LJ Idol - Week 15: Failure to Communicate
LJ Idol - Week 15: Failure to Communicate
Dear Rocket Crane,
I've been watching you work every day for the past week and I've never been moved to write to a crane before, but I've never seen a crane so moving before, either! I know you must be a very busy crane, and I know you must get such requests all the time, but my son is turning three next month and it would mean ever so much to us all if you could make an appearance at his birthday party!
I don't know how I would ever thank you!
I work in an office tower in the suburbs, not too far from the city, but far enough. The view is not amazing in the first place, and nothing ever changes. After ten years looking out of pretty much the same window, looking across a utility lot at what is pretty much the same building I'm in, what charm there once was wears off. I think one of the low points of my life really started materializing when I started mentally dumpster diving on the freight dock of the adjacent building.
Daydreaming of garbage just can't be good for your state of mind.
Dear Rocket Crane,
There is a blimp circling around in Golden Valley! This cannot stand!
Please help us, Rocket Crane! We're depending on you!
Love,
-- Golden Valley
One day the company that owns the two buildings had to do some work on the roofs of said buildings. To get roofing materials to the top of a fourteen story building you need something like a big crane. The crane The Building chose for the job was Rocket Crane. No other crane would do.
Rocket Crane, to us lowly slobs slaving away inside The Building, was like a goddamn super hero. Everyone in the office would rush to the windows and watch it's majestic form whenever it came to visit. When you really sit down and think about it, Rocket Crane is a lot like Batman. Except he's way bigger, can lift over 160 tons, and is a crane. Check it out: Rocket Crane had a driver named "Dick Road." Are you kidding me with this shit? Rocket Crane isn't even trying to be coy about being a super hero! He knows it, we know it. Those of us who have been fortunate enough to know him sleep better at night knowing that Rocket Crane is defending our democratic way of life.
Of course, Dick Road would also be an excellent Rocket Crane porn star name too, now that you mention it...
Regardless, Rocket Crane and all of his mighty powers can solve all of our problems, if properly beseeched. I'm just sure of it. So I beseeched.
Repeatedly.
Dear Rocket Crane,
I was watching the news just now and there was a commercial for HOM Furniture. There is a clock in the ad that spins ALL WRONG. The minute hand doesn't even KIND OF track with the hour hand.
I mean, how hard can it really be to make a goddamn clock animation?? I'm sure you can work your magic and fix this.
Thank you, Rocket Crane!
Love,
-- Commercial Viewers Everywhere
It was only natural that I started writing letters to Rocket Crane. I don't know exactly how or why it was natural, but it was. Maybe you had to be there?
Dear Rocket Crane,
You know how Fox releases endless compilations of Simpson’s DVDs? They're on, what, season 47 now or something? So what I was thinking is that alongside the regular DVDs they should release a boxed set of one-liners. Disc One (as an example) is ALL one-liners from Homer. Imagine three or four straight hours of that! Disc Two is Grandpa Simpson. Disc Three is Ralph Wiggum. Like that. An endless string of hilarity and awesome. Pop in the Nelson Muntz disc and watch your cares float away in laughter.
Unfortunately for us all, Fox has already sent me a number of cease and desist letters, so I was kind of hoping you could print this out REALLY REALLY BIG and hoist it up outside their offices for the execs to see.
Just, you know, please don't include my name.
I don't know, for sure, if he sees you when you're sleeping or if he knows when you're awake, but Rocket Crane is an all-powerful bringer of joy to all of humanity for goodness sake! (So don't lie and steal, yo! That's rude!)
Over the course of a few months, I wrote to Rocket Crane whenever I was feeling especially blue. Or especially silly. I always left updated contact information. I left my (real!) name, my email address, I left my goddamn cell phone number once or twice.
But I never heard back.
Not once.
Dear Rocket Crane,
I've been thinking. It seems to me that a crane as powerful as you simply MUST have a LOT of connections. I was wondering if you could put me in touch with The Hobgoblin? (Please let him know I'm friendly, I don't want any trouble!) For reasons I probably shouldn't discuss, I've been wanting some of his famous "Pumpkin Bombs" for personal use. (Hopefully their disintegrating effects can be blocked by regular office-cube walls, but this is something I can discuss with The Hobgoblin.)
Anyway, if you would kindly forward this to him and put us in touch, I would really appreciate it.
Thanks again, Rocket Crane!
