Commuting Sucks… So Hit the Damn “Snooze…”

You know, I thought this was going to be a good week. So l work full time, so what? I can deal with no Spring Break, just stay out of my way during the week.

The Frey household is usually prepared for anything, and this storm was no exception. No last minute trips to the store for bread and milk for us. We were snowed in Saturday and Sunday, but everyone else was, so no big deal. My Siberian Husky loved it, and we just relaxed and shoveled the driveway and our cars.

The first sign of trouble was Monday morning. I woke up, threw the alarm across the room, went upstairs and looked out the window. Our street wasn’t plowed yet. Great, at least 10 more minutes added to my commute. I started up my car, backed it out, and started down the street, only skidding twice before the corner.

When I finally got out on 236, it looked pretty good, plowed, sanded, and little traffic. It was obvious to me that my usual collection of back roads I use to get to Reston was going to be impassable, so I took the Beltway and the Dulles Toll Road. The Beltway was clear, but the Toll Road was nasty. I finally got to work, and it turned out to be one of those days. For those lowlifes who’ve never worked a day in their lives, let me explain that. Have you ever had a really boring and dull class, where the only thought going through your head is that it’ll be over in an hour? Just multiply that by 8, and you’ll be somewhat close. The way home was easier. The Toll Road and Beltway were completely clear, and I only skidded once.

Tuesday morning dawned as another alarm clock bit the dust. The street still wasn’t plowed, but I could deal with that. My first hint of danger was when I went outside to start my car. The car of one of my neighbors was parked in the street parallel to it, blocking any attempt to get past it. Hmm, I thought, this could he trouble. It was.

Unknown to me at the time was the fact that every idiot with a car was under the mistaken impression that they could drive in the snow. Let me give you a little hint: If you weigh more than your car, stay home. After a good ten minutes to get my neighbor’s car out of the way, I was on my way, or so I thought.

At the end of my street was a hysterical Hispanic woman in a Volkswagen Rabbit, with bald tires. I pushed it out of the way with my pinky, and finally got out on 236, twenty minutes after I started. It was then that I discovered that every idiot with a car was on the road. I couldn’t deal with it for very long, and got off the Beltway after one exit, certain that the back roads couldn’t be as bad as the world’s largest parking lot.

To my surprise and relief, they weren’t. In fact, they were all plowed. I arrived at work half an hour late, only to face another of those days. On the way home, I discovered that my street had finally been plowed. Heck, the rest of the week couldn’t be that bad, could it.

I made a 3 point shot into the trashcan with my alarm clock as Wednesday morning broke. It was raining, but it was above the freezing point. Good, I thought, and it was, at least on the way to work.

Did I mention that I had a dental appointment that day? What kind of masochist invented this torture, where a lady wearing rubber gloves scrapes your teeth for half an hour with sharp metal objects? I don’t know, but my teeth still hurt.

Anyway, on the way home, I found out that rain plus melting snow equals twice as much water. Six inches of water doesn’t seem like much, but a current can change things. I finally made it home, though. I could rest and relax, right? Did I mention that I live in a basement? That leaks? Yes, for the second time in two weeks, one of my rugs got completely soaked. I really hate mopping, too. Oh well.

The alarm clock made a plaintive beep as I flushed it down the toilet to greet Thursday. I mopped again, then set out on my commute, and discovered that any water left on the ground had frozen into ice patches, as I slid into work. It was another of those days. Actually, it wasn’t.

I’m working on a project where Thursday I performed the intellectual equivalent of banging my head against the wall. What fun. The temperature never got above the freezing point, so the ice was still there in the evening. Yuck.

A 60 ton weight did not destroy the alarm clock on Friday, so I was forced to call in a tactical nuclear strike, code named “The Big Snooze”. The ice was still there, and it was another of those days, but it was the last one.

Let me give a piece of advice to all people who drive in the left lane. If you’re not doing at least the speed limit, GET OUT OF MY WAY!!! This week was probably payback for a couple of good weekends, but it still sucked. If you can, I advise you to spend an extra year or two at school, just to put off having to commute.

[Originally published in Expulsion, an independent George Mason University student newspaper]

I Have Seen the Light and it Was Good: Brian May

[This was written by Katherine E. Kessler; I was the “fellow staff member” mentioned, also got to shake Brian’s hand and probably assisted in the writing. Still one of my top 10 concerts, and available as a video recording]

7:50 a.m. Friday morning. My first thought “What the hell am I doing awake at this insane hour? I only went to sleep four hours ago.” My second thought “Did the guy on the radio just say Brian May… at Hammerjacks? Tonight!” Well, I guess my pledge to not go to Hammerjacks this weekend (it would have the first time in a couple of months that would have happened) was about to be shattered. And so began the best day of my life.

