I Need A Sidekick because I AM A Sidekick

"Okay, as you might recall, I am Bertie. For several weeks, a state of extreme dramatic tension has been building (yes, that's the vague sense of uneasiness you have been experiencing--it's not just anomie, nameless dread, or indigestion this time)."

"I've gotta pull off some kind of a great escape caper that will free my buddies from the unknown men of sophisticated peril."
"So, I have spent every waking hour...hey! What are you doing? I had to eat!"
"Anyway, I have spent every single breath, every ounce of my strength...hey! Quit that! I'm telling you, I was worn down from all my plotting...I was hungry!"
"And thirsty! I was very thirsty, and you know, after you eat the Chinese food you need ice cream because that food is so light and why not a root beer float to rehydrate and stay strong and hey! Have you been following me?"
"Every other second that I have NOT been COMPELLED to devote to refueling my weak little body so I can prepare to single-handedly swoop down and rescue my comrades, I have devoted to...HEY! How'd you know about her? I swear she's just a friend of a friend. A big ol' friendly cowgirl who I bounce my rescue plans off of from time to time. No! That's not her phone number on there...Sheesh!"
"So, other than the big old friendly cowgirl, I am alone in this world, and..."
"HEY! How'd you find out about Jeanette, Genevieve, Lola, Mimi, Coco, Sylvie, Mehitabel, and Daisy?"
"WTF? You're all-seeing and all-knowing? You could have WARNED me, you know, plus you are one scary bright red lady. * That can't be good for your blood pressure. Is that a vein pulsing in your forehead?"
"Oh, I see...it's all MY fault that the story of the plot isn't moving along--it's just because I get hungry and thirsty and need to spend a little time with close, personal friends? It's not your fault a little, teensy bit?"
"Okay, okay, OKAY giant forehead martian lady."
"But, look. I'm a sidekick, not a leading man. I'm not Bruce Willis. I'm the nebbishy little wisecracking guy. Nervous joke-cracking is my weapon of choice, next to a can of GladeTM air freshener. I mean, in a tight spot I WILL come through, but I need a gang, a posse, or at least ONE sidekick to help me out. Yeah, that's right. I need a sidekick because I AM a sidekick. "
"Yeah, exactly like that. See? During the Ordeal of the Ugly Cakelike Easter Hats, you had a sidekick to help you out. Get me Super-Pouty Girl in the yellow coat here! Just get me some BACK-UP for crying out loud. If I'm goin' in, I need some back-up. Wise up! Okay, you're "on it." That's nifty. We'll see what happens. My dream list of sidekicks--live or dead--includes Andre the Giant, maybe Oddjob from James Bond 'cause of the helpful hat and if we can sway him from his wicked ways, Peter Boyle from Young Frankenstein, Gig Young for no particularly good reason, Sideshow Bob if he's stable, Mr. Spock, Rosalind Russell..I dunno, my mind is blank. Any other ideas? Anybody want a root beer float to help you think? "

*Scary red Sparkle is courtesy of ClinkyTM. Giant scary cowgirl card belongs to Sparkle. Vaudeville poster found on ebay. Photos of restaurants found on the Web. Dinosaur photos by Sparkle, aka giant forehead martian lady.

Tuesday Awards and $10 Worth of Toys!

Before I get down to the business of the day, I must issue some early morning awards. Lamont Cranston wins an Algonquin Roundtable award for, "I wrote you a funny, touching, thoughtful birthday money order, but a bonobos monkey ate it." He can come and pick up his round table at the Ikea shipping dock. Lois Lane, Ace Reporter, gets an award for being witty while direly ill. Cake gets an award for also owning a blue wig and for taking excellent photos of evil horses.

Yesterday, I Ain't No Oprah said, and I quote, "Still talking about your birthday??!! Let it go, let it go..." As I Ain't No Oprah is my Celebrity Blogography of the week, I feel like I need to pay more attention to his agitated, vein-throbbing-in-forehead dithering than I ordinarily would. So, in deference to I Ain't No Oprah, I WILL "let my birthday go." Yes, I will let it go Starting Tomorrow. Until then, how about a birthday recap? Yes, I thought you'd be game!

First, as I noted yesterday, one of my favorite gifts was--no, sadly not a torque wrench, as suggested by Meredic, who lives in the North Wales mountains--$10 of quarters to put in the toy machine I have previously chronicled in these pages.
A deep, soul-searing question has been haunting all of you in the silent watches of the night, hasn't it? No, not the one about world peace. This question: WHAT do you GET when you insert $10 of quarters into a "Space Station" toy machine? Here. This is what you get.
What's that, I Ain't No Oprah? This is not enough post-birthday fun for you? You want to see the birthday card I received from my sister? And, you are wondering whether Jayne presented me with a special birthday greeting? Well, wonder no more, my vein-throbbing-in-forehead, chum!
This is the card I received from my sister, and yes, that IS a photograph of a cemetery.

Officially, I am in dire straits workwise, buried under a giant stack of words--both written and ones that are swirling around in my head and need to be written. This is me, with the exception that I am faced by a hostile pack of assignments, and not cards: So, I scuttle off to put my nose to the grindstone (ow ow OW), leaving you with a question to ponder: What was your favorite book when you were a child/young adult?

