Drinking With a Dead Guy

[Doktor Howl]

Sort of weird happy, like a leper excited about his brand new hat.

One of the best lines I've ever read.

I don't know where that shit comes from.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Mr. Language would be a hell of a lot better off if he recognized his situation and got to guarding the Crossroads. In this world he's like a colorized black-and-white film being projected onto a gossamer curtain. Imagine, never being able to taste anything... it's got to be a horrible death.

I've seen those films from the VERY BEGINNING of moving pictures.  They guy doing backflips, the guy running.  That's him.

A little flickery, trying very hard to appear solid.

Curiously, I am fairly certain he's never met NLDM, which makes his attempt to be remembered slightly horrifying in that "all living people look alike to you, don't they?" way.

Apparently, their paths crossed once, or so Mr Language insisted.  After a moment or so, NLDM agreed that they had.

Well, if enough people agree that they've met him, that makes him feel real.

If enough people approve of him, maybe.  Before NLDM showed up, Mr Language was apologizing about being a little harsh in one of his threads, in which I was laughing at a teabagger and calling him names.  Mr Language approved, but was concerned that "his ladies" wouldn't approve of the exact language I was using.

"His ladies"?  Does he think he has a stable?

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I don't know why, but this piece made me remember that there is a terrible Facebook group called "Dead Memories Portland", in which, as far as I can tell, dead people fawn over their recollections of the way things were when they were alive. They speak with cloying adoration about The Good Old Days, back when Portland Was Great.

Those days never happened. With the exception of 2006-2006, Portland has never been as good as it is now; it's never had more housing, more jobs, less violence, better food, less pollution, or more fun things to do and see. You can even swim in the river now, and most of the Superfund sites are at least appropriately fenced off with barbed wire. Yet they describe with aching longing the absolute shitholes they remember from wayback when they could still taste, places that were never good and would be shut down by the health department if  they were open now, like Poor Richards (2 godawful greasy sandwiches for the price of 1) and Quality Pie (the name is a lie. A dirty, dirty lie). They reminisce about the rat-infested drug fronts and the porn theaters, god what a terrible shame that earthquake hazard was torn down, remember getting molested out back of the gas station across the street one or two or six times, back in the Seventies? Back in the Good Old Days.

What happened to Division Street?

http://youtu.be/sAXLlVnL72Q

That was perfect. I also loved the commenter who claimed that "before [those guys] moved there it was all families"... um. Not so much, bro bra. It was mostly burned out shithole storefronts and boarded up houses full of squatters.

[Doktor Howl]

Mr. Language would be a hell of a lot better off if he recognized his situation and got to guarding the Crossroads. In this world he's like a colorized black-and-white film being projected onto a gossamer curtain. Imagine, never being able to taste anything... it's got to be a horrible death.

I've seen those films from the VERY BEGINNING of moving pictures.  They guy doing backflips, the guy running.  That's him.

A little flickery, trying very hard to appear solid.

Curiously, I am fairly certain he's never met NLDM, which makes his attempt to be remembered slightly horrifying in that "all living people look alike to you, don't they?" way.

Apparently, their paths crossed once, or so Mr Language insisted.  After a moment or so, NLDM agreed that they had.

Well, if enough people agree that they've met him, that makes him feel real.

If enough people approve of him, maybe.  Before NLDM showed up, Mr Language was apologizing about being a little harsh in one of his threads, in which I was laughing at a teabagger and calling him names.  Mr Language approved, but was concerned that "his ladies" wouldn't approve of the exact language I was using.

"His ladies"?  Does he think he has a stable?

Pimpin' ain't easy.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Mr. Language would be a hell of a lot better off if he recognized his situation and got to guarding the Crossroads. In this world he's like a colorized black-and-white film being projected onto a gossamer curtain. Imagine, never being able to taste anything... it's got to be a horrible death.

I've seen those films from the VERY BEGINNING of moving pictures.  They guy doing backflips, the guy running.  That's him.

A little flickery, trying very hard to appear solid.

Curiously, I am fairly certain he's never met NLDM, which makes his attempt to be remembered slightly horrifying in that "all living people look alike to you, don't they?" way.

Apparently, their paths crossed once, or so Mr Language insisted.  After a moment or so, NLDM agreed that they had.

Well, if enough people agree that they've met him, that makes him feel real.

If enough people approve of him, maybe.  Before NLDM showed up, Mr Language was apologizing about being a little harsh in one of his threads, in which I was laughing at a teabagger and calling him names.  Mr Language approved, but was concerned that "his ladies" wouldn't approve of the exact language I was using.

"His ladies"?  Does he think he has a stable?

Pimpin' ain't easy.

How can he not know what a stereotype of an aging douchebag it makes him sound like? I guess it's hard to pick up on these complex social cues when you're a ghost.

