My Life Measured in Shoes

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Originally uploaded by hypno_bedhead.

They were brand new Nike shoes. The kind that cost more than his daddy makes in a year. Oh, he had to have 'em. Day in and day out, it was, "Daddy, can I please?" Promises were made involving cleaning dishes and taking out the garbage. Simple, easy things the village idiot scoffs at.

The shoes arrived weeks later since they were so expensive there was no convincing Daddy to pay for 2nd day delivery. Don't even think about Next Day. Two weeks and four days, that's what it took for the shoes to get there.

The boy misjudged how much he was likely to grow in two weeks and four days and when he tried the shoes, they fit, barely. He was in pain, but he had Nike shoes. Daddy meanwhile, worked extra hours to pay for those damn shoes. Well, not just the shoes, but the Xbox, the car, the gas, the bills.

But the dishes stayed dirty and the trash was still inside.

And a few days after getting the shoes, a brand new style came out. The boy started up again, "Daddy, daddy, please." All daddy could do to not smack the boy was throw the old pair of shoes onto the power line.

For those shoes, by his count, had cost him, twelve hours of his life.

Madam, Last Time I Checked, I'm the Mad Scientist Here

I'm not crazy, I'm a mad scientist. Which is like crazy but with a degree.

This excuses me from all sorts of things that crazy people do. So for example, I tell you that I've replaced your spouse's brain with a potato, you're supposed to bow down before my superior intellect. Not whack me in the head with whatever is handy.

And no, I can't bring him back from the dead. Water to wine, yes. Bringing back the dead, not so much...But give me a week, the march of Mad Science is a frightening, unpredictable V.I.P. party.

So call me next week, who knows?

Mea Culpa of Sorts

Been accused of not writing enough in my blog. Not in the sense that there's not enough entries, but in the sense that the entries are too short. Oh, and it was not so much "accused" as "strongly hinted with a side of back handedness."

Sometimes, you just want to make your point and get off the stage.

Really, what else can you do sometimes?

Today, on the Train

Submitted for your approval, while my train was stopped, another one stopped next to us. In that train was a guy wearing headphones. No big deal, everyone wears headphones since the iGod conquered the world.

But this guy...this guy, he was sporting a hand crank radio.

That's the kind of radio I don't expect to see on the public transportation system. iGods, CD players, MP3 players...yes. Hand crank radios? It didn't even occur to me.

I salute thee, sir, wherever you are.

Where's My Tiny Bike?

Found this on CNN.com

Famous clown gets tiny bike back

I think everyone needs to find their tiny bike and be extremely grateful for it.

That's the Question, Innit?

Can I still, in good conscience, call myself the Hypno Bedhead if I've shorn my locks off?

The Hell I can't!

Bedhead is a state of mind!

--The "Now Metaphorical" Hypno Bedhead