Story of my life

Contact me

2011-10-13T17:31:00.000-07:00

de@imagigadget.com

Rat Fuck Netflix

2009-01-08T15:46:00.000-08:00

I survive by netflix. I get 8 discs at a time. I cycle through twice a week. Every ONCE in a while some thief snags the discs I leave out for the mailman. Netflix goes bananas. This time they went too far. They canceled my account. No credit, no refund. I called and pressed the matter and was told "This just isnt a business relationship we want to engage in." That did it. I was manic mad. But then in the most retarded act of poking the bear they sent me a comment card on my experience. I commented the following:

You rat fuck pieces of shit. What on earth are you thinking about?! I have 8 discs at a time. Every once in a while some jack ass in my apartment swipes the bunch. I report it to you and you freak the fuck out.

I SPEND TWICE AS MUCH AS YOUR AVERAGE CUSTOMERS AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME? I have been a loyal customer of yours for YEARS and you treat me like common street vermin?!

No credit for a canceled account? NO appeals process? I cant even talk to the fascist loss prevention people?!

You blubber cunt whores!!!!! It may be folly to try and dissuade my friends from doing business with you, but my readers are another thing. At every venue, every article, every post I am responsible for- I will cast the name of Netflix into the customer service dredges of Bank of America and WALMART. You think you prevented loss by unceremoniously casting my ass out into the fucking street? Think again pig fuckers. I have a long memory and a tongue busier than your mothers!

I could give a shit that you have x rated selections and soft core porn (read documentaries). I will stand on the street corner with a sign defaming you and your sludge slinging pack of forked tongue ingrates until you floss with old man ass hair and give me back my money! If you think I'm not pulling the banks and the police (to investigate the theft, which apparently you seem incapable of) into this, you are BANANAS. I don't need to sue you. I just need to show everyone the huckster fuck-our-client-on-a-bed-of-nails sort of business you engage in is alive and well. Just TRY to stay out of my way! Just TRY!

Do business with them and burn in hell. They are almost as bad as WALMART. I bet the RIAA and MPAA own them.

Voyage of the Cramped

2008-12-28T19:43:00.000-08:00

Gay Pride. I usually detest this event. It made sense to have when the world thought there were 4 of us in New York and a few in LA, but I think we all get the message. We're here, we're queer, we're at home surfing for porn and hookups. I also really hate this because it sends the worst messages. First it sends the message that all gay people are screaming queens, in either in good shape or are bears, love leather, and think only about sex and drugs.

Hags seem to have taken over the parade as some kind of pride proxy thinking that all they need are a few fairies to make their pathetic and derivative lives better. Loyal readers will know EXACTLY what term I reserve for such... pain in the ass females.

Every year I crave that the Jack Nicholson Joker takes his vengeance out on the unsuspecting populace by having a series of parade sized blow up dolls spew toxic poison on to the crowd of infidels.

The parade causes me so much irritation that I spend all my time at the minstrel show/mercantile gathering in the park. Rampant consumerism exploiting the tired, scantily clad masses is a jig I can REALLY dance to.

There are really two kinds of booths at a gay pride pavilion. You are either someone selling something right then, right there or you are a charity/multi national conglomerate trying to make nice with the gays. Most people end up leaving with bags in each hand. One filled with trinkets of rainbow colored assortments the other with pamphlets from every left wing nut hippie group in all of Christendom and plenty of corporate sales propaganda.

Those that live on the hill (the gays) can deftly move through with out much molestation. This is because the same homeless avoidance tactics used on the streets are very effectively employed here.

I bobbed and weaved and made it to my favorite charity. They were doing this not very unique or cleaver ploy of getting people to throw coins into bottles- a coin toss.

I was loitering casually and noted a fella that caught my eye. He was mildly good looking, as I would learn recently graduated from Yale (something that regularly makes me wet), and MOST importantly found me fetching.

We chatted, I found out his roommate was Turkish. I tossed out a few Turkish folk phrases and suddenly I had a date. It was two weeks hence and we decided to have an "unconventional date."

For the record, I know consider "unconventional dates" to be akin to say meeting the parents on the first date or renting a u-haul at any point in the relationship.

I was young and had a date with a YALE man. Our activity? Canoe picnic on Lake Washington at sunset. He had a friend who lived very near the lake and had a canoe that we could use. I dropped by the store and picked up fresh fruit, a fine wine, and some Applets and Cottlets (Turkish Delight). I paid for my little picnic and since I would be quite active and rowing, I figured the bag was a better place for my wallet than my swimming trunks.

We shipped out. Both excited with that first date nervousness and expectancy, we paddled as smartly as we could. My Boy Scout experiences had more than prepared me for a canoe date with a well educated hot guy, and at that moment I was eternally gratefull for their teachings. I'm not sure they would be.

My date, however was not quite so well trained in the arts of canoemanship. I noticed, but had the good sense and manners not to mention anything. We got under the 520 floating bridge and on out into the middle of the lake.

Our picnic was magical. Lovely food, fine wine, and a sweet dessert. All sealed with love's first kiss. Ok well not love, but our first kiss to be sure.

I should point out here that drinking the wine was the biggest of our many mistakes. Alcohol dehydrates your body. Muscles don't work so well when they lack water. Specifically they tend to cramp

And thats what happned to my date. A bad leg cramp hit and, not being quite the canoeman that I needed, didn't realize that suddenly shifting his weight would cause the boat to capsize.

Into the drink we went. I was quickly grabbing at different articles of clothing and shoes which were sinking while my date tended to the canoe. Here's a tip: if you capsize a canoe and are in the water in the middle of a huge lake, the best possible thing you can do is to turn the boat over. The little amount of trapped air in the boat should keep the boat afloat as well as you and your party. Swim it to shore as a floatation device and pull it out of the water from land.

