pain relieving pill the size of a hot air balloon. He stood transfixed as it drew closer and closer to him, and as it did he could see that it had a basket hanging from it just like a hot air balloon would, and as it neared even still he could see a man captaining this huge narcotic and Steve couldn't help but smile. Steve smiled the broadest most uncontrolable smile he'd ever had in his entire life, bigger than Christmastime when he was a child. Not knowing what to expect and with nothing better to do, Steve stuck out his thumb like a hitchhiker as the behemoth pill loomed overhead.

"Ahoy down there!" called the pill captain, "Climb on up!"

Steve grabbed hold of the rope and climbed up the incredibly long length to the flight deck.

"Sorry 'bout the hassle," the Captain said, "she's just too big to fly any lower. Regulations ban me and even if I were allowed a lower altitude, once she's below the wind she manuevers like lead." The Captain was dressed like a weekend status symbol yacht captain, like the stereotype image you might have in your head with the Captain's hat, navy Izod crew-neck shirt, white shorts, and white top-siders. Steve felt at ease around the Captain, as the pilot exhuded an aura of genuine goodness, because the Captain was such a good person. Entranced by sensory near-overload Steve could only nod in acknowledgement of what the Captain was saying. That is until Steve heard "Where to?"

"I would like to find my friends."

"Ah yes, Jacob and Susan," because the Captain knew Susan was her birthname, not that frou frou Alexandria crap. (The Captain knows all and sees all. Infact, when Santa Claus drops the ball and loses track of who's naughty and nice, he calls the Captain for help. You could say the Captain is a metaphor for a certain deity but I'll leave that up to you. I'm just a bad writer....;-) "Your friends do need help."

With that the Captain piloted the jumbo pill across fruited plains and between purple mountain majesties, conjuring refreshing mists as they passed over waterfalls and they stayed dry as they sliced through the worst thunderstorm Steve had ever seen, let alone be in the thralls of.

"This is pretty amazing!" Steve exclaimed during the height of the storm, "You really know your ship well."

"It's nothing really," the Captain explained as he effortlessly piloted through the melee, hardly turning the ship's wheel, "this girl handles like a sports car. Nothing like an ark..." Steve was about to put two and two together when all of a sudden they came out of the storm and were hovering over what looked to Steve like Munchkinland from that Judy Garland movie.

"You know what to do," the Captain called down to him once Steve had been deposited on the brickway.

"Aye aye!" Steve saluted as he watched the jumbo pill-liner fly into the sunset, off to help someone else. A quartet of Penguins hobbled past him and the presumed leader faced Steve and warned that the human hadn't seen them, all the while without breaking step. They soon disappeared over the horizon into the setting sun. Then, as the orange sun was disected by said horizon, Steve had an epiphany. He clicked his heels together and said aloud "There's no place like where my friends are." Which sadly was quite a mouthful and a pain to type, but it was necessary if I were to get them together...er, I mean if they were ever to join each other again. And yes, Steve clicked his heels and repeated the lackluster phrase a number of times as in the movie until the air in front of him began to ripple. Recognizing the phenomenon from past experience, Steve wasted no time jumping in without hesitation. Boy was he wrong!!

Well, as I said, this is a trilogy -- and there's a one-shot -- so don't fret about them. They're all like bad pennies, really.

No...Really. They are.

Again, originally posted 22 months before February 16, 2010 so that would make it April 2008, which is about right kinda I guess...

There was originally a photo to go with this (well it inspired the chapter anyway...and it might have looked good) but an anonymous person who is not me deleted it

Til next time!

The Fuzz Freak

2010-02-11T00:45:00.000-05:00

Once again we follow along, without their knowledge, Steve, Jacob, and Susan/Alexandria as they once again stumble (and she does stumble) into yet another bizarre adventure broken into their third (and currently last) trilogy (there's a one-shot also yet to be re-told). Phew, here we go. Originally posted February 2008:

You guessed it!! Another bad story starring our three hapless heroes and a smoke bush as the Fuzz Freak...

"Remind me again why I'm hiking in this God-foresaken field on an unseasonably hot April day?" Alexandria sneered (you'll recall her birth name is Susan, Sue for short, Susie if you want your butt kicked -- but she prefers Alexandria, and the name fits her attitude right now. Think Lower High Class New Yorker without the Brooklyn accent).

"Because I practically begged you..." Steve started to say before Miss Obnoxio interrupted.

"I didn't want to hear your grovelling," she corrected him.

"But you love the adventure," Steve turned to face her with a mischevious gleam in his eyes. Deep down, Sue/Alexandria did get some kind of twisted pleasure out of their otherworldly experiences (see the Dark Hole and Hyperspace Portal blogs for more details and poor story telling). Steve faced forward again and led Sue and Jacob like a

husky dog racing in the Idarod thought Sue, she felt something down at her left foot and noticed her hiking boot lace had untied. She knelt in the scrub to fix it and Jacob tromped past spitting tobacco juice.

"Better not open some kind of rift there, Blondie, or we're all in trouble again," Jacob chided sarcastically with an evil laugh as a dribble of stained saliva oozed down his chin.

"You're a jerk," replied Sue (because three letters are easier to type than the gazillion of Alexandria. Besides, who really wants to be named after an Ancient City? Oh yeah, she does...

So they continue walking/hiking through the semi-barren acreage that is their current setting when Sue feels a brush against her back. Thinking it's only a twig that caught her shirt she doesn't pay it any mind, until she sees it dart out of the corner of her eye and past them to block their way. Steve is ignorant at first and starts to walk around the rather large puffy bush in front of him, but just as he steps to the right of the thing he hears the other two yelling at him, Jacob's chin becoming even redder with juice.

The bushy looking Fuzz Freak makes a slight poke at Steve, and though he doesn't feel a breeze, thinks that's what is making the "branches" of the bush move, so Steve pushes the puffiness to the side as he continues past and the other two can only watch as Steve is thrown exaggeratingly high and far across the landscape, looking not unlike one of those odd camera angles on the expensive commercials shown during the end all NFL Championship Game Broadcast between the AFC and NFC, and superfast too.* Sue and Jacob were too stunned to blink, but it didn't matter because it happened and ended quicker than they could have blinked. The bully bush seemed to taunt them (not a metaphor -- but it sure could be ;-) ) the two remaining upright could almost hear that movie character in their heads

"You wanna piece of me? Huh? Huh? Do Ya?" and it seemed to be schizophrenic too, "I fly like a Butterfly, Sting like a Bee!!" Well, this made Jacob and Sue blink quite frequently like those cartoon characters that can't believe what they're seeing, and they rubbed their eyes because the initial not-blinking allowed the arrid air of their setting to dehydrate their eyes and now they burned a bit from dryness. Before they could regroup and really see what this bush was it was right in their faces and without a sound threw them around like Tumbleweeds.

This is why I hate hiking with you guys Sue thought My clothes always wind up getting ruined. The Fuzz Freak was relentless and the two Tumbleweed humans could feel more and more bruises and sprains. Their batterings became more frequent and it seemed to come from different angles.

Are we the ball in a soccer game? thought Jacob as he involuntarily swallowed his juice in the melee. As if he was heard the blur of vision in front of Sue cleared for a split second, she and Jacob felt a hard kicking sensation on their buttocks and still in that split second Sue could see they were headed right for a large white net not unlike a super sized soccer net.

"AAAAAAAgggghhhhh" she yelled and just as she expected to be strained into human goulash through the gigantic soccer net...

we pause for the end of this entry Ooh, I'm so terrible, lol. Actually that's the original cliffhanger. Look for it if you dare (if you can even find it).
But as you already know, it's a trilogy so they obviously must survive it. Ah yes, the author's asterisk note:
*While watching "Tropic Thunder" a similar effect is portrayed twice. The first with the Panda head hat and secondly with the little boy at the bridge on their way out.

Indian Leap

2010-02-05T20:28:00.000-05:00

Here's the whole reason I've interrupted the saga of those three dimensional hopping nutjobs...er, uh, I mean, explorers Steve, Jacob and Miss indecision (okay Sue/Alexandria. Maybe she'll get replaced with someone who's name is easier to type).

While out with a friend of mine trying to get pictures of a train, he guided me into a neatly tucked away place with quite the legend behind it:
http://www.ctmuseumquest.com/?page_id=4171

This place really struck a chord with me; an awesome deep gorge with quite the ice formation (it reminded me of Letchworth State Park near Portageville, NY seen here:

Of course photos of either place just don't do them justice.