-- John
P.S., I'm not talking about Norm Coleman - I really mean the ACTUAL Hobgoblin.
I never once got a response, no matter how reasonable my request. In time I became aware that I was friended on LiveJournal by a certain rocketcrane. The user info lists one post, but I, as the only friend of the journal at this time, can't see it. I suspect one of my retarded friends, but the primary suspect insists (in a believable manner) that it isn't him and it doesn't seem quite right for the remainder of the usual suspects. Especially since nothing stupid has come of it. (You might ask me about the Internet Wino's one day, but if we can still muster them, the answer might come in the form of what was once known as a "wino bomb." Consider this your only warning.)
There is a (very) small possibility that it is The Rocket Crane, drawn into this nightmare of LiveJournalism because of my idiotic letters to him. (The question remains how he could have linked my email address with my LJ account. Having super-heroic powers, I'm sure it's something he could accomplish if he put his mind crane to it!)
I haven't written to him in a long time, now. Lord knows I've needed his help, but how long can I remain in this abusive relationship, ignored by the object of my affections? It's been a year and a half, now. I give and I give and I give, but I haven't gotten anything in return.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. And then, one not-so-very special day, I went to my computer, I sat down, and I wrote one last letter.*
Dear Rocket Crane,
I know it's been a long time, and God knows I've TRIED to forget you. My wife's out of work, my spine's all fucked up, and my son has holes in his pajamas. You never write, you never call. You never stop by to see how we're doing. I don't know what we ever meant to each other in the first place!
I wanted to believe in you, Rocket Crane. I wanted you to be there for me as I've always tried to be there for you! I really thought we had a connection. I thought there was something there. When we first met outside the office, something passed between us. Something changed. I know you felt it too, I KNOW you did!
You never come to my work anymore. I pass you on the street and you act like we're strangers. I still feel for you, Rocket Crane, even after all of this. But I just can't go on this way anymore. Another mobile crane almost ran me off the freeway a week ago. I was mad at the time, but then I realized: There are OTHER cranes on the road.
Goodbye, Rocket Crane. I owe you nothing. And you are nothing to me. Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!
-- John
* Oh Rocket Crane! I could never quit you! (And, you know, apologies to Moulin Rouge.)
Dear Rocket Crane,
I've been watching you work every day for the past week and I've never been moved to write to a crane before, but I've never seen a crane so moving before, either! I know you must be a very busy crane, and I know you must get such requests all the time, but my son is turning three next month and it would mean ever so much to us all if you could make an appearance at his birthday party!
I don't know how I would ever thank you!
I work in an office tower in the suburbs, not too far from the city, but far enough. The view is not amazing in the first place, and nothing ever changes. After ten years looking out of pretty much the same window, looking across a utility lot at what is pretty much the same building I'm in, what charm there once was wears off. I think one of the low points of my life really started materializing when I started mentally dumpster diving on the freight dock of the adjacent building.
Daydreaming of garbage just can't be good for your state of mind.
Dear Rocket Crane,
There is a blimp circling around in Golden Valley! This cannot stand!
Please help us, Rocket Crane! We're depending on you!
Love,
-- Golden Valley
One day the company that owns the two buildings had to do some work on the roofs of said buildings. To get roofing materials to the top of a fourteen story building you need something like a big crane. The crane The Building chose for the job was Rocket Crane. No other crane would do.
Rocket Crane, to us lowly slobs slaving away inside The Building, was like a goddamn super hero. Everyone in the office would rush to the windows and watch it's majestic form whenever it came to visit. When you really sit down and think about it, Rocket Crane is a lot like Batman. Except he's way bigger, can lift over 160 tons, and is a crane. Check it out: Rocket Crane had a driver named "Dick Road." Are you kidding me with this shit? Rocket Crane isn't even trying to be coy about being a super hero! He knows it, we know it. Those of us who have been fortunate enough to know him sleep better at night knowing that Rocket Crane is defending our democratic way of life.
Of course, Dick Road would also be an excellent Rocket Crane porn star name too, now that you mention it...
Regardless, Rocket Crane and all of his mighty powers can solve all of our problems, if properly beseeched. I'm just sure of it. So I beseeched.
Repeatedly.
Dear Rocket Crane,
I was watching the news just now and there was a commercial for HOM Furniture. There is a clock in the ad that spins ALL WRONG. The minute hand doesn't even KIND OF track with the hour hand.
