You may think I'm talking about WYSP (and, yeah, I kind of am, but that's a whole other bunch of posts), but I'm also talking about something that will affect me more physically: I'm getting four wisdom teeth cut out of my face on Wednsday, at, like, eight in the morning because that's when the specialist is in. I'm not going to be up or anything: They're giving me Novacain and gas, which pretty much ensures that Dad will be carrying me from the car to our apartment (in our "apartment community"--that still cracks me up every time) like Darry carried Ponyboy from their car to their house in The Outsiders after they all hugged and cried in the hallway of the hospital after the church fire (Rent it).
This is my final post before then. Wish me luck!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Look Out Congress--Rudi Stein's Up at Bat!
I'm gonna get straight to the point here: Rudi Stein is running for Congress.
Oh, yeah, I know he has another name, but he'll always be Rudi Stein to me (for those of you who aren't sure who he is, he was The Jewish One on the Bears who Buttermaker told to get plunked with the pitch to get on base). And while, sadly, his political views differ from my own, it's still funny to picture Rudi sitting in Congress actually, you know, doing something.
See? Not all child stars end up like, say, that Olsen. Some of them run for Congress and don't get hooked on drugs and don't die. Well, I don't know for sure that he's not on drugs, but if he is he's certainly doing a good job covering it up. Maybe because nobody's looking to expose the dark personal secret of Rudi Stein.
One question, though. Does he still have that awesome Jewfro?
Oh, yeah, I know he has another name, but he'll always be Rudi Stein to me (for those of you who aren't sure who he is, he was The Jewish One on the Bears who Buttermaker told to get plunked with the pitch to get on base). And while, sadly, his political views differ from my own, it's still funny to picture Rudi sitting in Congress actually, you know, doing something.
See? Not all child stars end up like, say, that Olsen. Some of them run for Congress and don't get hooked on drugs and don't die. Well, I don't know for sure that he's not on drugs, but if he is he's certainly doing a good job covering it up. Maybe because nobody's looking to expose the dark personal secret of Rudi Stein.
One question, though. Does he still have that awesome Jewfro?
Rock You Like a Hurricane
All right, so I dragged out the clichéd Scorpions joke. I'm done now. Kind of.
I hope that you made it through the storm all right, all of you guys out there. We lost power for a little bit--the day after the storm. Transformer or something. Reports that it was a Decepticon are as of yet unconfirmed.
Kind of angry that all the coverage focused mainly on New York City--not Philly, or New Jersey, or North Carolina, Virginia, D.C., or Boston...but that's another rant. This one is about how to survive the next one.
Safety tips? Pug no. Who needs to be safe during a hurricane? I'm going to teach you how to rock out!!!!!!!!!
First, get people you wouldn't mind being stuck in a house with for hours on end (this is not the time to try to make up with that backstabbing best friend who stole your man or the ex who slashed your tires). Then, blow the power and backup generators blaring this freakin' sweet playlist (I would suggest blaring 94 WYSP, but that's not going to be an option after Friday at 3 PM....*sniff*) that I came up with while I was bored and writing by candlelight yesterday. Get your clichés on and get down, you motherfathers!
Until the power goes out, that is.
I hope that you made it through the storm all right, all of you guys out there. We lost power for a little bit--the day after the storm. Transformer or something. Reports that it was a Decepticon are as of yet unconfirmed.
Kind of angry that all the coverage focused mainly on New York City--not Philly, or New Jersey, or North Carolina, Virginia, D.C., or Boston...but that's another rant. This one is about how to survive the next one.
Safety tips? Pug no. Who needs to be safe during a hurricane? I'm going to teach you how to rock out!!!!!!!!!
First, get people you wouldn't mind being stuck in a house with for hours on end (this is not the time to try to make up with that backstabbing best friend who stole your man or the ex who slashed your tires). Then, blow the power and backup generators blaring this freakin' sweet playlist (I would suggest blaring 94 WYSP, but that's not going to be an option after Friday at 3 PM....*sniff*) that I came up with while I was bored and writing by candlelight yesterday. Get your clichés on and get down, you motherfathers!
