Like Laundry or Napkins?

(click to enlarge)

Because it wasn't obvious enough already ...

More proof that while Wikipedia can be technically correct, it may still merit a closer reading:

From the entry on memento mori:

"After the invention of photography, many people had photographs taken of recently dead family members; given the technical limitations of daguerreotype photography, this was one way to get the portrait subject to sit still."

Mistakes Were Made

It's Thanksgiving here in the United States, and we're supposed to take the day to ponder the things we're thankful for and sort of just revel in our bounty. Like pirates.

What I really want to do, though, is take this opportunity to list off the mistakes I've made, big and small, and be thankful that I won't make them again (at least, on purpose):

1) At a homecoming dance in 10th grade, I picked up the very popular Brianna and spun her around when the DJ played "Jump, Jive, and Wail" by the Brian Setzer Orchestra. At the time, the song was being played in a Gap ad which featured a lot of jumping and jiving. I guess I thought it needed more wailing, so I picked her up and spun her around without actually warning her first. I regret this on many levels.

2) My housemate, Meg, recently bought some one-ply toilet paper which was not properly advertised as being close to worthless. I regretted her decision and decided to buy something stronger. Turns out, toilet paper can be too strong as well, and now we're stuck with the bathroom equivalents of typing paper and paper towels. I think the whole house regrets this.

3) I threw a snake in my sister's hair once. I don't think I would regret doing this as much if I had done it a long time ago. But I did it this past summer. Sorry, Lutze!

4) I will never again pay for a computer on a credit card thinking the rebates will come in time for me to afford paying it off. It doesn't work that way. You just end up paying twice as much.

5) A couple months ago I punched a girl in the eye. Because I was too caught up in Wii Tennis. I am not a proud man.

6) I once pepper sprayed an entire house. I was a guest. We couldn't go back in for an hour. When we could go back in, we had to rewash all the dishes.

7) I've killed too many fish to remember, yet I still keep buying them. Once, I won a goldfish at a carnival and kept it alive by shaking the Wishbone jar I kept it in. (The neck was too narrow to allow much oxygen.) Then, when I was changing its water, I accidentally dropped it down the sink. All I could do was turn on the hot water and hope for a quick death.
A month or two ago, I killed another fish by changing its water. I just made the water too hot and he slowly died. I refused to name my new fish for a month until I was sure he wouldn't die. His name is Levi (short for Leviathan) and he's doing just fine.

8) Seven is enough for now.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Grad Schooled

Huh.

So, three months ago I started school. But for all you knew, I was lying in a ditch somewhere. Sorry for the heartache. My dinner's cold? Yeah, I suppose that's what I get for staying out past curfew.

But really? Grad school's hard, y'all! How come no one told me?

I don't think I've been under this much constant pressure since the birth canal. I mean, I'm getting squeezed from all angles.

That said, I'm loving it. Grad school's fun, y'all! You should really try it! (Assuming you don't have heart/back/neck/liver problems or are pregnant or planning on becoming pregnant.)

It's pointless now to recap everything that's happened since I moved to Normal, Illinois (a misnomer if ever I saw one), so I won't even try. I will try to give you a three-minute recap of the highlights, though:

* Three nights after I move in and the night the second of the three other roommates moves in, Anton shows up. Anton lives across the street, but he needs a ride to downtown Bloomington (about 10 minutes), because his car ran out of gas and he had to walk all the way here. Also? His car petered out around noon, and he would've gone back sooner, but he got distracted by a booty call. For six hours. Michael and I drove him to his car, and with every mile we drove, it became more and more obvious that Anton was both crazy and drunk. We did get some good tips on steak houses, though.

* Three weeks ago, Anton showed up again, wanting to borrow a candle. At three in the afternoon. I was fresh out.

* About a month after everyone moves in, during Normal's Sweet Corn Festival, Dawn stops by. Dawn is an old friend of our landlord and she was lookin' for a fight. In fact, she tried to storm onto the porch, leading me to call 911 after I saw her trying to strangle my roommate. Apparently, Dawn was "drugged" at a "bar" on "Sunday afternoon" and wasn't in her "right mind" according to my landlord, Kim. Dawn thought that our house (which used to be our landlord's in college) had been overtaken by squatters and she was trying to protect/help Kim remove these ruffians. All things considered, I'm not sure I'd want Dawn covering my back in a gang fight: all it took was some one-on-one attention from the "cute" EMT to coax her on to the stretcher that wheeled her (arms strapped down) into the crazy truck.

