Rosco's Modern Life: October 2005

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Jarome Iginla, Sea God

We're blogging fast and furious over here at Rosco's. It appears I am trying to get you guys to understand my psyche toot sweet. This time I guess I am giving you guys a taste of the Drlog (or dream blog). Bear with me, as my dreams have a tendency for the surreal.

The dream started pretty normally. I was walking down the street in San Francisco to meet a friend of mine, Kelly. Unfortunately, I was in dire need to relieve myself and couldn't find the proper facilities, so I ducked into a corner, between two stores, and did my needed business in the little alcove. One of the stores was a boutique, at which, in my dream, Kelly worked. The other adjacent wall had a handwritten sign clearly pointing out bathrooms in the vicinity (apparently, I missed that).

Well, after finishing my business, I notice that some of the employees at the botique noticed me trying not to be noticed peeing on their wall. I scampered out of there and found my friend. We hung out for awhile, when she is informed by her employer, that nosy boutique, that her job for the rest of the day is to figure out who "vandalized" their wall. Of course, I couldn't flat out tell her it was me, lest she think I was some sort of wall-pee'er with a penchant for wanted voyeurism. So, I played it cool, and tried to help her in her investigation, looking at books of known criminals in the act of lewd, public behavior, all the while keeping my dark secret.

A while later, it seemed like the investigation came to a close, and either Kelly or the boutique gave up on the fruitless task. So we went for some rides on the famed San Francisco cable cars, which were surprisingly empty. No bother, we got on and hung onto the edge, and went up and down the street. I suppose there was some sort of unwritten, unsaid competition for who could hang on the side the longest. At this point, there were three people hanging off the edge of the trolley, and halfway up the hill it was just the two of us - Kelly and myself. We were about to reach the end when I gave up and conceeded to Kelly her victory for hanging on the longest - I hopped off.

Things started getting blurry then as the two of us found ourselves on the top of this hill (presumably the same hill we went up on the cable car). Waves started crashing in and the hill became a sort of beach-style resort. All of the sudden more friends arrived, my friends Vivek, Vilas, and Gaurav were all there splashing into the waves. We were having a ball when the waves dispersed, and things got real quiet - too quiet. Vilas and I were immediately concerned as a faint rumbling noise began to amplify. Vilas and I ran around some of the buildings to a different spot to see where the noise was coming from.

In the distance we saw the water swirling in air as if some unseen force was controlling it. Then - SPLASH! The water was sent everywhere and then recoiled in its hurricane-like form, and we saw the force controlling it - the Sea God - Jarome Iginla (of the Calgary Flames). He continued to send the water crashing through the buildings then would bring it back - his own natural yoyo. Vilas and I were watching from afar, outside of the dangers of the water.

Then, Jarome turned and saw the two of us. He wasn't so interested in Vilas, focusing mostly on me. Then, as if I were his personal doll, he forced me into the air with water or by moving the street below me. Constantly, I was thrown into the air returning with a splash into the water.

The last thing I remember was seeing Mr. Iginla, looking at me, a glint in his eye and a smirk on his face.

Then, I woke up and watched a little "Three Stooges" before packing up for work.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 1:28 PM 0 comments

Monday, October 17, 2005

Real Amercian Hero

Go Joe!

So as you may come to realize, should you continue to read my unending rants, is that I really am a child at heart. I love to relive my childhood, which for me was primarily about two things: (1) how many toys I could accumulate and (2) how cool and popular I could become with my collection of toys... or my tree-climbing ability... or my trashing-talking opponents on the four square court.

By far, my favorite toys growing up were G.I. Joes (beating out Legos). Nothing said "death and destruction" like a bunch of wild vigilante militants (with morals), who may or may not work for the government, killing off some evil "terrorist" group like COBRA (I cannot recall any of their terrorist actions). Nothing made me happier than gathering up all those little plastic men and killing them off one by one in hails of imaginary gunfire.

Often times, these battles resulted in actual toy destruction. Sometimes Joe would lose his "Kung Fu Grip" with the loss of a finger or two. Or, worse yet, the malady most feared by Joe owners - a rupture of the "O-Ring," that all too powerful rubberband that doubled as Joe's intestines, backbone, hip, muscles, and ligaments. There was almost no cure for lost fingers, but that wouldn't stop the brave soldier from firing his weapon, even if it was straight at the ground. The only cure for broken O-Rings, was, well, check out the supply in the junk drawer, find a new rubberband and affix it into Joe's mid-section. This usually led to "Limp Joe," who could never regain the posture he once had.

The other fatal G.I. Joe affliction was losing the figure, plain and simple. Being an outdoorsy sort-of kid with a love for toys, I would often bring my toys outside and play with them in the mud, trees, dirt, flowerbed, beehive, and what have you. Once, I suffered a loss so great that one might compare it to the grief of losing a loved one - I lost Roadblock. I had been playing in the dirt, and there was a lot of G.I. Joe carnage left in one area in the yard. I had been called into dinner, and before you know it, the Joes were roughing it. The next morning, I went down to retrieve my Joes, only one was missing, and was nowhere to be found. "Roadblock!" I screamed. "Noooo! Roadblock, no!!"

Roadblock was AWOL, and he was never seen of nor heard of again.

You would have thought I would have more of an allegiance to Dialtone, as he was from my hometown of Eugene, Oregon, but he had that porn star moustache. That was kind of off-putting.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 12:20 PM 0 comments

Thursday, October 13, 2005

My Decent Into Blogdom

So, here it is, my first blog post. Blogging in the World of Rosco is relatively knew, and has swept me up in the last few months. Whether I am immersed in a writer's blog, detailing how the government is making him have writer's block, or a sports blog, talking about the playoff chances for a perennial loser. Whatever the blog, it's usually interesting, mainly because they represent individual voices and individual worlds.

So, I present to you, my world - the World of Rosco. I'll probably use it as a vent for my frustrations in life - so think bad movies, douche-tastic sports stars, or lemon butter. Praise is not out of the question, but you must admit, in today's world praise hasn't really been earned lately.

Feel free to bombard me with hate mail. I am actually kind of looking forward to it. Or, better yet, start your own awesome blog with your own niche - custom, hand-sewn sweaters made from bacon, or some such - that is, if I don't cover it first.

posted by Ross Conkey @ 8:10 PM 0 comments

About Me

Name: Rosco
Home: Bay Area, California