- Neil Young, "Like a Hurricane"
- The Scorpions, "Rock You Like a Hurricane"
- Panic! at the Disco, "Hurricane"
- Bob Dylan, "Hurricane"
- Need to Breathe, "Hurricane"
- Garbage, "Only Happy When it Rains"
- Frank Sinatra, "Pennies From Heaven"
- The Weather Girls, "It's Raining Men"
- Paramore, "When it Rains"
- The Carpenters, "Rainy Days and Mondays"
- Lena Horne, "Stormy Weather"
- Pitbull/Marc Anthony, "Rain Over Me"
- Luke Bryan, "Rain is a Good Thing"
- Creedance Clearwater Revival, "Who'll Stop the Rain"
- Zac Brown/Jimmy Buffet, "Knee Deep"
- Johnny Nash, "I Can See Clearly Now" (or the awesome rocker version by the band Screeching Weasel, who need to be included on this playlist simply because of their name alone)
Until the power goes out, that is.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Ahoy, Mateys!
I have brought out the leaf-background for a reason: Summer is almost over (unfortunately), and this means that fall is coming.
Personally, I like fall. I would like it more if I wasn't forced to sit in a crappy desk in a crappy classroom in a crappy school--but that's another rant. Er, post, I mean. What I'm trying to say is, I will certainly like fall even more once I graduate high school because I'm certainly not going to college and nobody can make me--
Another rant. I know.
MY POINT HERE IS THAT I LIKE FALL. A LOT. AND A HUGE PART OF THAT IS BECAUSE I LOVE HALLOWEEN.
I love trick-or-treating. Sure, it's more exercise than I usually get in a year, but it's got free candy. Plus, I am into all things spooky because I am strange like that. So that's just even more fun.
I turned sixteen a few months ago, and my parents believe that means I need to stop trick-or-treating. This was sprung upon me as we were in the car riding to Wal-Mart this past weekend and I commented on how I didn't know what I was going to be for Halloween this year.
What, you expected me to just stay home and go with it? Pug no. My brother didn't want to go, and my parents, you know, are tired and everything, so I announced that I would strike out on my own, or with some of my friends depending on where they'll be that day. I never really know with those people. Some have like eight families, others are in activities and stuff...But whatever.
While we were in there, I wandered around, looking for costume ideas (I'm not going to give up an arm and a leg to buy a costume I'm only going to wear once when I can make one out of clothes I have or can wear over and over again.). I found it, too, in this black-and-white striped cami: I'm going to be a pirate with my black gauchos, that shirt, a Leif Garrett-esque bandanna, and some rockin' black leather boots.
Then my dad decided he didn't want me walking around our "apartment community" (those words always need to be parenthesized) alone at night dressed as a pirate, so if I can't round up a cre of my friends (*giggle* pirate joke) and my half-sister and cousins can't come, then he's going with me--walking at least four feet behind me at all times. AT LEAST.
Pirate crew, where art thou? All over the dang county.
Now, where can I find a parrot...?
Personally, I like fall. I would like it more if I wasn't forced to sit in a crappy desk in a crappy classroom in a crappy school--but that's another rant. Er, post, I mean. What I'm trying to say is, I will certainly like fall even more once I graduate high school because I'm certainly not going to college and nobody can make me--
Another rant. I know.
MY POINT HERE IS THAT I LIKE FALL. A LOT. AND A HUGE PART OF THAT IS BECAUSE I LOVE HALLOWEEN.
I love trick-or-treating. Sure, it's more exercise than I usually get in a year, but it's got free candy. Plus, I am into all things spooky because I am strange like that. So that's just even more fun.
I turned sixteen a few months ago, and my parents believe that means I need to stop trick-or-treating. This was sprung upon me as we were in the car riding to Wal-Mart this past weekend and I commented on how I didn't know what I was going to be for Halloween this year.
What, you expected me to just stay home and go with it? Pug no. My brother didn't want to go, and my parents, you know, are tired and everything, so I announced that I would strike out on my own, or with some of my friends depending on where they'll be that day. I never really know with those people. Some have like eight families, others are in activities and stuff...But whatever.
While we were in there, I wandered around, looking for costume ideas (I'm not going to give up an arm and a leg to buy a costume I'm only going to wear once when I can make one out of clothes I have or can wear over and over again.). I found it, too, in this black-and-white striped cami: I'm going to be a pirate with my black gauchos, that shirt, a Leif Garrett-esque bandanna, and some rockin' black leather boots.
Then my dad decided he didn't want me walking around our "apartment community" (those words always need to be parenthesized) alone at night dressed as a pirate, so if I can't round up a cre of my friends (*giggle* pirate joke) and my half-sister and cousins can't come, then he's going with me--walking at least four feet behind me at all times. AT LEAST.