* I'm getting to be a (fake) real academic! In March, I'll be flying to San Francisco to present a paper on cultural assumptions/portrayals of small towns in popular culture at a conference. However, the primary text I'm using is Hot Fuzz. It kind of ruins my academic street cred. I just hope I don't get in a rumble; I already lost Dawn's number.

There's so much more that I haven't covered here (including the fact that Target has a liquor selection), but maybe stories will start to slip in, periodically. Or not. But, hey, at least I'm not dead.

Diversionary Tactic

I know it's been a little bit. But so much keeps happening (pot smoking handymen, crazy nutcases being hauled out of our house, etc.) that I want to wait until everything calms down (sure...) before I write about it. So, I'll do the equivalent of, "Look! Over there!" and duck off again. So, without further ado, "Look! Over there! Seriously!"



Philippino prisoners got moves, yo!

[via Fresh-Hell via Gawker]

To sleep, perchance, to have oral surgery ...

For the past few years I've been having, with disturbing regularity, horrible nightmares. It's always about the same thing, but the setting varies widely depending on where I am in my life or what I've recently ate.

See, I suffer from TMJ. Wait, scratch that. "Suffer" sounds like I'm feeble footsteps away from living out the stages of death while being lashed with a scourge. Let's say I snivel from TMJ. And I snivel only because I'm a wimp and like the attention. Not because it's terribly painful and/or incovenient ... yet.

Still, every couple months or so I find myself having terrible dreams related to the fact that I grind my teeth. And none of the dreams have anything in common except the ending. Some start out at work. Some take place in public. One took place during a conversation with Harry Potter. But lately, they've started taking place while dreaming that I've just woken up from a dream. Which can really screw your shit up.

See, every dream is mundane, kind of enchanting (once I was eating a really nice dinner), but nothing extraordinary (Harry Potter included: he's more or less a real friend to me at this point, so having an imagined conversation with him was only a logical progression). Until ... each time it ends with my jaw locking up (a symptom of TMJ which thankfully hasn't happened to me, yet*) and when I strain to open my mouth, all of my teeth crack, crumble to dust, and fall to pieces in my mouth. And then I have to spit them into my hands and freak out. As mentioned above, lately this part of the dream concurs with either a real or imagined waking up to the point where lately I can't even say with 100% certainty that my teeth haven't fallen out of my head at some point.

Several friends have told me that it probably means something, so I did some research (i.e. click on the first link in a Google search) and here's what I've found (via DreamMoods.com):

These dreams may stem from a fear of your sexual impotence or the consequences of getting old. Teeth are an important feature of our attractiveness and presentation to others. Everybody worries about how they appear to others. Caring about our appearance is natural and healthy.? (sic)

Oh. Why the waffling? Is caring about my appearance possibly not natural and healthy? If I actually let my teeth fall out will this stop the dreams? It would at least stop the social aspect of them, I'm guessing, as none of my friends are actually open-minded enough to be friends with a toothless guy. Also, it's not a 'fear' of sexual impotence ... it's a given. What else've you got?

Teeth are used to bite, tear, chew and gnaw. In this regard, teeth represent power. And the loss of teeth in your dream may be from a sense of powerlessness.

Interesting. And biting, tearing, chewing, and gnawing is exactly how to I got to where I am today. Living with my parents. Thanks for rubbing it in, DreamMoods.com. Next.

In the latest research, it has been shown that women in menopause have frequent dreams about teeth. This may be related to getting older and/or feeling unattractive and less feminine.

Possibly. But let's put this one in the dugout for now and see if something better comes along.

Traditionally, it was thought that dreaming that you did not have teeth, represent (sic) malnutrition which may be applicable to some dreamers.

My scale says otherwise. Unless losing my teeth is a way for me to lose subconscious weight.

A scriptural interpretation for bad or falling teeth indicate that you are putting your faith, trust, and beliefs in what man thinks rather than in the word of God. The bible says that God speaks once, yea twice in a dream or a vision in order to hide pride from us, to keep us back from the pit, to open our ears (spiritually) and to instruct and correct us.

