Captain Catastrophe

Well, it’s been a while. Been a while since old Captain Catastrophe has
shown his little bleeding face around here.

And I figured yesterday I would have one for you for sure. I went to
Great America and did all sorts of risky things. You know, stand in line
for hours at a time, and then stand in another line, and then another
one. But didn’t injure myself much at all. Uneventful, even. Yeah, I got
to go on the new roller coaster, Ragin’ Cajun, and that was a lot of fun
and all, but not so much as a scratch.

And don’t worry, Chris, I won’t tell about your injury. Though I would
love to.

Anyway, the Captain comes home today and decides to do the lawn. Again.
Nice. Easy. No problems.

Kind of wondering if this is still me.

Then this stupid schmuck you know and love turns on the computer. What
could be safer? Maybe getting a glass of lemonade, right? I mean how
could you hurt yourself like that? That would truly take a warped genius
to pull that off.

I fill the glass from the pitcher of some of that Raspberry Ice Tea I
like and it’s tasting real good after mowing the lawn. Now, I’m counting
that as exercise by the way, so I don’t feel guilty for watching “North
Shore” later on Tivo. That and running around at lunch, which was way
more than usual. So it counts, durn it!

You know how glass gets slippery when it is wet, even if it’s just
spilled Raspberry Ice Tea? Yeah. Glass fell right out of my hand, like
I’m a frigging toddler. Where do you think it would land? That’s right.
Right on the toe of the foot that I’ve been having problems with. Oddest
part: the glass didn’t break. Very weird. I almost did, but the glass
didn’t break.

Anyway, if you needed more evidence I’m the most uncoordinated human
being on the face of the planet–there you go.

Captain Catastrophe

After a hard day of being a standard superhero, the Captain went home.
On the way home, I stopped at my barbar, Gunther. He had a thankfully
short line and did a nice job trimming back my unwieldly mane. Of
course, I still believe I can feel the hair being cut like any five year
old can tell you–but I braved it as my follicles screamed out a chorus
of doom. It’s what they do.

As I drove home, I noticed most of the young men around town had
something I didn’t. Can you guess what that is? No–I don’t mean a
girlfriend. That’s right. A bicycle. A working bicycle.

Jerks.

I decided to be a big man about it, though, and avoid running them over.

Got home and knew I had to do some sort of outdoor activity (you know,
like writing you all an e-mail) to avoid become a pasty couch potato.
Not that there is anything wrong with it. Since like that is, indeed,
what I am and all. Still.

Got out the walk behind mower and did to the lawn what that demented
barbarian, er, barber, did to my hair. I could actually see the grass
blades move out of the way as my mulcher of death mercilessly plowed
through the jungle where my front yard used to be. Thank goodness grass
doesn’t breathe.

This was my first time mowing without a breath mask on in probably five
years. I am fiercely alergic to cut grass. Or work, as you probably
already know. I figured, hey, this mower mulchs so it cuts stuff up real
fine.

Yeah–cuts it up into nice breathing in size pieces–that’s what it
does, all right.

And that’s what I did and as I type this, coughing and weezing and
through red, blurry eyes reading the screen, I noticed that the
Jaegermeister I used to try to clear up my breathing isn’t working this
time. Probably shouldn’t snort it, though, should I?

I’m still amazed how I manage to survive with these incredible skills of
mine.

By the way, I noticed recently that I never told the origin story of
Captain Catastrophe. Let me know if you want to learn how the Captain
nearly barbequed himself one time at a major lakefront festival.
–Available for safety meetings as the “Do Not” guy. Whoops. Misspelled
that. “Donut” guy. There we go.

Captain Catastrophe

You aren’t going to believe it. Heck, I hardly believe it.

But its true. And, yes, that bike has GOT to go!

Seeing it was a beautiful day, I decided it would be a nice night to
take the bike (that possessed minion of Beezlebub) for a spin. Before I
go, though, thought I, I better fill the tires.

The tires are to be inflated between 40-60 psi. I set my pump to 65 and
it clicked off. I know some always escapes as you take the little thingy
off the thingy there so I thought I was fine.

