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Pete and Repeat

If I have said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times…, pets and super heros just don’t mix. I can’t tell you how many times capturing a run-of-the-mill villain was thwarted by a meowling Crusader Cat, or a well timed “I’ve got you now, evil doer!” has been undermined by a careless step in something Wonder Dog left behind. You just can’t get the respect required when you are having mascot issues.

So I was understandably perturbed when AmazeMan brought home a parakeet named George. Now I like parakeets just as much as the next guy, but cute little parrots just aren’t kosher.

Me: So…

AmazeMan: Yeah!

Me: It’s a bird.

AmazeMan: It’s a budgie!

Me: Don’t call it that. Seriously.

AmazeMan: What? He’s great!

Me: You realize, of course, that your “he” is a “she”.

AmazeMan: No he isn’t, he’s…, how the hell do you know it’s a she? There ain’t no bird boobies.

Me: It’s the color above their beak. If it’s colorful, it’s a he. It ain’t, so you got yourself a she-budgie.

Named George.

AmazeMan: But the guy at the store…

Me: What were you thinking? How on earth can this thing fight crime?

AmazeMan: It’s not a “thing”. He’s…, she’s a…

Me: Whatever. What can “George” do?

AmazeMan: He…, she can repeat anything you say right back to you.

Me:

AmazeMan: Come on, that’s terribly useful.

Me:

AmazeMan: Look, say you were just out of earshot of hearing Nefaro’s next diabolical scheme. You send George in, he…, she flies over – undetected – and listens to the conversation. Then he…, she flies back – undetected yet again – and repeats everything he heard.

Me: Actually, that’s not half bad…

AmazeMan: It’s awesome!

Me: But still, he’s…, she’s a parakeet.

AmazeMan: Budgie.

Me: Whatever. If you get caught traipsing around with that bird you’ll never hear the end of it. It’s just not Cricket.

AmazeMan: But it repeats…

Me: I know.

AmazeMan: And it barely eats anything at all…

Me: I hear ya man.

AmazeMan: This sucks.

I knew that

We usually celebrate the birthdays of the other super heros at our headquarters. It’s one of those things that has turned more annoying than celebratory over the years. We used to pitch in $5 and get some kind of gag gift, but since Luminous had her baby (don’t get me started on the expense of baby showers) we’ve started upping the ante to like $20 a pop. This is wonderful and all, but there are like 20 of us (not including support staff), and if I’ve done the math right, that’s a lot of dough.

Anyway, the one birthday celebration I hate the most is coming up and we just pitched in for something to buy. The problem is the present is for Know Man. And like his title, he knows what you are thinking. So every year we get him something, and every year he acts all surprised. Everyone plays along, but it is rather pathetic. I keep saying that we should just give him the money, but Anesthesia is all like “That is sooo inconsiderate. What if we just gave you money instead of a present?”

“If the present was anything like last year’s, I’m all for it. Who cares about feminist theater?”

“You are so uncouth.”

“Can you even be couth?”

“Don’t be an ass…”

It went on like that for a while. Regardless, I ended up pitching in. It’ll be a several more days that Know Man has to act like he doesn’t know he’s getting tickets to the Vagina Monologues. I can already see him starting to get depressed.

The real Superman

Someone asked me the other day if Superman was real. I told them, yes, but he’s not the guy you see in the movies.

Clark Zupfermann was born in Kent, Iowa in 1893 to a couple of immigrants from Warsaw, Poland. His parents were in their 50′s when he was born (they had thought they were unable to have children). He was more then the usual “miracle baby” in that he had a rare genetic disorder. His body had an unusual mutation that caused increased muscle growth and strength, as well as a type of psoriasis that made his skin virtually impenetrable. His skin was basically a natural version of Kevlar.

Clark was extremely fast for a person, but not faster than a speeding train of course. He was able to run at a sustained speed of over 30 mph for several miles – this at a time when most people didn’t have cars. He could weather being stabbed by knifes and once famously for surviving a blast of buckshot from a misfired shotgun. The problem was that, although he wouldn’t be cut, he still felt the pain of being shot and poked.

Clark gain some local fame when he rescued a young girl named Lois Strassman, who had been trapped underneath a tractor that had rolled. His strength made easy work of lifting the tractor, and then he ran the girl to the local hospital in his arms. The rescue saved the girl and would have been a much more publicized event, barring one fact. Clark and Lois were Jewish. Rather than see the situation as heroic, many locals became afraid of him and took great pains to minimize his effort. Adding the fact that his skin condition made him look somewhat mannequin-esque, it was easy for people to dismiss him as some kind of freak. Regardless, Clark lived a simple life of doing whatever he could for his community and his fellow townsfolk.

