Atomic Bombshell

Archive for January, 2005

The Sacristy

Catholic school. Fourth grade. I was the shy studious kid and my mom was a teacher’s aide, so I was often called upon to serve as the “buffer” to separate all the trouble-making boys. Thanks to that crappy logic I managed to get into plenty of trouble. Let me tell you…

Mounted in the farthest altar of our parish sanctuary was an ornately decorated solid gold cabinet. Our priest, Father Slaught (pronounced slot – no pun, I swear) was a fat drunk who blocked our view, making speculation about the box’s contents the hot topic at school.

It was fiercely debated, but the majority contended that Jesus must live in the gold box, because the priest always emerged with that “body and blood” stuff. They way they described its miraculous transformation made whatever was going on in there seem so alluring.

Next thing I know, these class clowns came up with a plan to go over to the sanctuary and find out. BRILLIANT! Except for one thing… If I don’t accompany them, the grown-ups will suspect their mischief and we’ll never find out what’s in that darn box.

Curiosity got the best of me and I agreed to follow along…

Thinking we had an easy mission planned, we visited the sanctuary to pray during lunch. We knelt down in the front row and reviewed the logistics. Being such gentlemen they decided to let the lady out of the pew first, egging her on to head toward the altar.

Slowly I make my way up the steps… past the pulpit… then past the central altar… almost within reach of the gold box… when suddenly Ernie the custodian runs in the sanctuary with a push broom brandished high above his head, wailing in Spanish.

I turned on my heels and ran back toward our classroom, my screams blending with his, only to realize that the jerks who put me up to this were already halfway there. The bell rings. I make it to my seat, out of breath, hoping to God that Ernie didn’t recognize me.

An hour goes by, and I figure we’re safe. Wheew!

Moments later, outside the frosted windows of our classroom I see the silhouettes of our Principal, Vice Principal, my mom, and dear sweet Ernie the custodian. They walk in, then we are each singled out and escorted to the principal’s office.

The rest of the story is a lesson in the antiquity known as corporal punishment. And that was the tale of my most embarassing moment. Worst of all, I’ll never really know what was in that golden box.

12 comments January 25th, 2005


I’ve had it with “Whatever” – The battle cry of the apathetic.

Although I admit to being a former offender, I’m over it now. Once you pass the awkward stage of adolescence you should have the gonads to speak up for what you believe and express your views.

Whatever? No, screw that. Tell me what you really think. Sure, we may not agree, and that’s fine – Vive la différence! But to avoid a discussion altogether… Now what fun is that?

13 comments January 24th, 2005


Did you catch this pilot on CBS tonight? I know what you’re thinking: Another of those Law & Order / CSI type shows that are proliferating… But “NUMB3RS” is really good too, I swear!

Only time will tell if subsequent episodes can uphold the same quality as the pilot. However, I think what impressed me most were the graphic representations of mathematical thought.

Watch it and see what I mean.

10 comments January 23rd, 2005


My hairdresser is the most loveable Nazi you’ll ever meet. She’s been cutting my hair for over ten years and were it not for her calculating precision, I may have switched long ago – Because every time I ask for anything even remotely resembling bangs she refuses.

It’s her way or the autobahn, baby!

Every girl has her “best” feature. For me it might be my mane. Some girls would kill for this hair: but it doesn’t matter how healthy your hair is, with a bad cut it will look like crap.

You could easily end up bald trying to find a good hairdresser. So many are butchers – 40% are narcissists who don’t want you to look good, and 50% couldn’t make it through school for any other vocation.

At the tender age of sixteen my only thought wasn’t driving my first car, but rather training for my first job. Because with that first real paycheck I got my first haircut in over ten years! After a Supercuts debacle, mom had banished me to the land of long-ass Crystal Gayle boring hair.

My first mistake was going to these guys back in the days when they did hair for Van Halen and all their rocker buddies… Which wasn’t this little preppie’s style. So then I started in with high-priced salons until I finally gave up and hit the dreaded mall chop shop.

VOILA! I found my little Vidal-Sassoon Nazi and have been with her – bangless – ever since. I have an appointment with her tomorrow morning and I’m gonna hit her up for some long sideswept bang-like things… and watch me come out with nothing but long layers.

At least there’s something to be said for predictability… I think?

9 comments January 21st, 2005


Two days… That’s how long I’ve been cleaning my office. Having a boss who is both a micromanager and bordering on Alzheimers requires me to generate mountains of otherwise unnecessary paperwork…

Files from 2002 are packed in boxes that my boss will be too paranoid to send downstairs to storage. All 2003 files have been moved to less accessible filing cabinets, leaving room for the 2004 stuff to be filed away in prime real estate for easy reference.

The only problem is that during the last half of 2004 I was too busy to keep up with filing, so I’ve got stacks of crap all over my desk space waiting to find a home. To make the matter even worse, my Dymo 330 LabelMaker bit the dust – and that thing was my secret weapon!

What happened to the good old days, back when my parents were my age, when it wasn’t politically incorrect to have your secretary do your filing? Sucks to work your way toward the top and still have to do your own grunt work, but such is life in this modern age.

I’m expected to make a presentation on 2004 campaign effectiveness and outline the 2005 plan at our board meeting next Thursday, and I really can’t begin to write up the supporting documents until this 2004 paperwork is is organized and squared away.

…The clock is ticking…

9 comments January 20th, 2005

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