As I biked along (surprised to see some woman WATERING HER PLANTS–you’d
think we’re in the desert??), I noticed the handling of my bike was a
little off. Since it had been a while since I climbed on this evil
monster, I chalked it up to that and soldiered on.

As always, I was as far away as I had planned to bike when . . .

. . . the back tire blew. BLAM! Sounded like popping a paper bag, but
what was really neat was how it happened in that tunnel going in toward
the K-Mart and Big Lots on 70th and Greenfield. That made it nice and
loud. That way more people could stare at me.

So I walked the thing back to the house, though I don’t know why. Screw
the axle–I’ll never ride that jinxed bastard again–but I did anyway.
In front of me, a woman and her 5 year old son were walking. They got
off the sidewalk, seeing me walking my bike, and figured I would pass
them. She seemed a little uneasy–me walking along behind her. I don’t
know why. She had nothing to fear. I would have tripped and fallen had I
tried to move any faster than a snails pace.

I did have a little difficulty at the intersection of 70 & Greenfield,
because one of the islands there was littered with traffic barricades.
Like every other weekend in West Allis, we have a parade to get ready
for. They might as well build permanent storage there with how often
they drag that junk out there.

Anyway, I got past that and then a little girl (9 or 10) rides past me
on a little dirt bike. You know the type, with little pigtails and an
annoying habit of being right? She says, and I’m not making this up,
“Old guy.” And pedals away–fast. I’m walking my bike, helmet in hand,
and she actually brands me “Old guy.” She probably meant “Old stud” or
something, but you know how little girls get confused.

Got home in complete misery. I hadn’t expected to walk so I was wearing
shoes without my supports for that bad left foot of mine. I did learn
that an achey heel shouldn’t be treated by pouring Jaegermeister on it.
It’s best to drink the Jaegermeister and let it work from within. Though
it really works best on things like colds, flus, insomnia, malaria, etc.

You get the point.

Anyway, if anyone wants to buy the world’s most dangerous bike, I’m
taking offers.

Captain Catastrophe

Well, I’m back from another waterslide trip to the Dells.

Happily, the Captain’s services were not needed when I went to the
go-kart and roller coaster place. This, once again, proves that the more
dangerous activity, the more likely I will come away uninjured. Defusing
bomb–no problem. Pick up a magazine on the family room door–stiches
coming soon.

I went to the Wilderness Resort this time, which is a far classier
resort, than the Treasure Island resort I had been visiting. They have
two different indoor waterparks.

I couldn’t help but compare the two. The Wilderness had a less
aggressive group of lifeguards, which made the Captain quite nervous.
Apparently I decided to test this, because I did THE EXACT SAME THING
that happened to me from Treasure Island. That’s right. Fell off the
tube! Again! Now, the lifeguards this time did seem to look concerned
for me and didn’t yell at me like last time. I think that may, however,
be due to the fact that I fell into the drink headfirst.

I decided to then try a single tube, as opposed to the double tube,
which is the shape of an oval. So I jump on this donut and, lo and
behold, I have a new trick in me. That’s right–I didn’t fall off that
one. I simply spun around and went backwards down the tube.

The lifeguards did point out the tubes weren’t designed for that.

I told them neither was I.

Captain Catastrophe

Captain Catastrophe had a “near miss” two days ago in the backyard.

I was getting out of the Captain Cruiser in the Captain Garage and
leaving via the side access door by this sizeable tree that the
squirrels just love. Well, one of them little suckers was lying in wait.

I heard a tussle.

I looked up.

I saw the squirrel FALL OUT OF THE TREE. Weirdest sight (outside of the
movie “Brazil”) I had ever seen. He fell on his tail and backside,
quickly righted himself and scampered up the tree.

However! I suspect this was part of a larger plot. An elaborate scheme
to take my very life. I have uncovered a sophisticated acorn-laundering
operation that led to a squirrel hit squad being stationed in my back
yard. I continue to investigate the back yard wildlife’s connections
with the mafia and now this “near miss.”

I’m getting close. I can taste it.

