Can we discuss, momentarily, how happy I am that it's basketball season again? Sure I am a fan of basketball and love to watch the game, but if I was forced to choose between it or Football... well I would choose football every time.
No, I love basketball season for the unbelievable, incredible, heart-wrenching "Amazing Happens Here" ad campaign.
I love those ads. I'm partial to football season as well because it is then that Nike kills your transmission with their "Leave Nothing" campaign. I mean honestly the ad with LT and Polomalu..... RIDICULOUS.
I suppose that could be the end of my praise for the advertising world, but I'm actually going somewhere with this.... Where is that? Baseball.
Where in the profanity are the killer baseball commercials?!?! Seriously! It's, more or less, America's past-time, it is an awesome sport and just so happens to be my favorite sport of all time.
But the only thing they throw their loving and adoring fans are some cheese-ball, lame-A, "There's Only One October" campaign! I'm a man among men and you're going to throw me poetry, baseball? Wow. That hurts I'm not going to lie.
You bring me the guy that says, "MMM, I'm going to grab an nice, ice cold, Michelob Ultra/Wine Spritzer/Mike's Hard Cider and watch the game. Oh! Oh! I love this commercial." And I will show you his wife's trophy case. (if you don't get that, it's a reference to his testicular fortitude and a challenge to his manhood).
I am a man! I want to see triumph! I want to declare "VICTORY" from the mountain tops! I want heads rolling! I want Braveheart battle sequences! I want to see LeDanian Tomlinson get knocked back to 3rd grade and then get back up in celebratory fashion, pat his enemy and tackler Troy Polomalu on the back and beg for more!
I want the "Leave Nothing" ads!
But no, baseball is going to throw me washed up has-beens and bad poetry.
Real cool baseball, real cool. No wonder you're being deported.
Hello!
I'm Dane.... pleased to meet you!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
"My Arrested Development" part 4
"Five hours later, I'm put on what's called "the chain" (basically inmate jargon for "heavily armored bus") to the Kent Regional Jailing Center, or "Kent RJC"...."
The ride in "the chain" was rather quick. At least it passed quick. I found the fact that I was shackled about my hands, waist and feet, (and by this, I of course mean, my hand were cuffed, shackled to my waist and then had shackles about my ankles as well), staring through meshed cast-iron caging incredibly amusing.
On top, of the visual stimuli (<-- that's a dollar word for ya. thank you Futon) the audio enhancement, from the inmates of female persuasion sitting in front of me, was absolutely delicious. Due to graphic nature I would need a "parental advisory" sticker on this blog if I included it. Without going into detail, let's say that I now have extensive knowledge of "baby daddy drama" and a first hand look at what you find on sketchy street corners....
At 2:15 in the morning I arrive at my palatial overnight stay. Sure the bell-hop left a little to be expected and the hosts were less than personable but I could get comfortable I suppose....
SCRATCH. THAT.
This is no destination to be desired! My room is cramped and cold. A light has been left on and I cannot find a light switch ANYWHERE! Not only that but when I get into my room... well, I can't get out. I don't fit on my concaved, plastic bed with no pillow. My "mattress," (I use that term liberally) was paper thin and was not concaved...
I feel like I'm set up for a bad "Final Destination" movie...
After two hours of trying to sleep, I'm woken up and told to gather up my bed linens and put them in a laundry basket.
Exsqueeze me? Baking soda? I live with my grandparents... I don't do "bed linens"... is there a Grandma in the house?
I know find myself in another holding cell, thankfully there is no sign of "6-7"...
There are, however, a group of the oddest, most uncomfortable people I have ever been in the midst of...
One gentleman is discussing the "hot points" of brewing up your own meth-lab, another is talking about his bought with Hep-C, and another gentleman is talking about EVERYTHING.
Hmmmm.... what doesn't fit in this equation?
Oh yes, that's right.
ME...
For three hours I'm dreading being asked "what i'm in for" and what crazy answer I'm going to use so i don't get jumped for being the "pretty boy, newbie"...
Murder...
No, too dramatic.
Vehicular homicide...
Dane... You're twisted... stop it!
Thankfully, I get out of the situation without the awkwardness, without soiling myself, and without a drug habit...
Next stop, Ellensburg...
(to be continued...)