I tried to go back to sleep. I really did. I tried real hard. I tried to count water buffalo, but it was just to damn noisy and the neighbors started to complain. So I gave up.

Now it’s 8:10 in the morning. I really needed to tell someone, but I value my life and don’t particularly want to lose it over a phone call. I debated over it in my mind for about three seconds, then called my friend at UVA.

Surprise, surprise. I woke her up. Weil, sort of. I told her that Brian May was going to be at Hammerjacks and it was free. She said that was good and went back sleep, before she even hung up the phone.

I waited awhile, then called another friend at work. She couldn’t come. I called yet another friend at work, he couldn’t come. Called a couple other friends. They weren’t home. Great. It was beginning to to look like I was going to Hammerjacks alone.

I wasn’t going to even consider not going. My chance to fulfill my greatest dream, and I was not going to miss it just because no one else could go. Seeing Brian May live would not only give my life meaning, I would then be able to die happy. Brian May is my hero.

For those of you who for some strange, deranged reason don’t have any clue who Brian May is… you should be taken out and shot… several times. He is a rock icon. He was the lead guitarist for one of the best bands ever, Queen. The man is amazing.

10:30. The phone rings. The voice end says “Did you say Brian May?” I spent the next half hour listening to my friend convincing herself that she really didn’t need was to go to her class or her meeting.

I was supposed to go pick up a friend in West Virginia, but I wasn’t supposed to leave until 3 p.m. However, I wanted to leave for Baltimore by 6 p.m. Big problem. So I talked to my friend (who’s boyfriend I was picking up) and told her to call him at 2:30 and tell him that I should be there in a few minutes. I left here at 1. Plenty of time.

Then I sat in the lounge waiting for him for 45 minutes. Finally, he showed up. Apparently, she had just called him. It was 3:15. Well, I guess I wasn’t going to get back to Virginia (all get away from all the trucks) by 4. Oh, well. I finally got home around 5:20. Just barely enough time to get ready.

About 6:15, my friend from UVA, a fellow staff member, and I left for Baltimore. An hour and a half later, we finally got on 95. Then I hit seventy-five mph and didn’t slow down until we hit Baltimore. Amazingly, we got there in time. Actually, we got there a couple hours before the show actually started.

With two hours to kill, what did we do? We chat with the T-shirt dude. By the time the show starts, we are on the guest list for his next show in New York, I have a free T-shirt, and he’s going to try to get us backstage after the show. And we didn’t even have to promise to sleep with him. Wonders never cease.

Around ten-thirty the show finally starts. The smile doesn’t leave my face from the moment Brian May walked on stage until, well, actually, it’s still there. The shock that I am actually standing only ten feet from the one and only Brian May wears off sometime during the second song of his first encore. The show is amazing. By far the best one that I’ve ever been to. I’m on cloud nine just about now. And am libel to stay that way for months to come.

After the show was over, we went down and waited for the T-shirt guy to close up. An extremely long hour later, he went to put the shirts away and see about getting us backstage. Five minutes later, he’s waving for us to follow him.

We walked through the DJ’s booth and into a rather small back room. The security guard tells us to close the door behind us. I notice that the only other people in this room either work at Hammerjacks or for the band. Then I see him. Standing by the door in a full length leather trench coat.

One of the security guards said “We need to move some people out of here.” A deep thick British accent pipes in “Does that include me too?” That voice, it was Brian May.

We started to walk towards another small room and just happened to pass by him. I shook his hand. I said something to him. He smiled and responded. In complete and total awe and shock, I can’t remember what was said for the life of me.

I meet Brian May.

About one minute later, he left for the airport. Talk about timing.

As we piled in the car, I made a comment to the effect of “Now I can die happy. If I died tomorrow, it would be O.K. because my one dream has been fulfilled.”

Then, as we drove away over the train tracks, we were almost hit by an oncoming train that my friend swore wasn’t there.