Oh, by the way, hurt myself with the drop fertilizer last week, too.
Very skilled. I was taking it off the hooks on the side of the garage
and dropped it alright–on my left foot.

Come to think of it, I saw a squirrel messing around that spredder when
he thought I wasn’t looking . . .

Oh, yes, I went to the Wisconsin Dells, but my secret identity was soon
revealed. In the annals of clumsy behavior, a new wing is being
developed for my exploits alone.

So I went for the weekend to the Dells to go in one of those Indoor
Water Parks. I’ve been to the park before, around Thanksgiving, without
incident so I was fairly certain I would not be injured.

I was wrong.

I went on my little tube dealy-bob and the lifeguard there pushed me
down the tube. I was on the tube correctly and the first thing that
happens is you go down a little hill into an enclosed tube when a
waterfall hits you. Well, I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t get the
chlorine in my eyes.

Apparently, I needed my vision a little longer to maintain my balance.

When I opened my eyes, I was closely following the tube. It almost got
away, but I stabbed at it with my hands and I hooked a handle. Now, I
started to struggle to get back on this thing.

I knew all along I’d never be able to. I mean, I had enough trouble
trying to get on this thing when it was in the still loading pond. So I
tried rolling back on, sort of. But see, you are sliding along at 30-45
mph down the tube. I tumbling around, trying to get on this thing, not
only to regain some small measure of control, but also to regain my
dignity.

Not in the cards.

When I clumsily collapsed into the receiving bay, the lifeguard yelled
at me for not following the rules. I was aghast she mistaked my clutz
streak for hot dogging. Perhaps I could find someone that saw me fall
off my bike earlier that I was indeed performing a trick instead off
just falling off my bike.

Nah.

Captain Catastrophe

BTW, thanks a lot, Chief, for trying to spoil my secret identity. But
the legend lives on!!

I have a number of birds that visit my backyard. Robins. Sparrows.
Finchies. All sorts of little winged varmits.

But I’m fairly certain they are members of the mafia.

These birds are, indeed, mobbed up.

I have this bird feeder hanging from the gable of my garage. Here’s how
they work it:

A bird, I think it’s the finch, sits up on one of the branches of the
tree. He looks around. But not calm. All skittish. You know he’s up to
something.

Then he does this little whistle, see, and dese other boids come over.
And dey start collectin around da feeder.

That’s when the Godfatha comes out. He’s the chipmunk. He strolls by all
casual and positions himself below da feeder.

Da other boids then spill the seed–all over my sidewalk!–and the
‘munk. He makes off with it. Dese birds aren’t too smart, get me? I
mean, if dey keep it up in da feeder, the ‘munk gets nothin. Dis here
way, he makes off with da loot. Dumb.

When I comes a walkin down da sidewalk, da finch let’s a shout out. I
think he’s saying something like, “Watch out! He’s got a gun! Run, you
birdbrains.”

Well, dat’s exceedingly stoopid, see, cuz I’m not carrying a gun. What I
have here is a shovel. I’m a little more–hands on. I mean dese here
birds is dumb.

Enough of that mafia tough talk.

Another thing, they are always eating. If you watch the mob movies, the
interesting stuff (like the whack Pacino does in the first Godfather) is
always in the restaurant. Bad things happen to mobsters when they eat.
Which apparently is why they EAT ALL THE TIME!

Mobsters aren’t too smart, either, if that’s the case.

Anyway, if anyone wants to learn about the wildlife protection racket (I
think they may have caused Monkeypox) just visit my back yard. It’s a
regular Bada Bing.

Captain Catastrophe

p.s. Bike ride went well today. Hit a curb on a turn I didn’t judge
well, but I stayed upright!

On the auction last night, believe it or not, I was asked to read an ad about BICYCLE REPAIR which included a SAFETY CHECK.

Unfortunately, I was on the air and could not bid for it!!!

The only way it could have stranger is if they would have followed that with an item featuring first aid supplies.

My first table captain, Derek, always waved–every time he was on, even later on at 10:45 when Joel (from the Call In On Crime) had him on. I think Derek waves because he doesn’t like smiling. Or apparently Joel. I think Derek liked me best. So there.