My date was rather hysterically trying to bail out the canoe (water now fully over the gunnels) all while he is treading water and holding on to the canoe (thus pushing it further under water).

I don't know what they teach at Yale, but it certainly isn't practical survival techniques. I put a halt to his crazyness and commanded the retreat to land. I had a bag of stuff that didn't sink, some odd clothes and a shoe in one hand and was griping the boat with the other. Kicking more than a three year old in a tantrum, I was nearly dead from exhaustion when we reached the dock of a lakeside condo building.

I guess this sort of thing happens alot because the condo residents came running out with towels, hot chocolate (with a hefty shot of rum), and some able bodied fellas to help yank the boat out of the water.

My date got out first and with the help of the lads, hauled the keel on to the dock and covered my date in blankets. I was left to kick like crazy with nothing to hold onto and a sack of stuff weighing me down.

Then it happened. The worst leg cramp of my life. Even CONSIDERING moving my leg felt like ripping out a perfectly good tooth. When you are in a pool some time try kicking with just one leg and see how long you stay afloat. Then do it again with ten pounds in one hand.

I was going down- fast. I called out and then sank. My date saw be begin to drown, cast his shrowd of warmth aside and dove into the water. He embraced my torso with one arm and with as much strength and virility as I have seen in any man cast us both on to the dock.

I have never kissed anyone so powerfully since then. With the complete lack of shock on the part of our helpful citizens, we figured we must have been in Madison Park. They dried us off and sent us back on our way.

We were still a bit damp and it now being after sunset, the mosquitos were at their height of onryness. It was very much like Sam, Frodo, and Gollum working their way through the swamp. By the time we reached shore, I was just gratefull to be alive.

At the time of our adventure there was some work being done on one of the main bridges and the most convenient one to getting me back home. My date was right in the middle of convincing me to head back to his place until the bridge reopened in the morning. Men. As he was putting his best moves on me, I realized my wallet was gone. It came over me in a wave of terror and understanding. My wallet had sunk.

"Oh, well come back to my place and you can cancel your cards from there."

Oh fine, I guess I will. If I have to. I actually did call and cancel my cards. As I was on the phone, my date was explaining to me that being in the lake, we really should take a shower. Of course water rates being what they were....

I was way ahead of him, but I had Cindy from the bank on the phone and she didn't sound too playful. As he was pressing his point, so to speak by pulling my swimming suit draw string with his teeth, Cindy was giving me the schpeal on replacing my cards.

Men do this constantly. We will be ardent and persistent in securing our ability to get off, regardless of what else is happening.

I lost my patience and set Cindy aside.

"I will be happy to floss with your ass hair as soon as I make sure I can buy milk and dirty magazines with my credit card"

Cindy wasn't laughing. She almost hung up, but I persuaded her to finish the transaction.

The sex was forgetable, as was most of the relationship. So really in the end all I got was this story.

Story of my life.

Fred

The test of my life

2008-12-17T08:56:00.000-08:00

Professions, the activities of which can and do kill people tend to require some kind of licensing. Engineering is no different. I have spent the last four years of my life studying Mechanical Engineering and at long last it is time for me to take the exam required to get a license. This particular test is called the FE (Fundamentals of Engineering).

There are several types of Engineering. The types of people who study each are distinctly different. From the dumbest to the smartest, we start with Civil Engineers. They have a love for things that don't generally move. Buildings, roads, bridges... well that's really it. It is the easiest of the disciplines as the math is relatively simple and consistent through out the major. If you smell weed outside of a project room, it's probably Civils that are in there.

Electricals are marginally smarter. It is a common misconception that Electrical engineers are the smartest of the bunch. This is patently false and it's pretty clear that the rumor started from an electrical (EE) student, for they do have the biggest egos. Electrical students study things you can't really explain using hand gestures. All of the material is abstract- but all in the same way. Once they unhinge their brains as freshmen, they tend to coast through the rest of the major.

Mechanicals are next on our list. They study CE and EE curriculum plus a bunch of Mechanical (ME) Engineering. They are smarter than your average engineer since their major covers two other majors as well. Pretty smart if you ask me.

Chemical Engineers take the cake. No one knows what the hell they are doing, but if they have a dead hooker- they can dissolve the body in 15 seconds without leaving a trace.

For those of you who ask about minor engineering majors like environmental engineering, I offer that it is like asking how much political clout porn stars have. No one knows and no one cares.

Regardless of your flavor of engineering or personal intelligence, you have to take the FE exam to practice professionally.

A considerate examination would start at a reasonable time in a location central to the population taking it. There are four universities who have students taking this test. UW by far is the largest in Seattle, Seattle University, Western Washington in Bellingham, and Central Washington in... well central Washington I suppose. So if you were to evaluate the best place to give the exam, you would do exactly what we do to find the center of mass. Everyone is worth one times the displacement from an arbitrary point on earth. Do the math and you would end up in Seattle. So where is the FE offered? Puyallup.

Yea, Puyallup. It starts at 7am. Yea, 7am. ON A SATURDAY.

So it is inconvenient and painful for everyone.

I registered for the test in June (I had $147.50 that I didn't have another use for) and bought $200 worth of study materials. My ENTIRE summer was spent studying for this test. And surfing for porn, but there was a lot of studying involved.

All too soon October rolls around and the clever students (myself and my buddies Teddy and Andrew) got a hotel room in Puyallup so we didn't have to get up at 4am the day of the test.

I highly recommend this approach. Bring some light refreshments and watch something inane on TV (I think it was star wars, but I don't remember).

We each prepared our test materials- I brought 2 calculators, 3 bags of candy, 3 bags of snacks, 3 liters of Gatorade, and two sets of ear plugs.