But there's more to Indian Leap than a movie starring Daniel Day Lewis ("Last of the Mohicans" It's a stretch, but the writer at CT Museum Quest made the connection, I'm just repeating it). There's that awesome gorge I mentioned, but also, as a modeller, there's wrought iron railings, rock cuts, bridges, a tunnel... it's visually interesting and full of subtle details. And it's all woven together in an air of nostalgia because it's been relatively untouched by progress nestled in a tiny corner of a small New England town. I can't wait until Autumn to see what it's like then.

"Look! X-Men"

2010-02-04T00:28:00.000-05:00

Well, now I've established I'm also a model railroader it's time to relate the story for which I brought that up in the first place.

Of course I've been a big X-Men fan since that fateful June 1994 day in Scranton, PA, and I've always had plans of painting up HO gauge figures in X-Men uniforms for my modular piece which joins fellow club members' pieces at local train show displays. Following the eight or so year hiatus I took from regularly reading X-Men I became quite interested again in early 2009 (this is all recap).

Back in my college days my friends all convinced me I should paint up the game piece figures which went along with Pressman's game X-Men Xavier Institute for Higher Learning Under Siege. Well, I started soon after graduating college, but then other interests came before finishing painting. In early Spring of 2009 I dug the game out of the closet and finished painting the pieces, even making good on painting up tiny HO gauge figures as I'd wanted to all those years ago.

The first four were finished in time for our April showing. I chose Jean Grey and Rogue as they're favorites of mine, Cyclops because he's one of the most recognizable and Iceman because he didn't require any paint! (though a couple young attendees thought Mr. Drake was supposed to be some kind of statue, hrumph!) It was a challenge I gave myself to see how many train shows it would take before somebody recognized my X-people. As it turned out the answer is two:

In July 2009 the modular model train club I'm a member of was honored with an invitation to participate in the National Model Railroad Association's National Convention, held close to home that year in Hartford, CT, (the NMRA National Convention is held in different cities every year).

While, ironically, reading "X-Men The Return" by Chris Roberson (which I finally got my hands on a few years after printing) a young man and woman walk up to our layout together and are looking over each four foot wide module. As they came upon the module I created the young woman says, "Look! X-Men" It was a great feeling, until one of my fellow club members asked where Wolverine was. Hmm...

Of course, what's the use of having a team of X-Men if the cigar store Indian isn't ever going to be possesed? No, they needed a few villains to battle. So by the club's next show in October, I added the Blob and Mystique.

As you can see, Wolvie's part of the team now, with Shadowcat (in her two-tone blue. This dates the time period but was done because in that size she needed to be different than Cyclops lest they look identical, and I like her two-tone outfit).

Wolvie needed a bit of modifications to achieve. I started with a night watchman's figure (the flashlight in his hand when painted could resemble an adamantium claw) so I filed down the center of the guard's cap so I could get the head piece points. The bowed stance also lends to the credibility of the character. He took a bit of work and foul language to complete but the more I kept at it, the more it was worth it.

But six against two (and a circus's knife thrower which I guess makes three if I'm desperate -- he did have to stand in for Mystique in November when the shapeshifter's base broke off) are unfair odds for the villains. Future additions in the shop now are Psylocke (as previously mentioned -- because she's simple to do and it was a middle of the night inspiration last week), Magneto -- for the same reason I did Cyke...you can't have X-Men without him, really. Juggernaut, again because a construction figure easily becomes one, and probably Avalanche, for the same reason as Juggy. I'd like to try and do a Mr. Sinister and a Sabretooth in the future.

If She's Wearing Anything like Michelle Pfiffer's Portrayal...*

2010-02-03T23:29:00.000-05:00

Allow me a manly moment to explain, please.

As you know, I like trains. I enjoy getting photographs of them (evidenced obviously by the slideshow app and Flickrstream link). In addition to the photography side of my hobby I also have HO guage model trains. My modelling interest lays within making in miniature that which I see and/or photograph out there on the rails and in the world. Of course, as it's my hobby I've added a bit of whimsy also (well some would call it whimsy I call it a natural extension of my hobby by combining two big interests I have). Long story short, I have tiny X-Men figures on my model railroad.

While painting up a Psylocke figure, I went to double check an image to ensure my relatively accurate representation of the character. Winding up on Comicvine, I noticed a blog entry about dating a superhero chick and immediately thought of the motion picture "My Super ex-Girlfriend"(which I enjoyed, natch). So, another long story abridged; I took Comicvine's "Date a Superhero Chick" quiz with a 100% match to:

Me-ow! Catwoman will scratch your itch. She's good with a whip and has recently become a MILF!

Sadly, the copy and paste seems to have buggered up the code or whatever other technical jargon, so I edited all that mumbo-jumbo out of the post and only kept the important parts. (I almost feel like a trader, but hey, there've been times when the Distinguished Competition and Mighty Marvel have joined together without the world ending...)

I'm happy to report an 88% compatibility with Rachel Summers (unfortunately the highest ranking Marvel lady on the list) however, knowing what I know from real life, if she's anything like my ex-wife -- and from what I've read I'm leaning towards YES -- then that fictional relationship would never work out.

*or this: http://www.comicvine.com/catwoman/29-1698/all-images/108-207754/72806-catwoman/105-350561/

(hey after all I'm a guy! If you were to look up sexually repressed comic fan boy geek in your dictionary I'm a 100% match for that too)

It Looks Like you Fell in the River and Piranhas Gnawed on your Fingertips

2010-01-31T15:47:00.000-05:00

Second Trilogy Part Three, originally presented in April 2007. Afterwards we'll join them in Greenfield, MA, for Mexican.

Steve closed his eyes expecting the worst punch his stomach would ever feel, since it was coming from a train, and he even reacted as if the impact occurred. Only it didn't. A strong grip on his collar yanked him to safety a mere second before he would have set foot in the afterlife.

"Nice you could join us," Jacob deadpanned behind a cigarette. Nobody ever knew how he always had some kind of tobacco product at his disposal.

"Leave it to me to save your sorry behind," Sue chided with half a smile. She was soaking wet. Her visible skin was covered in dark bruises from impacts with the dark hole's walls and though the guys couldn't see it, the rest of her body looked much the same. Now that Sue had saved him, Steve had an even deeper affection for her. This would not be good. But that's a bad story for another time.

"I don't know about you, but I'm famished," Sue said changing the subject as they limped into the night sky. They were happy there were stars, even if they were under dressed for the cold night air, "Now will you listen to me the next time you want to go spelunking in a place out of hell at dinnertime?"

"NO!!" Steve replied, "I mean, I'm so grateful to you I can't even explain but look! We just survived an experience not many mortal beings have survived! How many people have you even heard of doing something like this? And it's happened to us before! Don't you see? We're meant to experience all kinds of weird things! I can't wait to be scared outta my wits on the next one!"

"Great," Jacob added sarcastically and tossed away the stub of what he'd been smoking.

"Well, I'm not looking forward to it. I have to buy a new wardrobe after each time," Sue explained, "these 'experiences' are just too supernatural for my clothes.

The heat of the car felt pretty good once their soaking wet 45 minute hike back ended. Each of them was very hungry when they pulled into a nationally known rather popular affordably priced Mexican fast food joint. The stares from the other customers though had them extremely self-conscious.

"Dude, are you alright?" this one college aged man asked Steve.

"What happened?" his girlfriend asked.

"We just got a little wet hiking today," Steve told them while he waited to be served. Jacob and Susan were in the respective restrooms.

"It looks like you fell in the river and piranhas gnawed on your fingertips."

Steve meekly smiled in reply, wishing his windbreaker collar would swallow his head. But then, that would be a bad story for another time...