Joel and I kept pointing at each other while Joel, patiently, was waiting his turn to get on the air. Once he did get on the air, he did a great job with his announcements. And he didn’t arrest ANY of his table captains. Even Derek. (Groaner of the night: “I’ll have you steal second on your way to our first item.” Ugh. Sports night. Get it? Ugh.)

Suggestions for Joel, the police officer, for next year:

* The items on this table are just arresting.
* To let these items get away would be a crime.
* Don’t drink and bid. Unless you want to. Then its okay.
* Some of these items are hot. And by hot, I mean they are a steal.
* Buy this stuff or I’ll write you a ticket. And then you’ll pay anyway.
* I don’t believe in police brutality, but if you don’t buy this stuff–I may beat you to it.

Some lines I decided not to use:

* Pvease buy the items here for bid, or ve have vays to make you bid.
* Won’t you ALP out PBS and buy some of these great items?
* The best in chiropractic care, tax preparations and dining on here on the B board. So if you have a bad back, can’t add and think licking on a stick of butter is a good nutritious dinner–we may be able to help you out.
* I’m missing “Smallville” for this? Let’s get back to that other station with a frog on the screen. (And yes, I recorded it.)
* The best in chiropractic care, tax preparations and dining on here on the B board. Unfortunately, I’m presenting the A board. All I got here is a picture of Xena kissing Gabrielle.
* Won’t someone please bid on the Milwaukee Turner Gymnastic lessons this time? We’re all growing tired reading this one and it NEVER gets bid on! Stop the cycle.

Back to the auction . . .

Some of my other table captains were also a little odd. All very nice, but some just a little odd. One had a thing for frogs in capes. One of the others couldn’t understand what item they were supposed to show and got confused by our complex C pattern we use on the table. Then there was Bruce who let an entire chair disappear.

Wonder why I was reading about a chair that wasn’t there while they showed the board on the screen? Well, I was reading the table and I saw them take away the chair that was last on our table. My table captain didn’t notice and I could only wave so much at them. I think they thought I was show boating. That, of course, is ridiculous because I didn’t drop my drawers. Anyway, once I read about the chair, ten MATC students stared at each other while the lead stage manager dude took off at warp speed into the warehouse. He arrived back by the time I was wrapping up and did a little Vanna White deally-bob there.

(By the way, why is it always Vanna White? Can’t we call it Diane Parkinson? She worked on Price is Right much longer than Vanna’s career and she agreed to the Playboy spread. Never got her due even though Bob Barker couldn’t keep his hands off her. Someone ought to spay or neuter that dude.)

One set of two abstract paintings that I had to auction had one painting show up with cracked glass frame. That’s when I first learned that someone that works at PBS can swear. I wanted to tell to take his pottymouth over to the S table, but you know, I would end up there for sucking so bad and all so I refrained. They ran around and decided to re-frame the painting but to only show one painting on the air. I’m not sure if anyone noticed. It was, after all, abstract art. I read both descriptions and still can’t tell you which painting we had up there.

And…in case you were wondering…the stein and mug I had up for sale apparently went for $20 (LESS THAN MY COST!!!) and the item I put up for wild, unbridled passion for one night with me wasn’t bid on at all. I wanted to cry. I knew I should have thrown in dinner.

Tim
“Captain Catastrophe”

Yeah, I went on that bike again.

Well, it’s a beautiful evening so I figure let’s get on this thing. This
weekend, my father and I adjusted the back wheel. I switched out that
torture rack they call a seat with the old grandma seat on my one-speed
coaster-brake bike. It was pretty easy. The one-speed just need a
ratchet to take it off and the new bike had a little release that you
could tighten.

And I was off.

Nearly made it to the end of the alley.

Nearly.

Hit a bump in some uneven payment. Back tire. Slid off. It held on to
the very end of the frame, but nearly was going to start bounding down
the road. Luckily, caught myself on my feet. Wasn’t going too fast,
which frankly with my ability, was never going to happen anyway.

Walked the bike home again thinking this bike has been walked five times
farther than I ever rode it and gave careful consideration to just
taking up walking and forgetting this nightmare. But I realigned the
back tire again and tightened the hell out of it. I figured if this
doesn’t work, Dad is going to have to weld it.

