Free and clean

I hope everybody is having a lovely America Day. If you are feeling less than patriotic today, might I suggest a ride on the Delta Queen to perk up your spirit? It’s debarking from Campbell, California.

Hooray! An all-American riverboat trip. Excuse me, ma’am, which way do I go?

Thank you. Wonderful. Boy, I sure am ready for a nice old ride down the river. I almost feel like Becky Thatcher or something. Bye Tom! Bye! You and Huck save a nice hot dog and iced coffee for me, okay?

Okay, I guess the first thing to do is get instructions from the cap’n. Where’s the cap’n? Oh hello, Cap’n.

Pardon? What’s this talk about antennae? Do I look like a moonfolk, Cap’n? Pity’s sake. The cap’n must be in his cups.

Oh, but look at all the fish…

With a good dredging in cornmeal, that is some good eating right there. A shame I forgot my fishing bamboo. Ah, it sure is good here on the river.

Oh… it looks like we’re coming to the dock. That sure was quick. I could have spent all day here.

Goodbye, Delta Queen, and have a wonderful rest of your America Day. Wait – what’s that you say? I still have some sap on my hood? I have to go around again, but you will provide me with a complimentary Power Wash and Fresh Linen car sachet?

Aye aye, Cap’n. Requesting permission to return aboard.

The savior of Little Patagonia

Los Altos, you are very lucky that I found Pure Cleaners on State Street the other day. I was so annoyed the other morning walking around your downtown consisting of shops with adorable names like the Cranberry Scoop and the Cobblery and The Cravery, amidst your expensive fleece outerwear-uniformed residents, that I very nearly ordered my army of winged hygiene mice to destroy all memory of your precious suburban being.

But as I said, you are very lucky, because I found Pure Cleaners. If it weren’t for their exceptional Halloween mural, still standing proudly as of January 9th, your little township would be a pile of smugly smoldering ashes by now.

The Grand Panjandrum has spoken

While I do love Los Angeles and consider it to be my beloved adopted home, I will always have a special place in my heart for the strange customs and traditions of my homeland Silicon Valley. One such tradition is San Jose State University’s annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, named in honor of Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, author of the immortal (if you’re Snoopy) words:

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents–except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”

The words above are considered bad by those people who know about such things (I personally think they were just ahead of their time), and thus the Bulwer-Lytton prize is given to the person who writes the first sentence to the world’s worst novel. This is not to be confused with the world’s worst first sentence to a novel, though information on the contest is not completely consistent on this point. Anyway, the top prizes normally go to a very complicated and flowery compound sentence, and this year’s winning sentence by David McKenzie is no exception:

“Folks say that if you listen real close at the height of the full moon, when the wind is blowin’ off Nantucket Sound from the nor’ east and the dogs are howlin’ for no earthly reason, you can hear the awful screams of the crew of the “Ellie May,” a sturdy whaler Captained by John McTavish; for it was on just such a night when the rum was flowin’ and, Davey Jones be damned, big John brought his men on deck for the first of several screaming contests.”

My personal favorite this year, however, doesn’t follow the rules. Interestingly enough, it was penned by Tony Alfieri from… Los Angeles:

“In a flurry of flame and fur, fangs and wicker, thus ended the world’s first and only hot air baboon ride.”

Nicely done, Tony. I know LA’s a big city, but I have a feeling we might be neighbors.