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February 4, 2008 A Minor Miracle of an Update I got home from work at 3:15 this morning, and Eninen’s flesh-ripping dog started going wild, causing Andy to fly off the handle… Then I heard people walking around, and toilets flushing, and whisper-hollering. Highly irritating. Then, at 6:45, I was awakened to the unmistakable call of the wild translucent. I think it was the youngest see-through, just rampaging through the house and screaming like he was on fire. And was he made to stop? No, he was not. The fact that I was trying to sleep – in my own house – was clearly not a consideration. And I wasn’t able to do any prep work at the site, because I couldn’t get near my computer for most of the weekend. There was always somebody camped out near the bunker door, crying or throwing a tantrum or building a “two-headed snake” with Lego. (Not Legos, mind you, Lego.) Usually this was a kid, but not always. So, the whole thing has pretty much been off the rails since Saturday. Surf Report VIPs will be able to read a full report in the coming days. And if you don’t know how to become a VIP by now… tough toenails. -- News from the Hey, I’m Only Flesh and Blood Desk: on Saturday I temporarily suspended the no-beer-till-England pledge. All of us went out to dinner, and I don’t want to get into the details right now, but I finally called the waitress over and ordered something called a Railbender Ale. And Toney shouted, “Better bring me one of those too!” So I had two Railbenders (pretty damn good), a bottle of Samuel Smith Pale Ale, and a cuppa two tree Yuenglings when we got home. I’ve said it before, and I’m gonna say it again: the producers of Survivor really need to do a season at Nancy’s house. Man, talk about a challenge… -- And speaking of work… nobody showed up last night. Yeah, that’s a slight exaggeration, but only slight. In my department we have three management types, and five or six warehouse workers. And the only people who reported were the managers. We literally had NOBODY to do the real work. I’d approved a day off for a woman last week, another guy got his day approved through my boss (which kinda irritated me), and the rest called in “sick.” On Super Bowl Sunday. And that’s all I’m going to say on that subject, for fear of getting all whipped up and going too far. This morning I feel like the base of my spine has been turned to dust. -- The guy who brought a hilarious crank radio for the Green Bay game a few weeks ago, brought a portable TV to work last night. The thing got shockingly good reception inside that concrete safe house, but the screen was roughly the size of a Triscuit. During our pizza and wings lunch break, there was a large crowd gathered round that so-called TV, everybody squinting to decipher the action. We “saw” the end of the game, and lots of people were high-fiving each other, and doing some pitiful northern version of the Rebel Yell. Needless to say, I couldn’t have given a single dingle about any of it. I just sat there and folded yet another slice of pizza into my mouth. One guy, smiling like a Jack-O-Lantern, walked over to me and said, “Goddamn amazing, isn’t it?!” And I said, “Yeah, the cheese is especially good.” -- A follow-up to a story covered last time: I went in and got a completely new haircut on Saturday. I considered returning to the original place (where they advertise a 100% guarantee), and demanding they fix the ludicrous toupee cut they gave me. But screw it. Who needs the hassle? It’s only thirteen dollars, or whatever. So I got that fixed, and it looks like real hair on top of my head again. As confirmation, I guess, the blue eye shadow barber girl mumbled, “Wow, this is really bad…” And I also took care of my hideous Howard Hughes finger/toenail talons. I put the clippings inside an empty Quality Street candy box, walked through the house shaking it like a percussion instrument, and causing Toney to almost vomit for some reason. So, all is right with the world again. It’s amazing how fast things can spiral out of control. I believe I was only a few days away from full-on lice-beard piss-pants homeless man status. Whew! -- The youngest Secret is invited to a birthday party where they’re reportedly going to feature an “interactive inflatable experience.” That’s exactly what the invitation says. Heh, I’m not sure I like the sound of that. It sounds like a normal Saturday night for my friend Scott, in Atlanta. Any idea what they're talking about? -- And I don’t have time for anything else. So it’s a good thing we have our old friend Buck, to close out the category. See you guys tomorrow. Buy stuff at Amazon Link o' the day Further Evidence Now playing in the bunker 
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