Michael Kindt's Blog, page 499

Speaking of offensive things, recently there's been a "get back in the kitchen/make me a sandwich" joke trend. Even if it doesn't offend me, it's irritating because it's more like a go-to insult to a girl rather than an original, witty joke. Thoughts on th

It's cheap humor for simple minds. The type of joke people who ride 4-wheelers and watch professional wrestling tell. One must realize that the vast majority of people are fucking stupid. Generally, that person ahead of you in line at the grocery store? A complete dipshit.

Aw, you guys are so nice :)

Got unfollowed by about ten people but what else is new? Some people are just stupid.

You guys, though. You guys rock :)

31 Pictures The tent was small, a two-man tent it was...

31 Pictures

            The tent was small, a two-man tent it was called, and Jen had set it up expertly between two large pines. The area was flat, almost shelf-like, and about halfway up the mountain. The view of the valley was incredible. Jen opened her backpack and brought out the digital camera, which she focused on the ridge across the valley. She snapped her first picture.
            Below, her eyes found the path and followed it down to the trailhead parking lot. Another vehicle was pulling in, a black car, shiny even at this distance. Jen felt a prick of disappointment as she watched it park a few spaces away from her truck. She wanted to be alone. Her camp was several hundred yards west of the trail, so it was unlikely she would encounter anyone, but she wanted the mountain to herself. She watched the shiny black car awhile, waiting for the single silhouette to exit. It didn't.
            She took her canteen and headed further up the mountain at a slant, moving slowly through the dense brush. She took pictures as she hiked, mostly landscapes and vistas. She came across an incredible bed of baby's breath that occupied her attention from several angles. It was late afternoon and the light was at her favorite.
            Jen had not been camping alone in almost five years, since before she had met David, and she felt renewed, cleansed by the cool fresh air and heady, earthy scent of soil and pine. She was not happy, of course. She may never be happy again, but she felt good, strong, very much alive. In a clearing carpeted by dandelions, she paused for a moment and took a breath.
            They had found David sitting in his car at work, shot once in the head. He'd been there for hours because no one had heard anything. The police said the gun had been 'suppressed'—silenced. His wallet had money in it. His mp3 player was in his lap. One shot to the back of the head for no reason.
            She snapped a few pictures of the dandelions and noted that the total number she had taken so far was 54. She got down on her knees and snapped a close-up of an anthill bustling minutely with activity, rounding off the number of pictures to 55. She decided to save the rest of the memory for tomorrow and slung the camera around her neck.
            Still on her knees, Jen watched the sky, pink and pregnant with evening. She thought of David and her mom, of her life and her childhood. She cried a bit.
            Tomorrow, she would turn 30.

            Back at camp, Jen made a PB & J and ate a salad she had brought in some Tupperware. She wished she had some hot coffee, even though it was evening, but she was on Forest Service land and open flame was prohibited. She drank a plastic bottle of orange juice instead.
            The shiny black car was still there. The light had weakened and she could not make out the interior anymore, but the driver was not in it. She was certain of it. There were several trails leading away from the parking lot. The one she had taken was marked 'advanced,' and headed more or less directly up the face of the mountain, but there were also some 'beginner' and 'intermediate' trails. She planned to visit one of the beginner trails that meandered leisurely along the creek in the morning. The water would look beautiful in the early light and there would be many flowers.
            Jen scanned the darkening forest around her and reached for her phone. "Hey, Jenny!" her father answered. "I'm surprised you have service."
            "Dad, I'm only about six miles from town."
            "I thought you were camping at the Greenbow Trailhead?"
            "I am. It's just right outside of town."
            "Oh, good."
            Her father had never approved of her camping alone, worried that she would fall and break her leg, but she was always careful to inform him of her location and when she'd be back. When she was younger, Jen had camped alone as a form of rebellion against him, believing he was being sexist. Older and wiser now, she knew he was just being a concerned parent. Of course, for the past several years her camping trips had always included David, but that was before he—
            "Getting some good shots?" her father asked.
            "Yeah, it's lovely here. I'm hitting the stream early in the morning."
            "Are you ok? I wish you would've come home for your birthday. I don't like you being alone."
            "Dad, it's been almost six months. I'm fine. I needed this. Besides, I'll be down there for the Fourth. Have the beer and fireworks ready for me."
            "Will do. Happy birthday, Jenny. I love you."
            "I love you too, Daddy."