I don't even know what this means. Once (yea twice) per dream? Per lifetime? Making my teeth fall out hides pride from me? It might distract me for a minute, but baby, I can find pride. Also, if this is supposed to instruct and correct me, shouldn't it come with a manual? I would not have put two and two together alone on this.

It has also been said that if you dream of your teeth falling out, then it symbolizes money. This is based on the old tooth fairy story. If you lose a tooth and leave it under the pillow, a tooth fairy would bring you money.? (sic)

Again with the uncertainty. Also, in the footnotes to the whole article, it reads "Anna contributed her mother's story about teeth and money." So this one is less 'Jungian archetype' and more 'natty mother story.' Plus, I've yet to get my windfall, and this has been happening for a few years.

Basically, all of this to say that I just scheduled a dental exam/cleaning today before I move to Illinois next week. The dentist had a cancellation for tomorrow and the receptionist said she could squeeze me in. I tried to finagle a later date, telling her that that left me very little time for 'panic flossing,' but that was all they had. So until tomorrow at 3:00, I'll be flossing every hour on the hour, hoping to build up callouses which will staunch the inevitable blood-letting tomorrow. Cheers!

*While I don't think my jaw has ever locked up, I can't be sure, because again, with these damned dreams, reality and fantasy are disturbingly blurry.

Handily

I can't figure it out, and it's slowly driving me nuts.

My hand smells amazing, and I don't know why. Specifically, my left hand. And not the palm, just the side where the thumb isn't.

And the smell is elusively attractive, too. I have to take it in small whiffs, because I lose track of it when I just shove my nose all over it. I have to trick my hand into smelling good, into smelling like a strange mix of ... roses? lilac? the perfume of a first love? happiness? raspberries? an aneurysm?

What did I touch?!

I just came back from (half-assedly) playing tennis -- something which almost never makes me smell better. My racket smells like sun-rotted foam and plastic, not that that matters, since I'm right-handed. And my car steering wheel smells fine.

I just dragged my face all over my keyboard trying to catch the smell again. Nothing.

Let's see. Where's my left hand been today?

I painted a wall. Nope.
I was sitting on my hand before I noticed this. I hope my butt doesn't smell like that. (Well, I wouldn't mind if it did, but I would be confused.)
I went to the bathroom and touched everything necessary for that act.
I ate spaghetti.

If I weren't so picky about what I eat, it'd be really useful to be Hannibal Lecter at a time like this.


***


Moving on.

I never posted this before, because I wasn't sure what course it would take, but I recently accepted an offer to start graduate studies in English Literature in the Midwest. The hesitation came mostly from an insecurity about my abilities to study in the field since my only qualification was an almost-accidental minor in English at Grove City. Luckily, my psychology degree finally came in handy as I was able to tear down the faulty thinking and realize that they wouldn't have accepted me (or offered an assistantship!) if I didn't pass muster. The psychology degree also taught me that I hate practical psychology. Life's lessons, eh?

And so, now I'm packing up my house getting ready to move back in with my parents for a couple months to save money before moving east. I have to get rid of most of my stuff since I can't afford to ship it all over there, but I also get to have a yard sale! (If you need a couch, lamps, entertainment center, or chopsticks, lemme know, and I'll hook you up.) But when I got to my bookshelf, I could only bring myself to get rid of three two one books:



I was going to sell REAL Ultimate Power: The Official Ninja Book, but then I opened it and realized it's still a pretty awesome book, so I'll keep it.

I was also going to chuck Life of Pi, because I really hate that book. And I hate owning it. And I hate having it on my bookshelf. But (of course) a lot of people really like that book ... so maybe I should give it a second chance? Of course, a lot of people really like Kool-Aid, but that didn't help anyone at Jonestown, did it? I really doubt I'll ever try to slog through that book again, but as for now, I'm willing to give myself the benefit of the doubt. The book on the other hand ...

This is nowhere near the great Unbookening Doppleganger went through a few years back, but I can feel the pain. All I can do is just stare at the bookcase and wonder how I'm going to get everything back to Illinois and what I'm going to have to sacrifice to get it there.

I suppose I could always buy a sheep when I get there and make my own clothes.

Problem solved.