The ride in "the chain" was rather quick. At least it passed quick. I found the fact that I was shackled about my hands, waist and feet, (and by this, I of course mean, my hand were cuffed, shackled to my waist and then had shackles about my ankles as well), staring through meshed cast-iron caging incredibly amusing.
On top, of the visual stimuli (<-- that's a dollar word for ya. thank you Futon) the audio enhancement, from the inmates of female persuasion sitting in front of me, was absolutely delicious. Due to graphic nature I would need a "parental advisory" sticker on this blog if I included it. Without going into detail, let's say that I now have extensive knowledge of "baby daddy drama" and a first hand look at what you find on sketchy street corners....
At 2:15 in the morning I arrive at my palatial overnight stay. Sure the bell-hop left a little to be expected and the hosts were less than personable but I could get comfortable I suppose....
SCRATCH. THAT.
This is no destination to be desired! My room is cramped and cold. A light has been left on and I cannot find a light switch ANYWHERE! Not only that but when I get into my room... well, I can't get out. I don't fit on my concaved, plastic bed with no pillow. My "mattress," (I use that term liberally) was paper thin and was not concaved...
I feel like I'm set up for a bad "Final Destination" movie...
After two hours of trying to sleep, I'm woken up and told to gather up my bed linens and put them in a laundry basket.
Exsqueeze me? Baking soda? I live with my grandparents... I don't do "bed linens"... is there a Grandma in the house?
I know find myself in another holding cell, thankfully there is no sign of "6-7"...
There are, however, a group of the oddest, most uncomfortable people I have ever been in the midst of...
One gentleman is discussing the "hot points" of brewing up your own meth-lab, another is talking about his bought with Hep-C, and another gentleman is talking about EVERYTHING.
Hmmmm.... what doesn't fit in this equation?
Oh yes, that's right.
ME...
For three hours I'm dreading being asked "what i'm in for" and what crazy answer I'm going to use so i don't get jumped for being the "pretty boy, newbie"...
Murder...
No, too dramatic.
Vehicular homicide...
Dane... You're twisted... stop it!
Thankfully, I get out of the situation without the awkwardness, without soiling myself, and without a drug habit...
Next stop, Ellensburg...
(to be continued...)
Monday, August 18, 2008
"My 'I Saw You'"
Here's to the driver of the AMAZING car I saw today in the U-District... You know who you are.
You were driving the unidentifiable "fast" car and I saw you at the corner of 17th and 45th... You had the wicked "carbon-fiber" hood, the stellar spoiler, and, oh yes, the rims. You had everything planned out and executed.
Well, almost.
What you didn't plan on, was somebody that knows cars by body style seeing you in your unbelievable WIP. (in case you don't have as much street-cred as me, "WIP"--pronounced "whip"-- is an acronym for Work In Progress).
You were driving a Mitsubishi Mirage. Your hood was a no carbon-fiber but rather, the hood to a Honda Civic that you painted black. Most likely spray painted. And your rims? Well, let me tell you about those... they were 13's... and I'm willing to put money on the fact that you got the whole set of them from Les Schwab for under $100.
In your defense. I know that when you saw Fast and the Furious, and Paul Walker's Oscar worthy performance, you were probably around thirteen years old and the movie impacted you. Something moved inside you.
But here's the dirty little secret. 13'' rims don't make your car fast. A black hood doesn't make your car fast. A spoiler won't, in any way, have any affect in keeping your car from flying off the ground. Stripping all of the identifying marks off your car doesn't make it any more "legit."
The fact of the matter still remains. You still drive a Mitsubishi Mirage.
Embrace this. Let it be. Don't try to change the fact. You're still just as cool as you were before you had your drivers license.
The next time you get into your car and think "what else could I do to make my car more ostentatious and embarassing?" Ask yourself this question, "is this where I want to be when Jesus comes home?"
You were driving the unidentifiable "fast" car and I saw you at the corner of 17th and 45th... You had the wicked "carbon-fiber" hood, the stellar spoiler, and, oh yes, the rims. You had everything planned out and executed.
Well, almost.
What you didn't plan on, was somebody that knows cars by body style seeing you in your unbelievable WIP. (in case you don't have as much street-cred as me, "WIP"--pronounced "whip"-- is an acronym for Work In Progress).
You were driving a Mitsubishi Mirage. Your hood was a no carbon-fiber but rather, the hood to a Honda Civic that you painted black. Most likely spray painted. And your rims? Well, let me tell you about those... they were 13's... and I'm willing to put money on the fact that you got the whole set of them from Les Schwab for under $100.
