String Cheese - Article XXXI

Chilean miners aren't getting the shaft
by Aryn Corley

The only thing worse than listening to a time share presentation would be being trapped in a Chilean mine. Actually, it would be worse if one was trapped in a Chilean time share with minors.

However, that's the subject for another article.

As of this writing, there are 33 souls trapped a little more than half a mile below the ground in a mine in Chile. To put that into perspective, Jared from Subway would have to lower two thirds of his intestines into the hole in order to get them out. Yum! Judging from the pictures and video I've seen on the Internet, the miners seem to be taking it in stride. They're smiling, mugging for the camera, and walking around shirtless like a third-world Lorenzo Lamas.

There's a waterfall under there so it's not like those guys are stinking up the place. They have a television so they can stay up date on their favorite show “Jersey Shore”. The miners say they can really identify with fellow subterranean life form “Snooki”.

To alleviate some of their boredom, the miners entertain themselves by playing games. With the interconnectedness of the mine tunnels, coupled with the infinite darkness, they've been playing a wicked game of “Marco Polo” for the last several days. Just imagine the fun those guys could have had if only someone had the foresight to bring night vision goggles and a paintball gun.

These guys are having no shortage of things to eat either. Food is being delivered to them in a nice convenient tube. If I won the lottery tomorrow, I would totally install a “pizza pipeline” and have warm pie extruded directly to me from Big Lou's Pizza of San Antonio.

Most fascinating to me is the revelation that one of the miners has his wife AND girlfriend topside awaiting his return. I think his name is El Tigre Bosque (that's Spanish for “Tiger Woods”). As a general rule, wives and girlfriends shouldn't find out about each other. They tend to get upset when they do. If the miners were politicians it wouldn't be an issue. Admittedly, I fail to give proper credit to Chilean miners when I ponder careers that really attract the ladies. The next time I'm trying to impress a woman, I'll ditch my rap about being a secret agent for the government and go with the story about being the guy who holds the flashlight.

The capitol of Chile is Santiago. This isn't important information for this article, albeit a nice non-sequitur.

I hope someone down in that cold, dark, lonely cavern of despair is feeling the creative urge to write. A cavern, thirty three miners, and a tube dropping meat is a recipe for the greatest sitcom, ever! If the sitcom doesn't pan out, an off-broadway musical starring Neal Patrick Harris would be absolutely fabulous.

Sincerely, I hope every single one of those guys makes it out of that tunnel alive and makes it back to see wives, girlfriends, and whoever else wants to give them cigarettes.

Although, I think if I were in Chile I'd probably take my chances underground. The surface is where all the problems are.

String Cheese - Article XXX

 

Thumbing ride comes with a hitch

by Aryn Corley

Updated: 08.24.10

Recently I was driving through the beautiful back roads of East Texas admiring the flora, the fauna, and the occasional dumped appliance.

More importantly, I was late for work. As I sped along, I noticed a man standing on the side of the road with his thumb held out.

The sight reminded me of a recently published article in Psychology Today which reported the results of a study by a French psychologist who found that women with larger chest sizes have an easier time finding rides when hitchhiking.

I wonder why that is? The most interesting thing for me is the idea that French psychologists actually get paid for measuring stuff like that.

Maybe I should have been a French psychologist.

The guy looked haggard and beleaguered from the heat. After all, the heat index had risen to a balmy 275 degrees. He had an overstuffed backpack laying at his feet and probably smelled like he'd just been to a Grateful Dead concert. If Where's Waldo and Grizzly Adams had a kid, it would look like this guy.

The man was a hitchhiker. He needed to get somewhere.

Feeling sorry for the dude, I pulled over. He heaved up his bag on his shoulder and started toward my truck. As he wearily trudged toward me, I began to remember all the things I was ever told about hitchhikers.

Whether the stories are true, or urban legends, there is a kind of mystique that surrounds those who, for one reason or another, travel the country with reckless abandon, allowing themselves to be placed at the mercy of complete strangers.

In popular culture, hitchhikers hold an iconic status. They embody our freedom of movement and self-determination. Whether it's Jack Kerouac's classic book titled “On the Road,” Janis Joplin's edgy vocals on “Me and Bobby McGee,” or Rutger Hauer's disturbing performance in “The Hitcher,” hitchhiking has become synonymous with adventure.

When I hear the word “hitchhiker,” I almost always think of a Ford Prefect and Zaphod Beeblebrox from “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.”

Stories from urban lore tell about nefarious hitchhikers who wish nothing more than to wreak havoc on naive drivers. There's the story about the guy who stopped to pick up a hitchhiker, then changed his mind after hearing a radio report about a “hook-handed” homicidal maniac. When the man arrived home, he was quite shocked to find, hanging from his door handle, a hook!

Then there's the other story about the girl who asks for a ride home, only to have the driver discover she'd vanished. I've had women vanish themselves from my car before and it's a real bummer.

Once, I thought it would be a good idea to try hitchhiking from London to Paris. Since both towns are in Texas, I figured it would be easy.

Yeah, right.

