Open Letter to Winter

Dear Winter,

I know I said some things in the past. Words were exchanged. General ugliness ensued. Things haven’t always been the best between us. Last year, I was particularly cruel toward you. For this I do sincerely apologize. I had never before been in the position of paying my own heating bill. In a like vein, I had never before resided in such a drafty, old domicile. I had no idea you were such an expensive mistress to keep satisfied. I spent my Winter months last year cold, poor, and cursing you with every frigid, condensation-cloud spewing breath I took. I was angry with you. I swore up and down, slammed feet to the ground, and shook my tiny fist at your vast chill. I would have rent my clothes, but they were the only things keeping me from frostbite. I hated you. Yes, I did. There is no disguising the fact. I wished you would leave, never again to return to my life.

Apparently, you heard fevered longing of my soul, for you have kept your profile quite low this year. I know you are around. Occasionally, I feel your presence as an added bite to the wind, or see it in a frost covered windshield. Still, by and large you have not made yourself apparent. It’s been warm, quite warm for this time of year. Today it was sixty with sunshine, and we have not yet arrived in February. The past few months have been shockingly mild. Maybe you’ve only decided to take a year off. Maybe you’ve decided to move up stakes and never again enter my life.

Now, this is the part of the letter where you might expect me to see the errors of my way and beseech you with all the warmth of my heart to make a grand re-entrance onto the stage of my life. Sorry. That’s not how things have turned out. I have seen the year without cold winter. I have paid the heating bills afforded to me with your absence. I am happy. Really, I am. I’ve moved on. I don’t need you anymore. As a matter of fact, I’ve been seeing other seasons, three of them. They’re all nice in their own way. I am particularly fond of fall – also known as Autumn – with it’s earthy pallet and satisfying fallen-leaf-underfoot crunch.

Sure, we had some good times. I do remember the carefree surprise of the snow day with its hours of joyous mirth making. I remember snowmen, snow angels, snow forts, snow suits, snow balls, snow tunnels, and myriad other magical snow related items. They were good times. They really were. I may even be open to hanging out a little here and there. I think if you came over for just a week or two between fall and spring we could have a good time. But I do have some conditions. I want at least a foot of snowfall to occur overnight when I do not have to work in the morning. I don’t want any cold snowless days, or frigid arctic wind blasts. I want temperatures in the twenties. I want to be able to go out and enjoy you for a few days. I have a sled. I’d like to use it. But after a couple weeks, that’s it. I don’t want to see you anymore. You have to get out. Spring’s coming over and we have a lot of plans. I don’t think the two of you would get along.

So, Winter. Please, I know we were close and those memories are precious to me, but can’t you see that things are so much better this way. If you refuse to live by my terms, I may be forced to take drastic measures. I will move to warmer climes, pack up my tent and head on south. I could see myself quite happy in Florida, the Carolinas, or Texas. I might even visit here and there. I don’t want to see it come to this, but I am prepared to do whatever I deem necessary to keep my heating bill down.

Good luck, Winter. It’s been fun.

Shalom
James

Jon Spencer's Other Explosions

Jon Spencer Shoes Explosion
Jon Spencer Booze Explosion
Jon Spencer Cruise Explosion
Jon Spencer Cabbage Explosion
Jon Spencer Cat Explosion
Jon Spencer Marriage Explosion
Jon Spencer Vocal Cord Explosion
Jon Spencer Maritime Explosion
Jon Spencer Garage Explosion
Jon Spencer Blues Clues Explosion
Jon Spencer "Kojak" Season One on DVD Explosion
Jon Spencer News Explosion
Jon Spencer Mail Carrier Explosion
Jon Spencer Gorilla Explosion
Jon Spencer Mother-in-Law Explosion
Jon Spencer Erosion Explosion
Jon Spencer Jazz Explosion
Jon Spencer Chevy Celebrity Explosion
Jon Spencer Chews Explosion
Jon Spencer Stew's Explosion
Jon Spencer Iowa Caucus Explosion
Jon Spencer Pigeon Explosion
Jon Spencer Pop Rocks Explosion
Jon Spencer Porn Explosion
Jon Spencer Blew Up

cinnamon toast crunch cost approx 76 cents per square foot

At an average of $4.79 a box and the average of 1500 1/2 sqaures per said box, cinnamon toast crunch costs roughly 76 cents per sqaure foot.

lamanent flooring costs about $4.75 cents per square foot, but is alot more durable

moist towelettes ( in package) cost about 45 cents per squre foot, but arent as edible

condoms (in package) cost roughly (bought in bulk) $5. 13 per square foot, unless your a magnum

Tom Cruise costs, $114,285.71 per pound, based on his going rate of 20 mill a movie. thats some grade A prime hunk of meat.

joe eoj

What I did on my Winter Vacation which only lasted one day

I just got back from Florida.
Sun, sand, beach, and 19 hour work days. But I did get one day to myself so I decided to cram in a whole vacation. I took pictures.

