The Teacup – An Unfortunate, But True, Story | By Matt Helt

 

In the summer of 1989, when I was the ripe old age of 14, I was visiting my dad in Seattle. This was a trip I had made since I was 5, when my parents called it quits and decided to split. My dad made his way west, and my brother and I stayed with my mom in Sioux City, Iowa.

 

Once again I was in the great northwest to spend quality time with the old man. One of the weekends while there my stepmother’s brother, Jimmy, came up from Vancouver with his family to visit. They invited us to spend the day with them at an amusement park just south of Seattle. We enthusiastically accepted their offer and jumped in the car. We arrived at the park, paid the entrance fee, and ran to the first ride we saw.

 

And what was the first ride in our view? The seemingly benign Teacup. But don’t let the name fool you. This machine was designed in Hell – and it was just waiting for the opportunity to decapitate someone.

 

Jimmy decided he and I should occupy one of the teacups and I gladly accepted. Each of Jimmy’s arms was the size of my 14-year-old torso, and I knew we were going to spin this teacup like it had never been spun before.

 

We sat ourselves down and the ride operator, a 16- or 17-year-old girl, got the thing turning. Jimmy and I grabbed the circular metal bar between us and started the teacup spinning. It wasn’t long before I noticed we were creating quite a bit of centrifugal force. It slowly pulled at my shoulders, then at the back of my head. Before I knew it my hands were having a difficult time holding onto the bar.

 

Before I could understand what was happening, my hands lost their grip and my back slammed into the metal seat of the teacup. I tried to scream, but nothing would come out. My arms flew back over my head, and my body started to rise over the back of my seat. Suddenly I was pulled over the lip of teacup. Luckily my feet caught an edge underneath the metal bar in the center of the ride, and held me as I spun around and around.

 

I looked like a doll tied to a string being swung around someone’s head. I felt the other teacups passing dangerously close to my outstretched fingertips. Woosh, woosh, woosh – over and over again, coming closer and closer as my feet were losing their grip. I began to black out.

 

Suddenly, a voice yelled – a young woman’s voice. It was the ride operator. She noticed my predicament and felt compelled to take action. With all of her brain cells firing at once she did the only thing she thought made sense at the time.

 

“SIR, YOU CAN’T DO THAT ON THIS RIDE!” she yelled.

 

As I inched toward certain death she made it known I was breaking the rules. Her words scrambled my brain even further. How could she possibly think I was doing this on purpose?

 

Her efforts did accomplish one thing: Jimmy finally looked up from his spinning madness and saw my helpless, flailing body inching closer to ejection. Using one of his massive arms he reached across the teacup, grabbed my T-shirt, and pulled me back in. It was at that point I recognized a searing pain across my back. The metal lip of the teacup had acted as a cheese grater across my skin. I laid my head down on the inside bar and waited for the ride to stop.

 

But it kept going.

 

The ride operator apparently thought that since I followed her instructions and was back in the cup she would allow the ride to go for its normal period of time.

 

After what seemed like five minutes, the ride finally stopped and I made my way toward the exit. The ride operator stood there staring at me as I limped toward the gate, the back of my shirt stained with blood. Our eyes met and I mustered up the meanest look I throw her way.

 

But it didn’t faze her. She joyfully greeted me with, “Enjoy the rest of your day!”

 

About Matt Helt
Matt Helt grew up in the small river town of Sioux City, known for its liquor, meat packing and gambling. Having survived that experience through raw street smarts and absolutely no athletic ability, Matt left as soon as he graduated from high school to pursue a degree in medicine. He soon realized he wasn’t smart enough to be a doctor, and thus spent the next decade searching in vain for his calling: photography, graphic design and as a “marketing expert.” Finally, he found himself at SecretPenguin, a youth branding agency in Omaha. Here he would firmly plant himself (i.e., refuse to leave) and become a principal/account director.

 

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Girls in Tech Omaha is hosting Meet and Mingle, a free event for women working in and interested in technology to connect, network and get to know other women in the Omaha area tech scene, on Monday, Sept. 14 from 6 to 8 p.m. at The 1020 (www.1020omaha.com – 5013 Underwood Ave.).