I stood out on the side of US 377 for many hours. Cars sped past me without giving me a second glance. There was something about me which was making me less attractive for pick-up. Although, I must say the Border Patrol agent who interrogated me for several hours was a really nice fellow.

Finally coming to my senses, I decided not to give the guy a ride and sped away, leaving the hitchhiker on the side of the road in a cloud of dust and scattered gravel.

As I looked in the rear view mirror, I saw him cursing me loudly and violently waving his hook in the air.

It suddenly dawned on me why I decided not to pick him up.

His chest was too small.

String Cheese - Article XXIX

Tome reveals nothing to me

By ARYN CORLEY

Updated: 07.27.10

I was digging around in my shed looking for something to help me get rid of all the junk piled up inside. More specifically, what I needed was inside of a book.

I just knew that the people from the television show “Hoarders” were going to be kicking in my door demanding I dispose of it all. Worse yet, I figured the two women from “How Clean Is Your House” would invade my place to add insult to injury. Poring over the totes, boxes, and bags made me feel as though I was rooting around in the burial chamber of a very unpopular pharaoh.

As I sorted through my piles of meaningful refuse, I found a box marked “HS.” I opened it to discover it was a box of my wife’s high school mementos. It was a big box and it was full!

She was the girl in high school who got good grades and was involved in many clubs and activities. She was in National Honor Society, Who’s Who, 4-H, and the Mickey Mouse club. Inside the box were ribbons, plaques, trophies and other pieces of molded plastic that validated her athletic, as well as academic, achievements.

Basically, she was my high school antithesis. It’s a good thing I married her. You know what they say, “Keep your friends close and your enemies bound by matrimony.” Anyway, I marked the box for disposal and moved on.

The next box was much smaller, about one quarter of the size, and had geckos and roaches pouring out of it. Inside was a yearbook and a letter jacket.

Ah, yes. This was my box of high school memorabilia.

I achieved very little in high school. In fact, I was lucky to have made it out when I did. Unfortunately for me, there were no certificates for those who served the most detention. Failing math classes was something for which I received the most recognition.

Inside the box was my letter jacket from high school. While my friends managed to letter in some form athletic event, I found a way to get a letter jacket without really doing anything.

I lettered in drama. I may have not been able to throw a football, but I could make myself cry on command!

Someday, my children will be bored senseless hearing stories about my glory days as a “thespian.” There, I said it.

Regarding the letter jacket, no girl would ever be caught wearing it. Well, no girl would wear it unless I bribed her with wine coolers. I jammed my hand into the pocket to see if there was anything left of any value. The only thing I found was an old library fine slip for an overdue book titled, “Conquering Procrastination.” At least the jacket has some value as it provides shelter for many small reptiles.

I would have tried it on, except that I’m about 30 pounds heavier now than I was then.

Oink. Oink.

I picked up the yearbook in the bottom of the box. It’s pages were crusty and yellowed; just like the day I’d gotten it. I thumbed through the yearbook while glancing at the faces of the clueless within its pages.

I felt like I was perusing a mug shot catalogue of the world’s dumbest acne riddled criminals. I turned to my own yearbook photo and looked at my former self. I saw a kid who was wracked with puberty and had a really large head. My long hair suggested a rebellious spirit and aloof attitude. In reality, I lacked self confidence and was afraid of being rejected by girls. So little has changed. We didn’t know it then, but we were all having a bad hair day. The ‘80’s were pretty much a whole decade of unapologetic bad hair.

I flipped to the back of the yearbook where I had some of my friends sign and leave their nuggets of prophetic wisdom. One friend wrote, “See you next year!” Judging from my algebra scores back then, that was a very real possibility.

Another friend wrote, “You’re a crazy guy.” I think this friend went on to be a mental health counselor. The most prophetic was from Tina, who wrote,” Stay funny and you’ll go far.” She was right. I’m currently miles away from where I grew up. My sense of humor forced me to uproot and leave town.

It’s hard to believe that 20 years has passed since that time. Compared to the kid in that book, I have more wrinkles, more fat, and a bit more funny. If I had the chance to do it all over again, I’d stay put. I dropped the book in the box and put it on the shelf.

Finally, I’d found what I was looking for: a book of matches.

Fire in the Disco, Fire in the Taco Bell

This fire, which broke out on 16 JULY 2010, engulfed this tour bus along with the storage unit beside it. Also lost in the fire was a patrol boat belonging to the state's fish and game department. Luckily, there was no loss of life.
The arson investigation is underway.
As many as six different volunteer fire brigades assisted. Some came from as far as Huntsville and Livingston to assist.

The Biggest Cool Guy

The biggest winner was me when I got a chance to "talk cop" with The Biggest Loser: Season 4 contestant Jim Germanakos. Jim is a police officer in Long Island and an all-around nice guy.

String Cheese Wins Another Award!