Limited Time Only Contest!

The local middle school is having a Health Day next week, and I've been asked to participate as group facilitator for a series of breakout sessions they're having. Of course, I'll be teaching them about depression, so I know that nobody is going to sign up for my group unless I have some really catchy title to lure them in.

I'm planning on doing a quiz show format - something like Jeopardy. (I'm even in the process of getting buzzers!) But I still can't think of a catchy title ... and I have to submit it today. The only one that I've been able to come up with is "Quiz Shows and Quaaludes," and that's probably too retro and/or topical to make much sense.

So, here's where you come in. I probably won't get any responses in time, but if you can think of a catchy title for a 20 minute presentation on depression which may or may not feature game show elements and fierce competition, submit it in the comments section by 2:30 PM Pacific Time. You can submit it later, too ... I may be able to push this back a bit, but if someone puts in something good (enough) by then, I'll run with that.

The winner gets an atta-boy. (I'm broke.)

Let the contest begin!

Really, though. Check out The Fratellis.

Various angles I thought of taking when introducing this video:

"If my life were a music video, I hope it would look like this."

"If everyone on the planet did this, I think there would be a lot less time for fighting ... although there would be a lot more time for kicking."

"Those crazy Europeans!"

"Where can I sign up for duo jump lessons?"

"This would be a great surprise at a wedding."



P.S. This all came about because I was YouTubing my new favorite band, The Fratellis. You should check them out.

P.P.S. Apparently, jumpstyle (and duo jump) originated in the Netherlands. The Netherlands also love the Simpsons. And of course, it wasn't long before someone came up with this.

BAFAB: Shaken, not Stirred

Well, results are in. The first quad-annual Cap'n Ganch BAFAB Week (q-aCGBW) winner is ...



Congrats, Karen. Send me an email at capnganch AT gmail DOT com to claim your prize. I'm thinking you'll have to choose something from my wishlist. Heh.

***

In other news ...

Were your ears bleeding this week? Chances are it wasn't ebola. Just my melodious voice cascading over the air waves. If you missed it (you probably did), just click here for "one of the stranger calls" Dr. Zorba has ever received in his history as "a radio person." Listen to the 04/07/2007 episode angioplasties, illegal drugs, and Honey Carrot Snaking Cake.

Shake your BAFAB!

It's BAFAB week, everyone! For those who don't know, BAFAB ("Buy A Friend A Book") Week happens four times a year, during the first weeks of January, April, July, and October. Basically, you just buy ... a book. For ... a friend. During ... the week. That's it. No strings. Not as a birthday present, not as a guilt purchase, not as a bribe. Just as a book. Of course, you can buy books for others throughout the year (and you should!), but it's also nice to have a dedicated week just for randomly planned book altruism. It's also a great way to give out your favorite book without having to worry about getting it back.

This is the first time I've ever observed BAFAB and as such, I'm going to buy one book for one person this week. In the comments section below, just list a favorite book and a snippet from that book. Since I'm posting this on Wednesday, the contest will continue through until Tuesday, April 10. I'll randomly pick a winner that evening and further directions will follow. Book choice is my discretion. Heh.

For example, I would post:

A Confederacy of Dunces

"Obviously continual response to the music had developed within them an almost Pavlovian response to the noise, a response which they believed was pleasure. Having spent countless hours of my life watching those blighted children on television dancing to this sort of music, I knew the physical spasm which it was supposed to elicit, and I attempted my own conservative version of the same on the spot to further pacify the workers. I must admit that my body moved with surprising agility; I am not without an innate sense of rhythm; my ancestors must have been rather outstanding at jigging on the heath. Ignoring the eyes of the workers, I shuffled about beneath one of the loudspeakers, twisting and shouting, mumbling insanely, 'Go! Go! Do it, baby, do it! Hear me talkin' to ya! Wow!' I knew that I had recovered my ground with them when several began pointing to me and laughing. I laughed back to demonstrate that I, too, shared their high spirits. De Casibus Virorum Illustrium! Of the Fall of Great Men! My downfall occurred. Literally. My considerable system, weakened by the gyrations (especially in the region of the knees), at last rebelled, and I plummeted to the floor in a senseless attempt at one of the more egregiously perverse steps which I had witnessed on the television so many times."


