Found: Marilyn

Found while browsing one of my mother's old yearbooks.

Marilyn was apparently hell on wheels at Lancaster (Indiana) High School in the late 1960s.

The Golden Lion

I got this when we saw Dick the Bruiser wrestle for WWA at the Fort Wayne Coliseum in the late '70s or very early '80s. I've kept it for the next 40 years, so may it be preserved digitally forevermore.

Tim Golden

The Golden Lion

WWA

Cheating at the Pinewood Derby

The only things I really remember from my short time in Cub Scouts are dressing as a monkey for a play, answering “dandelion” when they asked for flower names (and getting laughed at), and the pinewood derby.

For the derby, you got a block of wood and some wheels to make a car and raced it downhill. My dad, still drinking back then, was very into it. One Saturday night, while I was watching SNL, he was in the basement melting lead fishing sinkers with a few beers. He drilled holes in the front of my car, poured in the molten lead to make it heavier, sealed the holes with wood putty, and painted them yellow like headlights. When that looked too obvious, he slathered the whole front of the car in thick yellow paint.

I got the date of the race wrong and missed it, which turned out to be a blessing. Another kid told me they weighed the cars, so my lead-filled masterpiece would’ve gotten me busted and humiliated.

Between that and “dandelion,” Cub Scouts was not my shining moment.

Zonkboard Comics

For awhile, at The Real World...Blogger Style!, we'd make these online comics using text from our real zonkboard conversations:

Example Zonkboard comic.

Blasts from the Past

During last month's travels, I was able to browse through old family photos for the first time in years. I brought a few of them home with me for scanning, like this one:

Me & Brother Todd in the 1970s.

I also learned that plaid clothing was a constant presence in my childhood photos.

The highlight of the trip was a box of memorabilia from my mother that had recently been delivered to my brother in Missouri. My mother died when I was 10 years old, so it was interesting to look through the stuff. A lot of it was famiiar from my childhood, though most of the photographs were totally new to me.

I'd never seen this one before:

My mother, age 3; with Santa Claus, 1950s.

Then there were my baby pics from 1970. It's pretty funny how little I've changed since then:

1 year old Jonnie, 1970.

[Originally posted on Rebel Leady Boy, Sep. 1, 2005]

More Smiles Per Gallon

I used to refer to this Sunoco sign as, "the face that haunts my nightmares." It seemed to be posted everywhere in Bloomington, Indiana in 1992.

Which JohnnyC Quote are You?

Update 9/5/2025 - I ran a couple of the results quotes through ChatGPT and after an intense commentary, I asked, "Is it metal?"

ChatGPT responded: "Yeah-- It's metal as hell. [fire emoji].

In the mid-2000s, JohnnyC emailed me a list of outrageous metal quotations he had written down and saved. I was not sure what to do with them, but I thought they should be shared. I didn't know how to incorporate them into my blog, so the Which JohnnyC Quote are You? quiz was born. 

Original banner link to the quiz.

The quiz is no longer active. I may have to recreate it, but until then, here's a reproduction:

Which JohnnyC Quote are You?

JohnnyC has said a lot of crazy shit.

Which JohnnyC quote best characterizes you?

1. Which statement appeals to you the most?

a. "Lick my plate, you dog dick”.

b. "Nothing damages better than a brand new building”.

c. “Blarney Balls”!

d. "Bus Driver, I want to drive your bus”.

e. "I'm gonna try to get some off a skank at the Motel 6”.

2. If you could have any number of eyes besides two, how many would you prefer?

a. None            .

b. One.

c. Three to Nineteen.

d. Twenty.

e. More than twenty.

3. Which element best characterizes you?

a. Earth .

b. Wind.

c. Fire.

d. Water.

e. Meat.

4. You are pissed off because:

a. You are horny.

b. You only have one eye.

c. Your favorite electronics warehouse has vanished without a trace

d. They put cheese on your burger even though you told them:
    "Hamburger, not cheeseburger."

e. All of the above.

5. Who rocks harder?

a. Metallica.

b. Van Halen (David Lee Roth).

c. Van Halen (Sammy Hagar).

d. AC/DC.

e. Kiss

6. If you had to eat only one thing, what would you prefer?

a. White Castle.

b. Vienna sausages.

c. Something without cheese.

d. Poontang.

e. Nachos.