The Entrapped Explorers

2010-01-27T02:29:00.000-05:00

Originally appearing in April 2007 (when that exclamation point with the really really big flippin' Y shut it's 360 division down and shunted my blog entries to a new profile site, the entry data was no longer date specific. It only displays how many months ago an entry was made, so if I didn't date the title I'm at a loss to know exactly which date the post was made). Anywhen...

~~~~

So there they were again, Steve, Susan, and Jacob, being swallowed up by the musty depths of the dark hole as spectral voices moaned deafeningly in their ears. Lows, highs, sorrowful and scared ghostly speech bombarded them. It was enough to make them crazy. Sue started crying involuntarily. Jacob was feeling a rage like a trapped animal. Steve trailed behind the others as the mist carried him last and facing away from them. He was entranced by his senses. The dew on his arm hairs, the unique odor of smoke and mold in his nostrils. He sneezed but could not wipe his nose so a bit of mucous dripped onto his shirt. Steve was hypnotized by this sensory overload so much so he didn't realize he was now still. They had stopped being carried. The haunting aural assault had seemed to be closed behind the mountain wall as well and a deafening silence plugged their ears.

The smell of the mist hadn't disappeared, but instead was just faintly noticeable. Their arms were soaked with moisture but the mist no longer bound them. Instead a thick impenetrable blackness did. In the dark they felt suffocated. Sue almost hyperventilated but she knew nothing was clamping on her chest, it only seemed that way. None of them ever thought of speaking, each figured they were witnessing the end of their lives.

We've gotta find a way out of here Sue thought. Up to now, each had been too overwhelmed to move, but Sue forced a step forward. Her left foot followed until a booming voice, not unlike that of a famous all-knowing wizard, stopped her.

"You are not allowed to move!" he yelled.

"Who says?" she yelled back.

"Young lady, you will abide by your manners here and wait until you are addressed to speak."

"I don't think so, whoever you are, see, we didn't choose to come down here. We were just hiking down the mountain when brainiac here started looking at the entrance back there, freezing our asses off, and then we're here arguing with somebody we can't even see. I'm done and I'm walking out of here. I'll go back out into that freak show you've got going on out there too. It's late, I'm hungry and I'm going home..."

"SILENCE!!!!!" the booming voice echoed in the dark hole, "you're not going anywhere. You've insulted the sacred ground of those who've lost their lives with your rash disrespect and rudeness. "

"And YOU!" he addressed Jacob, "with your spitting saliva and tobacco onto the hallowed ground these souls fought so hard for. Your arrogance will bring your death as well!!"

"NO!!" Sue screamed and started running, stumbling and tripping as she went forward across the uneven natural floor of the mountain's interior without being able to see where she was headed. She splashed through deep water numerous times that soaked her above her ankles and she ran smack into the mountain wall knocking her backwards onto the hard floor and stunning her.

In the meantime, Jacob continued to disrespect the sacred ground of the voice's dark hole by spitting out his chew-juice as he was verbally assaulted by the booming voice until he had been grabbed by the throat by an unseen force. This force was choking Jacob and he could feel his feet were no longer on the floor. He didn't know how far off the floor he was being lifted, by his throat still, and his chew-juice squirted out of his closed lips like ooze from a dying body, staining his chin, throat, and shirt. His face was turning purple from the lack of oxygen.

This looks like the end Jacob thought as he contemplated resisting the urge to give up I wonder if Steve's gonna get out of this one.

"Excuse me," came a plaintive voice from seemingly far away, "may I address you?"

"For what reason?" the wizard-like voice not so booming now replied.

"I'd like for my friends and I to leave your sacred place and that you forgive our intrusion and ignorance." It was Steve, though through death Jacob could barely hear him.

"I can not do that," the unseen voice affirmed, "your transgressions come with a consequence and that price is your death."

"No, I don't think so either," Steve countered. He was getting his confidence back now that his senses were adapting to his surroundings.

"Hello?!" spurted Jacob,"don't encourage him dude. I don't have much time left." Steve continued:

"We came here as prisoners. We didn't just walk into your home and take over. We weren't even planning on stepping foot inside the tunnel. It was getting dark outside and we were gonna head back home once I finished trying to read what was on the plaque, because I was curious. I enjoy learning about historical places and such and thought your plaque was one of those historical markers like along roadsides at battlegrounds or first settlements or something like that. None of us knew it was a warning or a...a secret code to gain entry. I couldn't pronounce it and I didn't even know any of us could, yet here we came. So now if anybody has to pay a price, take me, it's my fault we're here. Let them go."

"NO!!!!!!" yelled the voice, now booming louder than before.

"Then stop me!" Steve brazenly yelled and he sprinted towards the dangling Jacob and jumped like a basketball player making a lay-up. He hooked Jacob's ankle in his hand and gravity did the rest. The tight grip around Jacob's throat broke its hold under Steve's weight and the two men were dashing into the darkness splashing through water and cutting their fingers as they traced the mountain interior to stay on the pitch-black path. Soon the haunting wails of the dead souls of the dark hole surrounded them again, but as they kept running the apparitions could only dive-bomb them, as the ghosts couldn't grab the men as long as they were running. Once they knew this, the two explorers kept up their pace until they could see light.

"That's funny," huffed Steve, "it should be the middle of the night now."

"It IS you moron!!," choked Jacob out of breath and with an irritated throat from being strangled,"that's a *^%#$^* train!!"

Indeed, our intrepid adventurers were still very much in the dark hole and now 16,000 horsepower of four locomotives and the kinetic energy of 8000 feet of train length was barrelling down on them, and they had nowhere to go.

I'm glad Susan's not here to see me die thought Steve.

~~~~

When oh when will our three goofballs learn a much needed lesson? Certainly not anytime soon as right now new plots are marinating for our lackluster trio. IN the next days part three of their Second Trilogy will conclude this tale (well, I did spoil the suspense didn't I. We all know now that they live -- well, this time. There's still another trilogy (yes a Trilogy of Trilogies ****a weird vibe washes over the writer and a familiar yet haunting chant of number 9 number 9 number 9 builds until it becomes a hypnotic drone -- like trance music (cuz three times three is -- never mind) *shakes head*

Sorry where was I?? Oh yeah. See ya next installment, bundle up we're running for the border with a Chihuahua for dinner.

The Spectral Mists of The Dark Hole

2010-01-25T22:08:00.000-05:00

Surprise Surprise Surprise! *clears throat after Gomer Pyle impersonation*
I'd initially planned on taking a break from our hapless heroes hilarity for an entry or two, but since Fleeting History doesn't want to upload images direct from my harddrive I need to link the images from my photostream(s). So the entry originally planned for this post is hereby frozen until the related images are posted in stream next week.

In the meantime I present to you, dear reader, with a modicum of pride and embarrassment, the first part of the second trilogy featuring our three friends (Gah! More math!!!)

The Spectral Mists of The Dark Hole

Starring our intrepid friends from that town whose people want its name changed and a railroad tunnel as the Dark Hole:

In ancient times, when stories and legends were shared among mankind by word of mouth, before stone tablets and before any form of paper recorded these fables, beings existed who were capable of wondrous actions. Societies and cities (though not as we know them now) thrived. Architecture and subterranean construction reached astonishing levels (some of which exists today withstanding the test of time and far out lasting those who built and lived there). But with great triumph comes great tragedy and whole races of people faded from the land.

Present day in a wooded glen nestled in snowy mountains: Steve, chew-spitting guy and Susan/whatever she wanted to change her name to, are hiking along a creek of snow-melt run-off at dusk. According to the Farmer's Almanac the sun won't set for another hour or so, but in reality it is already behind the mountains. Sue/whatever is finishing the last bites of her granola, or energy, we're not sure which, bar and stuffs the empty wrapper in her coat pocket. Since the sun's down, the late March chill is noticeable. She quivers and picks up the pace to keep up with the men.

"When you said let's go on a little hike, I didn't think you meant all day," she retorts, huffing her breath in a big visible chuff. It was a harsh hike, even downhill. Jacob the chew-spitter spits juice.

"What's the matter? Afraid of another episode like last time?" he asks with a snicker.

"Come on," says Steve, the most vanilla of the three, "Really, how many of these portal thingies really exist in our time/space continuum?" the question makes him ponder, though, as the phrase "time/space continuum" had been used for two blogs in a row on a site he frequented. Surely that couldn't just be coincidence. (search for Mark O's blog on Yahoo pages 14 & 15 to see for yourself)
"I'm just saying I'm not in the mood for some extraterrestrial experience, that's all," Sue states as the steep slope levels and they round a spruce tree older than them. That's when they see it. A cave-like opening with an inscription above it.

"Abandon hope all ye who enter here," Jacob jibes with juicy emphasis.

"This isn't time for jokes," Sue tells him and gets the shivers.

"Or quoting 'The Inferno'," adds Steve, pointlessly.

"This has got 'bad' written all over it," Sue shares, "darkness, more darkness, and beyond that? DARKNESS! I mean, how crazy are we to go walking into that dark hole while night falls?"

"Look!" calls Steve, "I've found an inscription carved in the rock."

"Well?" Jacob spits more juice and wipes his chin.

"You're disgusting," Sue tells him.

"I can't understand it. One of these words looks like it should mean some form of dancing but the letters are all wrong..."

