Introducing Quackers! The little ducks that . . .

The title of this post is a nod to the famous "Quackers commercial," circa 1988, captured for eternity on VHS when my dad taped A Charlie Brown Christmas/How the Grinch Stole Christmas off TV for us. Much like the York peppermint patty commercial ("When I bite into a York peppermint patty . . . [man jumps on table]) the ending was cut off, leaving us perpetually curious. So I don't know the rest of that slogan, but it's kind of irrelevant since Quackers never quite succeeded in wresting a significant portion of the "cheddar flavored crackers shaped like animals you might find in a pond" market from Goldfish.

Since I got absolutely no love for my allusion when I described my UPS uniform by using a scene from White Christmas, I'm not expecting much here, but anyway.

So, point of the story, I'm starting duck driver training on Monday.

My audition consisted of me giving a slightly modified introduction where I basically cut out all the jokes (except for "Absolutely no smoking. If I see you smoking, I'm going to have to assume you're fire and take appropriate action.") I also added my own "joke" where I asked the "passengers" (played by the boss/interviewer) if anyone was here in Seattle for the first time. "Really? Great. Me too! I've heard it's a great city, though, I think we'll have fun." Hahaha, imagine how funny it would be if your tour guide had never been to the city before! Or if they had just moved there a few days ago!

And I laughed nervously the entire time. This was the only time in my life I have received anything resembling positive feedback on my nervous laughter. "I like the way you laugh at yourself-- it makes you likeable."

So, in conclusion, "I'm the life of the party!" said a la Gloria from the camping trip I will refer to as the "Pip trip" to distinguish it from multiple other similar camping trips (i.e. the "Club Chinook"/Ignition Remix trip, the "Are we really going camping with our teachers?" trip, etc.)

Who Knew?

And in less than four days I will be moving to Capitol Hill, the Gayborhood of Seattle . . . Glad I'm continuing my streak of unwittingly ending up in the gayest places ever. Well, not always unwittingly. I was warned about Brown by Ashley Jones, who upon hearing that I had applied told me that her sister had wanted to go there but her mother wouldn't let her because there were too many lesbians.

600

The Speedster and I hit recorded mile #600 this afternoon on a country road passing through the farmlands of Littlerock, WA. Sun at my back, Weyerhauser tree farms on my left--rows on rows of seedlings running into the distance-- and Mt. Rainier at 2 o'clock rising above the evergreens.

Quackity Quack Quack Qwaaaaaak.

Does anyone have any duck jokes?

Here's my quandry (I was going to say predicament, but "quandry" seems to fit the quacking theme better. Ohh, I could have said "pre-duck-ament"): Well, if you can't tell, I need to write a cheesy "Welcome to the duck tour" introduction because I have an "audition" on Monday to be a duck boat driver. Actually, I don't need to write anything at all, just deliver one of the pre-scripted intros with enough enthusiasm to convince the boss that I am one of those "life of the party" types they are looking for. This appears to be the most important, if not only, qualification of a duck boat driver as he repeated the phrase several times during the initial interview.

I did my best to make it through the interview trying to somehow imply that I could be considered the "life of the party" without actually lying. This mainly consisted of me saying I was "funny and likeable," which was hard enough for me to say with a straight face as it was, and failing to mention that all my jokes are sarcastic and my likeability is based on a mutual hatred of people who love to be the center of attention, especially those who think they're funny. But I quickly gathered that a duck boat is no place for understated humor.

When told that the driver should be the one having the most fun at all times, I nodded and smiled in agreement, again not mentioning that the one time I was on a duck boat I was probably the one having the least fun. Well, besides my dad, who yelled out "Oregon" from the back when the driver asked us where we all were from and then looked like he wanted to jump off the boat for the rest of the time, especially when the "Macarena" came on at full volume. I was hung over and the alarm hadn't gone off so we had just woke up a few minutes before when my dad called to see if we were coming because the duck was about to leave and they already bought non-refundable overpriced tickets and so had to sprint twenty blocks through the oppressively humid Philadelphia morning and almost missed it anyway. After an hour of stupid jokes, even my mom admitted that "Captain George" was a little much.

