Purple Sock III: End Game

Maybe I'll eventually remember parts one and two, written in shelter journals in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in the last few weeks, and write them here as well. For now, and for all interested parties (probably limited to Sherlock, Sonic, Superman, Chew, Roo, and Turtle), here is part three of the saga of Purple Sock. This story first appeared in the shelter journal at Flint Rock Shelter near Sams Gap.

Purple Sock III: End Game

Upon entering the cave, Purple sock noticed three things. First, there was indeed a large fire. A black pot hung above it, gurgling as fluid boiled within. Second, he noticed a large pile of ... Well, he wasn't quite sure what it was for a large canvas tarp covered it. Third, and most odd, was a pair of ankle-high toe socks. Toe socks are weird enough. The stories any sock out of its packaging long enough could tell about them would put a scare into any self-respecting woven garment. Ankle-high toe socks must be much, much worse. All socks know that ankle socks are unpredictable. Add to that the terrifying reputation of toe socks, and you have an abomination.

Purple Sock let out a meek hello in the general direction of the toe socks, who were currently set on some task deep in the darker reaches of the cave. A stronger hello left him shortly after. 

We heard you the first time, said one toe sock. 

Yeh. We heard you already, said the second, unnecessarily.

An interrogation of Purple Sock followed. Who was he? Here did he come from? Where was his match? Would he be delicious stewed with glove parts and buttons?

The fourth question have Purple Sock reason to rethink the current situation. He was probably in danger ... Or they were just crazy. His eyes surveyed the cave again.

Fire. Check. 

Pot of boiling water. Check. 

Seemingly cannibalistic socks wondering about his edibility. Check.

A ha! But no spare glove parts or ... Shit. The pile covered with canvas. 

And then the toe socks were upon him, trying to subdue him and move him toward the fire and their stew pot. They were successful, but as soon as they were close enough, Purple sock turned the tables. He quickly dodged behind them, their backs to the fire as they turned to meet him, and turned himself inside out. Horrified, the toe socks each stumbled into the fire and burned to death.

Purple Sock was out f breath but relieved the danger was behind him. He quickly went to the mound the toe socks left behind. Thousands of sock, glove, scarf, and other textile parts were piled high in the cave. One part in particular mattered most: the heel of a purple sock. Frantically, Purple Sock gathered the heel and searche for other parts. A grey toe followed blue, yellow and red pieces from other socks, and he sewed his match back to life. Since the heel is the soul of any sock, he was sure this would work. 

It did!

His friend restored, the pair walked into the woods to begin a new journey. About two miles in, a realization hit Purple Sock which did not occurr to his friend. He didn't like his match anymore. He had forgotten all about an argument they had about grape fruits which caused them to decide they were better off apart. So, he reached over to his friend, pulled a thread, and watched him fall apart to the ground. Problem solved. 

The end. 

When life gives you lemons ...

make lemonade.

But what if life gives you lemonade by making you forget the lemons you needed to make delicious kale salad. WHAT THEN?!

I'm imagining some sort of rift in the space-time continuum. I meet Jean-Luc Picard on the Enterprise, in the midst of a fierce battle with the Borg over the last citrus tree, on the other side. Phasers set to kill. All over a few lemons. The Klingons are there too ... because ... yeah.

That's a best-case scenario. The other end of things is actually having to make fresh lemonade. How many lemons did life give you? Like, a dozen? I've squeezed one lemon, two tops, before, and ... it kinda sucks. What if you had to squeeze eight? Lemon juice is flying everywhere (probably into one or both of your eyes), your hand starts cramping by the fourth lemon, by lemon five you're wondering if there's a better way, if maybe you should stop and buy a $300 juicer on amazon because waiting the two days for Prime shipping would take less time than finishing the job by hand. By the end of all this, you realize you don't have enough sugar handy and you've just squeezed a cup of lemon juice for no reason.

Best to throw the lemon juice into your eyes and hope karma calls it even for the day.

Presidential "Facts"

I once had a dream of creating a blog all about presidential facts. Stuff like James Monroe being the first POTUS to take mushrooms on a boat, only to be one-upped years later by Rutherford B. Hayes doing them on a boat, on the Mississippi River, with Mark Twain and a freed slave musician named Jonny "Two Tone" (he could only sing two notes: the A above middle C and the G below) singing "Camptown Races".

This idea has been stolen; ripped from my tenuous, lazy hands, it has been co-opted by seemingly every journalist gainfully employed to cover this years election. It's even been taken by the politicians themselves, the idea that you can make up ludicrous things about other people, write them on a website or say them aloud, and get people to believe them.

Well, I'm joining the fray. For your consideration, here are three 'totally true', 'unbiased' facts - FACTS I SAY - about each candidate.

First, Mitt Romney:

1) Mitt Romney catches a lot of shit for putting his dog on the roof of his car that one time. The truth is that the dog deserved it. He's Irish.
2) Mitt Romney can't see Russia from his porch, but he can see 5 or 6 illegal immigrants that he's going to have to hide in his fallout bunker for the next 4-8 years if elected.
3) Mitt Romney has a seldom talked about but very important initiative for the military called 'Knocking on Heaven's Door'. The idea? To militarize the Mormon religion, sending young Mormons all over the world, annoying people into submission with door knocking, pamphlets and other paraphernalia evangelizing the man they call John Smith (not the guy coaching Arkansas this year).