In your defense. I know that when you saw Fast and the Furious, and Paul Walker's Oscar worthy performance, you were probably around thirteen years old and the movie impacted you. Something moved inside you.
But here's the dirty little secret. 13'' rims don't make your car fast. A black hood doesn't make your car fast. A spoiler won't, in any way, have any affect in keeping your car from flying off the ground. Stripping all of the identifying marks off your car doesn't make it any more "legit."
The fact of the matter still remains. You still drive a Mitsubishi Mirage.
Embrace this. Let it be. Don't try to change the fact. You're still just as cool as you were before you had your drivers license.
The next time you get into your car and think "what else could I do to make my car more ostentatious and embarassing?" Ask yourself this question, "is this where I want to be when Jesus comes home?"
Sunday, August 10, 2008
"My Journey"
When a situation gets "hairy" in life, people do crazy things. They take chances, make changes, act impulsively, and try to make their own way out of the mess that only they could have gotten themselves into in the first place.
I turn to the Lord.
I've been in some pretty "hairy" situations in my day, some would even make the 70's jealous. The only reason I got into them in the first place was because I turned away from the Father, and stopped listening to the Holy Spirit. So, it seems within divine reason that, turning back to the Lord to get out of them makes sense.
Without going into details as to why, on Wednesday I started fasting.
I want to hear from God.
I want the direction of the Holy Spirit.
I want the arms of Christ around me and His feet below me.
Establish my steps oh Lord....
I fasted for two and a half days. On Friday, after listening to Jason Michalski's message "Wait For It" for the second time, I got an overwhelming feeling that I could eat again. Sparingly.
Sparingly? Not only I had I already been eating sparingly for the past two and half days, eating only one meal and only after sun-down, but right now I'm on a journey into the wilderness! What am I suppose to do without food?!
Just trust Me.
Just trust Me.
Just trust Me.
Alright Lord.... If it is your will, I will go into the wilderness with no nourishment and limited means of survival to climb a mountain... But I swear if this is some sort of cruel joke....
With a sixty pound pack on my back only a liter of water, one pound of trail mix, some "ginger snap granola" (best thing ever. you must try it. it's at Whole Foods...), Jason's message and Psalm 27:13-14 stuck in my head, one loaf of bread, and coffee grounds I hit the trail.
Something tells me I'm not entirely prepared for anything out-doorsie unless it involves a restaurant with patio seating and a Starbucks across from a public park. But "all things are possible through Christ who strengthens me"....
I went into the woods to have an encounter with God. You know, truly ENCOUNTER God. Away from the city place where there is so much distraction in my daily life. My cell phone is off, my iPod is off... my transportation is walking, and all of my possessions fit on my back.
Righteous... No iPod, no cell phone, no texting, no Facebook, I have to walk...A LOT....
WHAT THE HECK AM I DOING?!
The first thing I see as we're getting under way, is a view, through a clearing through the trees over a pristine lake, to a peak known as "The Cathedral" with a "Jacob's Ladder" exploding over it. (in case you don't know, a "Jacob's Ladder" is where you can actually see "rays" of sunlight in the sky... make sense? Google it or something.)
I'm going to meet God....
As my comrade and I march foreward, (oh yeah, my great friend Brett was with me), it is realized that we are running out of daylight. This is un-nerving. Where we are, we are not at the top of the food chain and there are definitely things that go "bump" in the night.
I think I'm going to wet myself...
"Brett... we need to find a place to camp down for the night."
"Yes we do!"
"Pray that God brings us to an awesome camping spot!"
"Pray that God brings us to the RIGHT spot..."
He did just that.
God was already showing himself to me.
Not only did He give us the RIGHT spot, He gave us an unbelievable spot. In order to get to the area we camped at on Friday night, you had to walk an "almost" trail, cross a stream and search for the flattest ground possible in about twenty square yards of clearing. We were well off the trail and any "organized" camping grounds, we had to build our own fire pit and search for any dry wood possible.
We conjure up a meek fire and enjoy it's warmth. After enjoying a warm cup of hot chocolate and eating some incredible trail mix and granola, it's time for bed.
It's been a great first day.
(stay tuned)
I turn to the Lord.
I've been in some pretty "hairy" situations in my day, some would even make the 70's jealous. The only reason I got into them in the first place was because I turned away from the Father, and stopped listening to the Holy Spirit. So, it seems within divine reason that, turning back to the Lord to get out of them makes sense.