Pirate crew, where art thou? All over the dang county.
Now, where can I find a parrot...?
And Now the End is Near
I don't know where you guys live and all, but if you're in the Philly-New Jersey broadcast area there's a radio station that has been around for over thirty years (my dad listened to it when he was growing up) caled 94 WYSP. I have always listened to it on and off, and around April I began listening to it almost full-time. I love their Eight From the Eighties at noon and their Mandatory Metallica and their Extreme Team and their Live in it and Win (this was the first year I heard it, and the contestant I was rooting for, Tina Bubbles, won, which made it even greater) and the fact that you could win a backyard barbecue where their deejays would broadcast from your backyard. Unfortunately, I don't HAVE a backyard because I live in an "apartment community," so there was no chance of me winning that, which blew chunks, because what an awesome post THAT would have made, but I digress.
The first time I ever listened online to a radio station was the second-to-last day of school in the Language Lab, where the teacher said that we could do whatever we wanted as long as it was quiet and "school appropriate." I plugged in my headphones and chose my station: 94 WYSP. I listened to it the whole time. I head Bon Jovi's "Runaway" and Van Halen's "Why Can't This Be Love" and Jane's Addiction's "Been Caught Stealing," which, okay, normally I hate, but it all sounded a little better online on WYSP. I truly thought that this station would also be the rock I grew up with.
No. Not all the way, anyway. Because WYSP dies on September sixth.
I suppose I could have named this post "The Day the Music Dies," but then I would get "American Pie" stuck in my head, and I don't need that in my life, do you? Oh--darn.
Anyway, I thought that I should inform you--although, if you listened, you probably already knew, and if you don't, it doesn't affect you anyway.
Fine, I'll just leave, then.
P.S.--No word on the publishing yet, but I submitted a poem and a short story to a writing magazine, so we'll see. Fingers crossed, right?
The first time I ever listened online to a radio station was the second-to-last day of school in the Language Lab, where the teacher said that we could do whatever we wanted as long as it was quiet and "school appropriate." I plugged in my headphones and chose my station: 94 WYSP. I listened to it the whole time. I head Bon Jovi's "Runaway" and Van Halen's "Why Can't This Be Love" and Jane's Addiction's "Been Caught Stealing," which, okay, normally I hate, but it all sounded a little better online on WYSP. I truly thought that this station would also be the rock I grew up with.
No. Not all the way, anyway. Because WYSP dies on September sixth.
I suppose I could have named this post "The Day the Music Dies," but then I would get "American Pie" stuck in my head, and I don't need that in my life, do you? Oh--darn.
Anyway, I thought that I should inform you--although, if you listened, you probably already knew, and if you don't, it doesn't affect you anyway.
Fine, I'll just leave, then.
P.S.--No word on the publishing yet, but I submitted a poem and a short story to a writing magazine, so we'll see. Fingers crossed, right?
Monday, August 8, 2011
It's Not You, It's Me
Yes, that's right, I'm dragging that old cliche out for this, but only this once. See, I, NiteOwl, am going away for a while. I'm going to be focusing on my publishing career, and so you will be deprived of my acid-flavored wit for a while, or at least, you won't get it as often as you're accustomed to. Sorry, but don't worry: I vow that I'll be back. And I'm not cheating on you with another blog or anything like that, so rest your paranoid minds.
So remember: Don't fear the reaper, don't pay the ferryman, and I will return someday!
So remember: Don't fear the reaper, don't pay the ferryman, and I will return someday!
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
How I Spent Jackie Earle Haley's Birthday
That troublemaking Bear (yeah, I know, which one?) turned fifty on July fourteenth (to certain people out there: Don't you feel old now?). I would have shouted it out except I was grounded from computer, and my family went down to the shore instead (although not to the beach, much to my sadness, though Dad says that trip is coming; just to walk the Ocean City boardwalk).
To celebrate his birthday and, you know, represent, as they say, since nobody else in my family gave a squid, I wore my Nightmare on Elm Street T-shirt, the one where it looks like his claws are coming through the shirt and the one I bought with my own money. I also could have worn my Breaking Away "Cutters" T-shirt, but that movie wasn't really about him and him alone, and besides, I wore that one in my photo for my pool pass. So I wanted to be fair.