[Doktor Howl]

How can he not know what a stereotype of an aging douchebag it makes him sound like? I guess it's hard to pick up on these complex social cues when you're a ghost.

Well, that's where the disconnect lies.  You can't TRY to be cool, especially in your 40s.  I don't worry about cool, I'm all about stories.  LMNO doesn't try to be cool, he's all about the music and the science.  You don't try to be cool, you're just doing the back to school thing and eating people.  I'm not saying that any of us are cool anyway (though I think you and LMNO are), but at least we don't look like That Guy.

And ghosts can't change, as explained above.  He'll be doing this forever.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

How can he not know what a stereotype of an aging douchebag it makes him sound like? I guess it's hard to pick up on these complex social cues when you're a ghost.

Well, that's where the disconnect lies.  You can't TRY to be cool, especially in your 40s.  I don't worry about cool, I'm all about stories.  LMNO doesn't try to be cool, he's all about the music and the science.  You don't try to be cool, you're just doing the back to school thing and eating people.  I'm not saying that any of us are cool anyway (though I think you and LMNO are), but at least we don't look like That Guy.

And ghosts can't change, as explained above.  He'll be doing this forever.

He's basically a recording, stuck in a loop.

[Cainad (dec.)]

I have long suspected that my best friend is of the same species as Nigel. She is, however, much younger and thus not quite as lethal.

I'm not dead, but when the sun is right behind me I can be just a little translucent.

[East Coast Hustle]

I don't know why, but this piece made me remember that there is a terrible Facebook group called "Dead Memories Portland", in which, as far as I can tell, dead people fawn over their recollections of the way things were when they were alive. They speak with cloying adoration about The Good Old Days, back when Portland Was Great.

Those days never happened. With the exception of 2006-2006, Portland has never been as good as it is now; it's never had more housing, more jobs, less violence, better food, less pollution, or more fun things to do and see. You can even swim in the river now, and most of the Superfund sites are at least appropriately fenced off with barbed wire. Yet they describe with aching longing the absolute shitholes they remember from wayback when they could still taste, places that were never good and would be shut down by the health department if  they were open now, like Poor Richards (2 godawful greasy sandwiches for the price of 1) and Quality Pie (the name is a lie. A dirty, dirty lie). They reminisce about the rat-infested drug fronts and the porn theaters, god what a terrible shame that earthquake hazard was torn down, remember getting molested out back of the gas station across the street one or two or six times, back in the Seventies? Back in the Good Old Days.

I like how you slipped that in there all casual-like, but goddamn that's a dirty trick to play on people.

[East Coast Hustle]

This thread contains some difficult but essential truths, not just about dead people but about Nigel and the potential side-effects of Nigel.

And it can be worse than being dead, you know. At least the dead know the score.

I've drank with Nigel on several occasions and lived to tell the tale, and here I am now, just waiting my WHOLE ENTIRE REST OF MY LIFE for the other shoe to drop.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I don't know why, but this piece made me remember that there is a terrible Facebook group called "Dead Memories Portland", in which, as far as I can tell, dead people fawn over their recollections of the way things were when they were alive. They speak with cloying adoration about The Good Old Days, back when Portland Was Great.

Those days never happened. With the exception of 2006-2006, Portland has never been as good as it is now; it's never had more housing, more jobs, less violence, better food, less pollution, or more fun things to do and see. You can even swim in the river now, and most of the Superfund sites are at least appropriately fenced off with barbed wire. Yet they describe with aching longing the absolute shitholes they remember from wayback when they could still taste, places that were never good and would be shut down by the health department if  they were open now, like Poor Richards (2 godawful greasy sandwiches for the price of 1) and Quality Pie (the name is a lie. A dirty, dirty lie). They reminisce about the rat-infested drug fronts and the porn theaters, god what a terrible shame that earthquake hazard was torn down, remember getting molested out back of the gas station across the street one or two or six times, back in the Seventies? Back in the Good Old Days.

I like how you slipped that in there all casual-like, but goddamn that's a dirty trick to play on people.

[Doktor Howl]

This thread contains some difficult but essential truths, not just about dead people but about Nigel and the potential side-effects of Nigel.

And it can be worse than being dead, you know. At least the dead know the score.

I've drank with Nigel on several occasions and lived to tell the tale, and here I am now, just waiting my WHOLE ENTIRE REST OF MY LIFE for the other shoe to drop.

I know.  I've drank with her twice, and I never, ever look in mirrors.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Psssshhht. Just have another drink, everything'll be fine.

[Doktor Howl]

Psssshhht. Just have another drink, everything'll be fine.

This ain't my first BBQ.

Anyway, I have one more thing to say about you and your city.  Sometime today.

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

I want to be a Nigel when I grow up.