Of course, it doesn't have to be that long. I got a little carried away. A sentence will do.

Happy BAFAB week, everyone!



edited to add:
It seems like someone left a comment as that's what my post editor is trying to tell me. Unfortunately, it's not there. Probably because I prematurely posted and had to fix some contest related stuff. Try again, please? Lo siento.

Fixed.

Guilt Has No Power Over Me Man, I Feel Guilty

The story is march, march, marchin' along. I'm hoping that within the near to far future, I'll be able to post it here and announce the contest winner. Of course, nobody but myself remembers the damn contest, but that's what makes it so cool to win, right? Like when you find a ten-spot in the pocket of those jeans you never wear because they fly doesn't come all the way up? You know, like that.

To tide you over, here's a little excerpt*. (Not from the beginning, obviously, or that would completely give away the winner):

Little was known about Eddie’s biological father except that he was enormously wealthy and left all of his money to Eddie in twenty-four different Cayman bank accounts which took over three years to track and drain. Eddie had lived a rather pleasant life up to this point smoking and drinking on the porch of his mobile home (long ago immobilized by the addition of a porch and garage), and knew very little about financial management of any sum larger than the $459 disability check he received bi-monthly.

When all the paperwork had been done and his lawyers had taken more than their share (owing to Eddie’s lack of experience in pretty much everything), he was still left with more money than anyone in Stuckfork combined. Of course, the first thing Eddie did was run immediately to the grocery store where he bought one thousand dollars worth of lottery tickets. He netted fifty-seven dollars in winnings. But the second thing he did was hire a butler.

He didn’t want a housekeeper. Or a cook. Or anyone to fulfill a specific task. He just wanted a butler. Someone who would call him sir, wear a tuxedo, and speak with an English accent.

* Cap'n Ganch makes no promises that the text quoted above will remain the same or even appear in the final product, owing to the fact that Cap'n Ganch may or may not realize that the above is total crap. Cap'n Ganch and affiliates are not responsible for any mental, emotional, or physical trauma or injury related to the above content. Cap'n Ganch forgot to buy milk and has to run to the store.

Doctor. Recommended.

If you're a public radio fan and you happen to listen during daytime hours, you may have at one point listened to Dr. Zorba on your local NPR station. He's a practicing doctor who takes calls from listeners with odd ailments/remedies/ideas and tries to give some kind of advice or input. Think Car Talk for body parts.

Well, I'm going to be on his show soon. I'm not sure when it airs, but I have a telephone interview scheduled for Tuesday morning with the good doctor to discuss some odd body problems/abilities I have. Unfortunately, I have to be awake at 7:00 (a.m.) to do this (which means I'll probably have to "wake up" about an hour before that) and then sit by my phone for two hours until they call me, but it's worth it to be famous. In fact, nothing's been firmed up yet, but I may have a book deal for my memoirs in the works relating to my famous health problem/quirk which is more or less guaranteed to top several different charts. And Oprah's working her schedule around mine to get me on her show.

But seriously, if you happen to be listening to the radio and a doctor is talking to someone from St. Maries, Idaho, it's probably either Dr. Zorba and me or a call to my proctologist is accidentally being picked up by a radio tower.

You can listen to the show here, too, or find out where it'll be playing 'live' in your neighborhood.

edited to add:
The interview went smashingly and I was able to incorporate Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Carol Burnett, and chiropractors into a less than 5-minute phone conversation. The show should be available at the above link by Wednesday (the 28th) or you can also check that link to see when it'll be airing in your area. (Because there are very few joys like listening to Cap'n Ganch on your radio.)

edited again to add:
I'm not sure when the show will air. I was under the mis-impression that it would be the next day (which is odd, because nobody actually told me that), but I think it'll be a week or two. I'll keep you updated.

News of the Bizarre

Item 1: Did you know you can buy paint modeled after the idea of Hypercolor t-shirts? You can!.

The commentators are probably right, that this is an essentially useless idea, but you have to give props to the scientists (scientists!) who probably spent thousands of hours (and as many grant-funded dollars) developing a paint which, unlike the shirts, won't be a beacon to others that you are pitting out. Unless you paint your armpits.

Item 2: Kindergarteners are wily little buggers. Especially if you're their fill-in P.E. teacher for the day. On an inside-recess day. Lahs ahmighty!