“One thing that’s been missing in the Omaha tech scene is opportunities for women in technology to connect,” said Kt McBratney, Girls in Tech Omaha managing director. “Our previous events and feedback from members have shown us that Omaha’s women in technology want and need to build a community and learn more about their peers.”

Created in 2007, Girls in Tech was born out of a need to provide a place for women to cultivate ideas around their careers and business concepts involving technology. Girls in Tech aims to offer a variety of resources and tools for women to supplement and further enhance their professional careers and aspirations in technology. These resources include educational workshops and lectures, networking functions, round table discussions, conferences, social engagements and recruitment events. Girls in Tech Omaha launched in May of this year.

To RSVP or for more information about the Omaha chapter, email Omaha@GirlsInTech.net.

Follow Girls in Tech Omaha Twitter updates at @gitomaha.

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Stress in the City | By Katherine Murphy

 

I live in the most stressful city in America.

 

Yippie.

 

According to Forbes, Chicago, for the second year in a row, is the “Most Stressful City in America.” Citing pollution, long commute drives, high unemployment and “free-falling home values,” the editors at Forbes don’t think there is a place more stressful than the Windy City.

 

Almost exactly four years ago, we moved to Chicago from our calm, idyllic suburban life. Moving to Chicago, we decided to take a chance on “city life” and found a “spacious” (by Chicago standards) condo in a high-rise on Lake Shore Drive.

 

So while I’m not a Chicago native or any sort of expert on the city, I think the Forbes editors overlooked a few things. Here are the reasons why I think Chicago is the most stressful city in America.

 

Walkin’ the Dog

You mean I have to pick up the poop?

 

Neighbors

It’s true: a condo is really just a bipolar blend of a dorm, a nursing home and a PTA meeting gone awry. If you really want to see fireworks, go to a condo board meeting – especially if Crazy Lady shows up and spends 10 minutes complaining about the cable wires in the basement. If you really want to get people fired up, just mutter the words “assessment increase.”

 

Trannys

Part man. Part woman. One-hundred percent “fabulous.”

 

I really don’t mind seeing an occasional transvestite strutting his/her stuff in the neighborhood. What really bothers me, though, is that some of these damsels look better in a skirt than I do! They’ve got those bony legs (that only men and pre-pubescent girls have) and muscle tone that only five-inch heels can sculpt. So please, ladies, can you try sporting a pantsuit every now and then for those of us who are a little more traditionally-built?

 

Cabs

I thought I knew how to drive until I moved to Chicago. Then I spent some time driving in the Loop and getting slapped around by cabs in the city. Once I discovered my horn and realized that downtown driving is really just a glorified game of “chicken,” these taxicabs started to dread the sight of a white Toyota Camry with out-of-state license plates.

 

No Grannys

I’m not ashamed to admit it: I miss my mom and dad. But my sobs grow louder when I hear other parents talk about spending $20 an hour (!!!) for a babysitter.

 

Parking

Growing up, I took for granted the basic freedoms: life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and the right to park your car in a parking lot for free. Today, the choices are simple: walk, drive to the suburbs (if you want a free parking space), pay $25 just to go to Macy’s for a few hours, take the bus (Ew!) or take the “El” train (Double ew!). Or, my favorite option: shop online.

 

“Mom, What’s That?!?”

My sister and brother-in-law came to visit, bringing with them their three kids, including a four-month-old baby. Deciding to take the “El” train, my sister was sitting comfortably in her own seat with the baby sleeping in a baby carrier and my nephew sitting quietly next to her. Suddenly, she jumped up with the kids and opted to stand, instead of sitting the rest of the trip. I asked her what happened and she replied, “Uh, there’s a, um…something on the floor.” I looked and, sure enough, right next to where her feet would have been, sat a used condom, looking a little … uh … used and … full.

 

So, sure, there’s plenty that Chicago has to offer: it’s a great, diverse city with lots to do, shopping galore, great food, a gorgeous lakefront and more.

 

But, dude, this place is stressing me out!

 

About Katherine Murphy
When she’s not vacuuming dog hair or craving cupcakes, Katherine Murphy can be found online at http://lakeshoredrive.wordpress.com. Katherine’s interests include finding a stain treatment that works on baby onesies, tricking a baby into taking a nap and eating frosting from the secret stash in the freezer. She lives in Chicago with her husband, son and shed-o-matic dog.

