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.