3 Second Peek

GAH. Clearly, my brain needs new material to munch on…

Reintroduction to a Native Habitat

From the ages of 11-21, one of THE biggest concerns in my life was the next issue of Elfquest. When was it coming? Next month? Next week? TOMORROW? Would you check with the publisher? The printer? COULD YOU CALL WENDY?!

The clerks always looked so TIRED in my comic shop.

Thus was the decade I spent in friendships with elves and superheroes; drowning in a dreamy graphic world of color. Easily folded between two pages and tucked away in the bookcase, there was my Otherland, my refuge from the grayness of real life. I lived for Things On Paper, for Story and Action, for bows and arrows and spandex tights. It was an easy place to understand. Good guys. Bad guys. Sexy chicks who had the power to disintegrate planets.

Which explains all that time I spent at renaissance fairs. IN COLLEGE.

I lived for a place where I imagined I liked myself. A place where I could beat my bad guys, where masks made me pretty because no one could see me. Eventually, finally, I got to the end of the fantasy. I got sick of just imagining. I kept the books, but I threw away the mask. And I started living – for me.

Last July, we went to the Pacific Northwest Scottish Highland Games. Because our friend Jerry wanted to go. Because he’s Scottish. I think. And we thought, hey. Maybe a red-bearded guy will throw a boulder. Could be cool.

So Trav, Nick, Jerry and I spent a Sunday afternoon wandering tent to tent avoiding 98 degree heat. Dangling necklaces,fluttering streamers, gleaming swords – all the glittery, dreamy, pretend-world tchochke I had once found so easy to love was all there, whispering ‘Jules. Juuuuuules. Come to the Dark Side, Juuuuuules. Feel the power!’

I won’t lie. There were pair of whimsical autumn fairy wings screaming my name. There was a glinting dagger in the air-conditioned beer hall. And then, there was the leather tent.

Travis: “Jules! C’mere. Check this out.”

Jules: “Hm? What?”

Travis: “Look at this dress. It’s cool.”

Pulls down a black leather dress with a neck cuff, biker buttons and an embroidered celtic pattern

Jules: “…its…its…”

Flashing back to a scene of myself at 16 years old. Sitting on the bedroom floor. Surrounded by stacks and stacks of comic books. Reading. All. Day. On a Saturday. Alone.

Jules: “…it’s really well made.”

Travis: “You should try this on!”

Nick: “Hey! Whatcha guys find?”

‘oh my god. get this off, get this off, get this off.’

Trav and Nick: “Oh, you should buy that.”

Jules: “No.”

Trav: “But, you could wear it for Halloween”

Jules: “No.”

Trav: “But…”

Jules: “No. Just, NO.”

Also? It was FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. I think I made the right call.

View the complete geekery here.

Pilot Humor

Today I received one of those emails I usually scan & delete. You know the kind – those horrible lists of jokes that have been around the interwebs nine hundred thousand times and have just as many email headers. Except today, the jokes were new. They had no headers. And included a bit about pilot humor that was SO familiar, it was as though I could hear my grandfather, uncle and mother talking all at once. I suspect this may be hilarious only to my Adams’ clan readers, but what the hell.

UPS Pilot maintenance complaints (P) and maintenance engineer responses (S)

P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
S: Almost replaced left inside main tire.

P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.
S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.

P: Something loose in cockpit
S: Something tightened in cockpit

P: Dead bugs on windshield.
S: Live bugs on back-order. 

P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent.
S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground. 

P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
S: Evidence removed. 

P: DME volume unbelievably loud.
S: DME volume set to more believable level. 

P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
S: That’s what friction locks are for. 

P: IFF inoperative in OFF mode.
S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode. 

P: Suspected crack in windshield.
S: Suspect you’re right. 

P: Number 3 engine missing.
S: Engine found on right wing after brief search 

P: Aircraft handles funny.
S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right and be serious. 

P: Target radar hums.
S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics. 

P: Mouse in cockpit.
S: Cat installed. 

P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.
S: Took hammer away from midget.