I know it seems crazy to bring TWO calculators to a test, but if something happens to one of them (which it did) you'll need a backup.

With everything ready to go, we hit the hay at 9pm. The morning was a well oiled machine of preparedness. All our bags packed and test materials ready to go we made our way to the complimentary continental breakfast at 5am. We were clearly not the only folks who had the idea to get a hotel. Most of the rest of the kids were from the UW and were Asian. They all seemed quite panicked and to have stayed up all night studying. I recalled the movie BRING IT ON when one of the cheerleaders leans out of the hotel room window and screams at a team practicing in the parking lot "SHUT UP! If you don't have it by now, you're not gonna have it!"

I let the state-university-educated haggard Asian kids ahead of me in line; they looked like they needed the egg-like product more than I did.

Here's the thing about the FE. There isn't a passing score. They count all the scores and figure out a set percentage of people to pass. This means two important things. One, you want to take the test in the largest group of applicants possible so you have a statistically better chance of passing. The other is to look around and try to evaluate how many people in line you are smarter than.

This second concept comes naturally to most engineering students. It is, however difficult to do based on how people look and act before a big test. We ALL did it anyway.

The test was administered at the State Fair Grounds. Specifically where the quilt show happens. Standing in line at 6am on a brisk October morn, I felt I was in a familiar setting. The huddled masses were clad exclusively in grey and black. Only one exception stood out from the crowd. A man of 40 with a bright red coat. I looked to the heavens expectantly for ash to be falling down. I turned around surprised that Steven Spielberg wasn't there directing Schindler's Test.

We all shuffled in to the building slowly- each presenting ID and registration at three different places as we went. The test proctors had clearly been bussed in from the nearest nursing home complex. It was like grandma was there watching every move I made. Well, actually it was more like grandma was there playing sudoku.

I high-tailed it to my seat and realized my nervous bladder was kicking in. I jogged the half mile from my testing position to where the line ended for the bathroom. Let me tell you, hundreds of nerds with stress sensitive digestive systems at 7am on a Saturday and just one bathroom is not a pretty sight. The strangest sight of the day was to be had just outside the bathrooms. A giant sign that read "NO TALKING IN BATHROOMS". Out side of a mens room.... Like we need a sign.

Ladies, let me tell you- it is the cardinal rule of mens rooms that there is NO talking ever. For almost any reason. You can say "CALL 911" and perhaps an "excuse me" but only by the door or the sink. Taking a shit is a similar experience. The stealth shit is the goal of every mens room stall experience. Its best to let 'er rip when know one is around, but this isn't usually available at sporting events and engineering exams. But I digress.

I wasn't about to let the egg-like product and sodium sausage I had at breakfast messing up some cross product calculation- so I queued for the stall. I have found the best way to ignore bathroom noises is to sing a sing in my head. For whatever reason I chose Three Little Maids from the Mikado. Just about the second verse I hear from inside one of the stalls a bottle of pills being vigorously shaken and then dispensed. I couldn't IMAGINE what he was taking or why he was taking it in A STALL (I considered rec. drugs, but they don't come in bottles as a rule). I looked at the guy next to me in line and had a rare mens-room-eye-contact moment. We were both confused and somewhat entertained. Suddenly it was the changing of the guard and I was in for some relief.

There were about ten minutes of instructions from the head proctor's chit-chatty wife that I listened to with ardent distinction. From my rubber maid picnic table I felt powerful, intelligent, and annoyed that the old bat up front was going on and on as if I was taking the CAT tests in third grade.

The thing she emphasized the most was that we couldn't talk about any of the questions with anyone ever. So I won't. I WILL talk about questions that may or may not have been similar as the questions asked on the test but are in no way the same.

If you can do the following questions in 6 minutes, you may have a chance at passing this test.

The acute angle formed between the two straight lines
y=3x+2
y=4x+7
is closest to:

a) 90
b)4.399
c)30
d)5

The equation of a circle on the x-y plane is given by
x^2-2x+y^2+2y=0

The center and the radius of the circle are:

a) (1,-1), sqrt(2)
b) (-1,1), 2
c) (1,-1), 2
d) (0,0), sqrt(2)

The chemical formula of the most common compound formed from beryllium and Iodine is

a) Be2I2
b) BeI
c) BeI2
d) BedI2

If you took 6 minutes to answer the questions then you have a slim chance, if you took less than 6 mins-you have a slim chance and can use the bathroom. Otherwise I hear marketing is a lovely profession seemingly devoid of logic or science.

The answers are:

b,a,c

So 120 of those sort of questions with 4 hours in the morning. The trick is to go through and answer all the questions you really know first. Then not to freak out over the number questions you don't know like the back of your hand. Make it through the questions you know you can look up in the supplied reference books, and then flat out guess on the rest.

I had two major problems in the morning. With out discussing the actual test question, I got my crappy test-approved calculator stuck in base 8. When you change the number base you are working in, you are somewhat hosed if you want to, say add 2+2. Luckily I had a spare. Unfortunately my spare kept giving me answers in fractions. If it was 2/3 or 3/4 then I could deal with it. But I was getting 2146/13. The quick fix is to multiply this by 1.00000001 which is almost never going to give you a lovely fraction. But it was time I could be spending worrying about my ethics questions.

Lunch was bizarre. All my buddies and I gathered around the fountain and had to find things to talk about that WEREN'T this incredibly difficult exam. The consistency of tuna fish salad seemed to be a fine topic.

The afternoon session was considerably easier. The questions were more difficult, but only half as many. I sincerely don't remember any afternoon questions, but I DO remember the crippling headache I got while answering them.

I finished at 3:10 and was greeted outside by a posse of SU students all of whom were delighted to be done but couldn't cross the street at this point with out being hit. We needed the bar, and we needed it fast.