Item 3: For a town that has all this natural beauty:

St. Maries sure likes to build things like this:

Which is okay, because while our statue is imposing, at least it doesn't pee on us:

Contest Update

Remember the contest? I still do. In fact, I'm closing off new submissions not because I'm getting close to actually owning a little slice of the internet (that'll never happen, methinks), but because I've actually taken one of the submission ideas and run with it!

Freaky, I know.

I'm two pages done.

Oorah!

Attention, procrastinators!

ICQ Pranks!

From one of my favorites:

Miss Barons: I don't want you to ever contact my kids again.

Staff Sergeant Haymaker: Caleb messaged me and he seemed very interested in joining the Marines. I think you just need to let them find their own way in the world. I bet Caleb would like to drive a big green tank all over and make it shoot its big gun at the bad guys. Why don't you ask him?

Miss Barons: He's a child, I'm not asking him that.

Staff Sergeant Haymaker: Do you think that's what a terrorist teacher says when she straps a bomb to Al Calebbi? Do you think she underestimates her students so much that she thinks they can't walk into a checkpoint and blow themselves up trying to destroy freedom?

Miss Barons: I don't think what you're saying really happens.

Staff Sergeant Haymaker: It does too happen. I read a report about it. They're killing us with their children so it's time we kill them with ours.

[via jincywillett.com]

Rainy Days and Mondays

I honestly know very little about the Carpenters aside from the fact that they get heavy airtime on light rock stations and wedding reception playlists, but somehow (while researching syrup of ipecac, go figure) I ran across this picture:

These two look like they'd be nice people to hang with, right? Probably an awesome Cranium team (especially with that strange sibling mind-meld like the Kowboy and I have). Or just a load of fun to watch cheesy movies with. You could probably also tease Karen about looking an awful lot like Toni Collette, and she'd get all "I know. I hear it all the time." And they probably wouldn't always be talking shop, either, so you wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable about not having ever had your voice on the radio, except for that one time when you requested Tusk on the classic rock station on your lunch break.

Unfortunately, Karen is dead. (From too much syrup of ipecac ... there's that connection), so I really won't be able to know if this ultimately unresearched glimpse into their lives would ever pan out.

Too bad. They looked like a hoot.

**

In other news, I'm sick for the first time since ... a long time ago.

And all because I contemplated calling in sick after pulling an all-nighter trying to get grad school apps together. Karma, dude. Karma.

Happy New Year! - A Silver Lining

If, much like myself, you find yourself sitting at home this New Year's Eve staring at the phone waiting, hoping, praying for someone to invite you over ... or, much like me, you take the above scenario and transplant it into your parents' home (the ones who lure you over with promises of internet access), then distract yourself with this:

Jincy Willett, author of the screamingly sarcastic Winner of the National Book Award and the diabolically droll Jenny and the Jaws of Life, has put together a list of hypothetical novel hybrids to hilarious results:

Middlemarch of the Penguins

Dorthea’s already unpleasant marriage to the elderly Rev. Casaubon grows even more dreary when she must trudge seventy miles through Antarctic blizzards to the sea, fleeing hungry predators, while Casaubon sits on an egg. –Jamie McCrabby

Gentle Ben Hur

Thrill to the heartwarming saga of a 600 lb. brown bear who befriends a lonely young boy, wins a chariot race, and witnesses the crucifixion of Christ.

or, my favorite:

Little Women Who Run With the Wolves

…try valiantly but can’t keep up, which is probably just as well.

What are you waiting for? The phone to ring? You know it won't. Why don't you laugh through your tears instead? You'll thank me.

"Awesome!"

It's several days past due, but that's how I roll, y'all.

And so, I now congratulate LVS and the inimmortal roommate for having not only a kick ass wedding but a kick ass relationship as well. And if you guys ever need a little pick-me-up during a dull evening, Dan can show you how to dance through your neighbors' homes while rocking a toy beat box.

Congratulations.

You guys could totally be rocking the runways. Totally.

With apologies to LVS ... an open-ended letter:

Dear Best Value Inn & Suites (Charlotte Edition):

Thank you for having the option to reserve a room via your website on the Internet. I appreciate that. And the fact that it was cheaper on your site than something like Travelocity also sweetened the deal. And for having an airport shuttle which saves me considerable car rental Benjamins, I also thank you.

