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Ali G Indahouse, 2002, Sacha Baron Cohen! hehe:)

One Day At A Time I

i’ve never been much of a people person. not that i don’t like people per se, i just don’t like company so much. not to mention, the more people find out about me, the less they like mine. you see every morning when i get out of bed, i seem to be able to do…well…things—strange things—fantastic things. if you read comic books, then this will sound like a blessing. if you like the simple life, this will sound like a curse. to me, it’s just a simple fact of life…well, not so simple. but i seem to be getting ahead of myself.

my name is frank beeman, and i have super powers.

it all started on my tenth birthday. as i remember, i got out of bed early because it was my day, and i had peeked into the trunk of my dad’s buick and found out i was getting that bike i so desperately wanted. my mom was already downstairs putting together my lunch for school. she turned to wish me a “good morning,” or “happy birthday,” but the words died on her lips because it’s not every day that a woman sees her ten year old son standing six inches off of the kitchen floor.

needless to say, i got that day off of school.

in fact, i got the rest of the week off, while my parents kind of freaked out. it was really understandable and, all in all, they handled it fairly well. after my dad revived my mom from the first time she fainted, we all sat down (well, i floated above the chair) and tried to come up with a good explanation for what was happening to me. for the first hour, there was a lot of denial and a little finger pointing, but after all that was done, the conclusion was reached: no one had any idea what the hell was going on and there would be no explanation for the moment. after that, we spent some time finding out exactly what nature of my “condition” really was.

for me, it was like running in dry sand. it didn’t really matter what kind of surface i was over, everything felt the same. unfortunately, it is really hard to jump in dry sand, so my limit was six inches…give or take two. i found if i tried to dig my feet towards the floor, i could touch it, but then i was stuck. the real fun was when my dad had the great idea to fill up the bath-tub with water. they may have been in shock, but it didn’t stop them from laughing as they dubbed me “boy jesus.”

the rest of the day was actually kind of fun. i got to wear one of my dad’s trench-jackets, and we went for a walk. every where we went, it was the same thing. even when (as both my parents stood watch) i marched across the pond in the park next to our house, the adventure continued. the strange thing is, i didn’t so much care about the whole supernatural aspect of my tenth birthday…it was the change of perspective. doorways felt smaller. i could see on top of the refrigerator. when i gave my mom a hug before i went to bed, it felt different. i was in an adult’s world and enjoyed an adult’s perspective.

it was extremely disappointing when i awoke the next morning to find my feet firmly planted on the ground. no more “boy jesus.” no more special tall perspective. no more…anything. did i dream what had happened? was there any way the fantastic goings on of yesterday were all in my head and today was my birthday? the sound of my parents feet pounding up the stairs to my room the second i was up allayed these thoughts. the look in my mom’s eyes was first one of urgency then of relief. my dad almost looked a little disappointed, but they both rushed too me and inspected my state of being. i told them i was fine and i just was really hungry and could we go downstairs and just have breakfast…and then they were gone. actually, as the first wave of panic subsided, i realized that it was i who was gone. in fact, i was simply standing in the kitchen. in fact, i was standing in the kitchen when i heard my mother scream…

Grrrr...

what do you do when you are riding home from work in the passenger seat of a friend's car at roughly four in the morning, and you see something walking across the street just in the shadow and out of the path of the car headlights...this thing looks like a big dog--a great dane--with head hanging down and tail long, but not nearly the size of a great dane...no, much bigger...like four feet at the shoulder bigger...and you say to your friend, "What the hell is that thing?!?!" while pointing because you can still see it walking off into the bushes and she doesn't see a thing and still can't, even as you pass the point where it disappeared...and at that point, you realize that there is no way you will ever be able to walk home that way in the middle of the night ever again for fear of something you didn't quite get a good look at, and aren't sure if it exists, but it is bigger than you and might exist less than a mile from work and home...what do you do?