This epic test apparently takes 12 WEEKS to grade, so we were told. I guess scantron has a union. Finally the #2 pencil-fill in the circle heavy and dark thing got to them.

A little fact checking revealed that last year the results came out on 12/24. Christmas eve. I can't IMAGINE a worse time to hear that you failed this exam and have to then immediately engage your family. Thank CHRIST I got the results on the 17th. I felt like I was checking my bank balance; confirming your worst fears can be one of the most difficult things one can do. I bit the bullet and hit the button.

A wave of immense pride and excitement overcame me. It was one little word that changed my life; casually offered as the end product of a bureaucratic process.

PASS

I peed. In fact so many bodily fluids erupted from my body, I felts my genes had closely descended from those of a sponge.

I am now an "Engineer in Training" which means I can work as an engineer, but I can't sign off on my work. It's the highest qualification a vast majority of engineers practice under.

The government is sending me a piece of paper that says I'm smart! This is SO much better than the wizard of oz!

So in the end I got my certification, a piece of paper that lets me work as an engineer, and of course, this story.

Story of my Life,

Fred

I became a man

2008-12-16T06:18:00.001-08:00

I was 13 and in the Boy Scouts. I was very accomplished at earning merit badges and doing activities and such. In fact I was a poster child. The bright but economically befeebled white kid from a middle class burg (houses there today start in the mid 700's) who knew how to follow the rules and inspire either fear or leadership (often both) into his fellow teen aged scouts. Well the younger ones at least. The boys who were 16+ with their full legs and arm pits of dense succulent hair... I clearly had a bit of a secret to keep. I knew I wanted to be next to those guys... those older guys... those MEN.

Ok lets take a step backwards here- first off it had been my general experience that the concept of being a man was to some lesser extent about being an oafish, hard working, disgruntled, ill mannered bully with feet and mouths upon which an ill wind fell. My opinion on this point has never changed. But there is more than that to being a real man. Like never ever complaining about work. ESPECIALLY when you don't feel like doing it. It just isnt manly. This particular point had not yet fully registered in my adolescent mind. Nor did I understand really how do deal with bullies. I thought avoidance to be the key to mastering abusive folks. Men also don't complain. Ever. Men don't tend to ogle other men either, but one problem at a time.

Every other year my troop had 2 big summer hikes. One was called the mini-trek and the other was called the super-trek. I had been on a mini trek that involved a 20 mile hike over 4 days or so with little elevation gain at Ross Lake. The trip was fine, but sort of forgettable. It was mostly 10 1/2-14 year olds learning how to hike.

Learning to hike is much more difficult than learning to camp. Camping implies that you are there for a while and can spread out and adapt your surroundings. Hiking was far more ephemeral. Every day you had to pack your shit and carry it x number of miles. So it is usually best to either keep your stuff packed all the time or to make your pack modular. The latter being the more practical way of doing it.

Ross Lake was pretty, but the trip was all boys. Boys that I didn't find attractive. Lets keep in mind that I was 13 and that the hormone driven yearnings of a 13 year old for an older 16 year old isn't.... well illegal. I will also stress that my interest in slightly older men has continued to this day and is in no way.... statutory. Now that we aren't feeling like we are reading kiddie porn, lets move on.

So I checked off a mini-trek from my list and the next trek season I was all about the SUPER TREK. Super treks were incredible. Three cycles prior, the group of older teens were enlisted as "research assistants" by a vulcanologist and skirted off to Hawaii to hike in the restricted volcano areas complete with a tour guide. After that, the cliffs in British Columbia. A vertical hike of 50 miles with the majestic Pacific Ocean always at their side. This year was a 20 mile canoe hike in the Bowron Lake chain. It's a series of four lakes that make a circle in Northern Canada. Between each lake is a bit of land that must be portaged (carry the canoe and hike over it).

Leading this expedition were two men. Dick, the kind and Lee, the cruel. Dick was a fine chap who was a tracker for search and rescue. He had a real job that I can't remember. But what a guy. Lee was... well regardless of what I thought of his mother, Lee was the scoutmaster. He also had a job but it frankly has no bearing on the story so lets just leave it out.

Also on our journey were Alex (16 sort of a douche bag, but everyone liked him), Morrie (16 Super nice if not overly subservient to Alex), Chris (19, CRAZY hot grocery bagger who was in the troop at one point, but left to pursue loftier goals.), Bobby (14, Dick's step son- a bear of a kid with thick glasses and little regard for collateral splashing). And me. The runt of the group. 13 and further ahead with my Eagle Scout badge requirements than most of the older fellas. I should point out here that Morrie is Lee's son, but its like the difference between Glenda and her Green faced nemesis.

We had a jovial many hour trip in the van on our way up. We all knew each other, so it was just a matter of feeling each other up.... out. Relaxed men, it appeared to my untrained eye were all about socializing and being convivial to each other. How soon this would change.

We arrived at the visitors center and had a good long lecture about bear safety. The wilderness of northern Canada is replete with all manner of wild animal, including grizzly bears. In order to make sure you are safe in your tent, everyone has to make sure to tightly wrap all food and scraps and store them in a bear cache. A bear cache is a shelf made of fallen logs/branches and either milled wood or whatever was laying around to construct the shelf part. It is 30-40 feet in the air and each supporting tree is wrapped in rather thick sheets of aluminum to prevent the bear from getting up there. Humans accessed this airborne cub bard using a ladder that came with each cache. When you are done toiling in the pine pantry, you take the ladder down and go about your business. I was overcome with joy that my intense fear of heights found a friend in my newly discovered fear of ravenous wildlife.