Without going into details as to why, on Wednesday I started fasting.
I want to hear from God.
I want the direction of the Holy Spirit.
I want the arms of Christ around me and His feet below me.
Establish my steps oh Lord....
I fasted for two and a half days. On Friday, after listening to Jason Michalski's message "Wait For It" for the second time, I got an overwhelming feeling that I could eat again. Sparingly.
Sparingly? Not only I had I already been eating sparingly for the past two and half days, eating only one meal and only after sun-down, but right now I'm on a journey into the wilderness! What am I suppose to do without food?!
Just trust Me.
Just trust Me.
Just trust Me.
Alright Lord.... If it is your will, I will go into the wilderness with no nourishment and limited means of survival to climb a mountain... But I swear if this is some sort of cruel joke....
With a sixty pound pack on my back only a liter of water, one pound of trail mix, some "ginger snap granola" (best thing ever. you must try it. it's at Whole Foods...), Jason's message and Psalm 27:13-14 stuck in my head, one loaf of bread, and coffee grounds I hit the trail.
Something tells me I'm not entirely prepared for anything out-doorsie unless it involves a restaurant with patio seating and a Starbucks across from a public park. But "all things are possible through Christ who strengthens me"....
I went into the woods to have an encounter with God. You know, truly ENCOUNTER God. Away from the city place where there is so much distraction in my daily life. My cell phone is off, my iPod is off... my transportation is walking, and all of my possessions fit on my back.
Righteous... No iPod, no cell phone, no texting, no Facebook, I have to walk...A LOT....
WHAT THE HECK AM I DOING?!
The first thing I see as we're getting under way, is a view, through a clearing through the trees over a pristine lake, to a peak known as "The Cathedral" with a "Jacob's Ladder" exploding over it. (in case you don't know, a "Jacob's Ladder" is where you can actually see "rays" of sunlight in the sky... make sense? Google it or something.)
I'm going to meet God....
As my comrade and I march foreward, (oh yeah, my great friend Brett was with me), it is realized that we are running out of daylight. This is un-nerving. Where we are, we are not at the top of the food chain and there are definitely things that go "bump" in the night.
I think I'm going to wet myself...
"Brett... we need to find a place to camp down for the night."
"Yes we do!"
"Pray that God brings us to an awesome camping spot!"
"Pray that God brings us to the RIGHT spot..."
He did just that.
God was already showing himself to me.
Not only did He give us the RIGHT spot, He gave us an unbelievable spot. In order to get to the area we camped at on Friday night, you had to walk an "almost" trail, cross a stream and search for the flattest ground possible in about twenty square yards of clearing. We were well off the trail and any "organized" camping grounds, we had to build our own fire pit and search for any dry wood possible.
We conjure up a meek fire and enjoy it's warmth. After enjoying a warm cup of hot chocolate and eating some incredible trail mix and granola, it's time for bed.
It's been a great first day.
(stay tuned)
"My Arrested Development" part 3
"Anything in your truck that we should know about?"
"Yes. The nine-year-old under the driver's seat..."
I thought this was hilarious, officer compassionate disagreed...
"Oh yeah? And how'd that work out for ya?"
"Oh you know. Pretty well at first, but the femur was difficult with just a hack saw..."
(Damn it Dane. Stop talking...)
I watch as a second squad car pulls up and, the officer driving, helps tear apart my truck. Awesome.
"What's this?"
I look up, from my very humbling position in the back seat of the police vehicle, to see my best friend in the world, holding two little zip-lock sandwich baggies with white powder in them.
"Oh, hahaha, that's protein powder!"
"Protein powder? Right.... You're sure it's not Cocaine?"
Okay. First of all, if I had two baggies that at one point carried that much cocaine would I be driving this broke down piece of crap truck" I mean honestly?? Second of all, do I look, in any way, disabled in the brain? It can be hard to tell these days, I agree, but it would take a new breed of stupid to have that much coke in such an obvious placings as the floor of my car.... Would you like to rethink you're question?
"Um... yeah... I'm not so much into the coke..."
"No drug charges on your record?"
"Yeah no.... you can taste the powder... it's vanilla and it's delicious!"
"Should I taste it Sarge?"
"I wouldn't... it could be Anthrax..."
Hold the phone!
