Hi Scores for 2K6

James turned 20 and we had a party.


I got 230 which was pretty good but Peter got 240.


We all raced and I think James and Peter tied for first.

Photos all from Natalya Bond, Oddjob's estranged cousin, international fotograferin and canon rebel.

End of the year cheers to all my mates back in town or spread across the globe, especially those in Korea, Dubai, New York, Cali, Massachussets, Hong Kong, Portland, The Independent Commonwealth of Waldo, Allemagne and/or elsewhere. It is not known how long into 2007 this site will survive, but for now all systems are go. Blue Collar Press even made some new buttons that I would be happy to give away to anyone who wants one.

Last night in the wee hours I posted a few pieces of fictional non-fiction on my myspace page. Because many of you who regularly read lukaswetzel.blogspot.com have (wisely) chosen to stay away from th'space, I'll reproduce a couple of those below. Before I do that, however, I'd like to offer this musical salute to the year from Scott Walker.

les parking garage du mal

This short tale of woe illuminates the dark surrealistic underbelly of corporate america -- specifically beginning and ending your work day in a parking garage.

I drove through the parking garage at work today, and because there were no parking spots toward the gate, I had to swing around to the darker recesses of G4 to find a spot. On the way, I saw the building security golf-cart approaching with its lights turned off for some reason. One of the people riding on it had a big black hood pulled over his head. He looked like the grim reaper, or at best an 11th century monk.

During non-business hours, the parking garage fills with the threatening sounds of high-pitched bird screeches. The security attendants assure me these sounds originate from a speaker mounted on the side of the garage designed to keep birds from nesting and defecating on the premises. The noises are all too loud and too real, however, so I tape-recorded them and mailed the acetate to a professor of ancient natural history at a nearby online paleontological institute. He's convinced they belong to a prehistoric animal -- perhaps even a pterodactyl -- who may have survived into the digital era.

Lately I've taken to stalking the garage at night armed with a bow and arrow in hopes that I might slay the beast and serve it to my family for New Years Day Dinner. Please wish me luck, wherever you are, and I'll return the favor once I have the wishbone between my fingers.

Stevie Jones: ice-rink terrorkind

Zamboni's have been coming up a lot lately in the Wetzel household ever since James got a job driving one for a winter break job. This short and fake news brief is something I came up with back in winter of 2001, that especially trying year for our nation. I'd cut out a clipping from the New York Times Magazine (I think) about an immigrant who worked at the Rockefeller Center Ice Rink. It was about how he admired the resiliency and cheer of New Yorkers after 9/11, and how after a long day of being around them, he enjoyed the peace and stillness of driving the Zamboni around at night. It might be a touch disrespectful and politically inappropriate, but it's not intended to be entirely heartless.

Stevie Jones is a young boy who frequents the skating rink. Apparently Stevie had acquired some rather radical political beliefs in the course of researching current events for his social studies class. He started writing a lot of e-mails to Osama bin Laden to see what he could do for the cause, but Osama never wrote him back. Eventually he decided to take matters into his own hands.

Last week, during one of the afternoon resurfacing breaks, Stevie approached the Zamboni and held an ice-skate blade to the back of the employee driving it. Stevie then took over the Zamboni and proceeded to drive it around in circles until skate security made him get off. The incident was very upsetting to the boy's father, who is a former FBI officer. Stevie is also not allowed to visit the skating rink anymore, which is particularly upsetting to him because they serve his favorite generic hot chocolate in steamy little styrofoam cups.


p.s. Does anyone know if they are selling Bryan Busby weather calendars again this year at the supermarket in Brookside? I am going to go by there today and find out, so let me know if you want one.