The Texas Press Association [http://texaspress.com/index.php/services/2010-better-newspaper-contest/1514] just bestowed a FOURTH PLACE nod in the COLUMN WRITING category. Here's the snip from their website:

Division 6 Large Weeklies

1.  Hays Free Press — “Quit renaming our holidays” by Clint Younts. I always wondered what St. Valentine’s did. This column made me laugh. Good job and congratulations. “Clintodamus predicts the unpredictable” by Clint Younts. Very funny and creative. Looking forward to see what comes next!
2.  Fredericksburg Standard-Radio Post — “Cats Rule—And Don’t Forget It” by Terry Collier. Great storytelling. Everyone’s got a “pet the kiddo left at home” memory. Would have liked to have learned about those peppers! “Leading With Their Hearts” by Terry Collier. Nice!
3.  Fredericksburg Standard-Radio Post — “Meet Dr. No” by Cathy Collier. A story your readers can relate to. Update on terrible twos required! “He’s The Man” by Cathy Collier. Great job. Longest lead ever, in a way, and a delight to read.
4.  Cleveland Advocate — “Jury is out on lawyer shows” by Aryn Corley. Very nice. I was a little confused at first, thinking you meant CNN/FOX-type shows. Love the Mattress Tag Unit! “Don’t mock my smock” by Aryn Corley. Good column on a topic everyone is tired of!

Fourth in the whole state of Texas? WOW! It's hard to believe that all of my literary shenanigans are starting to pay off. Mrs. Karen Hundley, my senior high school English teacher, always thought I had something warped to share with the world. This win is dedicated to her.

Thanks to everyone who read my columns, support this blog, and charges me half-price for lunch.

String Cheese Article XXVIII

Every slick has a silver lining

By ARYN CORLEY

Updated: 06.22.10

So there’s this huge oil slick in the Gulf...

I’m still trying to write a punch line for this one.

Even though there are thousands and thousands of barrels spilling into the Gulf of Mexico, things can’t be all bad? Right? It’s a matter of looking at things from a positive perspective. This little “worst-environmental-disaster-in-American-history” thing could turn out the be a boon to this country.

It’s been reported that British Petroleum may have cut some corners regarding the safety of its drilling platform. Safety experts had supposedly warned them of the dangers. What do safety experts know? My mother was a “safety expert.” She was always telling me to wash my hands, stop touching things, and very concerned about me poking out my eyes. I ran with scissors all of the time and managed to keep my eyesight intact. In fact, I tell my own kids that it’s okay to play with sharp objects and lighter fluid. They don’t listen to me either.

What’s wrong with a multi-gagillion dollar company wanting to save a little extra dough anyway? I’m sure BP was going to use that money to build homeless shelters, rural clinics, and gas stations all along the Gulf Coast. The company is now spending millions of dollars, while creating several hundred jobs, to quickly clean up the oily waterfowl so they can be blasted in the fall by hunters. Commercial businesses impacted by the “devastation” will have access to many hats, koozies, and T-shirts bearing that really rad BP logo. See? BP is doing a lot for the local economy!

BP CEO Tony Hayward (who looks like Piers Morgan from “Americas Got Talent”), has taken a beating from the press, from Congressional panels, and the characters from Yo-Gabba-Gabba. If Mr. Hayward watched any of the Congressional Baseball Steroid Crusade, then he knows he has nothing to worry about.

As the CEO of a large multinational corporation, it’s his job not to know what’s going on in his company. “I Dunno” is a perfectly acceptable answer to questions when one doesn’t know or is being evasive. However, Tony Hayward’s cunning cannot be denied. Not only has he vowed to clean up the Gulf and have the whole world not believe him, but he got a Republican congressman to apologize for the negative publicity, then got the same guy to apologize for being apologetic.

At least the oil slick has everyone thinking again. Part of what makes this country great, besides Las Vegas, is our ingenuity. BP has set up a hotline for “Joe Q Public” to share ideas about how to clean up the mess. Here it is: 281-366-5511. Americans are brilliant for coming up with ideas. Several examples can be cited as evidence: electricity, flight, and seven-layer dip. People are coming out of the woodwork to share their solutions.

For example, actor Kevin Costner, that dude from “Dances with Wolves” (not Two Socks), has a brother who has a machine that will separate the oil from the water, then turn the water into “Tin Cup” DVDs. I’d like to see that one! It’s been suggested that putting hay on the water will soak it up. This method will work if one remembers the old adage: You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him eat petroleum-soaked hay.

I called the hotline and offered my idea. My plan calls for the Jonas Brothers to give a concert there on the beach with thousands of pre-pubescent fans blowing their vuvuzelas. The oil blob would be so horrified by the sound of the Jonas Brothers, it will slither back in its hole.

I’m still waiting to hear back from BP.

I figure when the property values plunge to record levels I can open a theme park called “Schlickerbahn.” Families can have fun sliding around while enjoying chocolate-covered ice cream pelicans.

As every day passes with the Gulf puking out “Black Gold... Texas Tea”, I try to remain optimistic. Ironically, disasters seem to bring out the good in most people. Time and time again we’ve pulled together when it really counts to help others in need.

It’s unfortunate that we have to have something bad to remind us of how good we can be.

Author’s note: My sympathy is with the families of those who died on that rig. My satirical humor will never be enough to ease their sadness.