With Great Power, Comes Great Gardening

King Arthur had the mighty sword Excalibur, Thor had his powerful hammer Mjöllnir, and Elmer Fudd had his spear and magic helmet. All of these ordinary men were made great by the use of a powerful implement (Yes, I know Thor was supposedly a god in his own right. I’m trying to make a point here). A kingdom got its king, bad people were thwonked on the head, and finally… finally… that wascally wabbit got what was coming to him. All feats worthy of retelling over a mug of ale in Valhalla.

It is in this light that I would like to introduce myself. My name is Keith, and I am the wielder of the Evil Shovel of Cable Annihilation! Look upon me and despair! MUHAHAHA!

Ahem.

Once upon a time I was just this guy, you know? I worked, I played, I ate, I slept. I bought the t-shirt, several of them in fact. Except for my shiny head and devastating good looks, I was no different from any other man. But then everything changed.

It began on Memorial Day weekend while I was working in the yard. I was digging a three-inch trench to separate a flowerbed from the lawn. Sadly I overlooked the fact that the path of my trench intersected with that holy provider of Internet and television, the cable line. Without a thought I cut the wire cleanly with my shovel as I moved along. Little did I know, but the consequences were much greater than a few days disconnected from e-mail, Facebook, and Twitter.

What had once been an ordinary shovel was now something much, much greater. Unbeknownst to me what I thought was a simple gardening tool was now an instrument of evil. Something, perhaps a shock when it sliced through the cable, perhaps a radioactive earthworm, imbued it with a dark power.

I was blissfully unaware of this until last weekend. I had some planting to do in the back yard, so I had taken my trusty shovel off of the garage wall to get the job done. Did it quiver with excitement? I didn’t notice. Did it hum with anticipation? No clue, I had my earbuds in.

Since most of the plants were small I had used my trusty trowel to dig their holes, but for the one large plant I used my shovel. As it turned out that was all that was needed. I was almost done with my task when the wife came out to tell me that we had no internet or cable TV. For a second I just stared. It was horrible case of déjà vu from Memorial Day, and it felt so unfair. But this time I was nowhere near the cable I had cut before, I protested. I was waaaay in the back of our property. There were no cables there.

I walked over to the side of the house to make sure I hadn’t blacked out and walked over there like some sort of gardening zombie (Hydraaaaangeas!) to dig up the cable. As expected the ground there was undisturbed, but that did nothing to refute the fact that we had no electronic access to the outside world.

While the wife called the cable company, I picked up my tools. As I was putting them away, I felt a vibration from the shovel’s wooden handle. I pulled out my earbuds to hear a metallic chuckle and a faint “Again. Use me again…” Spooked, I hung it up on the wall as quickly as I could and left it there.

It turned out that as time passed the shovel’s power had grown, and instead of just taking out our cable it had affected an area miles-wide. Without even having to touch a wire it had sent its evil energies though the earth to sever internet access for hundreds of families. Children cried when they couldn't watch Blues Clues. Teen angst soared as they couldn't sing along to re-runs of Glee. I realized that I was the owner of an implement of unspeakable power (I can write about it, but speak? No.)

Am I now going to be one of the conflicted super-men, who doesn’t want to use his power but is unable to stop himself? Do I have enough fortitude to resist the temptation of the evil spade in my garage? I have no one to help me in this struggle. There are no support groups for owners of wicked gardening tools (Hi, my name is Keith and I’m an evil gardener).

If my success with resisting Chips Ahoy is any indication, I am going to dig again. It’s only a question of when. Will my shovel’s power have grown even greater? How many people will be affected? All of Michigan? North America? The world? Could I create a fail whale of global proportions just by digging a hole in my yard? I don’t know, and the questions haunt me, begging for answers.

So now you know my story, my super-gardener origin as it were. If you desire the services of me and my mighty shovel, you can find me at the local Home Depot. I’m thinking about buying a shrubbery.

Ice Cream Exposé

Ah, the local ice cream emporium. A fount of refreshing summer treats. Wholesome vanilla ice cream, banana splits, slushies, and the like, all made with quality ingredients like milk, hot fudge, and.... Old Fashioned LIQUID Peanut Butter?  So back in the day my grand-pappy DRANK his peanut butter? Notice how it is sitting quietly next to the malted milk, hoping you'll just keep walking by. That's right, nothing disgusting to see here, unless you want to DRINK SOME PEANUT BUTTER!!

And the there was the whole array of tasty shakes and malts. Classic flavors like Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, Pinapple, Cher...  wait a minute. Pinapple? Is that right? Why am I suddenly reminded of the nasty Halloween prank of putting a razor blade in a apple? Either that or a bunch of really small apples were used.

Of course there is always the possibility that someone just forgot a letter in their haste to add the (LIQUID!) Peanut Butter flavor to the list. I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat, and solve the puzzle: 

P-I-N-E-A-P-P-L-E. 

Did I win anything?

Usually a trip to the local ice cream shop isn't a matter of life or death, liquid peanut butter aside. But at this shop they pander to the top-secret crowd by offering the never-talked-about NSA flavored ice cream. They call it one of their "hard" ice cream flavors, so you know they mean business. No, they won't tell you what it tastes like, and they'll likely kill you when you're done with it. It comes with a complementary disguise, so you can't be IDed munching on this classified treat. Perfect for the overheated agent looking for a way to cool down on that long stakeout. So if you see a guy eating ice cream and wearing a plastic Groucho nose, 'stache, and glasses, you'd better not look too close because you probably don't have the clearance to check out what's in his cone!

The Great Bathroom Hunt

I was attending the graduation ceremony of my niece at the Eastern Michigan University Convocation Center when I had to use the restroom, where I found a slight disparity in the signage between the Men's room and the Women's room.

First let's consider the Woman's room. As you can see in Exhibit 1 this room rates a large sign that is hung from the ceiling. In fact I could see these signs in either direction in the main corridor. I wondered if this is a bit of overkill, since locating the woman's room at events such as this is usually accomplished by looking for the line. Perhaps this is an indication to dim-witted, college-age males that women would be congregating here, and if they need a date for later this is the place to look?

Then we have Exhibit 2, the Men's room sign. Clearly the innate hunting and tracking skills of the male part of the species are being given due respect by this small sign taped to a concrete column somewhat near the entrance to the Men's room. Either that or someone is being awful brave, as we might just do our stuff in a nearby corner or out in the landscaping if we can't find the proper facilities.

Or perhaps they thought we'd use the Women's room for a quick pee while picking up our date for later. And if all the stalls are full, then we could demonstrate our adaptability by using the sinks as ad-hoc urinals. Aww yeah, ladies, you know you can't resist those mad skills!

Perhaps I'm reading a bit too much into this, and maybe I should take that as a sign that this post should be over. I'm just glad I found the right restroom, because I like to save the whole sink-turned-into-urinal thing for special occasions.