The cold bites into Susan, she feels as if the slight breeze is a brutal arctic hurricane-force wind. Her jacket doesn't feel warm enough so she starts stamping her feet and bouncing where she stands, making audible displeasure groans. (Do you see where this is going?)

Initially, none of them see the smoke-like formations slowly floating out of the opening. That is, not until they are damp as if they were standing in fog and they sense a heavy musty odor about them. That's when Sue gives a clipped shriek.

The above story originally appeared on my first blog in April 2007

The Last Leg of Their Journey

2010-01-22T13:23:00.001-05:00

Part Three of Steve, Sue/Alexandria and Jacob's first incredible journey was originallY! posted on March 9, 2006, so away we go:

Ultimately, our three characters (and they ARE characters) wound up in some very big trouble.

Steve and Jacob wound up floating in midair for what seemed like an eternity until Jacob yawned and the capillary disturbance dropped them into a free-fall of an indeterminate depth, through what they thought to be air. Gaining speed, what they knew as wind was blowing -- nay SCREAMING -- past their ears, a deafening roar that...

"Wait!" said Steve coming to the conclusion that he wasn't falling anymore, it only seemed like it. Jacob looked at him blankly.

"We're not dead!"

"Duh!" Jacob deadpanned and found a cigarette in his pocket. (He forgot he traded with a guy also held at the jail. He lit up and took a long, glorious drag off of it).

"Dude! This is soooo coooool!" Steve exaggerated. He thought for sure they were done for, but he'd never admit it. He looked off into the horizon and saw nothing. Not the icon diner or jail or even the shimmery gritty city off in the distance. There really was nothing to see except the Sahara Desert's Cousin everywhere. Sand for as far as their eyes could see and nothing else other than a figure running and stumbling and was it purposely somersaulting?

This figure kept running and what not toward the men, constantly moving like a horribly done spoof of Cirque du Soleil. The two men kept watch as the figure became more discernible in the heat waves rising up from the desert's floor. It was Susan/Alexandria stumbling and running. Tripping in the dusty sand. After an exhausting eternity (it seemed anyway, after all it was way too hot in the empty dusty desert) the three portal jumpers reunited.

Sue was a mess: hair dirty and matted, white sweater brownish from the desert, and her ankle boots were untied and flopping loosely now dust colored.

"Half of this desert is in my boots," she wheezed, "I've been running for hours."

"We're glad we found you," Steve gushed, like a boy in love with a supermodel.

While Sue was emptying the desert from her footwear, Jacob's cigarette flared like a fireworks sparkler just before burning out. Upon doing so, a strange orb enveloped them and they were brought back home.

"Let's not do THAT again," pouted Susan as she tied her laces, "I'll need to stay in the shower for a week." She did and all lived like they had before this story ever got written. THE END

Now, in dusting these pieces off I'm reminded that the contingent to rename their town (Hartsdale? I wasn't really ever paying attention all this time. The townsfolk are truly obnoxious sometimes and more than a little stuck up) well, that contingency/committee has still not resolved anything and almost half of the town are STILL fighting to rename at least their half to something more appropriate (Snobsdale perhaps?)four years later. Thankfully the motions to rename keep failing (like my computer keyboard).

At any rate, we'll definitely be seeing our three hapless heroes again in the near future when the re-recounting of their SECOND Trilogy gets reposted here on Fleeting History

What's In a Dimensional Rift Anyway?

2010-01-20T21:10:00.000-05:00

Here's the second of three installments featuring the first appearance of Steve, Susan/Alexandria (all will be explained this ish) and Jacob. Part Two of the First Trilogy was first published on February 5, 2006 at mY! first blog. Here it is celebrating it's fourth birthday, three weeks early of its second month penning freshly polished and proofed better than it first was. (And I HATE math)

"Wow, this place smells like coffee and cigarettes," noted Alexandria (who realized her new name had been lacking the "i" until now).

"How observant," deadpanned Jacob.

"And how do you propose we get out of here?" Alexandria queried. She panned the room not really caring for an answer from the guys but rather was looking for one on her own. Nothing but the stereotypical diner setting. You know the 1950's American roadside icon type. And they were standing in it. "Eeww, these shoes cost me eighty bucks. You're a *#^%@*% pig Jacob!"

In reply, Jacob spat more chew juice at her feet.

"I'm going to the ladies room to clean them off," Alexandria walked across the grimy used-to-be white tiled floor of the icon diner and entered a narrow restroom barely the size of a half stall with a sink. "Man, a person can barely fit in here. How can someone even sit on the toilet?" she turned on the faucet but no water came out. Instead a brown oozing slime trickled out like cold molasses. "What kind of place is this?"

Before she would find out, however, the slime expanded into an air bubble and enveloped her. Alexandria's world went dark.

"Women," Steve thought aloud, "what the hell takes them so long in the john?"

Jacob shrugged and spat.

"Do that again and yer moppin' the floor!" yelled the lady in the apron behind the counter.

"Five more minutes then we go in after her," Steve seemed to have a plan for everything.

Naturally, five minutes went past. When the two guys opened the ladies room door the apron chick slapped them both on the cheek and threw them out of her diner.

"You didn't see a woman in a white sweater and jeans in there did you?" Steve stammered.

"No one in there. No room." apron lady replied,"now on with yuhs!"

It's painfully clear thought Jacob he doesn't have a plan for this

Susan/Alexandria (because she just can't shake her birth name) opened her eyes to find herself in a tan room with moderately not enough lighting and found her bottom sore from sitting on hard dirt for an uncomfortable amount of time. Her wrists were tied together with rope and her eighty dollar ankle boots were laced together binding her feet. She heard voices around her but didn't understand the language. This is some bathroom.

Steve and Jacob tried breaking into the icon diner later that night during the two hours it was closed between three and four a.m. (okay it's really only closed for one hour but it's another dimension remember?) and they got caught by apron lady who had them arrested and thrown in jail.

"I'm tellin yuhs there weren't no woman in the ladies room!" she charged upon their protests.

So Jacob and Steve are in a jail in this shimmery world where everything's grimy once you're lured in (there's some sort of literary metaphor going on there but I'll be darned to know what) *wink* So Steve is wondering aloud what to do to get out of their predicament and find Sue (because he didn't like her self given Alexandria name he preferred her birth one). During his pacing the floor the gritty sensation on his hands began to irritate him more and more so he went to the sink to rinse them. When he turned the water on however nothing came out of the sink. Instead an opening in the cell wall under the bottom bunk opened up.

"What the #$%*?" wondered Jacob aloud. He'd never seen anything like this in his life.

"It goes somewhere!" said Steve egging his partner on, "I think we see where it goes and get the heck out of here!"

"What if its another dimensional portal thingee?"

"Well, that's a chance we need to take. Susan's out there somewhere and it's doing her no good for us to be stuck here. Besides...What's in a dimensional rift anyway? We went through one okay right? Come on!"

Steve's exuberance was too much for Jacob. "But like isn't this illegal? breaking out of jail?"

"Hardly, we're from another dimension whose laws don't apply here," rationalized Steve.

Maybe the punishmnet's worse here Jacob thought and followed suit, dreading every inch.

Hyper Subspace Portal

2010-01-18T20:19:00.000-05:00

It's February 18, 2006 and a blizzard swallows up Scranton, Pennsylvania, in its bone chilling frozen grips (this happened to be the last time I went railfanning without proper head gear, the temperature was so cold).

The National Park Service and a handful of railfans are undaunted and the day's activities continue unabated. My brother and I took advantage of some down time in the activities to tour the Steamtown shop and check in on the progress of some steam locomotive restorations. At one such juncture inside the shop a white sport utility vehicle is parked nose to nose with the frame and fully opened smoke box of what was a steam loco under massive repairs. Such a scene thus invoked my over active imagination (and having watched "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" right around then also, well two and two came together...(originally posted on mY! first blog February 20, 2006)

The story unfolds in the unsuspecting, thriving city of let's call it Hartsdale (because it's the only thing coming to mind as I write). Most people are happy in Hartsdale, but there's a growing dissatisfaction among townsfolk about the town's name. Eventually, they'll be petitioning this author to go ahead and do something about that but in the interests of keeping this story moving, there aren't enough interested parties interested in petioning yet.

whew So okay, two guys and a girl (yet unnamed but their internet avatars are attractive) set out one day and accidentally on purpose drive this white SUV on a muddy Winter's day through said fake portal (the disassembled steam loco smokebox. It works better with the accompanying photo which is currently unavailable) into a new environment that the three were totally unexpecting to find.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Steve (because he was the first to be named but more importantly because his senses were overwhelmed by the undescribable scene sprawling in front of him infinitely.

