Monday, October 26, 2009

I Would Throw A Good Search Party

I started making a list of tangible life goals, and so far they are limited to "puppy!" and "do not get hit by a train" and "who needs goals when Halloween is so close?" the second of which was inspired by the fact that on Sunday night I was on a train and we hit someone.

...

Last week, I decided to become a foodie. I figured, you know, I really like food. Like a lot. It is time for me to learn how to cook something delicious that isn't peanutbutter and jelly. Although, I fucking dare you out pb&j my ass, because I have chemical equations and shit to prove mine is more savory than yours.

I'm pretty sure that on my way home from the store I bounced through a fatty pothole.

You know when you're cooking something gutsy and lush, and it smells as good as the Food Network looks and words float behind your eyes, words you never use, like "sumptuous" and "resplendent" because really, this sauce? this spicy, harmonic sauce is sumptuously resplendent, and you're convinced pleasant accomplishment smells like this because even the stove is smiling, happy to simmer something so deliciously dreamy?

No?

Me neither.

The solution to cooking failures, of course, is cheap wine, sweatpants, and Battlestar Galactica. Which really made the night a success in the end, because you do not get much cooler than that, and if you dry yourself out with enough wine just about everything you eat after that tastes like Syrah anyway, so you know. Win.

Discovered my car with a flat, shreddy tire on Saturday, so that was peachy. I need to get it fixed by this weekend so I can drive for three hours to see Hot Mess Fraya.

And that is why I had to take the train out to the suburbs for the baby shower on Sunday, and why I was riding the train back into the city that night.

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On Saturday night a couple of us went to a haunted house. I had to lead the pack through the fun, and Hanson clutched my arm the entire time, buried into my shoulder, while I reminded her to stone up as we approached every black corner. The best thing about haunted houses is watching people jump with raw, excited laughter. The corpses aren't real.

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On the train, no one was excited, but we were all kinds of raw as we sat there locomotionless, pressing against the dark windows as cops with flashlights searched the tracks beneath us, looking for a body. A real body belonging to a real person who laid themselves across the tracks.

Every ten minutes or so the conductor would announce that it shouldn't be much longer, but they had yet to find a body so the search would continue. After an hour, the search expanded to included everything within a three-mile radius of our position. We waited some more.


...

In my brain, an impressive collective of passengers band together to scour the surrounding miles with torches. We are serious plainclothes investigators and heroes to boot. And in the shadows we find a deep, stalag-filled cave. Our numbers dwindle as the true spelunkers are whittled out of our troupe by a series of complicated puzzle traps, and eventually we slide into the drippy lair of a thin man in a top hat with an evil twirly mustache who hides a crooked sword in his spider-handled cane, and I defeat him in a battle of wits while my comrades liberate his prisoners from their cold, stone cells. And then our search party throws a Search-themed Party.

But we aren't allowed to leave the train. Stupid trainworkers. Ruining my fantasy.

...

I wanted them to find a mangled body. I wanted it to be someone I knew, but not well, so I could properly mourn and regret not taking the time to know them better. Those are the best people to die. Loved ones hurt, and strangers are eventually forgotten. Way it is.

I wanted them to find a living human being who jumped in the nick of it. I wanted them to find blood tracks leading into a forest, where the survivor lay panting with nonlethal wounds. I wanted it to be an elaborate prank, I wanted it to be a ghost, I wanted it to be a raccoon, I wanted it to be Ashley Judd because I can't stand her movies.

But they found nothing. We probably never hit anything at all.

But I was sure we did, because just before we suddenly slowed, while I was people watching and imagining Bradley Cooper taking pictures of a gruesome murder while Keanu Reeves and Dennis Hopper fight on the roof ("Yeah? But I'm taller."), and replaying that one episode of Homicide where Vincent D'Onofrio gets smashed between the subway and a platform and if they move him, he dies...

So all that is going through my head, and I wonder, If we were to hit someone on the tracks, would passengers feel the impact? and not fifteen seconds later the train comes to a surprise stop and I say out loud, to whoever, "Oh my god, I think we hit someone," and all these people look at me.

But they found nothing.

...

21 comments:

renalfailure said...