So the reason I'm trying to at least write my own material is that it's going to be hard enough as it is to pretend that I'm an "entertainer" and there is absolutely no way that I can deliver the stale jokes in these pre-made scripts with anything other than ironic contempt. And I don’t think that’s the tone they’re looking for at Ride the Ducks. Although, in my opinion, it would make for a superior tour.

I mean, really, is there any way I can actually say, “Keep your hands, feet, and whatever else you can inside the Duck. I don’t want to have to call any of you ‘Stub.’”? First off, it’s not even funny and definitely not clever. And second, how awkward would that be if there was an amputee on board? Then I'd have to put my foot in my mouth, which would make it even worse because I'd then be flaunting the fact that I have a foot to put in my mouth (See, look, I can make lame jokes . . . oh god, that was actually another really bad pun in itself and I didn't even mean it. )

And I really can’t deliver jokes that I just don't get (i.e., "Look to the right at the personal injury law firm. Look at all those amazing people in the window and wave. We will see all those people again later and they will all look like they have to go to the bathroom.")

So, does anyone have any duck jokes? (Becca, I'm counting on you for this one . . .)

Recently Borrowed:

(From the nearby public library)

Erin Brockovich [DVD]
Rounders [DVD]
Sex and the City Season 3 [DVDs]
The Very Best of John Coltrane [CD]
The Cars [CD]
(Dry [a book!] - renewed x2 now though)

I'd say that's a public service put to good use.

Houseboat

We haven't had a picture in a while.

My accommodations.
Someday.

436.blahblah*

That's what its going to cost to get Fang back on the road. When I was
trying to recall the exact amount so the post title could be more
precise, it occurred to me that you all would probably forgive my
inaccuracy. Because at that point who really cares, right? All I was
concentrating on while Dan** was talking was whether my bank account
was greater or less than the numbers before the decimal point (A bit
greater if you're worried, so don't be). Anyway, I bring all this up
because every time the car I own breaks down, it stirs in me the
timeless 'urban v. rural' debate. I like the cadence and beauty of
rural areas; I love being close to nature, and firmly believe that I
feel best when I am surrounded by it. I also love anthropomorphizing
cute little animals and that's a hell of a lot easier to do when they
are greater in number. That said, like many good liberals I know that
one of the best ways to preserve nature is to live apart from it
because humans are so destructive (and if everyone wanted to live
there, tragedy of the commons, etc.). Also, living in a city comes
with so many conveniences; ways that life is technically actually
simpler, just based on the proximity of other things (not having to
drive 20 minutes to get milk for instance). Lastly in defense of the
urban I should point out that I still get great pleasure out of saying
'hi' to pigeon # 3465. Ooo ooo I know! I'll move to some
under-populated, but over-developed area right next to a highway (and
a human-made 'nature' park) that's really just a 5-minute car ride
from Walmart. It's the best of both worlds. But for now I'm stuck on
the Cape so, Fang, I love you and I hate you and will pick you up at
five.

* Actual cost was 510.36.
**Name not changed because there are a million Dans in the world.

ÜPS, I Did It Again

While I had planned to write daily updates of my life as a (wo)man in brown, I obviously didn't get around to it. I couldn't let this pun to go to waste, though, especially since it involves an umlaut.

But while we're here, I will offer you a little retrospective about the most fascinating part of my fleeting brush with employment: the UPS uniform.

The amazing thing about the brown outfit is that it can get you anywhere. The fact that I was able to wander around the supreme court library and attorney general's office without arousing suspicion is saying a lot because while I am a woman in my mid-twenties, I actually appear to be an adolescent male. And adolescent males are generally disrespectful punks that have no place in a large majority of civilized establishments. Given my love for hooded sweatshirts and androdgynizing hats, I often get those looks myself. Sometimes they are warranted, like when I am drunkenly kicking bales of hay under the fence at a public park at one in the morning. But usually it just pisses me off and consequently I end up acting like a surly teenager as well, like the other day when I went into Zak's to look for a Manchester-by-the-Sea shotglass. (I know, I doubt they exist, too. Like my mom said, it's Manchester, not Revere. But I thought it was worth a try.) I was followed by one of the cashiers who was trying to get my attention to tell me that I needed to leave my bag at the front. I forget exactly what he was calling me, but it was something that implied both age (young) and gender (male). It really pissed me off that he was wrong on both counts.

