Spooky Eye and Etc.
Posted on May 22, 2003 Posted by John Scalzi 10 Comments
One of the things I learned about myself after moving here to Ohio is that if you put me on a lawn tractor for about an hour, and I am mowing the lawn all the while, for about 20 minutes afterwards I will do nothing but sneeze. Another thing I learned is that if you sneeze for about 20 minutes, the blood vessels in your eyes pop and you end up looking like Evander Holyfield has been using you as his punch monkey. Yet another thing I learned is that you can have fun with a bloodshot eye if you have a digital camera and the willingness to make yourself look like the proverbial Creepy Dude Down the Block Parents Tell Their Kids to Stay Away From. Thus the collage to the right. Note to parents: I’m not really this creepy. Of course, isn’t that just what a creepy guy would say.
I was particularly enamored of the picture that had me looking up at the camera, bloodshot eye glowering angrily — it’s like the perfect album cover pose for angry goth rocker, provided it is suitably artied up, as I have done here. Should I ever have my sense of personal equanimity surgically removed and replaced with a desire to write lyrics about writhing in glorious pain while demons feast on my roasting flesh, this is picture I’m going to use. 
It’s so Clockwork Orange-y! All the young droogs will be lining up for it, I’m sure.
Photoshop fun aside, the whole bloodshot eye incident was a great big bag of no fun, since 20 minutes of sneezing also gives you strained muscles, constant tearing and the general feeling that with the next violent spasm, your head will detach at the neck and fling itself violently into the wall. It also makes your kid come up, give you a hug and tell you she’s sorry you are dying. Well, I’m sorry, too.
Speaking of the kid, I mentioned the other day that she was learning her way around Photoshop; here’s the photodocumentation. I should note that at this point, her facility with Photoshop is largely constrained to coloring and a few simple editing tricks like fiddling with the brightness and contrast and changing hues and color balance. But on the other hand, when I was four, I was busy eating crayons, so I hope you don’t mind if I’m just a little impressed with the kid for getting this far.
Mmmm… crayons.
I like the photo in the upper right of the collage where your eyes do the Columbo thing.
She was sorry you were *dying*? BWAH!!
Your kid…I like her. Can I borrow her?
Geez, I used the “allergic to cut grass” thing to get out of mowing the lawn for years. Is the fun of driving the tractor enough to outweigh the sinus-oriented misery?
It’s more the fun of keeping one’s wife happy, Bill.
Mental image: John on the tractor mower next time wearing a painter’s mask and little round Lennon shades. Now that would really make you the Creepy Dude Down the Block Parents Tell Their Kids to Stay Away From. Actually if you substituted a bandana for the painter’s mask, upgraded the shades, and added a cowboy hat, you’d be Just Another Guy Cutting the Grass in Texas.
Except then I’d have to mow shirtless, too. No one wants that.
Do you think that you seem creepy to others because of your biological fits after mowing the grass (49 cent painters mask might help) or because the neighbors never see you leave for work and thus think that you’re just some nutty guy who stays home all day long with his kid.
(Scene: Two neighbors talk over the backyard fence, beers/mint julips in hand: “But he never seems to go anywhere…does he even have a job?”
Cut)
Tis a topic you’ve discussed before.
RB
Oh, and, clearly, you need to mow FASTER to escape the pollen/grass plume you’re creating.
6mph just isn’t doing it for you.
RB
Not that my sweetie would ever ask me to mow the lawn, for fear that I’d either do such a horrible job with it that he’d just have to fix it himself or for fear that I’d take off my feet in the process, but I would probably look worse than John if I actually mowed the lawn. My sweetie saw the large red lumps on my arms after I had my allergy test last year (I passed with flying colors, mostly various shades of red), which pretty much means he’ll hire a gardener before asking me to mow the lawn. Allergies aren’t fun, but it’s one less chore I ever have to worry about.
My dad used to tell me that my allergies were all in my head when I’d come in all puffy-eyed and sniffly after raking up the grass he’d just cut. When he hit his mid-50s, he started getting allergic to grass. Just another example of How Karma Works in Daily Life.
I read. For some reason, it was all very funny.
I laughed until my limbic system exploded.
Then I got very scared.