I climbed back on this puppy, and it actually rode uneventful for a
while. I decided to go drop off a deposit I needed to make at the bank.
It was, of course, closed by the time I got there . . . but . . .

I GOT THERE!

That was enough for me. I gleefully started riding home. I nearly ran
into some old fella on the sidewalk (I don’t drive in the street–I’d be
dead by now if I did) and I swore I recognized him. I always figure old
folks know me because of my involvement in the German clubs and how my
radio show averages a Eulogy every two months. He’s probably, as I’m
typing this, complaining about me to yet another granddaughter that I’ll
never have a chance with.

That’s when a small terrier or something started yipping at me. I’ll
have you know I maintained my balance and I expect mucho respecto for
that.

I was now in the home stretch when this gorgeous woman is walking her
dog (what the heck with all these dogs in my neighborhood today anyway?
I thought at least one of my neighbors was a serial killer in the making
and would torture and maim these things at night–but NO). Obviously, I
became a tad, er, distracted. Pulled a Jack Tripper right into a fifty
foot, class two utility pole (NOT A TELEPHONE POLE). Apparently the jerk
that buys these things (me) gets some pretty good quality based on how
soundly it knocked me off the bike. My new seat came off, too. But that
was easy enough to replace. Sadly, the gorgeous woman didn’t take pity
or anything (that would have been a Mentos moment) so I collected my
teeth and got back on the bike.

I would rate the trip like a six. Only sustained minor injuries. May be
a while before I get on that death trap again.

Back to the X-Box.

Tim

Remember back when I tried sledding this winter? It was a huge debacle,
right? I mean, I can admit that. It was a complete and utter joke.

Well, I had me another adventure. That’s right, Captain Catastrophe
rides again. And this time I’m bleeding.

After work today, I got home and thought, “Hey, what a nice day. I think
I’ll take that new bike I bought at Wal-Mart for a spin.”

What is wrong with me? Don’t I ever learn?

It’s a nice bike, actually. I guess they call them there things a
mountain bike, which I guess was actually a fairly stupid purchase come
to think of it. I’ve been all over the state of Wisconsin and I haven’t
spied a single mountain in all those travels. From the wilds of
Marshfield, to the depths of the Wisconsin Dells, to the land of lakes
and landfills called Muskego, I’ve yet to spy me a mountain. Or even a
decent hill. Had I seen a good sized hill, believe me, I would have
tubed down it.

So I look over the bike. Looks all right. But I heard the stories of
these preassembled Wal-Mart bikes and took no chances. My brother used
to work at K-Mart. And he used to assemble bikes and such. I remember
him telling me, they don’t really tighten those nuts and bolts too
hard–in case, they ever need to take it apart. And should an extra piece
suggest itself, if a place couldn’t be found for it and the creation
somewhat resembled the physical object being assembled (in this case a
bike), well, that was figured for an spare part. My brother actually
became quite adept at building a Big Wheel, which is funny since the
Suzuki X90 he drove up unto recently looked very similar except it was a
tad more expensive and had a rougher ride.

I digress.

So I kind of tighten a few things, but truth be told, I don’t know a
darn thing about bikes so I’m not sure if I really did anything at all.
I filled up the tires to a nice 55 psi and hoped on this little red
rocket.

This is the first time I ve driven a modern mountain bike. My last bike
was a zero speed with coaster brakes and before that I had a “racing
bike” Schwinn with those tires so thin that you actually expected it to
be used as a blade to cut into the sidewalk more than provide a smooth
ride.

Ah, those were the days.

It had those Shimano shifty things. It took a while for me to find a
gear I liked. I call this gear, “Super Lazy” gear and took an immediate
shine to it. I decided to take it up a fairly decent sized hill. That
actually wasn’t bad. I took Greenfield Avenue over to State Fair Park
and slowly noticed the bike was becoming more difficult to pedal. Now,
knowing that I am not exactly in tip-top physical condition, I figured
I’m old and just kept on a pedaling thinking to myself the mantra: “Push
through the pain.”