Possible Results

(sorted from most to least popular)

1. Rage and Mayhem - 24% of participants, awarded 61 times:

The clouds in the sky above float weightless, yet they attack me as if made of lead and crush me in fits of rage and mayhem.

2. Automated Warriors - 15% of participants, awarded 38 times:

Licking the fresh wounds of indifferent weapons, the helldogs gather behind the automated warriors and launch a terror assault against the demon children of mistrust and misunderstanding.

3. Misunderstood Agony - 14% of participants, awarded 35 times:

I bleed not red but the crimson of hate and the fire orange of misunderstood agony, and my mind is the chimney for the raging firebox of my tortured soul.

4. Wall Not Yet Built - 12% of participants, awarded 31 times:

Rain down upon me the drops of searing lust for destruction of wall not yet built and the wet tears of souls not hearing their destiny.

5. Ill Gotten Animals - 9% of participants, awarded 23 times:

Feed me the meat of ill gotten animals and let my disease begin to spread across the universe.

6. Beginnings of Armageddon - 6% of participants, awarded 14 times:

The sirens wail and the nukes rain down as the loathsome cowards, otherwise known as the world leaders, gather in their cocoons of sin and larceny, watching the beginnings of Armageddon in their palaces of anti-terror"

7. Beginnings of Armageddon - 6% of participants, awarded 14 times:

The cold skin of fear creeps down my back leading the last morsels of conscious thought into a paranoid rage as the curtains of night close on the theater of ultimate terror.

8. Retribution Against the Demons - 6% of participants, awarded 14 times:

The scorched earth,blackened by flames of tortured souls, screams in agony for retribution against the demons and vandals who lit the match with their blood stained fingers

9. My Festering Soul - 4% of participants, awarded 11 times:

Every passing of the satellites overhead keeps me cowering in fear of demons in black who wait for my miserable failure, feasting on my festering soul.

10.  Bleeding in the Gutter - 4% of participants, awarded 9 times:

As the mulleted skull lay bleeding in the gutter, I silently observed the remnants of horror in the eyes reminding me that rock and roll will never die, but flesh and blood is flesh and blood. 

Hay Elevator

When we were little kids running around at our cousins' farm, we used to love running up the hay elevator and riding it back down - CRASH! - then running back up the other side again, and crashing down again. It was like a huge see-saw with impact.  When you ran to the top, your weight would make it fall (fast!) to the ground. When we were really little, sometimes the impact would launch us up in the air.

I made a chart to illustrate the dynamic:

 Lots of fun, and I got to do it again last week, joined by Cousin Abby Jo:

It's a lot less dramatic now that we've grown up so much.  We used to be able to fit on the very end. It's still fun though.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, June 5, 2004]

Foot Treatments (Reflexology)

As discussed on the Gilliomville message board:

Grandma Hazel always wanted to give foot massages, and they were ruff, she used to dig into my foot and crunch the arches, it felt like glass was breaking in my foot, grandma would say it was the crystals breaking, I would ask why there are crystals in my feet, and she responded it was from drinking too much pop.

She would always work out the "crystals.” She'd say it was unhealthy to let those "crystals" build up in your feet. There always was something kind of popping when she rubbed the foot though, I guess it was just muscle tension or something, but I believed her and imagined crystals were developing in my feet. I believed that as gospel for years until I realized I'd never heard anybody else talk about crystals in their feet. I don't know when I stopped believing in foot crystals, but I never actively disbelieved it. I just learned it was a weird topic that was best left undiscussed with my fellow school children.

After Hazel gave foot treatments, she would have the grandkids do her feet too haha - she knew we hated to do that, so she'd let us divide the work - one kid per foot. Then Todd and I would each only have to do one foot. It was pretty horrible though. She had gnarly toe nails.

Hazel called those foot massages, "foot treatments.” She practically considered it a medical procedure. She learned this from Saul the Amishman who sold vitamins, gave foot treatments, and was widely hailed as a miracle worker in the area. He would not charge anything for a consultation, though you would have to pay for any vitamins he prescribed. 