Clark died in 1937 and was buried as a pauper. He truly was an unsung hero of the people. Luckily, the spirit of his good deeds and love for his fellow man live on in legend.

Unfortunately, Clark is typical of your run-of-the-mill super hero. Most of us are born different and have to deal with being outside the norm every day. The majority of us try to do good, but there are many who grow up resentful and angry – thus turning into the villains that we deal with to this day. I’m always asked why we don’t just kill the evil guys when we have the chance, instead letting them have the opportunity to reek havoc again and again. The simple answer is that we can empathize with their anger. There but for the grace of God, go I…

Time after time

I know most of you assume that Super Heros pretty much just get to where they are going in the world instantly. Want to be in Brussels? Bam. You’re in Brussels. Vermont? Zap. Enjoy the pancakes. Sweden…, just a fermented fish away.

The reality is that very few of us can fly or teleport ourselves anywhere, especially across an ocean. And since we don’t make any money at this, the travel is usually through discount airlines and freight consolidators. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve traveled as cargo. So, I have recently been dealing with Time Zone. He’s a rather silly bad guy, but a bad guy all the same. His schtick is that he always commits his crimes at 3:33AM in a specific time zone on the planet. Rather than, say, always commit his nefarious deeds along the East Coast at 3:33AM, he moves along each time zone committing crimes every hour for 24 hours or 24 days, depending on which direction he travels. But once he gets going you know it’s gonna be a day or month of wandering the planet figuring out his current crime spree “theme”. Once it was robbing bank vaults that were secured with timers. Another time it was kidnapping a famous celebrity or leader until he could ransom 24 of the worlds most notable people.

Anyway, he’s at it again. Usually one just has to wait to see which direction he is traveling and then start trying to figure out the “theme” to his current crime spree. Once you figure it out, you just get ahead of him and wait to spring the trap at the next location. Sometimes it is easy to figure out (there is only one bank safe in Kiribati) and other times it’s a race around the world.

So I find myself needing to get to the US on short notice. Unfortunately, the Airlines know they have you by the short-hairs. Damn if I can find a flight for less than $2,800. I know that if I did this 2 weeks ago I could get something around $1,500. You’d think that there would be some kind of Super Hero discount or something. At least an upgrade from coach. But no. Super Hero money is no better than that of a mere citizen. Anyway, I got my ticket and headed off to the airport. Of course the only flight that gets me to where I need to go isn’t one that I have a frequent flyer card with. In fact, I have like 15 frequent flyer cards and I rarely, if ever, fly the same airline more than once a year. I don’t know why I bother.

AmazeMan was nice enough to give me a ride to the terminal – although I had to endure all the wise cracks that we were now an “item”. I didn’t need to check any luggage, but I headed off to the check-in counter to see if I could at least get seated in Economy Plus. They have that extra leg room, which is nice. No luck. In fact, I ended up in what best can be described as “steerage”. It was the aisle seat next to the galley and the lavatory. Not only was it impossible to not get my elbows slammed every frickin’ time the drink cart went by, I had to listen to the symphony of flushes every 3 minutes. Sure it doesn’t hurt me to get whacked by an aluminum aisle cart, but it’s harder than you think to get tomato juice out of a super suit. And how can they not have iced tea on a trans-oceanic flight? I mean it’s just tea and ice, right? Needless to say, I didn’t get any sleep. And if you think it’s annoying having to talk to some sap sitting next to you for 19 hours straight, just try it when you are wearing tights. If I hear “Who would win a fight between Batman and Superman?” or “Do you wear boxers or briefs under that suit?” one more time I’m gonna snap a neck. For the record, I go commando – but that’s another story.

And I know everyone who has ever traveled complains about the food in flight, but honestly, scrambled eggs should not have a distinctly “fishy” taste. That’s just wrong, man.

Now, being a citizen of the world means I’m not a citizen of the US. And due to this stupid Homeland (or should I say Motherland?) Security thing, I, along with 500 hundred other people, had to wait in line to get my finger printed. If you’ve ever had to go the bathroom wearing a body suit you’ll have some idea of the inconvenience that presents. Most people think I’m wearing gloves with this suit. Gloves fall off – especially at the worst time possible. No, these gloves are attached to the suit. So, if I need to present a finger for “security” reasons, that means the top of the suit comes off. To be fair, they allow me to do this in a separate room, but what a royal pain in the ass it is to get in and out of that thing. “Form fitting” and “easily removed” are definitely mutually exclusive.