ANTHRAX?!?! ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!?! Honestly, don't lie to me! If you're joking you tell me... you tell me, right now! Because if you're serious I'm worried for you and it's probably for the best that you don't reproduce...
At this point, I'm so beyond "done talking for fear of conversing with fools" that they just close up the police car and we call it an evening.
Besides, I've got a hot date with the Intake Officer at the King County Jailhouse...I hear she's a looker...
After a very quick date with Intake, I'm put into a small changing room and asked to strip naked... yes naked... with another man right outside a measly curtain. Needless to say, I'm not too keen on this situation. Once I've dressed myself down to my "birthday suit" I'm handed in my new attire.... Socks that make me want to rip my feet off, scratchy "whitey tighties," a shirt that you only wear if you're very proud of your belly, and pants. The pants? Well, they were exquisite! They were flamboyant, comfortable, and boy, were they roomy!
I asked to take them home, but they declined...
We, now, find me in a holding cell with several other gentlemen who seem to have less than stellar attitudes.
And then.... we meet "6-7."
Yes.
He is known as "6-7," most likely because he is 6 foot-seven, but then "his type" have really clever nick-names so who knows.
After getting my mugshot taken, I take my place back in the holding cell and sit down, next to a napping "6-7" who has taken it upon himself to take up most of one bench with his overwhelming self...
"You kicked me boy."
"What?"
"You just kicked me with your foot!"
Well I would hope it was my foot... it be rather unsettling to see someone be kicked with anything other than a foot..
"No.. I don't believe I did..."
"Yes. You just kicked me in the head! Stop kicking me before I knock the cowboy s*** out your a**!"
Wow... YES SIR! I've always wanted to be a cowboy though...
Five hours later, I'm put on what's called "the chain" (basically inmate jargon for "heavily armored bus") to the Kent Regional Jailing Center, or "Kent RJC"....
(to be continued.... yes, again...)
"Yes. The nine-year-old under the driver's seat..."
I thought this was hilarious, officer compassionate disagreed...
"Oh yeah? And how'd that work out for ya?"
"Oh you know. Pretty well at first, but the femur was difficult with just a hack saw..."
(Damn it Dane. Stop talking...)
I watch as a second squad car pulls up and, the officer driving, helps tear apart my truck. Awesome.
"What's this?"
I look up, from my very humbling position in the back seat of the police vehicle, to see my best friend in the world, holding two little zip-lock sandwich baggies with white powder in them.
"Oh, hahaha, that's protein powder!"
"Protein powder? Right.... You're sure it's not Cocaine?"
Okay. First of all, if I had two baggies that at one point carried that much cocaine would I be driving this broke down piece of crap truck" I mean honestly?? Second of all, do I look, in any way, disabled in the brain? It can be hard to tell these days, I agree, but it would take a new breed of stupid to have that much coke in such an obvious placings as the floor of my car.... Would you like to rethink you're question?
"Um... yeah... I'm not so much into the coke..."
"No drug charges on your record?"
"Yeah no.... you can taste the powder... it's vanilla and it's delicious!"
"Should I taste it Sarge?"
"I wouldn't... it could be Anthrax..."
Hold the phone!
ANTHRAX?!?! ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!?! Honestly, don't lie to me! If you're joking you tell me... you tell me, right now! Because if you're serious I'm worried for you and it's probably for the best that you don't reproduce...
At this point, I'm so beyond "done talking for fear of conversing with fools" that they just close up the police car and we call it an evening.
Besides, I've got a hot date with the Intake Officer at the King County Jailhouse...I hear she's a looker...
After a very quick date with Intake, I'm put into a small changing room and asked to strip naked... yes naked... with another man right outside a measly curtain. Needless to say, I'm not too keen on this situation. Once I've dressed myself down to my "birthday suit" I'm handed in my new attire.... Socks that make me want to rip my feet off, scratchy "whitey tighties," a shirt that you only wear if you're very proud of your belly, and pants. The pants? Well, they were exquisite! They were flamboyant, comfortable, and boy, were they roomy!
I asked to take them home, but they declined...
We, now, find me in a holding cell with several other gentlemen who seem to have less than stellar attitudes.
And then.... we meet "6-7."
Yes.
He is known as "6-7," most likely because he is 6 foot-seven, but then "his type" have really clever nick-names so who knows.