Some days, Saul would work by appointment, but one day of the week was "first come, first serve.” Saul's Amish farm would be full of cars, sometimes people would come from outside the state to be diagnosed and treated by Saul. Grandma credited him with all kinds of miracles. My Dad had a recurring condition that kept returning despite the advice of a number of conventional doctors, but after he had Saul look at it, it was cured for good.

One year, Saul sold more vitamins from a particular company than anybody else in the country, so the vitamin company told him he won a free car. Since he was Amish though, he could not accept it; so they bought him a new buggy instead. Hazel said she saw the buggy and, "it was a really nice one.”

I remember Saul had a day of first come first serve. Mom said there was a guy that was there at 4:00 am and just slept in Saul's yard till he opened at 7:00 am. Jonnie, I remember the new buggy! That Saul sure could sell the vitamins!!

Saul (and Hazel) believed in the pseudoscience called Reflexology, though they never called it by that name. Reflexologists (and Hazel, and me as a child) believed that particular areas of the foot corresponded to other organs of the body and when that organ is experiencing problems, there is corresponding tension in that area of the foot. By massaging the tension out of a particular area of the foot, a person can make the corresponding organ healthier as well.

When Hazel was rubbing my feet and something would hurt, she'd say, "That's your kidneys"! I totally believed it as a kid, Hazel seemed to be so sure that's how it was and Saul was such an esteemed figure, it never crossed my mind they didn't know what they were talking about.

Reflexologists refer to diagrams or maps of the human foot with all the corresponding body parts written on it, so if somebody has tension in a certain part of the foot, you can find out which corresponding body is unhealthy. Some years ago, I was showing somebody one of these diagrams and it had everything - kidneys, liver, sinuses, head etc. marked. The only thing missing was the feet. We were laughing about that. Apparently, reflexologists don't account for troubled feet. If your foot hurts, it is always symptomatic of a different body part.

What a weird thing! And it seemed so normal to us to go to Grandma's and get foot treatments.

Grandma took me to see Saul once - He looked in my eyes with a magnifying glass and he could tell what vitamins or herbs your body needed. He would place a container of a particular herb or vitamin in your hand then ask you to stick the other arm straight out, then he would grab it like a lever, say "Resist me", and try to push it down. Then he would have you hold a different vitamin or herb and do the same thing. If a vitamin wouldn't help you resist him, he would not prescribe it, but if it gave you the strength to keep your arm up while he pushed against it, then that meant your body needed that one.

He told me I needed potassium and then Grandma added, "You should eat bananas every chance you get.” I think I left with about four different herbs he said I needed.

How To Eat a Soft Taco

From Taco Bell, probably the late 1980s, possibly very early 1990s, but I think it was the late '80s.

These helpful instructions were printed on Taco Bell's soft taco wrappers:

Taco Bell: How to eat a Soft Taco.

How to eat a Soft Taco without the mess!

   1. Leave Taco in Pocket Wrap until ready to enjoy!

   2. Unfold wrap to expose just enough Taco for a bite or two.

   3. Keep folding away wrap until each delicious bite is gone.

I don't eat them this way, I'm afraid of biting into paper.  I completely unwrap it and risk the mess.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Mar. 9, 2004]

Uncle Rog's Cottage

[Compiled from various posts on the Gilliomville message board, contributed by various Gillioms and Franks]:

Q:  Who was that Aunt who made the really good cinnamon rolls at Uncle Rog's cottage?
A:  It was Aunt Elva. She also made wonderful potato salad.

When it rained at Uncle Rog's, the girls would go shopping. I remember one year I got new nail polish, and Aunt Elva let me paint her fingernails hot pink. I thought she was the coolest old lady ever.

One time the family was all out at Rog’s cottage and young Rick (about 13 years old) got into Rog's booze and ended up very drunk.

Remember the time at the lake when Nick hooked Aunt Vi in the middle of the forehead [with a fishing hook] and she had to walk around with a hook in there for several hours until they found a doctor to take it out?

I remember mostly loads and loads of jello cubes and as much soda pop as we wanted. There was that outdoor built-in cooler with running water inside, keeping a constant cool temperature. It was like, "wow...we can just keep going back for more...even if we aren't thirsty...They NEVER run out!!!" I'm glad I wasn't footing the soda bill.