"Unbelievable," said Sue (who hated her name. It sucked really, she thinks of herself more as a um...a uh, Alexandra. Yes she's also in favor of changing the town's name. So please forget her name is Sue because it's now Alexandra). And she was in awe of said undescribable scene, but imagine if you will a sparkling city of shimmerey light not unlike the Emerald City if it weren't green tinted and more disco ball like.

The third party member, not impressed by the sight, carried on as normal because he still had no name and was more interested in finding a light for his cigarette.

"This story is about as cool as my Grandmother's recounting of 1920's Easter gatherings," deadpanned Sue/Alexandra (because its easier to type Sue but Alexandra is a nicer name. It fits her avatar better too). "I'd like to see some action soon, anything more interesting than this."

Jacob spit as a reaction to getting a name. Just then there was a big solar flare. Well the three travellers thought it might have been a solar flare, but it was really the guy using a torch on the steam locomotive. I mean it was the portal sealing them into this new dimension.

"What do we do now?" cried Sue (yeah, forget Alexandra for now, her birthname is Sue so deal).

"Duh, find a way out by going in!" Steve said in a Freddy from Scooby Doo manner.

"Genius," spat Jacob. He couldn't find a light so he stuffed some chew in his gum. And the three began heading towards the shimmery lights of Discoville. *enter Star Wars episode three Cabana music and exheunt*

As also posted in the original any references to pop culture icons are for reference only for ease in descriptive purposes. Looks like I'll have to post the accompanying photos and edit in the appropriate links. The stories of these three characters are inane and I should really have my fictitious writer's guild card revoked and burnt for even typing them...parts two and three of this first trilogy to follow soon.

Stranger Danger

2010-01-16T23:24:00.000-05:00

There's no denying it. I really like trains. I've established that. As such I enjoy photographing them and also model railroading. I'm going to single out the photography side as I'm going to relate an encounter I'd really wished I'd diffused immediately, instead of being the nice guy I aspire to be.

June 7, 2009, Sunday, Sunbury, Pennsylvania. My "fate"ful visit to my alma matter has ended and I'd really like to photograph the local freight that runs past the campus, for the modern spin on the old classic, and because I'm all about the nostalgia. It's quite a nice late Spring day and I hear a train a-comin' *momentarily breaks into Johnny Cash then composes self. THEN makes note to Feral about "borrowing" blog techniques*...

Anyways, throwing obsessive-compulsive security measures to the slight breeze with full abandon I dash out of my van with my trusty pixel sidekick on my neck and run to get into position; leaving both windows of the van wide open, the doors unlocked, mp3 player, radio, cell phone all inside awaiting the closest thief.

What appears to be a local man is meandering down the street with his dog Murphy. I know it's Murphy because after the train went by and I'm returning to my van this dog walker yealls Son of a B----! like he's just blown his chance of van-jacking me because he was watching the train. Good news for me. So the dog walker, who introduces himself as Gunner follows me back to my van and introduces Murphy (where I learned the dog's name) and asks if I may give him and Murph a ride to the VFW. He accidentally left his keys there the night before and his car is at the hotel across the river in Hummel's Wharf. Now, I'm buying all of this because in my college experience there wasn't much more to do than get polluted on Friday and Saturday nights (I'm happy to say I never partook beyond three shots in one sitting and have never been polluted in a drunken sense. I was the late night d.j. on the radio after all... sort of encouraging them).

So, even though I would rather have been going after the train, I let Gunner & Murph inside. A few empty soda bottles fell out of my van as Murphy jumped in. Gunner suggests I should clean my van (ironic that a guy who's seemingly living on the streets tells me to clean my van -- well, I didn't know his actual condition at this point, in all fairness).

"Okay, Gunner, where's the VFW?" He guides me through a couple wierd turns down sidestreets in Sunbury proper and he's asking me about Connecticut and Fairfield County specifically.

"You know Route 11 is closed up here don't you?" he informs when I tell him which way I'm going home.

"Yeah," and I explain how I now about the detour because that's the way I came INTO town Saturday morning, "Where's this VFW?"

"Take a left and go across the river." It's bad enough I went the opposite way of the train, I'm now over half an hour behind it and I'll never see it again wondering with each second when Gunner is gonna van-jack me.

"It's closed," Gunner comes back. Now I need to bring him someplace else and his stories raise another yellow flag (the first was his getting in in the first place. THAT one should have been RED). Ultimately we wind up headed back towards the river again.

"I can ride with you to Berwick," Gunner says. I pull over into a factory driveway along the main route.

"You're getting out here, Gunner. Don't forget Murphy."

"But you're headed home, right?"

"I've got something else to do first back the other way. You were supposed to have a short ride and your car is over in Hummel's Wharf."

In other words, don't let me run your rear end over and have a nice life. I waited until I could see Murphy was well clear of my van and there was a break in traffic. It took two hours to feel okay about myself again. I never should have let Gunner get so far with me.

Flashback!!

2010-01-14T20:24:00.000-05:00

The double-entendre is on purpose for one: I shall again whisk you back in time using that literary metaphor of squiggly Wayne and Garth lines and two; because while writing my previous blog entry my brain short-circuited and recalled a written piece of mine which appears to be older than I remembered writing it. Folks, don’t let age happen to you. It’s what makes your parents the way they are.

Initially I’d thought this little gem of a remembrance had been documented in my very first blog archive, but I read each entry I’d ever written and failed to come across what I was looking for. So then, I thought maybe it was part of a non-fiction assignment I’d written in college Senior year, only I apparently no longer have those papers either. Then when I began pondering what context I’d written the recollection under I picture the three ring binder diary/autobiography I used to keep until I moved out of my parents’s house. But the binder is still there in a box in my old closet and it’s the middle of the night as I write this, so I can’t look at this moment.

But I can write about it, except the more time that lapses, the more detail fades. It was a Summer’s day at Bumble Bee Nursery School and my fellow enrollees and I were playing on the grounds behind the school. They had a tall (for a five year old) wooden play scape that very easily could have resembled a small stage and this particular afternoon it did for about three minutes.

Even at such a young age music was a big part of me and I had dreams of being a famous singer/musician, so with air guitar in hand I jumped up “on stage” and wailed away like a kid possessed by Ted Nugent. (I WAS wearing Underoos that day, and I’d swear they were Spider-Man, but I can’t remember. It’s entirely possible somebody else was wearing Spider-Man Underoos and mine were different). I vocalized wailing guitar licks which blazed as fast as my tiny fingers would operate, gyrating my body in all kinds of directions oblivious to my surroundings until I’d stopped to get some air and sing the next verse (who knows what THAT would have even been) when all of a sudden the white curtain of imagination lifted at the sound of thundering applause!! I was scared! So I turned to face the audience (my teachers) bowed quickly, and then dove off of the stage for the security of the storage shed until recess was over. Again, don’t EVER get old. If you have to, keep your mind sharp. Don’t have “Senior Moments”.

Mighty Marvelite

2010-01-13T21:22:00.000-05:00

Every now and then I get existential. Is my life pre-destined or do I make my own destiny? Well, I'm not in the frame of mind to be deep right now, but I bring this up because of photographs I found today. Yes, I should have brought this particular one home with me and scanned it so I could share it here, but I didn't. As with other things in life, I discovered this picture because I was actually looking for an envelope of pictures from the last full family vacation my nucleic family ever took, which was to Florida. I did find those also (well most of them).

So, getting back to the first said photo: it's of me in single digit years and I'm wearing an Amazing Spider-Man shirt. Frankly, I don't even remember this shirt (did Underoos ever come with tops?? I've just been mentally transported back to a wooden playscape at my nursery school when I was pretending to be a rock star -- hmm, nothing's changed... -- oops, I digress. It's been blogged at V.1 -- I'll import it sometime, promise). This revelation (about the shirt in the photo) made me think just how prevalent Marvel comics and more specifically Marvel characters have been in my life. That's just about the whole darn time! (And makes me worry facetiously that Marvel's been brainwashing me since infancy to be loyal, etc.)

Which got me thinking about the Captain America Hot Wheels bus I've had since childhood, where you can look in the back window and see an image of Cap in action. My older brother got a van which you look in the back of and see Doctor Doom (he's since given it to me). Funny sometimes what survives childhood and stays with you through the many years (unlike all of my shirts apparently). Of course, I've previously mentioned I still have the Fantastic Four game (must rescue that from the closet at my parents' house). Ooh, and I'm really excited to have a comics convention in my proverbial back yard. So long as it's not cancelled, ComiConn is to happen just up the street from my parents in my old home town this coming May. Oh yeah, I'm there, with fake ruby quartz safety glasses on!