[Originally published in Expulsion, an independent George Mason University student newspaper]

New Sci-Fi Series, “Deep Throat 69,” Sucks [parody]

Have you seen the best new show to hit TV in years? That’s right, I’m talking about Deep Throat 69, new from Paragraph, the same company that brought us Star Pecker. Deep Throat 69 is the name of a space station, orbiting around Babylon 5 in the ZZ Plural Zed Alpha sector, many parsecs from Earth (a parsec is a measure of distance that is impossibly far to convey, but can be reached in about three weeks by a Marie Celeste class starship, traveling at Warp 42). It existed before humans explored that portion of space, and is presumed to have been built by the same people who are building SUB III. Starfleet is currently using the station as a toll booth, as it is conveniently located at the end of Interspace 95.

Deep Throat 69 is commanded by Abraham Sissy, who is portrayed by Anyway Books. Books is a classically trained Shakespearean actor, last seen on TV dressed in black leather as a hitman, frequently saying, “Yo”. Books brings a commanding presence to his role as (a) Sissy (commanding means having very little or no hair and speaking quite loudly). Sissy, a single parent, was formerly starship commander, but was forced to command the far outpost after it was learned that he had hired an illegal alien to take care of his son, Jake (We’re talking


alien here, as in the dude was blue, had antennae, and had a strange craving for Brussels sprouts). Books must be happy with his increased vocabulary, as he is now able to say things like, “Fire photon torpedos,” and “Yo, beam me up!”

Transporter chief O’Fryin was beamed over from the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise Zone, the stars of “Star Pecker: The Next Penetration”. Fans of that show will be relieved to know that he still utters his best line, “Stop calling me Scotty!” O’Fryin is also joined by his lovely wife and their kid.

Jax-in-the-box is a very unique creature. A woman in a fast food restaurant ate a tainted hamburger that made her hallucinate and swallow a bottle of tequila. Unknown to her, the worm at the bottom of the bottle was still alive, and sentient. The body of the creature is that of the woman, the only hint of her inhumanity being that she always has as strong craving for burritos.

As we later discover, Commander Sissy met the worm earlier in his career (previously in a male form), but refused to swallow.

Major Krrrch! (to reproduce this sound, just stick your finger down your throat), Sissy’s second in command, is a Bewhoran. Bewhorans are a race of people that look like a humans, but could really use some plastic surgery in the nasal area. The Major, being a woman, is forced to wear a tight fitting uniform emphasizing her breasts, to the ever-lasting delight of male Expulsion editors. She took her tight fitting jacket off in the first episode, causing most of the male staff to breathe heavy.

Nodoze is the head of security for Deep Throat 69. He is made up entirely of used condoms, and is able to form himself into anything he can think of. For an unknown reason, he really gets a kick out of making himself into jello, then exploding when anyone eats him. He also enjoys turning himself into a (Trojan) horse. The effects used in this involve the computers used to create the special effects in 1991’s hit movie, Sperminator II.

The producers were smart and hired Ross Perot to play the Faringo, Spork. He brings a much needed comic impact to the show in his continued lectures to Sissy on how he should be Commander. Mitilik redrum redrum redrum… excuse me, I don’t know what I was thinking. Anyway, Perot spends most of his time talking about the Federation’s doomed economic program and hitting on the Clingons women, an alien species that looks something like the brown streak in a pair of dirty underwear.

The villains on the show are the Corpsepasiians, a race of undead zombies who will stop at nothing to eat human food. However, they have poor eyesight and have mistaken Marriot food for human food, much to the delight of Deep Throat 69, who have given them all of theirs. In addition, the replicators keep making copies of the Republican economic program, fortunately short as it is.

The main gathering place on Deep Throat 69 is the Promenade, an intergalactic cantina. Two frequent visitors are Woodward and Bernstein, two reporters who keep asking to meet Deep Throat, then get very violent when everyone sends them to the doctor for observation.

The main action centers around the station’s function as a toll booth. The rush hour traffic snarls up the station every day, and Sissy is forced to disintegrate all drivers who drive on the shoulder. Coming soon to Deep Throat 69 is P, often a guest star on “Star Pecker: The Next Penetration.” P is an omnipotent being, modeled after Gene Roddleberry, creator of “Star Pecker.”

A new position at Deep Throat 69 is Director of Docking Services. The new director will have the responsibility of ticketing all starships within 30 milliseconds after docking, except for ships owned by Docking Services or Pocking Services directors, of course. All starships left unattended will be towed and dumped into a black hole. Deep Throat 69 hopes to generate approximately 70% of its income through Docking Services.

[Originally published in Expulsion, an independent George Mason University student newspaper]