So. I’m busy with more book madness today and I can’t budget time for a new posting. Since I managed to make many friends jealous with yesterday’s homegrown tomato story, I figured, “Why not another?”
As you can see from the opening remarks, computer problems are a constant in my life. Here from June 5, 2011, I give you the command performance of:
Suicide Prevention Technique; Mooner Saves Jumper
Hoo-Yaa!!! I just met with my web expert, Dustin, and I am major league pumped. He is going to fix my many I-net problems and help me get things designed and pretty as well.
He’s the man who told me about 99designs to do the logo contest. If you have been to the contest site the winner is Number 211 and the designer is SteveO. The contest drew logos from almost 40 designers and I looked at like 250 different designs.
Several friends in advertising have chewed my ass out for going to 99designs because it bastardizes the process and you can’t get the highest quality. “All you will get are amateurs and stoners giving you designs,” was how one put it.
But after the success of my 99designs adventure, I agree with Gram on this one. As she would say, “Who gives a shit Mooner. They’re all locos ta me!” And then she added, “Crazy artists ever one of em.”
I started to tell her, “It’s logos, Gram, with a ‘g’,” but why bother. Every time I’m ready to choke the life out of that old bat she saves herself by lighting up my life with the same mouth that has brought me most of my life’s miseries.
I am very excited about the logo decision as well as all of the stuff that Dustin is doing here to the webber and bloggie. He’s doing layouts and sliders and clickies and all of that technical shit that would drive me to drink if I was responsible for them. Fact is the thinking about it has caused me to crack open the first icy Carta Blanca of the day.
If I was one of those suicide intervention officers for the police, I would always carry a cooler filled with Carta Blanca beer on ice along with my portable tomato kitchen stocked with some of my homegrown tomatoes. If the tomatoes are out of season, I’d substitute a bowl of fresh smashed guacamole, fiery-hot salsa and a bag of good corn chips- like the store branded ones from Sprouts.
Then when I perched myself on the window ledge with the potential leaper, I’d give him a thin slice of vine-ripened heirloom with just a touch too much salt and pepper. Let him sit with that for maybe two minutes and get his salivary glands into action. Then I would pull a Carta Blanca from the cooler and make a big deal out of stripping the ice and icy water from the bottle, and I’d wipe the moisture from my hand on my shorts.
Of course the police would require me to wear a uniform or slacks, but they will work as a coaster as well as shorts. Then I’d say to the guy, I’d say, “Man this is thirsty work.” I’d make another big production out of opening the bottle.
Grampa, that would be my Gram’s long suffering and glad to be dead husband, gave me my first bottle key when I turned eighteen. Made of thick stainless steel, it bears the deep, obviously hand-stamped logo and catch phrase of my Grampa’s second favorite beer.
“Hamms- From The Land Of Sky Blue Waters, Hamms The Beer Refreshes!” are the words and the picture logo is of a happy, dancing bear. The sharp end used for punching the nifty triangular-shaped hole to the top of a metal beer can has long outlived its original purpose, but the pop top end is still going strong after thousands of uses.
The etchings show the polished and worn evidence of my many uses, and all of my pants have small worn spots or even holes to prove that I carry this treasure with me at all times.
So, after letting my charge sit with a mouth-full of over-salted tomato slobber, I would fumble with the antique church key and miss opening the bottle on the first few tries. Then, when I do get the cap pried off, I’ll let it flip off and over the side of the building.
“Holy shit,” I’d tell my jumper. “That’s a long way down!”
Then, I’d raise the bottle to my lips, but stop just short of my mouth and say, “Oh man, have I got terrible manners. Would you like to have this one?”
Of course he would and he reaches for the frosty bottle. I’d let him enjoy that first amazing swallow and when he shuts his eyes in pleasure, I’d zap him with the stun gun I have hidden in the waist band of my pants and pull him backward into the building to safety. I’d sit on his chest and finish his beer while waiting for backup.
Maybe I should trademark this move and sell it to the police. I would do training seminars and get the police to volunteer to play the part of the jumper. I’d get to taze their shaggy asses and get them to pay me to do it. Major win/win kinda dealie.
All this beer and tomato talk has got me itching. I’ve got this giant Early Girl in my portable tomato kitchen today. Must weigh-in at a full pound. It’s one of those flat, fat jobbies that we get early in the season here to Austin. Today’s olive oil of choice is from Tuscany, sea salt by way of the Sea of Japan, and I’m going to use cayenne pepper on this baby.
Who is yo daddy? Manana, y’all.