I remember all of us licking the jello cubes and trying to stick them on windows. It was kind of gross re-licking them after they fell off, they were all dirty and stuff.

Gilliom Heritage, pt. 2

[Compiled from various posts on the Gilliomville message board, contributed by various Gillioms and Franks]:

Here’s how I understand my lineage - I am Todd, son of Jon, son of John, son of Orel, son of Isaac, son of Abraham, son of Adam.

Uncle Ralph was able to speak and read German during WWII. While stationed in Germany, he spent the night with a female circus performer, “to watch over her tigers.”

Jon, do you ever remember dad telling about working in the hay mow and one of the brothers was to come up to help him?  Before the brother came up, he threw the pitch fork into the mow and it ended up stuck in the calf of dad’s leg.

They had a game of hide and seek in the basement consisting of hiding and then the seeker would heat up a nail red hot on the coal stove and with a pair of pliers start poking into the corners trying to find a body.

Grandpa [John] Gilliom and some of his friends used to play a game which involved drinking a laxative. The general idea was to see who could be the last man holding it, but they learned real quick it was a better trick to go in the bathroom first, lock the door, and hole up. We asked Alvin Gerber and Uncle Rog about it, but they denied involvement pretty quick.

The story of the liquid laxative is Gospel according to dad. He told me that story so many times that I know it is true. He laughed so hard when telling it. He got the biggest kick about someone wising up and going into the bathroom first and taking up stool space. I asked Rog about it a few years ago and he played totally stupid. He tried to pass it off as being dad and Alvin. I wish dad was alive to refresh some minds.

Grandpa John, Son of Orel and father of Nancy, Jon, and Rick.

The story of the mink in the tile is quite clear in my mind. Dad always told the story, but I heard it straight from Uncle Ralph. The boys saw a mink on the way to school and chased it into a tile. Someone guarded the tile and someone else went home for traps. Uncle Ralph was the master trapper. He exposed a trap at the entrance to the tile. The second trap was cleverly concealed behind the first. The mink later saw the first trap and jumped over it. The mink landed with both front feet in the concealed trap. The story was always told with Ralph being quite the hero.

At recess, some of the boys started chasing and teasing a skunk and ended up getting sprayed and sent home.

Jon, do you remember a bull dog we had (I think it might have been when we lived in Vera Cruz) and we tied it to the clothes line and he hung himself? I surely didn't dream that, did I?

No, it was not a dream. I hated that dog. I remember we had Pug at Raymond Miller's farm. He was given to us with pedigree papers and all. He was a registered Boston Terrier. He used to go out in the pig lot and eat pig shit and then throw up in the yard and on the side walk. I used to wear shorts in the summer and he would bite me. He would just break the skin, but would leave big bruises. Don't you remember it? He used to bite you too. I remember the time he was barking at the cows and the whole herd stampeded, after him. Do you remember that? We lived in Vera Cruz, when he was chained on the clothes line run and got tangled up and hung himself one night. I never shed a tear. I hate pug-nose dogs of any kind to this day.

John, Jon, Nancy, and Hazel Gilliom.

John had a maiden Aunt. Aunt Sarah. She was Grandma Gilliom's sister. She made her home with Grandma & Grandpa. Those of you who remember mom know she did not take criticism well and being ordered around by other people even worse. She wanted to call Jon, "Barry," and Aunt Sarah did not like the idea one bit. Mom said if it had to be John, at least she would spell it the way she wanted to. Hence, the "Jon."

Dad used to get pissed off that Grandma wanted to name him Barry. He hates that name. I imagine he's over it by now, because he hasn't mentioned it in about 20 years. Maybe it's just too sore a topic.

I was going through photos here and found an autobiography Uncle Jon wrote for a class in grade school. It was a fun read - he said when he grew up, he wanted to be a barber, "so I can meet a lot of new people in a well-ventilated shop.”

Q:  To all relation of Gilliom roots:  Are we French?  Folks think my last name is French??? Are we French ... Guys I have to know. It’s really been bothering me. Yes or no - is this true?

A:  No, we are not French. Basically we are Swiss. I think there was a French Grandmother somewhere back there but Grandma Gilliom and all the Aunts and Uncles spoke Swiss. Mom (Grandma Hazel) could not understand Swiss so when we were at Grandma's everyone would speak English.