Then we all got in the car (after a minor dust-up because I wanted to sit behind Dad on the way to someplace for once, and my brother wouldn't let me and Mom and Dad said it didn't matter--so if it didn't matter, why couldn't he move to the right for once?) and started driving. I really like being in cars and driving places (well, have somebody else driving), and not just cars. I hate my school like it's a horrible flesh-eating disease, but I like the bus ride there and watching things go by and stuff. Field trips, sixth-grade camp, driving to my grandmother's every weekend...Most people can't wait to get to wherever they're going, but often I enjoy the ride there more than the actual place. I just go with the flow, man. You know?
Okay, enough with the philosophy. It was a long ride down, but Dad got us pretzels from WaWa and I was planning out a new novel ,so it was all right. I would have written one, too, but I can't write when the car is moving. Plus, I often bring stuff with me in the car but end up not using it because the stuff outside the window is more interesting (one time, I brought The Outsiders with me on a ride to Philadelphia, but I didn't even touch it. Philly is like an alien planet! I mean, I saw a kid lean out his apartment window and spit!). So I brought my idea/planning notebook and that's it. Well, and this cool mirror I got from the Dollar Tree. And my Kelly Leak sunglasses. But that's it.
I was surprised, because we try to go down at least once a year (though we haven't been in the actual ocean for a few years now...grr!) and when we do I'm usually tired by the first block and it all seems to drag out. This time, though, we were actually moving and moving fast, and I wasn't even tired once we reached the thick of it.
To pass the time when we were walking down, my brother and I made up an amusing story about the Bad News Bears--and yeah, my brother's just as sick of hearing about them as the rest of my family (well, except my mom, but she might just be too patient to say anything), so the fact that he was actively participating in this was, to say the least, startling, but not unwelcome--and what would happen if they all went down to the beach for the day (they live in California, y'all. Don't tell me they never went. I got a fiver on Kelly driving that freakin' sweet van). If you don't care about them at all, first of all, what the heck are you doing on my blog and, second, skip the next paragraph (but I won't tell if you peek).
First off, this is a magical fantasy beach (but, really, what California beach isn't?) where both Carmen and Amanda are present, as well as Mike Leak and Morris Buttermaker. Carmen is acting like some bigshot, saying he got the beach house they're staying at because somebody owed him a "favor." At that moment Carmen's mother comes out of the house, spoiling his Mafia mojo, and offers sandwiches, which Engleburg promptly devours. Engleburg has also managed to hunt down fried chicken while they're there. Kelly Leak is checking out all the chicks in bikinis and Amanda is attempting to get his attention by building a giant sand castle right in front of him in the shape of the Astrodome at a life-size scale. Ogilvie is scaring the s--t out of Timmy by reading shark-attack statistics. Jose and Miguel are beachcombing and digging for seashells. Toby, Regi, and Jimmy are off playing catch. Tanner is getting into fights with weightlifting guys a million times bigger than himself and kicking sand in peoples' faces. Ahmad is boogieboarding and chatting on and on about Hank Aaron. Mike Leak is supervising them all because if nobody else does, somebody's liable to wander off and drown. Why can't Buttermaker do it, you ask? Well, that's because he's busy getting geezed on a bench somewhere and can't be roused even when one of the Bears runs over to inform him that Tanner is currently getting the crap kicked out of him by some Arnold Schwarzenegger-lookalike.
All right, the Bears segment of this is done. To continue...
My family and I ate at the same pizza place we had the year before, which has apparently been visited by a numerous amount of Miss New Jerseys. How do I know this? Because they had autographed photos of them up on the wall. Wouldn't you (depending on who you are)?
Then we started walking again. I'm not giving you a play-by-play because they don't pay me to do that (they don't pay me anything, actually; I do this of my own free will), but we went in an out of stores and looked at all the different rides, like the Ferris Wheel and stuff--I would have gone on, but nobody else would go on with me because they all suck, and I didn't feel like going on by myself. I don't need to spin slowly in circles that much. Dad kept making cracks about Timmy and Tanner going on the Ferris Wheel together because he is convinced they're gay, and I'm convinced he's wrong, so many that I wanted to go on with him just so I could thrown him from the top. Then again, there's a lot of people who make me wanna throw them off the top of Ferris Wheels, and for a lot less, too. So I don't know how balanced a scale that is.
Before I knew it we were at the end and turning around to head back, and I still wasn't tired yet! I'm telling y'all, it was a miracle of Jackie Earle Haley's birthday! Hallelujah!
We walked back and then, all of a sudden, it hit me so hard I could've just fallen over right there. I got tired. And we had, like, thirteen blocks left.