We set off on our first leg. We saw moose (several, as the English language seems to be a bit indolent about pluralizing northern wildlife). The rowing was lovely and the lake was serene. Lee, it seemed to yearn to have our crew drowned in the first leg as it would temper us and some how make it less likely to rain for the rest of our trip. This specious manner of reasoning commanded Lee's every moment of person hood.

It was clear from the get go that Bobby was a very strong rower. Morrie was in his canoe and rather enjoyed just sticking his paddle in the water and cruising along. I had Dick who was endlessly patient if I made a full J stroke where it was counter productive. We weren't the last boat, but it didn't matter. The last boat was Lee and Chris. Lee seemed to be living out some Huck Finn fantasy and was fishing of the side of the boat when he should have been steering. But he never yelled at Chris. Chris, the eternal love springs of my wayward teenage heart. He didn't yell at Chris because Chris would have yelled back and popped Lee's cocoon of superiority over the rest of us since we all liked Chris more than Lee.

We hit our first portage mid afternoon and sailed over it with the deft sure footing of well fed young men in their prime. By around 6 we hit our first camp site. It was glorious. Well manicured, obligatory ugly bear cache, and some rapids close to the camp for us to go play in.

Alex was particularly eager to chance fate with some mildly death defying water rapids. Like little boys playing with fire, the older fellas soon found it was better going through the channel with just life preservers and no boat. I found a LOVELY pool in which to soak and relax from a hard day of rowing. Mind you, I did a few turns down the rapids with the rest of the fellas. But it got to the point that my burgeoning sexuality was physically presenting itself a bit much. I felt the pool would allow me to concentrate on autopsies of puppies and loved ones until my flag was at half mast. Lee spotted my separation from the pack and pounced.

"What's the matter with you? You hurt? Better get over it fast, your in with me tomorrow!"

There is nothing I could have heard at this moment to cause me more consternation. I remained silent as if I was the child of an alcoholic on a bender. Until the point where he actually touches me, it remains my best defense, I figured.

"Well you just stay there and gaze at the rest of the guys, you won't get do just sit back and watch again."

He knew. He knew and was a fucker about it. It was emotional bullying of a 13 year old by a grown man. Fucker.

After the hijinks in the rapids were at their best every one returned to their tents. I changed quickly since I feared my own nude body betraying me to my fellow scouts with ardent sincerity.

I went to the fire and remarked upon Bobby's ass crack showing to the world "Oh look, another Kodak moment."

"No it is NOT!" Chris said from behind me. I turned to view his entirely naked body fresh from the river. The mental snapshot I made of that moment kept me fresh and vibrant for many a lonely night for YEARS after this.

That single moment was the best part of the trip. It went very far down hill very quickly. Lee saw me feast on the image of Chris. I saw Lee see me eat. I knew it was comin', I just didn't know how or when.

We awoke the next morning ready for a shitty camp breakfast (as per usual) and began to pack up.

I held my head low and dodged Lee all morning as I really didn't want to give him any more ammunition. We got out on to the water and I thought things were doing fine. That was until Lee began to reenact Bass Masters from the back of the canoe.

With out someone to steer a canoe, it tends to move in a circle unless the front man switches sides with every stroke. Switching sides is a pain in the ass and you get soaked in the process. I preferred my right hand row that had gotten me this far. I realized pretty fast that Lee was playing with his tackle when the boat began to turn. Every time I drew the oar, he screamed like I was bending a nail embedded in his shin.

"Can't you keep the fucking boat straight?"

Abusers feed on fear and even more on the abusee feebly fighting back or even responding. The only way I knew to end abuse from a bully was to overwhelm them with such fury and might so as to trigger their own cowardice. I simply didn't have it in me at that point.

Partly because of this experience, I can say that I now have IT in me and quite a bit more. IT is also something that is not useful in my everyday life, nor should it be in any one's. This is NOT a lesson or value to teach any child, and to those who would, I invite you over to my house for a refresher course in being on the receiving end of this activity. I'll even serve Sarah Lee.

An entire day of Lee screaming and bitching about my rowing wore thin, but I stuck to my silence. The quiet Jews that worked hard in the camps weren't shot from a balcony. I was a good quiet Jew hoping not to get shot.

LAND. Finally. We unpacked and set up camp. The evening meal was prepared to some bare minimum standard. We were hungry and really didn't care how it tasted. As the evening wore on, I decided to reapply some bug repellent that was in my bag, high a top the bear cache. I climbed up and off the ladder onto the cache to get my bag. I really hate heights. I really hate heights from which I feel there is a good chance I will fall to the ground and die. So being on top of the bear cache made of twigs, digging through my bag was not such a great thing. It suddenly became much worse when one of the guys removed the ladder. It didn't matter who, they were all in on it.

I was terrified. I figured Lee had instigated it based on our wonderful interaction earlier, but I'm not sure even to this day. I could have thrown all the packs off the ledge, surely to break all sorts of things. That seemed to be the "Nuclear Weapon" option. I decided a musical tactic was in order. In the worst screeching voice I could muster I sang every song I knew. It took an hour and a half. Alex was finally the one to put the ladder back.

After one gets a sound ass kicking from a group of older guys, there is a frat effect that takes place. You take a lickin' and humbly rejoin the pack. I did exactly that. I should have punched Lee in the testicles. About a half hour after this, my entire digestive system cast it's vote on the days activities. I was horribly ill. I brought this to Lee's attention, hoping he would be humane. Of course he wasn't. From the campfire, surrounded by the fellas he sounded out "We'll put you in Chris' boat tomorrow. Feel better now?"

I did a little actually. Since the problem was related to stress, it makes since that alleviating my next day's arduous task of Lee's inanities would do the same to my current predicament.