"Gilliom" does sound French. Uncle Jon says we were based in Alsace-Lorraine for some years. Alsace-Lorraine went back and forth between German and French occupation. We could've picked up a French spelling of the name there. I'm not sure where all that fits in the timeline though.

Gilliom Heritage, pt. 1

[Compiled from various posts on the Gilliomville message board, contributed by various Gillioms and Franks]:

The Old Gilliom Farm House.
Photo courtesy of Ross Frank.

It was all started back in the old country of Switzerland by Adam Gilliom (who my [Rick’s] Adam was named after). Adam’s wife's last name was Roetlishbarger. They had a son John, whose wife's name was Elizabeth Schneck. John and Elizabeth had two sons named Christian and Abraham, who came to America in 1823. Abraham Gilliom was born on Mount Munster, Canton, Bern Switzerland Sept.14, 1811. At the age of 12, he and his family immigrated to Wayne County, Ohio. Isaac was born in Ohio.

They moved outside of Vera Cruz between 1845 and 1847 to a farm of about 330 acres which the present Harold Isch was part of. Isaac married Melanie Hanny. She was born in Canton, Bern Switzerland on May 3, 1836. She came to America in 1844 with her family. They were French. I met a strange little photographer in Sedona AZ when I was running my meat route and when I told him my name was Gilliom, he said. “You’re Swiss.” He said our family name is a "registered name" in Bern Switzerland and that it was a Swiss Gov thing. Possible cause: the Swiss Gov taxes everything!!

He also told me that "Canton" was or is another name for mountain. With Switzerland a neutral Country, many people were there from many other countries:  France, Germany, Italy etc. I don't know why our name is registered...if we were within the law or outlaws and just a bunch of German hillbillies. This is from a family tree written by Grandpa Orel. Aunt Dula lent me copy back in 1986 or ‘87 and I haven't kept it up to date. I think I gave Jon a copy.

Isaac Gilliom, 1833-1873 was the first Gilliom that belonged to the Apostolic Church. I have no idea what religion they were in Switzerland. Isaac had a brother, Jacob, who went West in 1854 and was never heard from again.

Orel Gilliom.

I was talking to Uncle Roy last Sunday and he told me a good story about great grandpa Orel. When Orel decided to ask for his first wife's hand in marriage, he followed the church's tradition of visiting the church elder to request a proposal be sent to his prospective wife. Apparently when he did, the elder said, "Well, my Lizzie has feelings for you.” So Orel married Lizzie instead of the person he originally had intended to ask for. I guess sometimes a sure thing is better than a chance of first choice.

The spelling of "Orel" has been corrected [changed from “Oral”] in Gilliomville’s online photo gallery.

I did a genealogy project in college. Cousin Carol from Michigan told Mom that Peter Meyer met his wife at a square dance when his fiddle got caught in her skirt. Sounds scandalous to me.

I think it was Grandpa Ed and Grandma Flonie that meet at the square dance. (Now there is a name for someone in the family to carry on - Little Flonie Fern).

There was an Obed, son of Orel. Obed was John's brother that was killed in a wagon/car accident in his late 20's. Obed was in the wagon and the car hit him. Some of the family were on their way to the hospital and had an accident themselves. I have no idea who was driving but I know Aunt Vi had a head injury and was unconscious for several days.

Ask Kenny Gilliom about the story about the car wreck, I think he was thrown through the window. And Ralph was driving, "after a night at the Bluffton Street Fair."

While the era of the horse-drawn wagon is indisputably over, I am proud to be of a line to stick with them even into the era when it was dangerous to do so. God bless Great Uncle Obed!

I don't mean to make light of Gillioms' past tragedies, but personally, I always thought a horse would be a safer way to get around drunk. On one hand, I hate to hear about folks dying no matter how it happens, but on the other hand, something about Obed's departure sounds so close to home -- almost predictable.

Amish Tendencies

My family's ancestors were Anabaptists during the protestant reformation. Over time, schisms within the Anabaptist movement gave rise to groups like the Mennonites, Amish, and others. My direct line came from a later Anabaptist splinter group in Switzerland known as the Apostolics. So, I share some common ancestry with Amish folk.

