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2001-10-12 - 7:06 a.m. Bob-the-spiky-fake-fruit thingy Guess what I found at Costco last night? The Snow White 2 DVD set. No, I didn't buy it. Are you insane? Snow White twitters for the love of Mike. How can Ragnarr make me loose sleep when he's not even there? Monday Roland stayed out late at fighter practice, which traditionally breaks up by 9:30-ish. Now I don't care if he stays out all night, it's just when he's three hours later than usual, I am motivated to wonder if he's dead in a ditch cause I love him and I would miss him. So I curl up in bed with a book and wait for Roland to get home. And wait. By midnight, I'd called his cell phone six times, because our service sucks and I had no faith the calls were actually going through and nada. Finally, my cell phone rings at midnight. Roland in a small voice: Hi. Theo: Hey, are you alive? Roland: Yes. Did you really call six times? Theo: Un-huh. Where the heck have you been? Are you still at practice? Roland: Just leaving. Theo, suspiciously: It's Ragnarr, isn't it? Rags came to practice tonight didn't he? Roland: pause, pause, small voice, Yes. Theo: Didn't practice end three hours ago? Roland: Yeah. We were, um, hanging out in the parking lot talking. Theo in the let-me-get-this-straight voice: So you stood outside in forty degree weather with no coat and talked to Rags for three hours? Roland, hoping madness in a group makes him look less crazy, says Angus and Shane were hanging out too. And Rags didn't have a coat. Theo: Honey, Rags is a cat. He doesn't get cold! Roland: Um, well, rapidly changing subject Rags wanted me to call Kymber and tell her she just left, can you call so I don't have to find the number whilte driving? Theo: You want me to call Kymber at midnight? Are you serious? Boys. Shane apparently had a similar conversation with Gina on his midnight drive home. I think I'm still operating at a slight sleep defeceit. Boys. Wonder why Catullus wanted me to buy a Washington Times? Because of the 1 month anniversary? Because of the SCA article last weekend? Guestbook entries that make no sense� Gen, I have no clue why rubbing your hands on stainless steel gets rid of that lingering onion smell. Engineers solve problems, we don't explain them. � When was the last time you ever saw Scotty explain anything to Captain Kirk? Explanations are outside my genre. My guess is acidic/alkaline interaction since lemon juice and baking powder also work - ask Lis. Consider it a quest. [Insert Gen voice saying No. I just want the answer. I don't want to have to look it up - that's what I have you people for.] I like sending people on quests. I once inspired Francesca (the chocolate lady not the curious one, nor the singing one) to visit all the produce departments within a twenty miles radius of her New Jersey home as she desperately tried to identify Bob-the-spiky-fake-fruit-I sent her from Martinique cause she couldn't stand not knowing what it was. Imagine this conversation: What the hell is this, Wen? It's a fake fruit just for you. Your job is to figure out what it is. You are the food science major. Damn you, woman. I *hate* fake fruit. I think I'll just name it Bob and be done with you. Switch scenes to the local grocery store. My friend sent me this souvenir from her Caribbean vacation and it's some sort of fake fruit and I want to know what kind of real fruit looks like this. Produce boy examines red/green/yellowish oval plastic thingy with one inch ochre spikes in stunned silence. Ma'am, I have no idea. I'll get the manager. Scurries away in fear and relief. This little quest drove Francesca crazy for two months because she wouldn't give up and ask cause that's what I wanted her to do. It was, for the record, a lychee. You can buy them canned in an oriental market. I eventually mailed her the label. It's amazing Francesca still speaks to any of us after recruiting five SCAdians and one innocent fellow grad student to be on her master's research test tasting panel. Ah, the chants of 'Broccoli' still ring in the air - Francesca, the original owner of Black Diamond's 'Order of the Broccoli Floret,' the woman who looks forward to Easter so she can build things from marshmallow peeps, the originator of the Easter baskets of doom - though I was the one who invented beer bunnies. But those are all stories for another day. I wonder what kind of fake fruit they have in the U.K.? Oh, Keilyn� � � Scribble to Theo previous - next �