Well, I got so convinced that I was going to die that I begged them to let me sit down on one of the convenient benches they have (you know, the blue ones, with plaques for people who died and whose families donated a bench in their memory, a topic I'm going to have to discuss later), but Dad said no, because then I never would wanna get back up. Well, duh. That's the whole point. Because everybody wants to rot away on a donated bench down at the Jersey shore.
I'll tell ya, the only thing that got me back to the car was the fact that we were going to go to Coldstone Creamery once we got back home and I will do anything for chocolate. I all but fell asleep on the car ride home, and the only reason I didn't is because--well, there's two-- a.) like I said earlier, I enjoy car rides and wanted to look out the window and b.) the sun was shining right on my side of the car, so it was too hot for me to sleep, even with the air on. I'm really bad with heat and sleep. So my skin didn't burn and peel off, I pulled off my beloved Nightmare on Elm Street shirt--don't worry, I had a tank top on underneath, and that's because my NOES shirt was white and there was no way in heck I was going to risk getting chocolate ice cream on it; you should have seen how paranoid I was in the pizza place--and used it as a kind of sun-repellent blanket the whole ride home. Dad's reaction was priceless when he glanced in the rearview mirror: "*NiteOwl*, what the hell are you doing?"
We went to Coldstone and I got my peanut butter cup ice cream in a sugar cone, dipped in chocolate with nuts on it, and my brother kept cracking up every time I said "My nuts are falling off" or "I'm dropping my nuts." I know. Isn't that hilarious? Peanut-other nut humor? Yeah, all right, I laughed too. And Dad said "You guys are sick" as he laughed along with us. And I ended up getting full and eating the cone the next day.
And that was how I spent Jackie Earle Haley's fiftieth birthday.
P.S.--While Dad was in a gas station checking his lottery tickets, my mom informed me that as soon as I walked into a bookstore down at the boardwalk, a kid who looked just like Kelly Leak walked by. Just my luck.
To celebrate his birthday and, you know, represent, as they say, since nobody else in my family gave a squid, I wore my Nightmare on Elm Street T-shirt, the one where it looks like his claws are coming through the shirt and the one I bought with my own money. I also could have worn my Breaking Away "Cutters" T-shirt, but that movie wasn't really about him and him alone, and besides, I wore that one in my photo for my pool pass. So I wanted to be fair.
Then we all got in the car (after a minor dust-up because I wanted to sit behind Dad on the way to someplace for once, and my brother wouldn't let me and Mom and Dad said it didn't matter--so if it didn't matter, why couldn't he move to the right for once?) and started driving. I really like being in cars and driving places (well, have somebody else driving), and not just cars. I hate my school like it's a horrible flesh-eating disease, but I like the bus ride there and watching things go by and stuff. Field trips, sixth-grade camp, driving to my grandmother's every weekend...Most people can't wait to get to wherever they're going, but often I enjoy the ride there more than the actual place. I just go with the flow, man. You know?
Okay, enough with the philosophy. It was a long ride down, but Dad got us pretzels from WaWa and I was planning out a new novel ,so it was all right. I would have written one, too, but I can't write when the car is moving. Plus, I often bring stuff with me in the car but end up not using it because the stuff outside the window is more interesting (one time, I brought The Outsiders with me on a ride to Philadelphia, but I didn't even touch it. Philly is like an alien planet! I mean, I saw a kid lean out his apartment window and spit!). So I brought my idea/planning notebook and that's it. Well, and this cool mirror I got from the Dollar Tree. And my Kelly Leak sunglasses. But that's it.
I was surprised, because we try to go down at least once a year (though we haven't been in the actual ocean for a few years now...grr!) and when we do I'm usually tired by the first block and it all seems to drag out. This time, though, we were actually moving and moving fast, and I wasn't even tired once we reached the thick of it.
To pass the time when we were walking down, my brother and I made up an amusing story about the Bad News Bears--and yeah, my brother's just as sick of hearing about them as the rest of my family (well, except my mom, but she might just be too patient to say anything), so the fact that he was actively participating in this was, to say the least, startling, but not unwelcome--and what would happen if they all went down to the beach for the day (they live in California, y'all. Don't tell me they never went. I got a fiver on Kelly driving that freakin' sweet van). If you don't care about them at all, first of all, what the heck are you doing on my blog and, second, skip the next paragraph (but I won't tell if you peek).