I went to bed early, dreaming of being behind the magnificent Chris. His glistening shoulders, his close cropped hair, his scent. I seemed to be just fine the next morning until I put my stuff in Chris' boat.

"Ha ha, you don't think I'm going to reward your gold bricking attempts do you?! You're in with me!" Lee boasted.

My stomach turned over and I lost it right there on the beach. I vomited at the news I would be in front of Lee. I wiped my mouth, snatched my bag and passing Lee on the way to his boat, I said

"What are you waiting for? Lets go"

My anger fueled my paddling. I could give a shit what Lee was doing. The more he bitched about holding still, the more I rocked the boat. We could be overheard screaming at each other across each lake we traversed. We spent so much energy at each other's necks that when we hit a sandbar for lunch, the spam, crackers, and peanut butter were a welcome delight. We washed it down with lake water, crystal light mix, and iodine tablets. I have since paid hundreds of dollars for meals which were not remotely as satisfying as raw processed meat-like product and peanut butter on a cracker.

With refueling came a renewal in how much Lee and I despised each other. I couldn't have given a shit. The harder he pushed, the more I fought back. My limited knowledge of proper swearing was a Disney movie compared to the filth that fell out of Lee's mouth. We were a rap video with out the naked women.

Our final campsite was one of sweet repose. It was here that one of my big tells was revealed. Gay kids don't learn how to move or act from watching anyone else per se. Or at least I didn't. But I WAS uncomfortable with my body and didn't stand in an assertive way to say the least. I was standing by the campfire with my hands at my waste. But rather than gripping my waste a la any superhero, I had the tops of my hands pressed at my sides a la any gay fuss budget. Morrie saw it and motioned to put my hands gripping my sides.

At the end of this tortuous trip, the son of Satan helped me out. It was a signal of acceptance and collusion against tyranny. It was Morrie separating from the pack and acknowledging the runt as an equal. It was one of the nicest things someone had ever done for me.

I got Bobbie for the final leg. Morrie got his Dad; and took the bullet for me. Bobby really was an engine. I just careened along the placid water with wear in my soul and an obstruction in my bowels. I yearned for a lodge- one with a real toilet.

All too soon we hit land just outside the visitor center. I had unpacked my things from the boat and was standing by as others did the same. I stood with my nancy stance. Morrie saw it and motioned again. Even after a canoe trip with his Dad, Morrie showed compassion to others when he needed a bit of the same.

I never shirked from a bully after this. I was never silent in the face of oppression. I never looked at any of these guys the same. I never got picked on by Lee again. I had become a man. And I got this story.

Story of my life,

FredBoy Scout Series Links:
I became a man
Three Arrows; Ordeal
Three Arrows: Brotherhood (2)
Three Arrows: Vigil (3)
Founders

The gay neighbor

2008-12-15T16:20:00.000-08:00

I was so excited. One of my most favorite girlfriends; Jessica was coming over. Jessica is the sort of girl that looks great in anything and doing any activity. She could be mopping up vomit at a bar in Espirit tights and neon sweat bands and look like something out of Vouge. We all hate her for that. But she also is lovably quirky and a little bit of a mess. We all love her for that.

Jessica also does this annoying thing that makes me wish she gets attacked by hyenas. She cleans. She cleans like nothing I've ever seen. The last time I let her clean it took me 6 months to find my favorite hoody. I finally found it in the closet. WHAT THE HELL WAS IT DOING THERE? So naturally I had to present her with a spotless tablet, free of temptation.

Cleaning my apartment is like going to the dentist. There is rarely reason for me to do it. Mom and Dad don't visit (thanks mostly to some well placed quasi-erotic art pieces that make dad uncomfortable), and the few gentlemen callers I bring home aren't here to photograph the place for Architectural Digest. My style is more of hide and reinforce. I throw all my shit into the closet and reinforce it with a cheap Ikea table. I weight the table down with folders of DVDs filled with home movies.

Now when Jessica comes over, I like to be a bit silly. So I threw on my best black silk bathrobe and a peach feather boa that a gentleman caller left one evening (I sincerely don't recall who it was or why he had a boa). This whole ensemble is topped off with a rhinestone encrusted cigarette holder a la Auntie Mame. Jessica loved it.

In the past when Jessica (or any of my friends for that matter) came over, it was really to watch all or part of one or many movies right along with my overly apt and witty commentary. Usually we watch something like A Lion in Winter or Lawrence of Arabia. Tonight we went for the especially high brow Beauty and the Beast.

I welcomed Jessica to my den of fun and frivolity just as my neighbors, it seemed were starting their own night of the same. Lots of pounding on the walls and screaming led both Jessica and I to believe that some particularly wild sex was going on. My building is filled with drug addicts and whores, but they are all very honest about it and seem to pay the rent on time, so I don't mind. Jessica and I just turned the volume up on Beauty and the Beast and sang along in our care free and slightly drunken way.

Just about the time Gaston is tossing his burly friends across the bar and exposing his chest hair (my favorite part), we hear some VERY intense pounding on the neighbor's door. Bambi (the neighbor) is a nice girl, but she always seems to be surrounded by drugged out losers. I am now extremely irritated that the druggies are making such a racket and drowning out my Disney themed nancying about my newly cleaned apartment with my fabulous but flawed partner in crime. So what's a girl to do?

Fully clad in black silk and peach feathers I burst out of my apartment with Beauty and the Beast still blaring in the background. As I opened the door I began to scream "God Damn it, can't you people buy drugs some other TIME?!" You may have guessed it wasn't drugged out losers I was addressing (or at least not exclusively so). I was met by the ENTIRE Seattle Police Department SWAT team.