So what do the photographs have to do with my destiny? Darned if I can think of it now. I was planning on writing something about destined to be some kind of hero based on the old photo of me in the Spidey shirt, but then I went off on another tangent (what ELSE is new?) and pre-destiny just didn't seem to fit any longer!

Overactive Imagination

2010-01-08T16:03:00.000-05:00

Personally, I think this title doesn't do me much justice. Sure, I've been told I have an overactive imagination. I've also been told I have a healthy imagination. Both have come with a bit of a negative connotation. I don't care. I like to write and I like to pretend (another reason Halloween is so much fun for me).

Well, I never used to enjoy writing. That is until I was in High School writing stories in competition with my best friend. These weren't for class either, they were just to try and out do each other. My bud almost always had the better story. Anyways, skip ahead to college and I was talked into a Writing Minor, since I'd completed half of the required courses as part of the core curriculum. This is when I became comfortable writing in earnest. (It began by trying to become a better song lyric writer and morphed into other aspects of writing). I had a poetry class, a short story class and a self-imposed project to close the credit gap I needed to graduate (I'm STILL trying to polish this last one fifteen years later -- well, there was fourteen year exile to the storage box in between graduation and last Winter) I digress. I did graduate. (My instructor enjoyed our music trivia sessions after class and during our sessions working on this solo noose) *grin*

So here I was, November 2005, with a blog of my own. What would I do with it? Write of course! Initially I had intentions of being humorous "kill rabid porcelain dolls before those zombies eat your children" kind of thing. But more often than not I wound up espousing hot headed ignorant social commentary (which I fully resolve to not do here). Occasionally, though, I did get some creative writing (and by creative I mean somewhat bizarre) entries logged in; some will no doubt emigrate here, like these two:

Coast Evening March 28, 2006

The sun sets on another perfect coastal evening. The sea breeze blows gentle for once. Well, it's no different really, but it doesn't bother your spirits for a change. The gentle strains of nature fill your subconsciousness as the red sky darkens to a deep blue, purple then black. Your hair blows in your face, but that doesn't bother you either. It's great to be on the beach tonight. You get goosebumps on the way up the bank leading to the parking lot and the car. The two of you are the only ones out here tonight. He says something but you don't listen, you're wrapped up in your own thoughts. It's only after a few more steps you realize he's not right next to you. He's stopped, waiting intently for your answer.

"Aren't you coming?" you ask because you don't know what he said and honestly don't care. Why not? There isn't anything more pressing in your mind. No hairdresser, groceries, sales. Work isn't hard -- sometimes it's boring but isn't EVERY job?

"That depends" he replies, sadly. What is his problem now? He's going to spin his words, make you the bad one.

"On?" maybe you replied a little sarcastically but what the heck. You pretty much want to get back in the car and go home now, be rid of him for the rest of the night at least. Ugh, you need to suffer the ride home. He looks at you funny.

"Ice cream," his face suggests you answer in the positive, as if his stare will pull a 'yes' answer out of you.

"No thanks," even though some food product might be nice for a snack, "I'm tired. It's been a long day."

The breeze blows the enthusiasm from him. Good. A hot shower will make you feel better, or at least warm you up. You don't realize you're rubbing your arms until he asks if you're cold.

"Maybe a little," you say watching him turn the ignition. He puts the heat on low for a few minutes, just til you're back on the main drag. Within minutes he's pulling up to your door. You let yourself out of his car and key the lock to your gate.

"Thanks for tonight, I'll call you tomorrow," why did you say THAT? You have no intentions of calling him, not tomorrow anyway. You slip off your shoes and head towards the bathroom, still wrapped in the empty thoughts of your mind.

end

A sparkle emanates from her eyes like the glow from the full moon

A sparkle emanates from her eyes like the glow from the full moon
blue/white lasers shooting from her retinas
Cool beams brilliant to behold and drink in
coating your throat like milk of magnesia
tasting like mint
Her voice angelic
and she has a subtle aura of fruit about her body
that blinds me with her taste when I lean in for a kiss on the nape of her neck
Cynthia Miller radiated beauty in the middle of farmer Don Baggett’s cornfield
It wasn’t so much a cornfield as it was a haven for lightning bugs
They flashed and blinked like old time news photographers
Getting the scoop on the big story
"Moon Girl Lands in Millville"
Published above the fold, front page
with the story of the local millinery burning down below the fold
People thinking she did it with the moonbeams in her eyes
"It’s a damn shame" residents spoke but I knew better
Strong arms of obsession wanted lustfully to bear hug Cynthia that night
and squeeze the love out of her like Popeye opening a can of spinach
but Moose Boy could never be so lucky as to have this girl love him with such conviction
A love as true as a politician’s would be more suited to him
Years later they will still be yearning frustrated by a lack of any more attraction than the wanting of true love
Killing themselves inside from it
Stifling one’s stagnant heart prolongingly
until each of them is nothing more than a blob of human mass
Zombies still drawn to each other
Soulless but not undead
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi ce soir?
Standing motionless amidst the bugs and stalks staring soundlessly at each other

8/6/05

When it's Time to Change You've Got to Rearrange*

2010-01-05T17:28:00.000-05:00

enter singing recognizable song from the Brady Kids "Sha na na na na na na na na Sha na na na na..." Oh, hey!

Whew, thankfully dreams like the one I previously described only come about once per year. Hopefully everyone is having a good start to 2010. I'm feeling quite a bit the same, not much better than o'nine, but certainly not any worse, and that's a good thing. My 2009 was outright pretty deplorable, eh, it happens. I'm about ready for a shaking up in my home life. At the risk of angering the Feng-Shui auras, I'm going to rearrange the decorations. I need a change. Things have been in the same place for roughly five years, and also my interests have cycled differently.

It's time to get rid of stuff I saved from my grandparents's home in hopes of selling, but frankly the effort isn't worth the return, and most of it isn't worth the effort to begin with. I guess this is Spring cleaning come early, but then I've never been one to follow traditional guidelines concerning when to Spring clean, when to put up the Halloween decorations, etc. (Halloween IS my favorite. More on THAT in the future). Of course, being a guy I've never had to worry about wearing white out of season. We guys can get away with just about anything...

That just about does it from the desk here in Oz-land (which is quite a bit different from L. Frank Baum's Oz, or Home Box Office's yet a little of each I guess can be found here somewhere, if you brush the dust bunnies aside).

*from The Brady Bunch television series and related song

From the WTF??!! Files

2010-01-01T13:39:00.000-05:00

Bear with me, sometimes I have difficulty being concise. This happens to be one of those times. I've been divorced now longer than my marriage lasted and a couple times per year, lingering effects of the marriage ripple through the brain (ghosts and feelings don't properly describe my unconscious experiences) but I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

I do enjoy where my brain takes me on those special nights that my subconscious reveals most wondrous visions and sensations. (Oddly enough the two I'm describing this time are both medically related, hmm *ponders*)

It's December 25 (1994 I think) and I'd just gotten a stack of X-Men comics a day or two before hand (I believe about seven different issues) and I read them that day in one sitting, while enjoying a tall glass of Hood's Golden egg nog (mmm, egg nog). well, it's Christmas Day, the presents have been opened, dinner has been eaten, and I haven't looked healthy most of the day. With full belly and a two pill dose of cold medication in my system I alerted everyone that I was going to my room for a nap until desert. Well, I don't even remember the brand medication it worked so well! In my dream I was at the X-Men's Xavier mansion, in a dorm room bed and my favorite characters are gathered around me worried that I'm sick and offering bedside TLC (favorite Jean Grey still sticks out in my mind all these years later). I wound up sleeping through desert and the night but the next day I was much better. :-)

Now, I haven't mentioned this yet, but I'm also a disc jockey/karaoke jockey and I had a gig at a New Year's Eve party welcoming in 2010. The gig ran long, until 1:30 in the morning, and might have gone longer if my boss and I hadn't stopped playing music. The roads had a light snow covering on top of the mess that had been plowed earlier in the day but except for the slicker areas closest to home (which I had anticipated) were pretty much speed limit capable. I get ready to crawl into bed after I wind down around four in the morning and the aches of mid-life adulthood are throbbing (sore back, arthritic wrists) so I take two of my favorite pain reliever with a swig of red labelled well established cola and crawl under the covers with high expectations of really enjoying my dreams (meds :-)). Well, what I recall came after I had been woken up at 8am by the snow plow cleaning up the parking lot outside of my condominium. I grumble after peeking out the kitchen window and crawl back under the covers for more sleep.

