Subject: 3cc of baby snot, 10 times daily

Date: 15 Feb 1999 00:00:00 GMT

From: (Nathaniel Eliot (Excommunicated))

Organization: Illuminati Online

Newsgroups: alt.slack



You have no idea how much squeamishness you lack until your child

catches his first cold. Or, at least, I didn't.


Spawn of Nathan[1] caught his at day care Friday, and has been pretty

sick since early Saturday. For most of the day he did okay, although

he was a little clingy. He napped from about 9 to 11 in the morning,

and then at noon decided (after playing for a while) that he really

wasn't happy unless I was at least in the same room with him. Which

was okay with me; he didn't need my interaction, just my presence. I

was tired from the previous week, so I grabbed the nearest convenient

stuffed animal for a pillow and relaxed. At maybe 12:30 he decided

started fussing just a little, and when I picked him up a laid him on

my chest, he didn't even keep his head up. He squirmed a little, then

decided even that was too much effort, and fell asleep right on my

chest. We both caught a couple of Z's that way before I put him in

his crib. Slack.


At three we (me, Charlott, and Spawn) went to see a play my brother

had written and directed, as part of a bunch of HS student written one

acts. My dread for these things was only increased by both my brother

*and* a good friend horribly panning the other plays. I had already

read my brother's play, which was the only reason I went. It was

smart, funny, had the makings of a really good satire, and (above all)

included a SubGenius minister as the main character. It was dedicated

to and based on me, which gave me much more Slack than it should have.



Of course, it wasn't perfectly done; I had given him a critique of the

script he gave to me, and he had agreed, but said that it was too late

to confuse the actors with script changes. Even the signboard was

screwed up: "The world will end tomorrow", with a TINY subscript "and

you may die". No Dobbshead anywhere, either. Nonetheless, it was

good, and I am now inspired to make me a big old signboard.


As fitting something with the blessing of Dobbs, it came in dead last

in the popularity contest, behind a bunch of namby-pamby, easy access

morality tales and a really pointless speech about how success is

making others happy. After that speech, I was about ready to jump up

stage and start ranting, an impulse that has been coming over me a lot

lately. I didn't though, because despite the speech I kinda dig the

speaker, and didn't feel like being mean to her.


After that I went down to Mom's, and had some smoked food. There is a

slight irony in the fact that the person who has bugged me the most

about smoking nonetheless shoves smoked POTATOES at me to eat. Smoked

beef was okay, as was smoked sausage. The potato idea wasn't so hot.

But Pat (my stepdad, and the guy with the smoker obsession) is a nice

guy beside all that, so I didn't mention it. I left Charlott and

Spawn there, and went to work.


Oh, yeah, work. One of my concessions to the fact that SOMEbody has

taken all my plans, all my dreams, and tossed them on the floor

because she wants the boxes to pack HER life into. Of course, I held

out for quite a while, doing temp work and then web design[2]. But

the money was becoming tight enough that, at least for a bit, I have

gotten an actual job: pizza delivery. Its actually pretty good; I get

$10 an hour guaranteed for the first month, if I don't make more in

tips. Since they can't tell exactly how much tip I got, I usually

fudge more than a little bit. I like driving for some odd reason, so

it's actually pretty slackful work when I'm doing a delivery. I can

smoke while I'm driving, and I have been listening to books on tape.

For the record; Kurt Vonnegut's Timequake is potentially very

dangerous road reading[3].


Of course, this is balanced by Slack theft; when there aren't orders

going out, I get given all sorts of shit work to do, emptying trash

and sweeping. I, however, have the upper hand; since I am not

planning to mention it at any future jobs (i'll just say I was doing

web design the whole time), I don't have to worry about my job



So, work. I got there right about at six, walked in the door, and

looked at the dispatch screen[4]. There were already two drivers on.

Then I heard Brandon (bosshole number one) and Christine (bosshole

number two) talking about me. Apparently, Brandon didn't relay the

message to Christine that I would be coming in, although he never said

as much. So I was there for no good reason. I gave him the evil eye,

added him to my mental "needs SubG hazing" list, and left.


To get out some frustration, I went and played Soul Caliber, the

newest video game at the mall. I started playing Mitsiguru, the only

one I've ever beaten the game with, and beat the game. Then I

switched to Lizard Man, the newest character, and (a little less

easily) beat it again. Then I switched to Ivy, and beat it again. Of

course, it turned out that the level had been turned down, but it was

fun anyway. Then I went home, to try getting some work done. Just as

I was getting out of the car I thought "well, wouldn't it suck if

Charlott paged or called me or something right now?" I hate

self-fulfilling prophecies.


He had a pretty high fever, and was screaming. When I got there,

though, he calmed right down. Charlott continues to attribute this to

her bad luck, even though it's no longer a tendency but a definite

pattern. She has already started trying to discipline him for stuff,

most notably withholding food if he drops some. She's a classic type

A parent, just like her mother and my father.


And that, more than anything else, is what pisses me off about this

whole situation. Not the baby snot; that's just bad luck on Dylan's

part. Not Dylan; I genuinely can't resent him, because he didn't have

a choice in it. Not the horrible job (the shit that happened TODAY is

grounds enough for a whole new post). Not the apartment building I

have to run, or the school I can no longer afford to attend, or the

dreams that are mostly far out of reach now. What pisses me off, more

than anything, is that every bit of rebellion that I saw in her was

bullshit just like it was in my father, and that deep down inside she

is no better than her abusive, ignorant, trailer-trash mother. And

that Dylan will have that for a mother for the rest of his life,

because she was too morally lazy to make the choice that she even

admits "I should have made her make".


-- -- --


Anyway, I purposely didn't do anything for Valentines Day. I have

already told her we aren't getting back together, but she hasn't

gotten the hint that I meant it for good. She has convinced herself

that the play was my Valentine's Day present, at least as far as

telling her friends is concerned. I can't see kicking her out of the

apartment for now, because she has no place to go and no way to get to

work, but I have to kick her out of my bed.


Because you know its time to get out when you like being covered in

baby snot more than you like the kinkiest, nastiest sex.


Nathaniel Eliot The Former Reverend Imposter Eliot (AUTO-EXCOMMUNICATED)


1) Actual name: Dylan. The nickname came from one of Tim's friends

Jim, and annoys Charlott to no end; she's convinced that having

squeezed him out, she should get more credit for him than I should.


2) In fact, Pat's website is up at, for

all you freaks who might be interested in boomerang art. Please,

go check it out, or, even better, send me work. I know CGI, CSS,

Javascript, image editing, and even a little HTML.


3) The quote that almost ran me off the road, from memory:

"These new 'camouflage' uniforms are absurd; there isn't a place on

earth that they would actually blend in. Its as if the leaders of

the free world are convinced that World War Three will be fought in

a giant spanish omelette."


4) Neat little aside; the entire store, including three screens for

delivery orders and dispatch, two more touch sensitive screens for

ordering, at least six order printers and one laser printer, are

all controlled by one computer, at best a 286, running on some form


of UNIX. Lets see MS do that.


Nathaniel Eliot The Former Reverend Imposter Eliot (AUTO-EXCOMMUNICATED)