And now that the niceties are out of the way, let's get to the meat of this thing, mmkay?

I'll admit I wasn't expecting much when I saw the average rating of two stars on various travel sites for your little place, but I wasn't wanting much. Just a bed free from stains and bugs, a shuttle to get me there, and maybe a continental breakfast (hey, you promised ...). But, c'mon BVI&S, you really weren't even trying.

Firstly, I appreciate ethnic diversity. I really do. It's what makes traveling to a large-ish city like Charlotte a pleasure coming from the Aryan Panhandle of Idaho (I'd link to this, but I don't want to encourage the traffic). And it was a pleasure to hear the rhythmic strains of Iraqi?/Syrian?/Indian? rap (?) floating down the pavement as your shuttle arrived outside the airport. But as you parked, I feel I should let you know that the music was deafening before you even opened the doors. (Really. The flight attendant standing next to me was giggling.) And it was nice of you to put my bags in the back (although, I wasn't expecting to be the one who had to close the latch after you left and sat in the front seat waiting), but then you never turned down the music. It was funny, at first, and it did give me a chance to give a little conspiratorial eye-flirt with the flight attendant ("Hey? What can ya do?" kind of thing), but enough was enough. You never even turned it down until I tried to record it on my cell phone and you caught me reaching towards the speaker with my phone outstretched.

Secondly, seat belts. They're mostly required these days. In fact, in North Carolina, it'll be law to wear them starting December 1, so you might want to take a look into providing them. You're already half-way there. You've got the seat belts, just no latches to hook them to. I know. I looked for them. In the hole that you cut in the seat where the latch used to be. Why would you remove something like that? As a belt buckle? They sell those at Hot Topic; you don't have to devalue your vehicles.

Thirdly, it was charming when your driver asked me if the wedding I attended was "formal ... or arranged," because, honestly, I'd never even been confronted with a situation like that, and it did make me chuckle as I told him it wasn't arranged. But when he made fun of me for not believing in arranged marriages (which I never told him ... though it's true), not as cool. Made for a funny story, but still awkward. I'd ask you to have a talk to him, but as I found out at the hotel, he's also the manager.

Fourth, the room wasn't bad. At first. I was a little skeezed by my neighbors who had managed to set up two hibachi grills outside their door, two bags of charcoal briquets, and a cooler labeled "Cap'n Morgan." A whole cooler for rum? Really, sirs, overkill. But back to the room. It was, well, it was what I expected. But then I got my big toe caught in a cigarette hole in the sheets (hurt like the dickens, lemme tell ya) and when I went to take a shower, I was blasted by a stream of cold water from the handle of the shower. (Luckily, you plumbed the shower backwards, because I was trying to turn on the hot water and could have ended up with a scalded face ... you would have been responsible for buying the Phantom of the Opera mask I would have to wear, except for the fact that your water temperature never exceeded 85 degrees.)

Fifth. A continental breakfast doesn't have to involve bananas foster, but if you're going to serve those mini-bagels and nothing else? Provide a toaster. Or a knife. Or some cream cheese or butter. Did you expect people to just gnaw on them like Zwieback? And I appreciate you bringing out doughnuts when I asked if there was any more food 'in the back,' but if it's not actually a Krispy Kreme doughnut? Don't put it in a Krispy Kreme box. We can tell the difference. Or if it is a Krispy Kreme? Don't buy them two weeks in advance. Because they won't taste light and fluffy like a Krispy Kreme and some backwoods bastard is likely to accuse you of bait-and-switching.

I know you guys don't get a lot of guests. It was obvious from the fact that every single employee (including the one who tried to break into my room to clean while I was sleeping naked [the air conditioner was too finicky]) knew that I was there for a wedding, had flown in from Idaho, and was going to the airport the next day to pick up a friend. But that doesn't excuse the laziness, in fact, it should give you more time to get things straightened up (I'd start with the seatbelts ... that one has a deadline.

I hope this letter finds you amenable to these suggestions. I feel badly that I didn't tip the driver when he picked me up, but give me a seat belt, and I'll give you a dollar.

Sincerely,

The Cap'n