Convoy II

“Inbound vessels, this is first lieutenant Jason Feltson of the Federated Lyconian Navy—please identify yourself,” jason transmitted in a bored sounding singsong tone, “you are threatening our fly-zone and are in direct violation of article 3556-B of the universal travel conduct charter. Please respond or we will be forced to view your actions as hostile and respond as such. Over.”

as if in response to the hailing, another five signatures split into two separate marks, bringing the count to twenty-one. “Command, this is bravo one…five additional signatures, repeat, two one total. please advise on…we have a contact, command, i repeat, we are being fired on!” another much smaller signature jumped from one of the other vessels at about ten times the speed of the other force. jason’s sensors flashed and there was a “heads-up” tone in his helmet. his ats kicked in immediately and the contact turned blue.

“Bravo one, this is Command. Neutralize incoming fire and engage at will. You are cleared for engagement. Go get ‘em, boys!” finally thought jason, as he switched to general push.

“Alright you trained monkeys,” he said over the general frequency, “let’s show these bastards what happens when you threaten us and ours! Three pronged front, pair off and pick them off. Good hunting boys!” with that, he triggered the pulse laser slaved to his ats and watched the blue mark on his hud flash once quickly.

the signatures for the inbound bogeys disappeared in a wave.

the airwaves were filled with the curses and startled exclamations of the entire escort force. the incoming ships had all disappeared…every last one of them.

“Maintain formation! Alpha five and seven, form up! Settle down, boys, settle down. There must have been something in that rocket.” the garbled and frantic chatter died down almost immediately. it was a good thing to be flying with snakes. “If there is something jamming our scanners, it should be doing the same to theirs. the interference will be about mid point, so we can expect visual before any sensor contact. also, remember whatever is jamming our sensors my have an effect on your ats and missile tracking, so we may be looking at a good old fashioned dog fight. Echo wing, on my mark, break to flanking position ref point 205, 120, 320…and, mark. Bravo wing, tighten splits to 150 klicks and prepare to engage.”

What To Do?

when i was growing up, there was a funny dichotomy between how my mother and my father raised me. there was one side: my mother had the reasoning aspect figured out...she would play the "i am the law" card, raging and threatening about what "i will do" and "what your father will do when he get's home." my mom was the preacher for the end of days and, as a ten year old boy, would explain as things got out of hand, what would traspire... and my father was the inevitable wrath that would come at her beck-and-call. in that way of doing things, my father was an instument to how my mother would get things done. i understand, now, how they worked together as the ying and yang to the child raising. my father would not yell at us (me and my little brother) like my mother would, but when it came time for a reckoning, he was my mother's will made reality.

as we got older, a change in how things were done became evident. the "wait till your father gets home," was replaced with logical and reasonable arguments about freedoms and what would be acceptable under the roof i was living. real world consequenses were the standards by which my brother and i were judged. oddly enough, my raging and emotional mother became the voice of what i now know to be the voice of things like credit unions and banks as they tell you what the real deal is and how you have to deal with "living." the "law" that was my father when i was young, became the flexible "family first" kind of guy that would bail you out of real-world trouble, even if you didn't deserve it. again, they played the two different sides to the same coin.

it turns out, in this upbringing of mine, that i have come away with two mentalities ultimately:

my mother is my best (actually, second to beans, but who can compare) friend...she has taught me compasion and tough love...reason and the strength of emotion...responsibility in the face of irrationality. she is the strongest and the weakest at the same time, yet maintains self throughout what ever she does. she is the flow in spite of the ebb.

my father is my hero. he is the silent partner, yet the mover of lives. he helps selflessly, but is the example for independence. he loves those around him, even though no one openly supports how he loves or how he gives with no expectation of recognition of his sacrifices...he is selfless, but the model.

both of my parents are great people in my opinion and preception, and have taught me what is true and good in the world...and the greatest thing they have taught me is to be my self and be happy, no matter what adversity may come my way. i am blessed, and i hope it will be evident in these fantasic people's grandchildren.

i continue to try to live up to what i have been given.