First off, this is a magical fantasy beach (but, really, what California beach isn't?) where both Carmen and Amanda are present, as well as Mike Leak and Morris Buttermaker. Carmen is acting like some bigshot, saying he got the beach house they're staying at because somebody owed him a "favor." At that moment Carmen's mother comes out of the house, spoiling his Mafia mojo, and offers sandwiches, which Engleburg promptly devours. Engleburg has also managed to hunt down fried chicken while they're there. Kelly Leak is checking out all the chicks in bikinis and Amanda is attempting to get his attention by building a giant sand castle right in front of him in the shape of the Astrodome at a life-size scale. Ogilvie is scaring the s--t out of Timmy by reading shark-attack statistics. Jose and Miguel are beachcombing and digging for seashells. Toby, Regi, and Jimmy are off playing catch. Tanner is getting into fights with weightlifting guys a million times bigger than himself and kicking sand in peoples' faces. Ahmad is boogieboarding and chatting on and on about Hank Aaron. Mike Leak is supervising them all because if nobody else does, somebody's liable to wander off and drown. Why can't Buttermaker do it, you ask? Well, that's because he's busy getting geezed on a bench somewhere and can't be roused even when one of the Bears runs over to inform him that Tanner is currently getting the crap kicked out of him by some Arnold Schwarzenegger-lookalike.
All right, the Bears segment of this is done. To continue...
My family and I ate at the same pizza place we had the year before, which has apparently been visited by a numerous amount of Miss New Jerseys. How do I know this? Because they had autographed photos of them up on the wall. Wouldn't you (depending on who you are)?
Then we started walking again. I'm not giving you a play-by-play because they don't pay me to do that (they don't pay me anything, actually; I do this of my own free will), but we went in an out of stores and looked at all the different rides, like the Ferris Wheel and stuff--I would have gone on, but nobody else would go on with me because they all suck, and I didn't feel like going on by myself. I don't need to spin slowly in circles that much. Dad kept making cracks about Timmy and Tanner going on the Ferris Wheel together because he is convinced they're gay, and I'm convinced he's wrong, so many that I wanted to go on with him just so I could thrown him from the top. Then again, there's a lot of people who make me wanna throw them off the top of Ferris Wheels, and for a lot less, too. So I don't know how balanced a scale that is.
Before I knew it we were at the end and turning around to head back, and I still wasn't tired yet! I'm telling y'all, it was a miracle of Jackie Earle Haley's birthday! Hallelujah!
We walked back and then, all of a sudden, it hit me so hard I could've just fallen over right there. I got tired. And we had, like, thirteen blocks left.
Well, I got so convinced that I was going to die that I begged them to let me sit down on one of the convenient benches they have (you know, the blue ones, with plaques for people who died and whose families donated a bench in their memory, a topic I'm going to have to discuss later), but Dad said no, because then I never would wanna get back up. Well, duh. That's the whole point. Because everybody wants to rot away on a donated bench down at the Jersey shore.
I'll tell ya, the only thing that got me back to the car was the fact that we were going to go to Coldstone Creamery once we got back home and I will do anything for chocolate. I all but fell asleep on the car ride home, and the only reason I didn't is because--well, there's two-- a.) like I said earlier, I enjoy car rides and wanted to look out the window and b.) the sun was shining right on my side of the car, so it was too hot for me to sleep, even with the air on. I'm really bad with heat and sleep. So my skin didn't burn and peel off, I pulled off my beloved Nightmare on Elm Street shirt--don't worry, I had a tank top on underneath, and that's because my NOES shirt was white and there was no way in heck I was going to risk getting chocolate ice cream on it; you should have seen how paranoid I was in the pizza place--and used it as a kind of sun-repellent blanket the whole ride home. Dad's reaction was priceless when he glanced in the rearview mirror: "*NiteOwl*, what the hell are you doing?"
We went to Coldstone and I got my peanut butter cup ice cream in a sugar cone, dipped in chocolate with nuts on it, and my brother kept cracking up every time I said "My nuts are falling off" or "I'm dropping my nuts." I know. Isn't that hilarious? Peanut-other nut humor? Yeah, all right, I laughed too. And Dad said "You guys are sick" as he laughed along with us. And I ended up getting full and eating the cone the next day.
And that was how I spent Jackie Earle Haley's fiftieth birthday.
P.S.--While Dad was in a gas station checking his lottery tickets, my mom informed me that as soon as I walked into a bookstore down at the boardwalk, a kid who looked just like Kelly Leak walked by. Just my luck.
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