Lingua Frank

This blog goes fishing in my memory hole for stories that I hope will provide at least marginal amusement for all.

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This blog is really about memories from my life...retold for the pleasure or yawns of friends and strangers alike. Bon appetit.

среда, февраля 23, 2005

An Ambitious Fruit Fly

I have a very distinct memory from my fifth-grade year. Every time I hear the rousing fanfare from Europe's immortal The Final Countdown (which is every couple of years or so), I'm plunged back into the moment...the crowd of kids backing off in a mighty ripple, gaping, dumbfounded, jealous as I descended into the schoolyard, beckoning for Amanda to join me in my gyrocopter that I had constructed out of an old lawnmower and particle-board and then glide off over the Great Salt Lake, free of brine stench and glistening with the fire of the western sun, all to the tune of that masterful power-ballad.
This is, of course, a heap of bullshit. Beyond the obvious fact that the laws of physics and the engineering prowess of ten-year-old boys do not generally combine to produce even decent pinewood derby cars, much less fully functional aircraft, there are the giveaways of the stinkless Salt Lake, the implication that I was at school until sundown, and the fact that Europe, well, sucks. Come to think of it, I was such a hopeless dork that Amanda, I'm sure, would have never gotten into that gyrocopter, and not just because it was a deathtrap that smelled strongly of the ragweed from my backyard.
But to me, it was real in that I was going to do it, just like at one point I was going to build a vacuum-cleaner hovercraft propelled by bottle rockets and construct an underground spy fortress in my buddy Taylor's backyard. Just who we were going to spy on is a bit hazy, now, but I know that I could sit down and reproduce the plans for the fortress, complete with periscope and IT nerve center consisting of Taylor's Commodore 64...playin' Mappy and Spy Hunter all night long was sure to drive a stake through the heart of the Evil Empire.
Nineteen years later, apparently, I haven't changed a whole lot. You see, I'm going to keep up this blog. I'm going to turn it into a clearing house for linguistics, politics, and super funny satire. And while my wife wouldn't necessarily appreciate Amanda jumping into this gyrocopter with me and taking off over the valley o'Zion, I swear I can hear those dulcet tones of the cock-rock gods cooing that I'm heading to Venus....doodle-oo doo, doodle-oo doo doo...

4 Comments:

Blogger Beck said...

Ah, I miss our Commodore 64...

Dear, DEAR Mr. Atherton--You DO make me sound like a dumb hick. I love it. Your blog is so classy, your satire is so satirical! I have added you to my links.

E-mail me if you want me to hook you up with a website that will keep stats on who visits your site and when.

10:07 ПП  
Blogger Lucius Atherton said...

Thanks, Beck. The real challenge will be to have my posts on language be generally interesting for people. I'll probably throw one in today (I'm staying home from work because of a snowstorm...yeah, I live on the east coast where they have no idea of how to deal with flurries). I doubt much of anyone will read anything I write here, but this could really turn out to be a hell of a lot of fun.

8:21 ДП  
Blogger Bullshit said...

Isn't Lucius Atherton buried in the Spoon River Cemetery? I swear he rose from the dead and mouthed some verses of poetry, regretting the things he had done in life and lammenting that a flag flies over his grave.

5:41 ПП  
Blogger Lucius Atherton said...

Этот комментарий был удален администратором блога.

6:26 ПП  

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