Victor the Visitor!

Greetings, people of Earth! Uh . . . and all WYMOP fans, of course.

This week's story starts a couple of years ago. I returned from a trip to Colorado to find my room wasn't as empty as I'd left it. Apparently, we had a visitor from, well, pretty damn far away, and he'd taken up residence in my room as a way to hide from the govern . . . I mean, to try to ease into our society. It seems he lost his luggage, and I had the particular joy of walking into my room at 2:00 am to find a naked stranger standing, a bit bug-eyed, in the corner. For some reason, my mom decided not to warn me that he was there.

Thanks, Mom!

Eventually, I talked the visitor (there was a bit of a communication barrier, but I finally started just calling him Victor--he seems to like it) into coming out of the shadows of my room and borrowing some of my clothes. They were a bit bright for me anyway, and I thought it might help the poor bastard fit in a little if he looked like a tourist. I mean, tourists are supposed to be a little odd, right? Anyway, after his little makeover, Victor seemed to feel a little better about being here. Maybe it was just not being naked? I dunno. But he seemed a bit perkier once he had some pants on--though it was hard to tell if he was smiling at all: I don't think he actually has any teeth.





Once he started to come out of his shell, I decided to greet him properly, and officially welcome him to the Ear--uh, I mean America. Massachusetts, yeah, that's it, I welcomed him to Massachusetts.

So with nothing else to do, Victor stood in the corner of my room. During the day, I'd talk to him, teaching him to understand English, though he never actually spoke a word of it to me. At least, not out loud . . . which is how all people speak, right? Yeah, that's right. Yeah. Nope, he never "spoke" a word to me. Not one word.

Then, last weekend, as I was getting ready to go to Rock and Shock, a three-day horror and music extravaganza in Worcester, and I came home from work on Thursday and found this:

Apparently, someone in the house was watching Wheel of Fortune while I was at work, and Victor became fascinated with Vanna White--not in the eighteen-year-old hormonal young man way, but in the "Hey, I could do that!" way. 

He made it pretty clear he wanted to go to Rock and Shock with me.

In fact, I found him waiting in the car the next morning, all belted in and rarin' to go.

He doesn't have a lot of expression, but he still seemed impatient to get on the road.

He's either waving for me to come on right here, or giving me the finger. Kind of hard to tell . . .

So we drove on to Worcester, and the DCU Center. We did get a few odd looks on the drive:

But Victor took them as his due and moved on. Once we arrived, he did his thing. I have to say, he was surprisingly professional the entire time--though it was a long two days.

The drive home was uneventful.

Once we got home, I started unloading the car. Victor was supposed to be helping, but he disappeared right at the start. It wasn't until I got all of the stuff back into the house that I went into my room and found him:

The poor baby was just exhausted from the big weekend. I didn't have the heart to wake him, so I wound up on the couch for the night.

Now, you'd think that would have been enough for the big galoot, but he was invited back to Worcester for a reading event the very next weekend, and there's been talk of him coming to North East Comic Con in early December. I think he's letting me tag along in December, which is pretty cool, but yesterday he went on an audition that has me wondering just how long I'll still be in the picture.

I just hope, you know, when Victor hits the big time, that he remembers where he came from, and who chauffeured him to his first shows. I hope he remembers who his real friends are, from way back when he was just a naked dude standing in a dark corner.

"Me and Vic - BFFs"

Thanks, Mom!

Talk to you later!

Mini Bennies

Hey there, WYMOP readers!

As some of you may know—though most of you may not—I used to drive a Jeep Grand Cherokee. Early this year I decided I needed a change (read: the Jeep’s motor turned in its pink slip and retired Florida) and picked up a used Mini Cooper.

Was this a bit different? You bet your ass.

“What,” some people still ask me, “were you thinking? Don’t you know what kind of a change that is?”

“You,” I answer these people, “bet your ass.”

Tired of pointing out all of the good things about my Mini ownership on a one-to-one basis, I’ve decided to throw out a short list of the positives that just don’t seem to occur to these people.

1. Fuel Economy
   
   I do author events in New England, and even though I try to keep it pretty local (generally less than three hours away), I do drive about Massachusetts and New Hampshire more than I used to. When I drove the Jeep, I found that showing up at a book sale or other event with tears in my eyes from actually watching the gas gauge fall for the past ninety minutes was not the best way to impress and sell books. Now, however, pulling into the lot with a big smile on my face, then having people watch as I unpack a van-load of stuff from inside a red shoe box with wheels (I was pretty good at Tetris when I was a lad) is a sure way to entertain and get people in a buying mood. Of course, that might just be my red, rubber-ball nose and big Bozo wig. And then there’s the huge shoes . . .
   
2. Fun to Drive
   
   Maneuverability, thy name is Mini.
   
   Look, on the highway, my Mini’s darting, hummingbird-like ability to appear to be in three places at once is a bit of an advantage; also it is fun to see the expression on other drivers’ faces when a perfectly good slot in traffic suddenly disappears, filled by a small red package of high-pitched motor whine, and giggling driver (yes, I am a speeding Masshole behind the wheel).  
   
   Also, since I have a tendency to overrun the instructions coming out of my Garmin GPS unit (speeding Masshole, remember?), some people who have driven with me in
   
   the past have remarked on my penchant for three-point turns. Now, though, before the Garmin can even finish saying “Recalculating,” I’m pulling a U-turn tighter than anything this side of a Big Wheel and cackling like a psychotic six-year-old on a fifteen Pixie-Stix sugar rush. I once was lost, but now I’m found, as my little red car goes round and round!
   
   
   
3. Camouflage
   
   I know. It’s just a little four-cylinder engine. But it’s not pushing a lot of weight, and the Mini Cooper can move. It might take a little longer than a sports car to get to the speed I want, but once it arrives, it stays there pretty damn easily, no matter how many curves and turns I have to take (see “Fun to Drive,” above), so getting from point A to point B happens faster than you’d think.
   
   But here’s the best part—
   
   The management would like to take this opportunity to invite officers of the law, anyone who drives a car equipped with flashing blue lights, or anyone otherwise enabled to hand out traffic tickets, to please skip ahead to #4—we know your time is more valuable than the rest of ours, and we wouldn’t want to take you away from your very important business.
   
   Are they gone? Okay.
   
   The best part is the strange blind spot the police seem to have regarding cars of a certain type. You can drive a Mini past a parked cop doing 70mph in a 30mph zone (Mom, this is hypothetical, okay?) and it’s like they don’t even see you. Either they see the Mini and assume their radar must be faulty because there’s no way that car can go that fast, or they’re picturing the embarrassment of there being a record of them pulling a speed stop on a vehicle that slows down when the hamster gets tired.
   
   Either way, if you’ve ever been pulled over for speeding in a Mini, then you were really trying!
   
   
4. Roadside Assistance
   
   What assistance? You break down, you just put the car in your pocket and walk the hell home.
   
   
   
5. And the Most Important Difference of All, as of 6:00 This Morning:
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
      . . . heated seats!

Ta-daaaaa!

Talk to you later!