I find I'm back in the mobile home my now ex-wife and I rented during the first two years of our marriage. This place defies all comprehension, whole wall sections were cut out and just laid in place, the front door was sprung and rarely stayed closed without a slam which damaged it more, empty screw holes in the walls making them look like they had chicken pox...all of this was real! The door my father fixed by adding aluminum angle pieces to keep it square and we had to frame the small window in aluminum to keep it from falling out. Anyways, I could expound upon this place for a whole blog, but the rest is irrelevant to the story.

So I'm cleaning (there's the first clue I'm in a deep sleep) and have just taken some unwanted furniture out to the dumpster in the mobile home park when I realize the front door isn't latching again. With each slam harder than before and my weight not being able to close it, I turn around to see my ex-wife laden with bags, relatives and new friends whom I don't even know come through the door (she really did move to Europe after our divorce). Well, obviously the place isn't up to her standards as it was all disarrayed from my rearranging everything to my satisfaction. The family and strangers made themselves at home so I went into the master bedroom to get away. A teacher friend of my Mom's comes in and gets me to talk about my feelings, and I'm just shy of the point of breaking down into tears and blubbering the rest of the gory marriage details when the ex-wife comes in trailing a number of dead celebrities who'd passed in 2009 (and I don't even drink coffee).

At some point the ex disappears and I'm having a conversation with a straight-haired Farrah Fawcett (as seen in one of her last guest appearances on Charlie's Angels) about how I was such a good friend with her during my marriage and that she doesn't want to lose my friendship. I reassure her she won't and the guy behind her looks sad.

"I need a hug," he says. "Well I need a hug too" I tell him (my emotions WERE in turmoil about my ex after all)

So the dark haired cut short chisel featured man peels off his shirt, drops his pants and throws me on the bed pinning me down. It's David Carradine and he's STRONG! Just when I'm prepared for the worst pain and event ever in my life I bolt awake with my heart racing. It's 1:30 pm.

Funny how I can write about this on the internet for everybody to see, yet I couldn't express my feelings to my wife during our marriage. I have theories about that, but not for the blog.

Happy New Year everybody. Here's hoping things get better! (I'm going to investigate what's in my cola)

2009-12-28T15:52:00.000-05:00

If there's one thing I can't stand above most other things is the constant sensation of near drowning. Why, pray tell, would I mention this? Because I've been suffering with post nasal drip for eight days. Seeing a doctor, while the wise thing to do, is really just a waste of co-pay dollars and comes out of my wallet anyways, which money is better spent on say, groceries or gasoline for the car (i.e. X-Men comics, natch). After all, colds will take two or three weeks to shake with or without the antibiotics.

As is my experience with this chronically annual (sometimes bi- or tri-annual) affliction I find it's best to suffer it out with plenty of rest, food, and fluids. In fact, I spent all of Sunday sleeping in bed (it happens more frequently than I should even admit) but once 1900 rolled around (that would be 7pm) I felt much better and less like I would drown. Good thing because I hate feeling sick and I hate being sick. Especially with no one at my bedside administering tender loving care, but then, that's a couple topics for later discussions.

But, to get back to the drowning bit, or why else would I have brought it up in the first place. In my profile I mentioned how I've seen my life flash before me at least once. *cue music and Wayne & Garth squiggly hand motions to invoke convention of time travel* It's April 17, 1994 (thankfully I dated the photos to know when to go back to) and we're thrashing about in the roiling current with the flat out REFUSAL to die there (must tweak the calibrations of this machine).

I had just snapped a picture as we approached the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania and the swift current snatched our raft.
It was difficult to steer and our oarspeople were struggling, but gaining slightly to get ourselves into a different groove in the creek. We all braced for pending impact with a felled tree on the bank and were relieved when the raft bounced off the tree seemingly unharmed when all of a sudden we were underwater, some with the raft trapping us submerged. In that briefest of moments came a stream of light in super fast motion like I'd whipped a filmstrip through a table mounted viewer and many memories blinked in front of my eyes. (I recall thinking that's it? That was too short.) I fought to get above the water's tumultuous surface for air and bearings. My head went under three times and three times I swallowed a large amount of Pine Creek. Each time coming back up just an inch short of a handhold on the rapidly deflating capsized raft (in hindsight, if I'd just gotten myself free and floated downstream the ordeal never would have happened) but survival instincts kick in and with one last mighty reach - SUCCESS! Time for a photo because NOBODY will ever believe this (I was surprised the elastic wrist band of my Kodak underwater one time use camera was strong and I didn't lose the camera during my struggle in the waters). Help from other rafters and guides came instantly, but it took 90 minutes to get me out of the tree because we were fighting the currents (oh yeah, this will become a superhero fan fiction story. It's been marinating for months already).

Once we finally arrived at the end of the journey in Blackwell a good friend of mine and fellow raft mate was waiting on the banks, explaining how he'd heard they had to amputate my leg to get me free, William Shatner had had to come in with a helicopter (his show Rescue 911 was popular at the time) and airlift me to safety and all kinds of other nasty rumors each more gory than the one previous.

The following year many of us were back again and our guide's first words were "You don't have to worry, your tree got swept downstream out of the way" I was pleased and disappointed because I knew I could have avoided that overgrown obstacle this time. I did vindicate myself as captain however.

One of these days, I'm going to check in with my friend and see if that group will be rafting there again. And even if not, I'm itching for another ride through Owassi.
I'll have to go listen to C.W. McCall's "Green River" for a vicarious rafting rush now. "Hard left!"

What's so exciting about trains anyway?

2009-12-23T23:29:00.001-05:00

I've told you about the superhero side of my life, so now it's time to learn about another facet: trains. I now present to you another classic blog entry from elsewhere. Y!? Because without it, this would be a blank boring space! ;-)

** There's nothing quite like the thunderous roar or the ground shaking power of a heavy freight train roaring past you, struggling to move thousands of tons of material to its destination.

Growing up my brother had some N Gauge freight cars from an old train set, which I co-opted and subsequently destroyed in my ravaging pre-three year old days. Then while waiting in the car at my Aunt's house there was a loud roar that seemed like the world was ending and it kept getting louder, filling my ears until I was scared to death, sure I would die from this thing falling on the car crushing me when from behind the neighboring building roared a Northbound Penn Central Railroad freight train. Behind the black locomotives were images I recognized from my brother's train set. Indelibly etched in my mind is the 50 foot long yellow boxcar from Union Pacific with the slogan "We Can Handle It" my brother had a miniature almost just like it! I was so relieved I wasn't dead AND I also had visual stimulation, like watching television, as the cars rolled by.

Over the years my family and I would be at the local Dairy Queen on hot Summer evenings waiting for trains to come. I remember seeing a Conrail train soon after that company began with an old Reading Railroad locomotive going by the DQ. There was the "hurry up or we're gonna miss it" trip to the Maple Ave. overpass to see a former Erie-Lackawanna GP-35 on one of those first neighborhood Conrail trains. There were also a couple nights at Mill Road School in 1977 to watch the stone train my father loaded where he worked (the same one now that I switch at work thirty years later). One particular night was a severe thunderstorm with lightning arcs and driving rain. Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams" played on the car radio until the stone train drowned the song out.

As a young boy of three I got my very first ride in the cab of a locomotive, they were huge steps (four giant leaps for child-kind) up to the walkway from the ground, and walking past where the prime mover housed inside it's sheet metal hood was absolutely deafening to my pre-school ears. It was a real treat sitting in the engineer's lap, pulling with all of my might on the horn cord resulting in a sound that sounded like a sick cow because I couldn't pull hard enough for the horn to get enough air to sound properly. The train swayed and bucked and dipped and jerked down the ten miles of track we got to ride.

I suppose you could blame Dad for giving me the train bug, this genetic affliction which causes me to travel seven hours (or more!) in a car for train pictures, staying up all night, or both! But it's a load of fun and I enjoy it. I'm blessed and grateful I had the upbringing I had for the opportunities I've been given. **

Indeed the images shown in the slide show app on this very page are all photographed by me and even include subjects other than the mighty Iron Horse. Clicking on any of the images will direct you to my Flickr.com photo stream for even more pixelated goodness.

The Legend of Moose Boy, Avenger????