I see you outwitting the mustached swordsman by dodging his stabs until you lure him in front of an electrical box and then he misses you and stabs it and electrocutes himself.

At this point you put on a pair of sunglasses and say "Well... that was a shock."

YAAAAAAH!

Mrs. Booms said...

I have the scene from "Wolf" going through my head where he pisses on James Spaders shoe and James Spader asks him if he's crazy and Jack Nicholson is all, "Just marking my territory." and James Spader says, "Uh, suede shoes." and Jack says "Asparagus." with that really cool voice.

Kind of the best line ever.

Nothing to do with this.

Sorry.

Mrs. Booms said...

I forgot my apostrophe in James Spader's.

I've been proofing vinyl siding brochures.

Apostrophe's mean nothing.

La Chamuca said...

1. My brother was on a train last month that actually hit a crazy hobo man trying to kill himself. He succeeded. This morning, his train hit a delivery truck, and he was late to work by 2 hours.

2. I have seen Speed 27 times. All occurred in the year 1995. We liked to watch Keanu's ass when he's crawling on the top of the train.

JMH said...

Something gusty and lush? Ah, like my tripe and tropical greens salad, followed by my kidney and wino kebab.

Kitty said...

I friggin love fighting on the train roof movie scenes.

My in-laws have a funeral home and they picked up a guy once who stuck his neck on the track. Cut his head off and cauterized the vessels in his neck. Not a drop of blood.

Kono said...

Crock pots are the key to cooking, you can throw shit in, turn it on, leave for days, come back and the shit still tastes good...
When trains hit people they usually end up looking like ground beef, just saying.

Le Meems said...

Dude I still have not seen BattleStar Galactica. I should do it.
My favorite PB&J in true foodie fashion is actually spicy peanut butter, chicken breast and pineapple jelly.

#fuckingwin

hereinfranklin said...

Keep cooking...just keep it simple to begin with. Learn some basics. It will come.

Mae December said...

i seriously cannot handle how fucking amazing you are at writing. seriously.

The Ambiguous Blob said...

Cooking is simple Simon if you're used to it. Practice makes perfect. Thinking like you must be hard though. You think in terms I could never fool myself into hoping to emulate. Good thinkin, Rassles!

Dan said...

As a result of your train hitting somebody and the following search, my train was an hour an a half late and I ended up not getting home from my grandmother's birthday party until 1 AM. I had class at 8:30. I was real sleepy. Teehee...

Erin said...

The last time I covered a train-ped accident, it turned out to be a drunk who stumbled past a parked train, tried to lean on it for balance and then passed out in front of it.

I stayed an hour late at work for that lameness. The version in your head is way more interesting.

Gwen said...

Your description for the search for the body reminds me of Stand By Me. I get what you mean about when somebody dies - if it's a stranger than we forget too quickly, if it's someone we love we never forget. An aquaintance is just right.

Stillie said...

I totally missed the part about "in my head" at first and was completely lost when you started describing the top-hat guy. Being an avid reader and having ADD sucks in ways you could never imagine!

I was on a city bus once and we ran over a body in a trash bag. We didn't even stop. The other 4 passengers and I were all looking out the windows when it happened and we felt the bump and we looked out the back window of the bus and you could see arms popping out of the bag.

It haunted me for awhile in my memory. Like a Polaroid, kind of bluish-yellow, slightly spotted and scratched. I should totally blog about that!

A Free Man said...

I worked with this woman in Oxford that knew everyone who died in every freak accident. She definitely got a fair bit of pleasure out of it. She was awesome. Then she fell into one of those machines that makes mulch out of green waste. Tragic.

OK, the last part I made up.

JMH said...

Gutsy, rather.

titchgus said...

i completely relate to loads that ive read in your blog. it inspired me to start one haha. anywhoo thankyou for not making my evening boring as. XD titchgus x

Kelyn said...

A guy a knew, but not so well as to be really upset about it got ran over by a train Saturday night. He was trying to hitch a ride though. . Ironic.

Red said...

With your blue Weezer Snuggie the wine will taste that much better. And it'll cover the sweatpants.

Blues said...

I just saw your subheading and it made me laugh so hard.

How come so much cool shit happens to you?