Our family’s lineage can be traced back to Adam Gilliom, who emigrated from Switzerland to Indiana in the 1800s. At that time, we were Apostolic. A few generations later, my father became the first member of our family to leave the church entirely—a decision he made on his own. He’s mentioned that it was a tough time because none of his friends were allowed to talk to him anymore, and he deeply missed hunting and fishing with one of his cousins.

According to my parents, when I was a little kid, I had a memorable encounter with an Amish buggy. One passed by our house, and I took off chasing after it without a word. My mom was frantic when she realized I was missing; she even called the police.

Eventually, someone reported seeing a little kid running down the road after a buggy, yelling, "Horsey! Horsey!" The police found me and brought me home. When my mom asked what I was doing, I told her with great determination that I wanted to be “an Amish” when I grew up.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, Feb. 20, 2004]

Fork Fangs

Cousin Ross taught me this at Long John Silvers in Fort Wayne, IN during the late 1970s and I've never forgotten it. Fork Fangs are an example Hoosier ingenuity at its best.

It's an easy way to entertain yourself and others in a public dining area for no extra cost while your parents are talking for hours. 

Directions:
1. Start with a standard disposable plastic fork.
2. Break off the handle and center prongs.
3. Flip it upside down.
4. Place it in your mouth, and....ta-daaaa - Vampire fangs.
5. Fun time!

Recreating the Fork Fangs experience as an adult..

Andy

Andy was a rock and roll animal on the bus.

These photos were taken at, or on the way to, high school speech and debate events. 

Andy used to say and do a lot of cool things. He played drums in high school marching band and one summer, during a local parade, a child ran over and grabbed at Andy's drum. He hit the child's hand with a drumstick and say, "Don't touch my drums."

G-ville Message Board Posts

[Compiled from Gilliomville message board posts, contributed by various Gillioms and Franks]:

A perfect Gilliom birthday would involve blowing up the microwave while cooking something.

Here is the rules from now on:

1. No Wild Turkey before posting on Gilliomville.
2. Watch what you say because everyone is reading.
3. Get plenty of sleep on work nights.
4. Eat right.
5. Exercise often.
6. Vote.

I miss mooning people, it's been too long.

Boy, the women just can't stand it when we're happy, can they?

Todd, I had no idea you were so informed on pine trees!!

I want to get to the point to where I could punch out a mean dog.
Then I could walk around pretty confidently.

Looking back through my life, it sure seems like the people who are quick to tell you they have it all figured out, sure fall hard.

I can't believe I took my yard for granted for so many years. It's the only thing in my life I have control over.

In 1990, I shot Brian Clark in the arm. The B.B was surgically removed from his Deltoid.

While cleaning and organizing the house, we came across a whole bunch of useless keys. We tossed them all into one container. Now, as a joke, when we have guests and we just don't want them to leave, we're going to toss their keys into that container; then they'll have to sort through them all to find the correct one. It won't be funny if it happens to you, so make sure you know your keys before visiting.

When we lived out at the lake, Dad taught me and Todd how to tape firecrackers and sparklers to arrows, light the fuses, then shoot the arrow really high up in the air where it would explode. That was really fun. I would also emulate a panel from a Green Arrow comic and lay on my back, holding the bow up with my feet. You could pull the string back really far with both hands and your full body weight. The arrow would go so far up in the sky, you would lose sight of it.

Jonnie, tell me if this brings back memories:  I was looking at my senior yearbook and you wrote, "Well, I might not be finishing up my senior year with you if this whole fire alarm thing doesn't blow over." Those were some wild times.

I remember Dad being really worried that they wanted to kick Jonnie out of school and he couldn’t afford a lawyer.

The bathroom in the Craigville house had a door that led to the roof of the garage. One day, Adam got out on the roof and jumped off. It was like jumping off of a one story house and it didn't even phase him. Abby has told me she remembers jumping off also.

Knife Day

[From RW...BS's "Knife Day"]

I have 2 knives of note -

1. My first knife ever:

My first knife ever.

This was a gift from my father when I was 6 years old or so. The little metal plate says "Old Timer" and I've placed it on a bag of small flour tortillas for scale.

