Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The Creeping White Death

Since we moved out here I’m doing more housework until my freelance picks up. With email, cell phones, and a landline it’s only a matter of time before someone gets a hold of me. (Ring, damn it, ring!) If your home needs a good cleaning I’d like to recommend Marilyn Manson’s Antichrist Superstar. Let’s face facts. Frank Sinatra is just fine for dusting or placing napkin rings for a dinner party. Hell, I’ve even used Aaron Copland for washing the dog. But for deep cleaning there is nothing that helps get rid of those stubborn stains than a pissed off rockstar. I particularly like “Angels with Scabbed Wings” track when scrubbing a toilet. Maybe it was the fumes of the Pine Sol inside a closed space with the windows shut, but I believe I reached a new level of cleanliness. When my wife returned from work several hours later and found me on the cold ceramic tile the first thing she said was “Boy that’s one clean bowl!”


There are a few other things I learned living out here. The plural of buckaroo is not buckarii, pork can be considered a vegetable, and that people actually look forward to snow!?! Can you imagine? Growing up on the east coast I don’t think I ever saw a weatherman smile when announcing a storm racing closer dumping 10-20 inches. The glee, the absolute twinkle in the eyes of these stalwarts of nature’s terror is more than perplexing. It’s downright criminal. How dare they not warn me of the creeping white death, of chains and wipeouts, of drifts and black ice? How am I supposed to be afraid if not for them? Don’t they realize we need to stock up on enough milk and bread to hold us until the spring thaw? The grocery shelves are still filled with eggs and juice! Come on people. Is a little panic too much to ask?


But they are all as happy as mice at a dirty diner about the blanket that never warms. They can’t wait to get to those slopes and go sliding down on whatever they can strap to the bottom of their feet. Can you image the first guy (And of course it was a guy. You see any women in the Jackass club?) that thought of it? “Vhat’s Crazy Olaf doing now Sven?” “Oh he invented a vay to get down da mountain faster.” “Faster vay to get to Vahalla you mean!” “You got that right Erik, yahar yahar.” Vahalla can just wait until I’m good and ready, and my plan is to never be good.


So for now I’m locking myself up in the house until this storm blows over, which they predict will be sometime in April. I have plenty of company with Joe Strummer, Bono, Sid Vicious and of course Joan Jett. I guess you can say my masculine side is coming to grips with my feminine side, but either way the grout has never looked cleaner.




No comments:

Post a Comment