So basically I look like a hoodlum, and that was emphasized by the the baggy pullover, oversized men's pants, and beanie. But I'm in uniform, so no one calls security when they see me wandering around the marbled back rooms of the state capitol building. (Apparently not all uniforms have this effect, though, i.e. the AmeriCorps sweatshirt ;). In the brown UPS clothes, I'm fresh out of high school, gainfully employed in a respectable profession unlike my unruly peers. White-haired security guards call me "young man" in a way that I wouldn't have been surprised if they pressed a nickel in my palm and told me to buy a Coke.

I will hopefully have pictures in the near future (as soon as I finish the roll of film-- remember those days?), but until then if you want an image the closest I can give you is from the movie White Christmas, when the women dress up in fake military uniforms and sing "Gee, I wish I was back in the army." With baggier pants.

Who am I and Why am I here?

(spoken enthusiasicly) Hello World! (sung) It's like a different way of living now. - "Brand New Day"
I feel like you should know that that song's in my head for the first time since 8th grade.

And so it begins.

Resolutions, Pirates & an Invitation

Note: For those of you not interested in being subjected to an (over-) analysis of my life, please omit the bracketed text.

[New Year's seemed like a good time to look at my life—or lack thereof—and figure out what exactly I was doing with it. I took the beginning of 2007 as an opportunity to examine all those areas where I could be doing better and make practical plans involving proactive behavior and the power of positive thinking. The blog was one of those areas to analyze.

It's been almost a year of blogging and for some reason the blog, non- or not, still feels like a massive blob of negative energy that says "So you want to be a writer? And you can't even manage to write occasional paragraphs to entertain a small group of supportive friends? Good luck, sucker." And then it goes, "Mwhahahahahahaha."

But just getting rid of the blog altogether seemed like a cop-out and an admission of defeat. I do want to write more, and the blog forces me to do that. But then again, that's also the reason it's not good—because I write when I feel like I should (because weeks have passed), not when I'm inspired. So then I got to thinking about why I never feel motivated to write anymore. When I thought about everything I used to enjoy writing about in the past, I realized the one thing they had in common was that they were all shared experiences that I wanted to capture. These days, 97.5% of my time is spent by myself and transcripts of my interior monologues do not make good stories (case in point-these last few paragraphs).

I know some of you might disagree, but I really don't like being the center of attention. This is really what underlies all my objections to the whole concept of blogging. I've always been more of a team player. (Again, I know at least one person who objects to this self-assessment, but I stand by it.) Maybe the hippies of Olympia have rubbed off on me, but I want to make this blog more of a community experience.

So, as part of my 2007 resolutionary strategic plan,] I propose that we make this blog a collaborative effort. Meaning that y'all can post now, too. After all, your comments are far more entertaining than my posts. I can give anyone permission to write, so just give a shout and I'll send you an invitation. It'll be fun. It's not an obligation, just an opportunity. Think about it: more frequent posts=increased procrastination for all!

But in case you are not convinced that the blog needs multiple authors, I offer you the following.

Last night as I was drifting off to sleep and worrying about the impending start of J.O.B. Search, Phase II, I had a thought. I actually grabbed a yellow legal pad and wrote these notes thinking I would make a blog post out of them in the morning.


Why I Want to be a Pirate

sketchy work history is not a problem
have experience ripping people off on the ocean (Manchester Marine)
eye patch
i've been told i smell like laundry.*
rum sounds good


*If i remember correctly, this might have been the one reason why I might not make a good pirate. I have no idea where I was going with "eye patch."