            When darkness fell hard, Jen listened to the breeze shower through the trees. To her right she heard movement, rustling—an animal probably. The sound seemed close. She texted her friend Lisha for awhile, then watched the clear mountain sky, enumerated extravagantly with stars. She heard more movement, this time directly behind her. She couldn't tell how close it was, but she could clearly hear footfalls, carefully placed.
            A deer, she thought. She pointed her flashlight in the direction of the sound and clicked it on. Nothing.
            Jen felt jumpy and hated it, hated feeling unused to something she had once loved. She looked below and tried to find the parking lot, but the entire valley was embedded in darkness. She went to her backpack and got her pepper spray and the switchblade knife her father had given her years ago. She listened to the night and thought about the shiny black car.
            The knife had been a gift, along with a few hundred dollars, the day she'd left for college, leaving him all alone. "Dad!" she scolded. "These are illegal."
            But he just laughed and hugged her tightly.
            She texted Lisha again, insisting she keep her company awhile. Within 20 minutes, Jen was fine, even feeling a little silly. She made a promise to herself to camp at least twice more before the warm weather was gone.
            She crawled into her tent, zipping it closed behind her, and undressed. In her sleeping bag, she was warm and safe, feeling the hike in her muscles. It was a good, healthy fatigue. As she began to doze, her mind became unfocused, moving and shifting on its own. Thoughts and feelings and images floated. She loved her father and missed her David and remembered her mother's face.
            That night, she dreamt of flowers and sunlight, of heavy steps in the dense dark forest, and of a shiny black car she could never quite see.

            Jen awoke early, as she always did when camping. She did not feel 30. No matter what time she went to bed when camping, she was always thoroughly refreshed after sleeping outside. Even if she had slept just a few hours, she'd spring from her sleeping bag to go listen to the birds and sit contentedly in the cool gray light.
            For breakfast she ate the last of her fruit, an apple and a banana. She also had two slices of bread smeared with butter and jam. She very much, perhaps even desperately, wanted some nice hot coffee. This amused her and she smiled while she drank a small carton of skim milk.
            Of all the things to miss the most, she thought, shaking her head.
            She prepared herself for the day, getting into fresh clothes and brushing her teeth with water from her canteen under one of the great pines that bookended her campsite. Then she retrieved her camera and began going through the shots from yesterday.
            Almost immediately she noticed something strange in the corner of the screen: 3/86.
            "86?" she said out loud, her voice sounding foreign and intrusive in the stillness. She'd only taken 55 pictures yesterday. Quickly she scrolled through to the close-up of the anthill at 55/86 and paused.
            Perhaps she'd forgotten to delete the photos from Crystal's wedding reception after uploading them to her computer. That had been almost a month ago, however, and she had not used the camera since. Before driving out to the campsite yesterday, she had made sure the battery was fully charged and the memory clear. Slowly at first, but with increasing speed, she began scrolling through the remaining photos. Her eyes filled with angry tears.
            They were taken the night before and were pictures of her while she slept. A flashlight seemed to be pointed in her direction to provide illumination. Each picture was the same: the harsh circle of light, the maroon sleeping bag, the yellow of the tent, her mess of hair, her limp white hand dangling. There were 30 of them, 30 pictures, one after the other. The last picture, the 31st, was of a black handgun, its muzzle elongated by a silencer. It was resting on the yellow fabric of the tent floor. Wrapped around the gun's grip was a pair of red women's panties, which Jen immediately recognized as hers.
            They were ones she had left at home.

The end.

I wish I had somewhere I could wear an ascot to.

Like a real fucking ascot, under the collar, the works. I understand it's formal day attire. One wouldn't wear a real ascot at night.

It doesn't matter, though, because I have nowhere to go. The library? I go to the library most days. I go to Staple and Spice for my staples and spices. I go to the regular grocery store. I'm going to see the last Harry Potter movie, but rarely go to movies. I pop into bookstores often. About once a month I make it out to a bar, but it's always a working class bar full of men covered in flannel and oil or smelling like pine wood (we have a vibrant logging industry around here).

Where the fuck would I wear an ascot? Should I just wear one?

I like when I see women dressed up doing nothing, wearing a pretty dress in Target while they're buying dishwashing soap or something. I like that. "Fuck it," she says. "I'm gonna look nice."

I don't think the same way about men. Whenever I see a dude in a suit I'm like "What, does he work for the government?"

I would totally rock an ascot, though. I got a feeling.

RE: Gaga's "wheelchair" jackasseryShould there not however be a line drawn between being "offended" and being "oppressed"?