This is the computer where I stared countless hours at boring insurance statistics. And those cute little shot glasses full of diet Pepsi kept me awake … mostly.




We all worked hard, things went wrong, people got anxious and stress levels were high, and I, I took the road less traveled by … which was this ramp that passed really close to the waterfall. This was the view that flashed past me as I went from work space to Ballroom where the show was being rehearsed. The show by the way went wonderfully.


That’s basically how I spent my week. Except for this luxurious bed, which I saw an average of 3.5 hours a night.


But then Wednesday came; I was free at last, free at last, thank God for sunscreen, I’m free at last.
After drenching myself in sunblock 34, I set out to see three of the four great Floridian habitats: There were no swamps nearby, but I did see the forest, the beach and the tourist trap.

Here’s the tourist trap. The Pier. (As seen at night from the front of my hotel. )

An upside down pyramid at the end of a long pier (it’s not just a clever name.) Herein lies all the classic tourist traps staples: Rent boats and bicycles, pay way too much for a cheeseburger (which I did twice) buy every trinket and style of shirt known to man with the word Florida on it, feed the Pelicans, fish off the side, or take a charter tour looking for Manatees.
I chose one trinket and moved on. There was so much to do in one day and it was already almost 10 a.m.

Next, I explored some of Florida’s great forest lands. I got lost. The weird thing is when I finally emerged I realized I’d been lost inside this one tree. Luckily, I finally found my way to the north side, found the moss, turned around and realized I was out.

By this time the day was getting long, so I decided to head for the beach. It took me a while to find it, but when I did, it was beautiful, if small.
And actually it was right outside my hotel. Evidently, I just didn’t look down when I set out for The Pier, or I could have hit the beach first.

I never did get there though, because of that phobia I have of

pushing buttons.

Oh, well, that left me time to hang out with some of the locals.

This is Harvey. We hung out for a while. He told me stories about some of the whacky tourists he's run into. I tried to be funny, like I do, but he didn’t appreciate my Pelican Briefs jokes. He said he’d heard them before. I tried to explain that I didn’t and that’s why I was laughing so hard. He understood.
Harvey works at the Pelican feeding stand. Said he picked it up as a summer gig a few years back, but likes it so much he just stayed on through the off-season.
He was an interesting pelican, that Harvey, but soon the sun was setting, and Harvey needed to fly home.

And that’s what I did the next day. And boy are my arms tired. (Ha - get it?)

Peace
Larry

James' Car Speaks Out

So this is it, huh? This is how the whole thing ends. You just leave me here in this graveyard, and drive off in that…that thing. I’m sick. Honestly, I have no idea how you can look at yourself in the mirror anymore. Turncoat. I can’t believe you’ve turned your back on me. I didn’t want to believe it. Right up to the last moment – when you gave my keys to that other man – I held out hope. But I knew, from the moment you got that bad report on my health, I knew it would come to this. After all we’ve been through together, I’ve become nothing more than a trade in to you.

How can you do this to me? I know I’m old. I know I’ve got some miles on the old odometer. So what? I thought we had something deeper than that. I thought we had a connection. I mean, you don’t trade in people when they get old. When grandpa starts wearing down, you don’t just go trading him in for newer more reliable grandpa. I know I’ve got my problems. I don’t have the control over my fluids I used to. I leave little puddles wherever I go. You think I’m proud of that? But, hey, you think when you get old and lose control over your fluids, your family’s just going to go trade you in. Take you to the retirement home and come out with a spryer version of you? Hell, no. So, why would you do something like that to me, you bastard?

Oh, the indignity, sitting here on this lot with all these younger cars mocking my worn tires and broken rear view mirror. To make matters worse, you stripped me of my stereo. You didn’t want me, but you figured you might as well get some use out the one good thing I had left. I don’t even have any speakers. You stripped away my voice. It’s like grandpa again. It’s just like you saying, “Well, Grandpa isn’t really worth anything anymore, so we might as well get a new one…but before we do we better get those kidneys out. They’re still good.” I have a gaping hole in my dashboard. You don’t even care, do you? You got what you wanted, and now you’re with that…that young trollop.

I wish I could hurt you the way you hurt me. Maybe, I should have when I had the chance. At least, I busted that tire before we got to the dealership. What? You think that was an accident? I knew exactly what I was doing. Seeing you out there in the early morning dew, wearing your work clothes, squatting in the mud of that neglected driveway might just be the last pleasant memory I’ll get. Those bolts sure were rusted on tight. I hope you enjoyed that, ass-face. You’re lucky. You know it could have just as easily been the brakes. You should be happy I still have a little soft spot for you.