I mean, how hard can it really be to make a goddamn clock animation?? I'm sure you can work your magic and fix this.
Thank you, Rocket Crane!
Love,
-- Commercial Viewers Everywhere
It was only natural that I started writing letters to Rocket Crane. I don't know exactly how or why it was natural, but it was. Maybe you had to be there?
Dear Rocket Crane,
You know how Fox releases endless compilations of Simpson’s DVDs? They're on, what, season 47 now or something? So what I was thinking is that alongside the regular DVDs they should release a boxed set of one-liners. Disc One (as an example) is ALL one-liners from Homer. Imagine three or four straight hours of that! Disc Two is Grandpa Simpson. Disc Three is Ralph Wiggum. Like that. An endless string of hilarity and awesome. Pop in the Nelson Muntz disc and watch your cares float away in laughter.
Unfortunately for us all, Fox has already sent me a number of cease and desist letters, so I was kind of hoping you could print this out REALLY REALLY BIG and hoist it up outside their offices for the execs to see.
Just, you know, please don't include my name.
I don't know, for sure, if he sees you when you're sleeping or if he knows when you're awake, but Rocket Crane is an all-powerful bringer of joy to all of humanity for goodness sake! (So don't lie and steal, yo! That's rude!)
Over the course of a few months, I wrote to Rocket Crane whenever I was feeling especially blue. Or especially silly. I always left updated contact information. I left my (real!) name, my email address, I left my goddamn cell phone number once or twice.
But I never heard back.
Not once.
Dear Rocket Crane,
I've been thinking. It seems to me that a crane as powerful as you simply MUST have a LOT of connections. I was wondering if you could put me in touch with The Hobgoblin? (Please let him know I'm friendly, I don't want any trouble!) For reasons I probably shouldn't discuss, I've been wanting some of his famous "Pumpkin Bombs" for personal use. (Hopefully their disintegrating effects can be blocked by regular office-cube walls, but this is something I can discuss with The Hobgoblin.)
Anyway, if you would kindly forward this to him and put us in touch, I would really appreciate it.
Thanks again, Rocket Crane!
-- John
P.S., I'm not talking about Norm Coleman - I really mean the ACTUAL Hobgoblin.
I never once got a response, no matter how reasonable my request. In time I became aware that I was friended on LiveJournal by a certain rocketcrane. The user info lists one post, but I, as the only friend of the journal at this time, can't see it. I suspect one of my retarded friends, but the primary suspect insists (in a believable manner) that it isn't him and it doesn't seem quite right for the remainder of the usual suspects. Especially since nothing stupid has come of it. (You might ask me about the Internet Wino's one day, but if we can still muster them, the answer might come in the form of what was once known as a "wino bomb." Consider this your only warning.)
There is a (very) small possibility that it is The Rocket Crane, drawn into this nightmare of LiveJournalism because of my idiotic letters to him. (The question remains how he could have linked my email address with my LJ account. Having super-heroic powers, I'm sure it's something he could accomplish if he put his mind crane to it!)
I haven't written to him in a long time, now. Lord knows I've needed his help, but how long can I remain in this abusive relationship, ignored by the object of my affections? It's been a year and a half, now. I give and I give and I give, but I haven't gotten anything in return.
Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. And then, one not-so-very special day, I went to my computer, I sat down, and I wrote one last letter.*
Dear Rocket Crane,
I know it's been a long time, and God knows I've TRIED to forget you. My wife's out of work, my spine's all fucked up, and my son has holes in his pajamas. You never write, you never call. You never stop by to see how we're doing. I don't know what we ever meant to each other in the first place!
I wanted to believe in you, Rocket Crane. I wanted you to be there for me as I've always tried to be there for you! I really thought we had a connection. I thought there was something there. When we first met outside the office, something passed between us. Something changed. I know you felt it too, I KNOW you did!
You never come to my work anymore. I pass you on the street and you act like we're strangers. I still feel for you, Rocket Crane, even after all of this. But I just can't go on this way anymore. Another mobile crane almost ran me off the freeway a week ago. I was mad at the time, but then I realized: There are OTHER cranes on the road.
Goodbye, Rocket Crane. I owe you nothing. And you are nothing to me. Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!
-- John
* Oh Rocket Crane! I could never quit you! (And, you know, apologies to Moulin Rouge.)