After getting my mugshot taken, I take my place back in the holding cell and sit down, next to a napping "6-7" who has taken it upon himself to take up most of one bench with his overwhelming self...
"You kicked me boy."
"What?"
"You just kicked me with your foot!"
Well I would hope it was my foot... it be rather unsettling to see someone be kicked with anything other than a foot..
"No.. I don't believe I did..."
"Yes. You just kicked me in the head! Stop kicking me before I knock the cowboy s*** out your a**!"
Wow... YES SIR! I've always wanted to be a cowboy though...
Five hours later, I'm put on what's called "the chain" (basically inmate jargon for "heavily armored bus") to the Kent Regional Jailing Center, or "Kent RJC"....
(to be continued.... yes, again...)
"My Dance With The Devil"
Walks suck. I hate them. I don't care what games you play while walking either. "Don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back", yeah that's crap. You're moms back will break either way. Those games are like Hopscotch, straight child's play. With Chucky and everything. The bottom line is you just should never go on a walk...
Have you ever been in a situation where you know you're battling with two different "you's"? Like the whole "angel on one shoulder, devil on the other" addage? You know what i'm talking about...
I honestly think that in those situations the outcome is entirely dependent on the subjective nature of which "you" wins. If something tells you to jump in front of a speeding locomotive... it's probably the devil trying to deceive... actually I guarantee it. Please don't listen to that voice... On the other hand if something tells you to communicate with someone important to you... you should probably listen. Because I guarantee you it's the Holy Spirit looking out for you.
I had one of those nights. For some reason the devil likes to attack me when I am on short sleep. But this evening I had the devil loudly on one shoulder and an God loudly on the other shoulder and an innocent bystander caught in the middle. Blast...
Here's the conversation they had:
"it's because you're a failure"
"it's because you will be victorious"
"don't say a word"
"respect her boundaries"
"hahahaha it's because I have you beaten down"
"it's because I must heal you"
"it's because you're a loser"
"it's because I have not said it's time"
"it's because I still have my hold on you"
"it's because I must cast the devil from you"
"it's because you're not rooted"
"it's because I must root you"
"remember how much you've sinned?"
"remember how I forgave?"
God is the only hope we have. Put your hope in Him, lean on Him.
Have you ever been in a situation where you know you're battling with two different "you's"? Like the whole "angel on one shoulder, devil on the other" addage? You know what i'm talking about...
I honestly think that in those situations the outcome is entirely dependent on the subjective nature of which "you" wins. If something tells you to jump in front of a speeding locomotive... it's probably the devil trying to deceive... actually I guarantee it. Please don't listen to that voice... On the other hand if something tells you to communicate with someone important to you... you should probably listen. Because I guarantee you it's the Holy Spirit looking out for you.
I had one of those nights. For some reason the devil likes to attack me when I am on short sleep. But this evening I had the devil loudly on one shoulder and an God loudly on the other shoulder and an innocent bystander caught in the middle. Blast...
Here's the conversation they had:
"it's because you're a failure"
"it's because you will be victorious"
"don't say a word"
"respect her boundaries"
"hahahaha it's because I have you beaten down"
"it's because I must heal you"
"it's because you're a loser"
"it's because I have not said it's time"
"it's because I still have my hold on you"
"it's because I must cast the devil from you"
"it's because you're not rooted"
"it's because I must root you"
"remember how much you've sinned?"
"remember how I forgave?"
God is the only hope we have. Put your hope in Him, lean on Him.
"My Arrested Development" part 2
Sirens. Epileptic flashing lights, and the blinding bright of that perfectly trained spotlight.
"Uh-oh. This can't be good."
And no. It wasn't good. In fact, it was more like the antithesis of "good"....
I watch in my mirror as the officer steps out of the squad car. You know that girl from highschool that was such a bitch everyone hated her? She was a total prude and totally self-righteous? Though she was better than everyone and yet was bitter because no boys asked her to the school dance? Yeah, she became a Clyde Hill police officer in case you were wondering. You can save your money on private investigators and forget about those online classmate finders. (They don't really work anyway...)
"License, registration, and proof of insurance."
What? No "please"?? I am disinclined... but ok. I will acquiesce, but only THIS time. Next time I expect the magic word!
"Is your license valid?"
"I'm driving so I really hope so!"
"People drive on invalid licenses all the time..."
Sweet? I don't...
"I'll be right back"
"Please, take your time!"