The actual pain was drawing up in the, er, caboose section, though. My
old Grandpa bike had an extra fat, super padded seat. This new bike had
a saddle so darn uncomfortable I often stood up in my seat and checked I
wasn’t sitting exactly on a pipe. Had I enjoyed this at any moment I
would have quickly through down the bike, slid into one of the fifty
bars between 70th and 84th on Greenfield and started talking about that
amazing season the Brewers are off to.

2 and 0. They are so going to the World Series.

Anyway, I finally roll up on State Fair Park and the pedaling is pretty
tough already. I check and it appears one of the back brakes is pushing
up against the rear tire. The tire is out of alignment. “Push through
the pain,” think I and on I go.

Then, I get even stupider. If you can imagine that.

I figure, “Hey, these mountain bikes are for offroading…”

You can see it coming, right?

“Maybe I should try some tricks.” So I decide to bike down a few steps
(standing on the pedals and off that torturous saddle, of course) and
that goes okay. Then I go up a little dirt hill. That goes okay. Then I
see a curb.

When I was a kid, I’d pull on those front handle bars, pop the front
tire up off the ground, and power up a curb like that.

As an adult, I pull on the handle bars, the front tire doesn’t budge and
I go full ahead into the curb. Then I fall down, hands first to the
pavement and find myself pinned under the bike.

Anyone want to ask me again why I don’t exercise more?

There I am in pain, but thankfully not badly injured. You know. Yet.

I brush myself off, quite shook from the play, and pick up the reflector
that popped off the front of the bike in the incident. I put the
reflector in my pocket and swing my leg over to remount the bike.

Broken reflector in pants pocket.

See that has sharp edges, see? It kind of cut into the outside of my
upper thigh. Now I was a hurting.

I start pedaling and now it’s pushing back harder than me on the table
with a dish full of vegetables in front of me. The wheel, has now,
effectively not only leaned into the brake pad, but the very frame of
the bike.

A number of very well chosen and classy vulgarities were now escaping my
lips.

I think it was time to go home. I pedaling away in agony and my pants
slowly accumulating a blood deposit of sorts in the general area of my
groin. I was starting to appear as if I was having an unfresh moment
here, which is crazy since I’m usually much later in the month.

Now, I went nearly thirty feet, when I’m get to the Walgreen’s on the
corner (aren’t they on every corner now?) of 84th and Greenfield. And
the sidewalk is closed for construction. I’m slowly beginning to suspect
someone is playing a trick on me.

I power past that nasty bit and see some nice aqua green 24 pipe next
to the road (mental note: ask Leif what type of pipe gets the aqua green
coating) and I start wondering if the Gas guys are having a project here
I don t know about. Because believe me, if they were going to do some
work this close to my house, I would have insisted on a field visit. I
could have biked over wearing my We Energies hard hat instead of my bike
helmet that says “Speed Racer–Beep! Beep!” on the side of it. Sure, the
usual purple and green helmet drives the lady folk crazy and they get
all excited by it, but the hard hat might actually HELP if I were in an
accident. The Speed Racer helmet was, in fact, styrofoam.

That’s when this car, that apparently was a lawn mower last week by the
smell of its emissions, decides to pace me along National. Now, you
know, I don’t bike to exercise. I actually wanted a little clean, fresh
air. Now, even that was being deprived of me. (In fact, I just stepped
out of the shower and I still smell gasoline on me.) And the bike is
getting harder and harder to pedal. I actually start to get off and walk
it a block or two.

A good sized hill comes up and once I crest it I figure, “I’ll just hop
back on the bike, coast home and get this over with.” Well, I actually
had to pedal DOWN the hill and it nearly came to a stop before getting
to the bottom. By the time I was home, I was holding the back wheel off
the ground as I walked the bike. I actually was PUSHING the darn thing.

I’m home now and generally alive, though only slightly. The moral of
this story is the same I always have. Exercise can be hazardous to your
health and should only be attempted by professionals.

I’m going to polish off those Girl Scout cookies tonight. Hah!



Tim Kretschmann
Captain Catastrophe