And now our beloved POTUS:

1) He's going to take all of your money if you're rich. In fact, he's going to take his own money too, since he's rich. Perfect plan to subvert the American Dream, if you ask me. PLUS, it panders to his Christian base with its "do unto others ..." ethos. You know that's not coming from his Muslim side...
2) He's not missing a birth certificate because he wasn't born here, Donald Trump. He's missing one because he was never born. Yet ...
3) He's missing every third toe from the left. No one knows why. Also, the toes he does have are completely hairless.

There. That was simple enough.

Sweater Weather

I don't really claim to be fashionable, nor do I think that I'm poorly dressed. I like having nice things to wear and take some pride in not looking like a complete slob. J. Crew is a great place to buy nice clothes that don't make you look like a slob. However, they obviously have a very tenuous grasp on reality. To perfectly illustrate this fact, I have attached the photo below.

I really hope your reaction was "Holy shit. Who would wear a cable knit sweater with a pair of swim trunks?" because if it wasn't, this is a pretty disappointing blog. Seriously. The headline of this image shouldn't be "Into the Blue", it should be "Into the Wardrobe of a Man with a Rare Nervous System Condition That Causes His Upper Body to Feel Much Colder Than His Lower Body".

And you know that sweater is cashmere, or lambswool, or some crazy shit. You can't get it wet! So, maybe just leave it in the house, in your closet, in a chest, with your flannel-lined corduroys and pea coat and other stuff you only wear when you think it might snow.

New (sup)post

It's one thing when you make a valid, strong attempt to spell and fall short. Whether it's the 'i' before an 'e', or really difficult words like aneurism, Czechoslovakia and bivouacking, spelling can be a real bitch. But there are some misspellings that just can't be ignored. Modern text editors (like the one I'm using) spell check for you. Even your smartphone does. There's just no excuse.

Take the 'word' suppost for instance. This word gets used in text conversation alarmingly too often. So, what exactly is that, anyway? Maybe the name of an after dinner mint? Or maybe they just misspelled 'support', which is clearly the closest real word to that collection of letters. So, I googled it to be sure, and sure enough, it returns this result:

Ohhh.... Let's be real here: I knew what the person meant. And it's just that attitude of knowing the intent and not wanting to openly correct grammar that lets this plague persist. That and the fact that no one but a few of us even care anymore.

The crazy part of this all is that, after I searched for 'suppost', my satisfaction was only increased by the stunning showcase of superfluous stupidity that followed. Here are a few examples of search results returned:

• Getting Pregnant Forum - Is the Sperm Suppost to Fall Out? -- Whoa! TMI... Wait, what?...
• Why is it that blondes are suppost to be stupid and brunettes are ... -- I suppos(t)e this is a blonde asking
• Incidentally, the top answer is "i dunnno but im both! does that make me both?"
• Are pads suppost to be noise in the pants ? -- Great sentence. F-

I don't think I could have better summed up the kind of people that spell 'supposed' like 'suppost'. No way. I'm not even going to try. And if you're reading this, frantically skimming through your texts and emails for an instance where you used 'suppost' in a sentence, then good for you. Change starts from within.

Of dinosaurs, mystical beasts and the lies that spawned them...

Just about every day, I go to CNN.com to check out all the latest news. Okay, so maybe not all the latest news, but they do occasionally sprinkle in the events of the world inbetween Bieber sightings and celebrity rumors.

Given the prevalence of news that no one cares about, it is particularly striking when something comes up that is truly noteworthy. Maybe that's what they're going for - driving people to the real news by surrounding it with a pile of crap. So, today, you might imagine my surprise/excitement/dare I say all-encompassing zeal for this story.

FLYING CREATURE DIVERTS PLANE

You can't write that and have any sane person avoid clicking. But isn't a 'flying creature diverts plane' scenario, is it? No. When you click on that link you're greeted by a commercial followed by a bunch of people in a plane freaking out about a bat in the cabin. Not to say that I wouldn't duck to avoid the bat if it was there, but the titled of that story is almost a lie. At the very least, it's an exaggeration that in my mind violates a secret code of ethics for all humans that says (and I paraphrase) 'if you're going to make it sound like there's a mythical creature, don't prove yourself wrong by giving too much evidence to the contrary.'

Think of it this way. Why do we have the Yeti? Because no one who isn't crazy (you have to be a little bit to be climbing on Everest or K2) or who wasn't oxygen deprived and lonely has ever seen it. Do we believe them? Well, yeah. Kind of. But we all know that, given enough time alone, a human being is more than capable of creating an imaginary friend, and an imaginary friend that terrorizes goats in the high mountain passes of the Himalayas just points to a childhood filled with too many video games and violent movies. The lack of evidence allows our imagination to run wild.

So, the next time you decide to post a story about a winged creature diverting a plane, CNN, don't include video. Give me an incoherent quote from the dumbest person on the plane and call it a day. Better yet, link that title to a blank page and I will assume quite rightly that the person writing the story was eaten by said beast and only a few other survived the attack. Giant pterodactyl fantasy achieved.

Are you going to eat that?

Someone just walked in to the room and declared "I have a headache and I don't know why." Their logical next assumption made was "It's a brain aneurysm." It probably isn't, but I started thinking about how we (humans) are so aware of all the different stuff that could happen to our bodies. An aneurysm is defined as a "localized, blood-filled ballon-like bulge in the wall of a blood vessel." This does not sound like something a living being would be so acutely aware of, and in that way we are very special. If you were not special and you had a brain aneurysm, you would pretty much just be dead. Your friends would cry and would then bury you. Morbid, I know.

But think of it as a blessing. If you were a coyote or some other vulgar form of life, you would have an aneurysm, die and, for about 10 minutes, your friends would debate whether to eat you or go look for something not-dead, after which time... they would eat you.