A Fine Romance

This summer, I had a steamy romance full of lust, hate, passion, depression, and boundless joy.
No, no, no. Not that kind. I fell in love with a trinket vending machine. There it is, all red and glassy with little things encased in brightly colored plastic bubbles. WOW! Just, look: Look at this. I can get a flying bird man with a rocket pack! Or a pocket-sized Martian holding a vibrator (no, wait, a microphone)! Or a big, red funny-looking squishy thing! Or a ROBOT! I can even get a hi-intensity flashing LED!
Wait. What the hell am I going to do with a hi-intensity flashing LED? Oh, who cares. It doesn't matter. All I want is that little silver robot that looks like it is perfectly poised to snick into position and slide down the chute into my palm. Wow! What a miraculous mechanism. What a handsome, enchanting machine. Fifty cents. Is that all? Okay. Here goes. Fifty cents, thwink thwink, turn the handle, roll little plastic bubble, rollll down the chute, come to mama! But, I do not get the little robot. No. I get a big, red funny-looking squishy thing that smells like burned rubber and two hi-intensity flashing LEDs on little necklaces. What the heck? I’m too old to go to raves. I’ll fall down and break a hip. Plus, I want the little robot. And I want it bad, and I want it now. Next time, I'll get it next time. I begin to stockpile vast amounts of quarters in a scary, General Patton kind of way.

I go to the machine every Sunday morning, pockets clunking with change, pretending I am there to buy the Sunday paper. One morning as I stand outside waiting for the store to open, a man joins me. We chat about the weather as our eyes burn holes into the back of the teenage boy who lounges behind the counter ignoring us in a really obvious way and waiting until it is precisely 9:02 a.m. to open the door. For no good reason, I point to the robot in the vending machine and I say, “See that? I really want to get that robot. I’ve been trying for awhile.” And the man gets a wild gleam in his eye and says, “You know what? I’d GET that robot for you if I could!” He looks like he is going to grab a rock and break the window, and for a mad moment I feel like screaming out like a gun moll, “Yeah! GET it, Johnny, GET IT!” and I kind of wish I am wearing an angora sweater like Natalie Wood in “Rebel Without A Cause.” Then, the teenage boy swings the door open, our moment of middle-aged crazy fades, and we shuffle into the store shame-facedly.

There are many such Sunday mornings. I take to disgustedly tossing armloads of plastic bubble “treasures” into my back seat. 1,200 hi-intensity flashing LEDS on little necklaces, 4,000 stupid malfunctioning plastic tops, 500 mysterious, stinky rubber balls. My outlook is bleak. And then, then one beautiful day, there is a breakthrough. I get three robots. The next time, I get two martians. And suddenly, I know it is time for the machine and I to break up. We can go our separate ways—-me a little poorer and my backseat fuller, it a little richer and its glass case more empty. Take a look at the machine in this photo. It was full when I first saw it.

Recently, I dropped by the store to grab a Sunday paper. And, I thought I’d check up on the machine—see how it was doing. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I swear it was just for old time’s sake. I’ll say this for the machine: It was looking well. I popped a few quarters in, and I’ll be damned. One hundred percent GOOD stuff poured into my palms. I tested the machine. More good stuff poured out. I peered into the machine looking for hi-intensity flashing LEDS on little necklaces, stupid malfunctioning plastic tops, mysterious, stinky rubber balls. THERE WERE NONE. And then I thought, “Damn. I bet I cheered up the guy who fills this vending machine.”

Suddenly, I could see him dragging himself through his route, unshaven and dejected, servicing machines that always remained full of stupid, unwanted plastic crap. And then, one week, somebody suddenly started buying his stuff. The level in the machine of stupid plastic crap went down and down and down! The college fund of his children grew and grew and grew! He started whistling around the house, lost weight, looked years younger, and the romance came back into life for he and his wife. They took a cruise with the kids, and when they came back, he was full of the milk of human kindness. He swore to himself that he would never fill a machine with stupid plastic crap. No. Not ever again. And, he has kept his word. His machines brim with REALLY COOL plastic crap. Each quarter MEANS something and buys a treasure.

At least that’s what I tell myself when I’m looking around for quarters for parking meters. Hey, by the way, do you need an LED necklace?

More Trouble Ahead

"Look, babe, I've SEEN the boys' situation, and it ain't lookin' good. I'm just a small plastic dinosaur with a bitchin' pimped out ride, some very cheap wine, and substantial personal magnetism. I'm a lover, not a fighter. How the heck am I supposed to rescue them? Auuuuugh. Stop drilling me with that laser beam of sorrowful righteousness, I'm a Druid...I don't believe in your stuff. OH, CRAP. Okay, okay, okay. I'll try. I'm just saying it ain't good." sound of burning rubber
Rex: "I'm sure this is just a mistake of some sort. Say, fellows! Where do you hail from?"
'Saurs: "SHUT UP, REX!"
Algernon: "Fortunately, Victor has a break-away tail. But, overall I'm thinking this ain't lookin' good. Hey. Who cut the cheese?"