It is notable for not having a safety lock, so if you're not careful, the blade can close on your fingers while you're cutting something. Strange choice of gift for a six year old child. It taught me at a very early age to be careful when using knives.

2. Ulysses' Death Knife:

Ulysses' Death Knife.

I acquired this knife in Los Angeles when Ulysses (the guy who rented the basement of Miski's house) moved out and left it stuck in a tree. Miski didn't want it, but said I could have it. It is also placed on the same bag of small flour tortillas for scale.

I still use knives when needed, but I don't always use cutting boards. Somewhere along the line, I've acquired the habit of cutting vegetables while holding them in my hand.  I did this with a bell pepper at my Chinese Professor's house when she invited the class over and she was startled and horrified.  I keep my home knives pretty dull, but hers was super sharp, so that's probably why she over reacted.

[Originally posted on The Real World...Blogger Style!, Sep. 3, 2005]

True Security Guard Fantasies

In the late 1980s, I had started college and was working a third-shift security guard job in a factory, from about 11:00 in the evening until 7:00 in the morning.

There weren’t too many responsibilities; I would just make hourly patrols. I think it was an insurance thing for them. I liked it because I could study between rounds.

I only bring this up because I remembered another guard there named Werner. He was one of those out-of-shape idiot wannabe cops who thought a low-level security guard job was the same thing as joining a SWAT team.

Anyway, I only bring up Werner because of his messed-up fantasy life. I remember one particular shift change when he started rambling on and on about how he’d love for somebody to try to break into his house so he could shoot them legally. If they weren’t armed, he said, he would put another gun in their hand to justify the shooting.

One night, he drew me a diagram of his fantasy home, which included a large pyramid structure with a hot tub at the top. All three sides of the pyramid were made up of stairs, like this:

Werner's fantasy love-spa.

It was really important to him that the pyramid be tall enough so that he could survey the entire surrounding area from the comfort of his hot tub, ensuring that no one could ever sneak up on him. I couldn't quite understand why he felt so strongly about this, particularly in the context of the hot tub.

As if that weren't strange enough, he shared a fantasy where he was in the hot tub with his wife, surrounded by a stash of guns just in case he needed them. Suddenly, he notices someone trying to sneak up the side of his pyramid.

He said he would climb out of the hot tub, ask his wife to tie a towel around his exposed privates, and then shoot the intruder without hesitation.

As the fantasy continued, more people appeared, coming from all sides of the pyramid. He was being swarmed! He dealt with the situation by firing at everyone, all while his wife kept handing him fresh ammunition.

Werner's action sequence.

???? - What kind of fucked up fantasy is that?

He also was 100% POSITIVE that he could write an amazing screenplay based around that scenario. Maybe that is why he was so concerned about covering up his privates. I don't know why he would care otherwise.

Poor stupid Werner.

[Originally posted on Rebel Leady Boy, June 16, 2005]

Back in Town

I just returned from a trip home to Indiana for the sad occasion of attending my uncle's funeral.
Aside from the purpose of the trip, it was great to see the family and farmland again.

A lot of us had an early reunion at Chicago O'Hare Airport as all of our connecting flights were delayed or cancelled. I met my father and cousins Adam and Abby there and we all cancelled our connecting flights and took a bus to Indiana.  It was a riotous journey.

At the end of the trip, as we were all entering the airport to fly to our respective home states, Abby sent a fake can of peanuts with a springing snake it it through baggage check.  We were hoping the TSA guy would open it and get pranked. He laughed and refused to open it though. He said he saw the snake in the scanner.

Once back in Orange County, it took me two hours to get home from the John Wayne airport by bus, but it was totally worth it. The driver for the first segment of my ride should have been on American Idol! He sang really well. There were only three passengers on the bus, it was evening, and the driver was singing beautifully. A bunch of old Temptations songs, and I don't know what all. A bag lady who was riding would occasionally join in and they'd perform a duet. It probably was my most delightful bus ride ever.

Based on the three bus drivers I rode with to get home, I'd say that evening bus drivers are far more pleasant than daytime bus drivers (in Orange County, at least). It is probably the lack of traffic congestion.

[Originally posted on I'm Nacho Steppinstone, June 5, 2004]