Impossible to be oppressed by imagery or speech, unless you give your power over to it and allow the oppression.

You can unfollow, turn the tv off, close the magazine, look away…

Maybe all those people who complain are dumb for feeling offended, but I think lady gaga is equally dumb because what's the point on doing all those things? I am not god or anyone to say what's right or wrong, but some things are just not nice. In my opini

Well, it's not like it's a big deal or a serious matter or anything. Do I think she's some great, important artist? Nah. She may be a brilliant comedian and we just don't know it. Personally, I think she's hilarious and totally dig it when she's got the squares all pissed off.

Honestly, I have heard very little of her music and, to be frank, am not all that interested in hearing it. I sense that it would be techno, which is horrid, horrid shit that OFFENDS ME!!!! Ha!

I can't help but think "You go, girl!" about her, though. Also, I'm old enough to remember when they were saying the EXACT same things about Madonna. Hindsight is 20/20.

But really it's just pop music and matters not a whit. I also think that different is and of itself positive. The same is what's evil.

Maybe all those people who complain are dumb for feeling offended, but I think lady gaga is equally dumb because what's the point on doing all those things? I am not god or anyone to say what's right or wrong, but some things are just not nice. In my opini

Well, it's not like it's a big deal or a serious matter or anything. Do I think she's some great, important artist? Nah. She may be a brilliant comedian and we just don't know it. Personally, I think she's hilarious and totally dig it when she's got the squares all pissed off.

Honestly, I have heard very little of her music and, to be frank, am not all that interested in hearing it. I sense that it would be techno, which is horrid, horrid shit that OFFENDS ME!!!! Ha!

I can't help but think "You go, girl!" about her, though. Also, I'm old enough to remember when they were saying the EXACT same things about Madonna. Hindsight is 20/20.

But really it's just pop music and matters not a whit. I also think that different is and of itself positive. The same is what's evil.

Maybe all those people who complain are dumb for feeling offended, but I think lady gaga is equally dumb because what's the point on doing all those things? I am not god or anyone to say what's right or wrong, but some things are just not nice. In my opini

Well, it's not like it's a big deal or a serious matter or anything. Do I think she's some great, important artist? Nah. She may be a brilliant comedian and we just don't know it. Personally, I think she's hilarious and totally dig it when she's got the squares all pissed off.

Honestly, I have heard very little of her music and, to be frank, am not all that interested in hearing it. I sense that it would be techno, which is horrid, horrid shit that OFFENDS ME!!!! Ha!

I can't help but think "You go, girl!" about her, though. Also, I'm old enough to remember when they were saying the EXACT same things about Madonna. Hindsight is 20/20.

But really it's just pop music and matters not a whit. I also think that different is and of itself positive. The same is what's evil.

Maybe all those people who complain are dumb for feeling offended, but I think lady gaga is equally dumb because what's the point on doing all those things? I am not god or anyone to say what's right or wrong, but some things are just not nice. In my opini

Well, it's not like it's a big deal or a serious matter or anything. Do I think she's some great, important artist? Nah. She may be a brilliant comedian and we just don't know it. Personally, I think she's hilarious and totally dig it when she's got the squares all pissed off.

Honestly, I have heard very little of her music and, to be frank, am not all that interested in hearing it. I sense that it would be techno, which is horrid, horrid shit that OFFENDS ME!!!! Ha!

I can't help but think "You go, girl!" about her, though. Also, I'm old enough to remember when they were saying the EXACT same things about Madonna. Hindsight is 20/20.

But really it's just pop music and matters not a whit. I also think that different is and of itself positive. The same is what's evil.

Maybe all those people who complain are dumb for feeling offended, but I think lady gaga is equally dumb because what's the point on doing all those things? I am not god or anyone to say what's right or wrong, but some things are just not nice. In my opini

Well, it's not like it's a big deal or a serious matter or anything. Do I think she's some great, important artist? Nah. She may be a brilliant comedian and we just don't know it. Personally, I think she's hilarious and totally dig it when she's got the squares all pissed off.

Honestly, I have heard very little of her music and, to be frank, am not all that interested in hearing it. I sense that it would be techno, which is horrid, horrid shit that OFFENDS ME!!!! Ha!

I can't help but think "You go, girl!" about her, though. Also, I'm old enough to remember when they were saying the EXACT same things about Madonna. Hindsight is 20/20.

But really it's just pop music and matters not a whit. I also think that different is and of itself positive. The same is what's evil.