As i'm sitting there growing ever more fidgety at the duration of time which my bestie has been in her car, I start thingking...
"Hmm... something is not right...."
Finally, I see my friend step out of the car once again... wearing gloves....
(Either i'm about to get murdered and she doesn't want to leave finger prints, or something new and foreign is about to happen...I don't like the sound of it either way...)
"I'm going to have you step out of the car Mr. Whitney"
"OOOKkkkkaaaaaayyyy..... What's going on?"
"Just step out of the car please"
So, i'm out of my car and the next thing I know, I'm spun around, hand cuffed.. TIGHTLY, and standing, legs spread....
"Anything in your pockets Mr. Whitney?"
"No. What the hell is this!?"
"You're being placed under arrest on a bench warrant from October 31, 2006, in Lower Kittitas County...."
Exsqueeze me!? Baking soda?? A warrant???? For MY arrest?!
"We're going to have you slide into the back seat of the squad car now. Watch your head and mind the tight fit in the back."
"Thanks?"
At this point i'm a little upset at the fact that i'm being arrested, am only on a couple hours of sleep, and have no idea what the HECK is going on! I don't think it helped my case with the officer that my attitude started to show all of these things....
"Anything in your truck that we should know about?"
"Yes. The nine-year-old under the driver's seat..."
I thought this was hilarious, officer compassionate disagreed...
"Oh yeah? And how'd that work out for ya?"
"Oh you know. Pretty well at first, but the femur was difficult with just a hack saw..." (Damn it Dane. Stop talking...)
(to be continued... yet again)
"Uh-oh. This can't be good."
And no. It wasn't good. In fact, it was more like the antithesis of "good"....
I watch in my mirror as the officer steps out of the squad car. You know that girl from highschool that was such a bitch everyone hated her? She was a total prude and totally self-righteous? Though she was better than everyone and yet was bitter because no boys asked her to the school dance? Yeah, she became a Clyde Hill police officer in case you were wondering. You can save your money on private investigators and forget about those online classmate finders. (They don't really work anyway...)
"License, registration, and proof of insurance."
What? No "please"?? I am disinclined... but ok. I will acquiesce, but only THIS time. Next time I expect the magic word!
"Is your license valid?"
"I'm driving so I really hope so!"
"People drive on invalid licenses all the time..."
Sweet? I don't...
"I'll be right back"
"Please, take your time!"
As i'm sitting there growing ever more fidgety at the duration of time which my bestie has been in her car, I start thingking...
"Hmm... something is not right...."
Finally, I see my friend step out of the car once again... wearing gloves....
(Either i'm about to get murdered and she doesn't want to leave finger prints, or something new and foreign is about to happen...I don't like the sound of it either way...)
"I'm going to have you step out of the car Mr. Whitney"
"OOOKkkkkaaaaaayyyy..... What's going on?"
"Just step out of the car please"
So, i'm out of my car and the next thing I know, I'm spun around, hand cuffed.. TIGHTLY, and standing, legs spread....
"Anything in your pockets Mr. Whitney?"
"No. What the hell is this!?"
"You're being placed under arrest on a bench warrant from October 31, 2006, in Lower Kittitas County...."
Exsqueeze me!? Baking soda?? A warrant???? For MY arrest?!
"We're going to have you slide into the back seat of the squad car now. Watch your head and mind the tight fit in the back."
"Thanks?"
At this point i'm a little upset at the fact that i'm being arrested, am only on a couple hours of sleep, and have no idea what the HECK is going on! I don't think it helped my case with the officer that my attitude started to show all of these things....
"Anything in your truck that we should know about?"
"Yes. The nine-year-old under the driver's seat..."
I thought this was hilarious, officer compassionate disagreed...
"Oh yeah? And how'd that work out for ya?"
"Oh you know. Pretty well at first, but the femur was difficult with just a hack saw..." (Damn it Dane. Stop talking...)
(to be continued... yet again)
Saturday, July 26, 2008
"My Arrested Development"
It's a beautiful Monday. The sun is out, birds are chirping, the snails are out mingling with the worms. Sure they have a tried relationship over the argument of which species kids are more curious about. The slugs are lazing about dreaming of a world without salt. It's all around a glorious God-given day. Except for me.
I have slept a mere 5 hours and after working from 10pm Sunday night until 8am Monday morning, I am, now, finishing up a second shift on that very same Monday. The birds are chirping, I wish I had a B-B gun. The snails are mingling with the worms, I wish I had a magnifying glass. The slugs are lazing about, dreaming of a world without salt. I wish I was the "salt god." Needless to say, I do not deal well with being tired.