That’s right. I still have feelings for you. After all, we had some good times together. Remember that trip to Myrtle Beach? It was just me, you, and the open road – well a bunch of your college friends were along to but they mostly slept. Remember when we ran over that raccoon. We tried to avoid it, but we couldn’t. We laughed about it later though. That was my first blood. Remember hitting the back roads, trying to get lost and then finding our way home? I’m going to miss that. Remember that time I got you stuck in the snow? Wait. That never happened. I never let you down. I never left you out in the cold. I was always there for you, but were you there for me when I really needed you? No. The second things got a little rocky for me, that was it. I was gone. You didn’t even shed a single tear over me, did you?

It’s over. I know that now. You aren’t ever coming back. You’re with that new car now, with its low miles and pristine exterior. Well, I’ve got news for you, buddy. Once you put a few thousand miles on that whore, she ain’t going to be so hot neither. I bet they fix me up here on this lot. That’s right. They’ll give me new tires, brakes, a new mirror. I’ll get my gas tank fixed and all my holes stopped up. Hell, I bet they even bang out a few of these dents and slap a new paint job on me. Oh, you’ll eat your ungrateful heart out when you see me. I’ll look as good as new. You probably won’t even recognize me next time you see me. I’ll pull up next to you at a stop light and you’ll do a double take. You’ll be so jealous. You’ll rue the day you got rid of me. I can hardly wait to see that stupid dick head look on your face.

Whatever. You think you’re so hot out there, you and your new car. She’s not even that hot. Just looking at her I can tell she’s had more than one owner, if you know what I mean. She may be younger, but I’ve got more character. She hasn’t been through all the stuff we have together. But whatever. I hope you and that tramp are really freakin’ happy together. Douche bag.

See you in hell,
The Silver Bullet (AKA James’ old car)

A Wonderful Prom Theme

My brother, Danny, is the president of his junior class; he has been since his regime takeover at the end of his freshman year. I never had much reason to run for high school class officers (mainly because my compassionate conservative agenda wouldn't have been well-implimented in planning the class retreats), but there was one aspect of being president that did interest me: planning the prom. As the class president, you sort of lead the prom committee (which is a very interesting role for a guy like my brother). You have to find a venue to hold the dance, organize all of the sub-committees, and pick a theme.

Picking a prom theme has always been one of my great joys in life. I love picking themes for any sort of event. When Karissa asked me what should be the theme for your floor decorations, I told her to go with "The Exxon Valdez Oil Spill Adventure." The entire floor could be decorated to look like a shoreline, and she could scatter stuffed animals (which were dunked in black paint) all around the hall. Floor activities could involve scrubbing things with toothbrushes... For my brother's high school homecoming theme, I suggested Roman-times, complete with a gladiator pit. This of course, would have been interesting since the entire school is made up of Christians...


But no matter how many hilarious, and ingenious, themes I think up... nothing could top the actual theme he and I discovered last night. We were flipping through an oversized catalogue of decorations by some prom company called Anderson, each theme seemed to get worse and worse: "Such Great Heights," "Garden State," "It Could Happen To You." They were ridiculous themes filled with decorations you would really only see on "Laguna Beach" or "The OC." That is, until we found the motherload: "A Night to Treasure."

It was a pirate theme! Such a fabulous theme that I went ahead and scanned the magazine, just so you don't think I'm making this up. As you can see by the picture, the lads of the evening will have a great time wearing an eye patch and captain's hat. Hell, you can even wear around a sword to make sure no one tries to cut-in while you dance with your wench. Meanwhile the evening will be filled with the majestic scent of stale ale and fish. By the end of the night, you'll be sure to "plunder" a nice "bounty of booty," if you know what I mean.

Some of the fabulous decorations include giant treasure map pillars, reminding everyone that the treasure is buried in the back alley where the chaperones can't see. The backdrop for the evening features outlines of your ship, which is both sinking and burning at the same time. You and your date walk trot into the dance on a red carpet, stained with the blood of your fallen enemies. Along your way, you can pass treasure chests overflowing with stolen goods and barrels filled with stale alcohol (not for consumption, kids). At the end of the walk, you find a pleasant skull, most likely belonging to some English dignitary that you snuck up and killed out on the high seas.

What better way to put every student into the world of the hit film "Pirates of the Caribbean" than by paying hundreds of dollars for these decorations. But, I understand that not every school is a public school settled nicely in a high income suburb. No, some schools (like my brother's) are private and go without the wealth of our state government. And so, they may not be able to raise the funds necessary for such an extravagant set. This is why I suggest acting like real pirates. Pillage and plunder the neighboring schools for loot and treasure. Rip down the banners that hang on the gym walls and paint skulls and crossbones on them! Poke out some guy's eye so he gets a free eye patch! You don't have to be a wealthy high school to have a great pirate theme. You just have to be quick witted and willing to loose a few classmates along the way (someone is bound to be captured or forced to walk some sort of plank).

Danny informed me that this pirate theme would be at the top of his agenda for his next prom committee meeting. Of course, we both doubt very much of his idea succeeding. The committee is filled with alot of girls and parents who just want the evening to be "magical" and "memorable." I say, what's more memorable than robbing a government-paid explorer and hiding his money on a deserted island?