But after getting through customs and unfortunately having to prove that I wasn’t carrying anything undeclared in my codpiece, I was off. I met up with Sonic, who was nice enough to pick me up at the departure gate. After enduring more wise cracks about us being an “item” now, we found ourselves at the National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST) laboratory in Boulder, Colorado, where the NIST-F1 was located. This was the ultra-accurate atomic clock used as the source for the nations time. We had pieced together a scheme that Time Zone was going to alter the definition for “time”. He would presumably try to alter the standard for the second by messing with the cesium clock. This would cause havoc around the country, affecting air travel, banking, and GPS signals at the least. He had to be stopped and we were ready for him!

More to follow…

Working Stiff

Times are tight, I’ll admit it. It has always been a challenge to make ends meet and it’s not any different for yours truly. Since this isn’t a paying gig, I have had to maintain some level of income to pay the bills. Sometimes it is easier and I make enough to only have to work part of the year. But mostly I am slogging through just like everyone else. Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against a hard day’s work – one might say I put the “Hard” into Hard Wo…, on second thought, let’s go with another turn of phrase: “Hard work and I are never strangers”. Yeah, that’ll play a bit better in Peoria.

Anyway, before I completely lose track of my point, I am obliged to work to pay the bills. I’ve always felt that the “bad guys” were just like us, except they figure they should be able to make money using their super powers. That invariably leads to doing it the easy way, and that slides quickly down to “shaved head and a cat” territory. You might think that, with all the good we do for society, we’d be paid by some level of charity or government subsidy. Well, originally I thought it could work out that way too. Who wouldn’t want to pay a few bucks a month to be sure that they had some level of protection for society? Much like universal health care, it sounds like just the ticket and everyone is behind it until they say “and you know you’ll have to pay for it”. Then, everyone is out for themselves. So be it. We do this because we have to, you know? If it was about the money I would definitely be turning down the less interesting gigs.

So, long story short, I need to get another job. My last one was lucrative, but the hours just didn’t jive well with having to fly off on a moments notice to keep evil doers in their stead. Plus, one of the guys in the Marketing Department was always trying to arm wrestle me for beers. I think it was just ’cause he wanted to hold hands, but that’s a whole other issue altogether. I’ve now been looking for something that will make me enough money, but give me the flexibility to “make my own hours”, as it were. And that is where I get stumped. ‘Flexibility’ is out there and ‘Good money’ too – but they seldom live together. On the plus side my needs are quite basic. I am never at my place, so I really only need a bed to sleep on, a place to keep my clothes, shower, and a microwave oven. You’d think I would eat better as a super hero, but you just don’t have time to shop and anything fresh just goes bad before you have a chance to eat it. I admit that I go out to eat way more than I should, or is even healthy, but convenience reigns in this profession.

On the more practical side of things, I have discovered several vocations that are right out due to one major issue or another:

Fast Food – It would seem like a no brainer. “Want fries with that?” is the requisite skill, but I just can’t fit into those standard company uniforms. They assume that “big” means “belly” and I have yet to come across a sleeve that doesn’t shred as soon as I lift my arm up. Plus it isn’t a living wage, even with my basic needs.

Pizza Guy – This had appeal the first time I tried it. On the plus side is that I could work when I wanted to, and you made tips over your base pay. I didn’t need a car and could deliver more pizzas an hour than pretty much the entire group combined. The problem was that I felt compelled to make quick work out of those that would order a dozen pizzas for someone named “Richard Hurtz” or some such and give a fake address. News Flash: I will find you and hurt you.

Anyway it was a problem.

Temp – This is what I’ve done plenty in the past, but it does require wearing a suit and tie every day and I only have the one suit and 3 ties (two of which were joke gifts from Gamma Girl). I usually am the butt of the office jokes and am never offered to join the group for drinks after work (not that I ever have time, but it would be nice to be asked once in a while). The gigs are pretty short and when I invariably have to miss a day or leave on a moments notice (and then get fired), I can always find another job in a day or two.

Bouncer – this seems great at first glance, but the hours coincide with when most nefarious acts are committed. So it becomes a decision of ‘bounce’ or ‘save the world’.

Anyway, I’m really just whining now. I’ll figure it out, but I’m gonna have to do it soon as I think my DSL bill is coming due and I just spent my last $30 on a new high tech green laser pointer.

Hey, the Wonder Cat loves it.