It seems Bambi wasn't having some wild sex next door after all. Her boyfriend had gone bat-shit crazy and beat the shit out of her before finally throwing a TV at her head then holding her hostage until after the p0lice left. She survived. But there I was in a black silk robe (and pajamas) with a peach boa and Beauty and the Beast roaring from my apartment. I went from agressive-dont-fuck-with-me-or-ill-call-the-cops irritated neighbor to fruitier than the Chaquita banana lady (Carmen Miranda, your equal has yet to be realized) don't-hurt-me-I'm-a-bleeder faggy mcnancy neighbor. I sounded like Daffy Duck after a zinger. The not-hot-cop incharge asked me if I KNEW that people inside Bambi's pad. Said I didn't KNOW, but I have a stethascope next to my bed that we could use to find out. I was serious, but he looked like he was holding back laughter.

I offered to get the manager to open Bambi's door for the cops, they thanked me and I rushed up the stairs. I moved so fast that a wake of feathers like would be produced by throwing a gaggle of geese through a jet engine erupted behind me.

I was simultaneously calling every management number I had like the building was on fire and a baby was stuck in a well in the basement. The manager wasn't home, and it took 30 MINUTES before anyone responded.

Jessica wisely decided to take her AND her purse somewhere that wasn't infested by law enforcement.

In the mean time Bambi's boyfriend left her apartment, went down stairs and kicked someone's door in then beat the stuffing out of the guy that was in that apartment. Last anyone heard of the boyfriend he was chasing someone down the street with a cinder block. The same cinder block we used to prop the emergency exit door open to go out and smoke with out being seen by the capitol hill riff raff.

I returned to my apartment, tattered boa in tow and quietly went back to my evening of gaiety turned solitary marginal terror. I had Bambi kicked out of here like a drag queen in Salt Lake. But alas, my terror remained. Nothing a good bottle of Vodka couldn't solve.

The cinder block theft was the worst part of this story if you ask, now I get caught smoking by all SORTS of reputable folks.

Story of my Life,

Fred

Can't spell families without lies

2008-12-15T16:12:00.000-08:00

I don't remember the boyfriend's name. I remember he was well endowed and that was really all I was into with him for. So we are in bed one night after our "Care Bear Stare" and he lustfully looks in my eyes and says that next time I should tie him up.

I was struck with fear over the fact that I had never done such a thing and didn't really know what to do. So I call a straight couple that I know is into this and talk to the girl. She recommends a 1" diameter nylon rope so as to reduce markings.

But where to get so much big rope? Home Depot doesn't carry it that thick. I was about to look up some fishing supply companies for my kinky sex supplies, when I suddenly remembered the one man in my life that could find just about anything. So I call my parents. As luck had it mom answered. I explained what I needed and instructed her to tell dad.

I heard the clink of a glass and knew what was coming: "You better not be doing something KINKY with it" she slurred into the phone. Irritated, I slammed back "You've conducted more personal sexual research than Kinsey, just tell dad what I need!"

It was mere kismet that the very next day my entire family, who cosigned my college loans, convened at my brother's restaurant for dinner. What followed was a lesson in lying.

My dad yelled across the table of 10 people "Hey Fred, what do you want all that rope for?"

Lie fast, lie well. "Im building a trebuchet with my friends at school".

"Wow, 20 feet of inch thick rope? that must be pretty big"

"Oh, well yea- its 50' or so."

"JESUS CHRIST! 50'?! you could throw a CAR with that"

Shit. He knew what it was. Buy in to the lie and sell it!

"Oh dad, of COURSE we aren't! My friends and I just built some accelerometers from scratch and wanted to test them out"

Here I'm totally full of shit, but he has NO idea what an accelerometer is, so I figure I'm scott free.

"Is this something you can put on a pickup truck?" my aunt asks.

Im puzzled and a little startled that my all encompassing final lie failed to assuage my aunt who was a middle school librarian and had a knack for annoying and ill timed questions. I carefully considered my next move.

"well it isn't built yet"

"oh. when will you be done?"

"um... well I'm not sure when we are starting, why?"

I was doing fine for two sentences, then I INVITED her to talk more.

"you see, our 7th graders just spent a year studying the medieval period, and it would be GREAT to have them see an ACTUAL medieval siege weapon. Don't you even have a model or something?"

OK, before I tell you my response at which you are shriek "why the HELL did he say THAT?!," understand that this is grandma's daughter, and that grandma cosigned my VERY expensive education that isn't quite done at this point. Dad is there and I just put his questions to bed. There may have been alcohol. perhaps.

"well we have a foot tall model that we use to throw microchips across the lab, but it really isn't that big, its only got a 30 ft range"

I blundered, she was on it.

"oh perfect, we can throw gummy bears! that will work great! You don't mind coming in and teaching them about history and physics do you? nothing big, just enough to get them interested."

Damn it.

"Love to. Cant wait."

Cut to that evening with the boyfriend- I explain to him what happened and was waiting for a "oh poor baby, let me top you off and you will feel better" or some such thing. but NO. with regard to the kinky sex: "I thought you knew I was kidding"

"I thought you knew I was kidding." Not since "I just don't want to risk suicide by having you continue to yell at me" have I ever been so completely irritated at words jutting from someones wide open trap.

I became single that night. Again. On my terms. Again. Justified reasoning. Again.

A few weeks later, I have to teach the kiddies. 20 mins of lecture on potential energy and radial acceleration. So that means lots of high dive and merry go round explanations. I was ready for the 30 kids i expected to be paying rapt attention to me for 20 mins.

"Hey you don't mind doing this in the gym do you? and doing it a few times? we'd be happy to buy you a pizza for lunch in thanks." My aunt sweetly tossed out there.

"I don't understand, what happened to doing just 30 kids once?" I casually, but tempestuously inquired.

"well the word seemed to have gotten out and the whole grade is interested"

"the word got out" I bet it did you rasa frasa son of a .... well so there it was. Not 30, but 300. 3 TIMES.