Fast forward to 8 O'clock. I am on my way home, filthy from doing yard work, I am exhausted and never mind the fact that I wasn't even scheduled to work on this "glorious God-given" Monday. All I can think about is how amazing my sheets are going to feel and how soft my down-pillow is as the I acknowledge the futility of challenging gravity any longer.
"Only two more blocks... just two mo-"
Sirens. Epileptic flashing lights, and the blinding bright of that perfectly trained spotlight.
"Uh-oh. This can't be good."
(To be continued...)
I have slept a mere 5 hours and after working from 10pm Sunday night until 8am Monday morning, I am, now, finishing up a second shift on that very same Monday. The birds are chirping, I wish I had a B-B gun. The snails are mingling with the worms, I wish I had a magnifying glass. The slugs are lazing about, dreaming of a world without salt. I wish I was the "salt god." Needless to say, I do not deal well with being tired.
Fast forward to 8 O'clock. I am on my way home, filthy from doing yard work, I am exhausted and never mind the fact that I wasn't even scheduled to work on this "glorious God-given" Monday. All I can think about is how amazing my sheets are going to feel and how soft my down-pillow is as the I acknowledge the futility of challenging gravity any longer.
"Only two more blocks... just two mo-"
Sirens. Epileptic flashing lights, and the blinding bright of that perfectly trained spotlight.
"Uh-oh. This can't be good."
(To be continued...)
Friday, June 27, 2008
Allow me to re-introduce myself...
Wow, for as much time as I spend on-line, it is long over due that I have my own blog. I would have assumed that, with my love for writing, someone would have showed me, something this magnificent, a long time ago.
It's okay though. I'm over it. I don't hold grudges.
I think setting up this blog was more fun than actually managing it and posting on it will be. Seriously, though! The random question generator? Are you serious!? I want one of those on my iPhone! Best thing EVER!
"You're going to the moon! What did you forget to pack?"
This one was my favorite. I mean, honestly, if you are going to the moon, does anyone really need to remind of the fact, in exclamatory fashion?
"Yes, I'm going to the moon! Why are you yelling at me!?"
"You've got to make contact with the alien leader. How do you know when the conversation is over?"
Really? I'd assume the conversation would be over when A) I am probed and eaten or B) a pool of warm yellow liquid forms on their floor and they get offended, probe, and eat me.
Honestly, I could waste so much more time, on-line, pretending I am popular, playing with that little game thing.
Well, enough with the small talk.
I am Dane Pierce Whitney, a 22 year old residing in Bellevue, Washington. This will be my story.
The story of a lost little boy, in a brand new town, who screams in fear of spiders, loves Jesus, is action-packed with issues, hides behind humor, lives with his grandparents, cares too much, and never gets the girl.
This will prove to be my "open book," a no-holds-barred attempt at spilling my life for the public to scrutinize. And, my legacy shall be known as, "Dane in Real Life."
I hope you enjoy!
It's okay though. I'm over it. I don't hold grudges.
I think setting up this blog was more fun than actually managing it and posting on it will be. Seriously, though! The random question generator? Are you serious!? I want one of those on my iPhone! Best thing EVER!
"You're going to the moon! What did you forget to pack?"
This one was my favorite. I mean, honestly, if you are going to the moon, does anyone really need to remind of the fact, in exclamatory fashion?
"Yes, I'm going to the moon! Why are you yelling at me!?"
"You've got to make contact with the alien leader. How do you know when the conversation is over?"
Really? I'd assume the conversation would be over when A) I am probed and eaten or B) a pool of warm yellow liquid forms on their floor and they get offended, probe, and eat me.
Honestly, I could waste so much more time, on-line, pretending I am popular, playing with that little game thing.
Well, enough with the small talk.
I am Dane Pierce Whitney, a 22 year old residing in Bellevue, Washington. This will be my story.
The story of a lost little boy, in a brand new town, who screams in fear of spiders, loves Jesus, is action-packed with issues, hides behind humor, lives with his grandparents, cares too much, and never gets the girl.
This will prove to be my "open book," a no-holds-barred attempt at spilling my life for the public to scrutinize. And, my legacy shall be known as, "Dane in Real Life."
I hope you enjoy!
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