2009-12-22T17:08:00.000-05:00

Well, now that you know that I'm a goodly sized X-Men fan it will come as no surprise that, even growing up skimming Fantastic Four (I still have the board game too)comics that I harbored dreams of being a superhero when I grew up. That is, alongside fireman, astronaut, locomotive engineer (which I can do but I haven't earned the title) and myriad other professions.

To that extent then, I reveal my not so secret identity as "Moose Boy"
http://www.flickr.com/photos/frit-n-flowers/2478280241/sizes/o/in/set-72157604971642239/
As the backstory is quite long, I'll amend it to: a friend of mine and I went out to photograph a specific train at a certain location (we failed but not through our own faults) and while checking to see if said train was approaching, my friend snapped the above slide of me, not realizing any lineside poles were on the far side of the RR tracks (hence the antlers coming out of my head). When the slides had been developed my friend and I showed them to my parents and my Mom coined the phrase "Moose boy" when she saw this. At the time, forgetting all about my toddler's wish to be a superhero, I became quite indignant -- especially after the moniker stuck. Alas, over the years I have accepted the title bestowed upon me (after all some of us are destined to have greatness thrust upon us whether we like it or not)and have even found my own way to be humored by it: Superhero Vicariously.

During the heyday of my X-Men collecting in the years immediately after graduating college, I was able to collect other X-Men related items in addition to the comic books, such as Danger Room "key card", Xavier Institute Staff ID card, and X-Men Trainee card, all from a carousel at the bookstore check-out. Additionally, from enclosures included with Wizard magazines I received a diploma for the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning, and also an Avengers card. That's right, true believers, Moose Boy is a card carrying Avenger with level A-1 security clearance, granted by none other than Henry Gyrich himself (likely begrudgingly considering his stance on homo sapien superior). Admittedly, Moose Boy is a retcon though, since I got the card before the nickname.

Shortly after I'd gotten back into the X-Men comics and Marvel I'd come across The Hero Factory website, where, unlike my heroes designed at Marvel.com I could actually download my creation:

Note the cheesy theft of blue & yellow and the pseudo X insignia. But now, through whatever technical malfeasance, I can no longer download my stuff from The Hero Factory either. I'm sure it's on my end with security protocols or whatever, but currently it's not a big enough problem for me to correct.

So that's the story of the Avenger known as Moose Boy.

This is What Started My Obsession with the X-Men

2009-12-20T17:10:00.000-05:00

"Those aren't my grandparent's super heroes," an elder friend of mine said in the Mall at Steamtown in June 1994 when we were visiting the Steamtown National Park Site and went to the mall across the tracks for lunch. I thought not much more than puerile thoughts upon seeing the brunette in blue behind the table, and snapped a slide of the scene for posterity, since I had the trusty railfanning camera at the ready. Once home I questioned some co-workers of mine who those people might be representing (since one of the figures in my slide reminded me of a poster an ex-roommate of mine in college had about the X-Men television series then on air). Naturally, my co-workers suggested that was probably them.

Fast forward to October 1994, birthday weekend and my parents and I are at a CVS pharmacy in the Susquehanna Valley Mall for Benadryl because I had nasty allergies. As I'm walking down the isle I passed the display where the store had a few comic books. One of them was Uncanny X-Men #319, with the scantily clad woman in blue from the previous June. I bought the issue so I could show my elder friend the next time I would see him. Only, I read it, since I used to get comic books as a kid growing up (ironically though, never any X-Men issues. It was always Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, Sgt. Rock, and an issue of Rom battling Galactus. I can still see myself skimming the racks at the corner drug store and picking that issue of Rom because the cover looked so cool.(After swinging by Coverbrowser i can tell you it's issue 26). Anyways, I was hooked. I latched onto the X-Men and collected as much as I could, amassing quite a library over the next five years.

Life brings changes and I opted to stop buying every one of the X-Men titles and related stories as I couldn't always buy the newest issues anymore and hated having gaps in the collection. I cashed in much of my library, though I still shopped for the novels when they were published and the three motion pictures on dvd. (I don't have Wolverine Origins, nothing personal, Logan). Even though I wasn't following their stories in the monthly comic books, the X-Men were still a part of who I was. A smile came to my face in June 2007 at the United States of America Air Force National Museum in Dayton, OH, when I saw an SR-71 Blackbird in the collection (the X-Men had a modified SR-71 for many years). I would even skim through an occasional issue or two while my Grandmother & I grocery shopped.

Fast forward again to Winter 2008. I had a hard cover book which compiled the X-Men history up to its publication in 2000 (yes, I had a first printing copy I hadn't read for eight years) so I read it after running out of railroad related books at my residence. I got re-hooked. I still am not able to get each issue every month, nor do I intend to try. Of course, it's nice that Marvel publishes the important story lines into trade paperback volumes. That is, the comic issues which contain a major story arc are compiled together into a single book which can be found at a local bookstore should the time come that I am able to buy it.

Since I first published this entry over at (lowers voice, Y! ou know) I've been able to follow a few X-books monthly again and I'm slowly rebuilding the X-Library as well. Man I wish I could borrow a time machine and slap my past self silly for some of my decisions, but fortunately that isn't possible.

Additionally, I also dug out all of my old fan fiction stories to work on and share publicly after 15 years of being crammed into a crate. Now I just need to get myself to a convention!

Fate

2009-12-20T00:02:00.000-05:00

One might think that with this Third Genesis for a blog I might be fresh and present new ideas. While there are things swirling around in my head (a good friend of mine calls it marinating) once in a while a good re-run is worth paying attention to again. So it is with this entry, originally posted on my pre-existing venues. Since this shirt really meant so much to me, and with its loss, whatever affections that I'd bestowed upon the shirt are transferred to the blog entry about it. Some of you might read this and think I'm a case study. My ex-wife used to say, "It's just a shirt." But no, no it's not. Here's the entry:

Sometimes I just can't be so concise when it comes to telling a story. This one needs the long backstory so that the wondrousness of it will be apparent. On Wednesday June 3, 2009, a friend of mine alerted me to a special train move that would be happening soon. The following day he said the special would move that night. So I spent that night photographing this special train very late into the overnight, allowing myself only a few hour's sleep. I was looking forward to a nice, easy, relaxing friday at work since I had little sleep Thursday night and I'd be going away early in the morning on Saturday. Well, it didn't work out that way. A priority order came in for a customer and it needed to be done before I finished my shift Friday. Needless to say, my day went in the proverbial toilet after that. Add in the rain and by the time I was headed home I was caked in mud and soaking wet. Good thing I wasn't leaving for Pennsylvania that night. I thought I had everything I'd need packed by the time I went to bed Friday night and very early Saturday morning I hit the road.

The drive to my alma mater was very pleasant, even in the brief rain showers in the Poconos, I was just too happy to have a couple days away from the stresses of responsibilty. At the end of my road trip was a reunion for the volunteers of the college radio station, WQSU, where I was an on air disc jockey during the four years I was enrolled at Susquehanna University, serving as operations director of WQSU in my senior year. The reunion luncheon was a whole lot of fun and I was able to catch up with a few people I really wanted to see. Also, I learned just how fortunate the station was to have ever started, and then lasted for 42 years. It really seemed to be fate.

But that's not all. As faithful readers know, I really enjoy Marvel Comics' X-Men. At one time I had quite a library of X-Men comics and a handful of t-shirts; one of which I haven't stopped thinking about lately. I dug through my belongings in hopes to find it, to no avail. It is apparently disposed of. I've been wathcing e-bay for it with no luck. While reminiscing with one of the persons I'd hoped to see, we were glancing through a photo album. One of the photos was of my best friend on campus and I and in it I'm wearing the recently dreamt about X-Men t-shirt! I didn't think I'd ever see it again, yet there it was. Fate.

Blog Phase Three

2009-12-17T23:23:00.000-05:00

Blog Phase Three let's call this. Or 3.0 or Ver. 3. This certainly isn't the charm you were hoping for I'm sure ;-)

It began in 2004 with the first outlet (something about a capital Y and an exclamation point. And when that was getting axed last year I maybe should have come here directly, but chose a different (seemingly more austere) venue and thought I'd be quite happy over there, except anything I wanted to write about seemed too petty for such an austere looking outlet and my number of posts in Version 2 are still in the single digit territory 11 months later.

I'm following a very enjoyable blog, but I can't comment upon it's entries because my austere outlet prevents me from doing so through some bizarre mysterious technological rigamarole.

So here I am now, look out. I rarely make a whole lot of sense.