I made my points and noted the kids were uncomfortable sitting on the gym floor. Every once in a while I would use the machine to toss out gummy bears. Now this part I wasn't ready for. This middle school has NO sugar in their vending machines. No candy, No soda. Throwing candy into a crowd of uncomfortable 13 year olds with no reasonable access to sugar is like tossing an 8 ball in to a bus stop of junkies. They were animals. 5 second rule be damned. They ate the candy no matter WHERE it landed. A smart teacher would have offered 2 fresh ones for each one retrieved from the floor, but I was still pissed about how many kids I had to deal with. Wretched little monsters; I hope you choke!

I made a BIG splash with the kids when I displayed a huge picture of Zack Efron. Zacky baby, Zacky poo! I was using him to talk about radial acceleration, but really I wanted to hear the girls squeal like I wanted to. After that it was a mad dash to the finish with some mindless physical activity.

A curious thing happened after each period was over. Without exception droves of kids lined up expecting candy. I was mildly irritated and promised them 1 piece of candy for answering 1 of 3 questions about math, science, or history correctly.

They all chose math. God knows why. My question, based off my admittedly advanced 7th grade math placement was : 2x=y what does x equal.

Stop scratching your heads, the answer is y/2. Two things seemed to confuse them. One was that you could have multiple variables in the question. The second was that you could have an unresolved equation as an answer. So we skipped onto the science. A quick question about what plants breathe and we were solid.

Three or four hours of teaching 900 13 year olds is exhausting. I had help from the teachers with the trouble makers, but it was a LOT to take in. I was hungry and tired and ready for pizza.

I was promised pizza, and assumed that Pizza Hut or the like would be employed to fulfill the promise. Shakey's. The worst pizza I have ever tasted. It was both sweet AND spicy, but neither in a good balance. I needed something to wash it down with, so I headed to the vending machine. The one vending machine. The one vending machine that DIDN'T sell pop. It had water, juice, and milk. You may think the milk was the smart choice to cover the taste, but I was low on sugar. 4 containers of apple juice. Sweet Jesus, just let it all end. No such luck.

As I sat down to my detestable meal, in walked the universal favorite an most memorable part of my tale: The Popular Girls.

They walked in a wedge. They all had weird hair that was weird in the same way. And they had a leader. I don't remember her real name, so lets just call her Amber.

Amber waltzed, posse in tow, over to my little table while my aunt and I ate quietly. "I want to answer questions, and each time I get one right I want all my girls here to get some candy."

I was impressed with the brazen nature of this 13 year old skank. I felt I should entertain such a challenge.

Same drill as before: Math, Science, or History?

She got a big smile on her face and confidently responded "math"

Sucker.

"2x=y, what does x equal" I quizzed

"Not fair, we haven't learned that yet"

"There are many things in the world you haven't learned yet, few of which can be described as fair or unfair. As it is, that's not correct"

In a huff "Well science then"

I was annoyed that miss priss was taking up retched pizza and apple juice time, so I thought I'd show her a question that was ACTUALLY unfair.

"Here is an easy one, why is the sky blue?"

It sounds like an easy question. It is, actually. That is, if you have taken a year of college physics. She knew she didn't know and knew that other 13 year olds would think it a simple question. I was willing to deal with a "it reflects off the ocean" sort of thing, but what I got was a well considered:

"Jesus made it that way."

Jesus. Oh JESUS CHRIST.

"Well that this is a public school, I can't say that's the wrong answer. But is is incorrect."

She was beyond pissed. That's 2 pieces of candy she didn't secure for her subservient sect and they noticed.

"I bet you don't even know the right answer!" she charged.

Why you insolent tart. I calmly smiled and casually tossed off:

"Light is made op of waves, each wave has a different wavelength. Each wavelength gives off a specific color. The shortest wave length, blue, is the easiest dispersed when light hits the atmosphere. Why the sky is blue."

I could see the tantrum working up inside her, so I figured I would give her a break.

"Ok last question is history: tell me anything about World War II"

Her tantrum turned to sheer glee. And her glee was reflected in the terror of the eyes of her posse. They knew something that I was about to find out. Their leader really was a twit.

"OH that's the one where the Confederates defeated the Allies at Nagasaki after having heavy losses on the Hoh Chi Minh trail."

The deafening silence was broken by the sound of my aunt banging her head on the desk.

Amber looked at me with confusion and longing. I smiled, looked at my boots, and then uttered

"What a unique answer."

"Do we get candy?"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. It was unique in that there was no question I could have asked you to which that would have been a correct answer."

"Do we get candy?" she obstinately pressed

"Again, you seem to misunderstand me, you get candy when you answer questions right. you answered no questions right, you get no candy."

"Well what do we do now??"

"I don't know about all of you, but if I were YOU, I'd hang my head in shame, march on out of here, and study"

And THAT'S what she did.

Alone.

It was a blow for freedom for nerds everywhere!

For the record I didn't get the kinky sex. I didn't get the rope from Dad. I didn't get the food poisoning from the terrible pizza.

I did get invited back to the school next year, and of course, this story.

Story of my life,

Fred

The Name

2008-12-15T16:04:00.001-08:00

I know flagelin seems like a maybe made up word. Truth is that when I was 18 and needing a handle with which to shop and fornicate on-line, I dove into the nearest medical dictionary I could find. Low and behold; flagellin: the biochemical responsible for driving the motor mechanism of flagella in single celled organisms.

You will note that the word is flagellin and my handle is flagelin. Lets call it a transcription error oweing to being drunk, horny, and in a hurry. A common reason for most teenage pregnancies, but in this case I gave birth to an online persona which is difficult to ignore.

Story of my life,

Fred