 

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Learn more about the Write Now project and how you can submit works for publication.

 

Think social media is simply a passing fad? This video will very likely change your mind.

Consider this fact: If Facebook were a country, it would be the world’s fourth largest behind only China, India and the United States.

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Since launching this very blog in 2003, I’ve discussed a variety of ideas, emotions, experiences – even meals and movies – throughout these endless, electronic pages whose design has changed considerably.

And after six years, I’ve decided to periodically introduce readers to other voices, be they fiction, nonfiction, poetry or even photography.

Say hello to the Write Now project.

To submit your manuscripts (and the like) to be considered for publication at Do I dare/Disturb the universe?, send an email to wendy@shaggy-money.flywheelsites.com. I’m open to all ideas and forms of writing. The more unique and creative, the better.

(For the curious, here’s the story behind my blog’s title.)

Happy writing.

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In Twitter-speak that’s “Words of Wisdom,” and it’s the theme of an article I wrote a few months back for the UNO Alum magazine where graduating seniors offered advice for incoming freshmen.

Enjoy the article and consider what advice you’d offer the Class of 2013.

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It’s not often that I populate my blog with random photographs and video clips. (Well, OK, maybe once in a while, given my most recent post highlighted vacation photos from the summer. But you get where I’m going with this.)

My boyfriend is known for sending me Web links throughout the day to videos, photos and news stories that I might find interesting and hilarious. (And anything related to Apple gets bonus points.)

Rarely is there a subject line or even body copy in the email, save the URL. Per my ritual, I clicked on this Web link last week only to discover an absolutely adorable and hilarious YouTube video. The clip at 6:56 will most certainly make you grin, lest you have a heart of stone.

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Enjoy the gorgeous vistas from my week-long, 2,500-mile vacation across Colorado, Wyoming and South Dakota. I camped outdoors, ate by campfire and rode a horse, all for the first time.

“And you live in Nebraska?” an incredulous bartender asked me in Wyoming.

“Yes, and I live in Nebraska.”

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This past week a number of readers have keyed search terms such as “lesbians,” “blouse” and “lesbian bar” into my blog. Makes me wonder if they’re just itchin’ to read an essay I wrote back in 2007: “I Wore A Blouse To A Lesbian Bar.”

With that, please allow me to re-post a favorite essay of mine: http://wendywriter.wordpress.com/2007/01/08/i-wore-a-blouse-to-a-lesbian-bar/

I hope you enjoy reading about my experience as much as I enjoyed writing about it.

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Camping: nature’s way of promoting the motel industry.
– Dave Barry

Much like corrective dentistry and Indian cuisine, I’m willing to try anything once. Camping falls neatly into this category.

I soon depart for the wondrous and majestic vistas Mother Nature has to offer. My weeklong vacation takes me to Estes Park, Yellowstone National Park and a few other stops along the highways and byways that sprinkle and encircle the Midwest.

Brilliant blue sky above, hundreds of miles of asphalt below. A Jeep-ful of snack foods, books, magazines, playing cards and my Macintosh.

I’ve taken many a road trip during summer vacations; some merely a weekend in length, others a bit longer. But this particular getaway will introduce me to what outdoorsy types call “camping” or “exploring The Great Outdoors.”

For me, it’s better labeled The Great Unknown.

We’re talking sleeping outside in a tent, eating homemade meals around a fire, sunning one’s self for hours on end, hiking through the woods, swatting mosquitoes.

We’re not talking indoor restrooms or Internet access, pillow-top mattresses or air-conditioned rooms.

Granted, our weeklong vacation only has us sleeping outdoors a few nights; the rest will be spent inside cabins or roadside motel rooms. The experience of camping is one I’m having difficulty preparing for. I mentally pack and re-pack my suitcase, trying to pair the perfect ensemble while (sort of) living off of the land.

Do I bring a blow dryer? What about a razor? And can I even think of brushing my teeth?

While discussing my vacation plans with friends and coworkers, I’ve been peppered with countless inquiries I cannot answer. Matt and his brother Ben have developed our itinerary; in a sense, I’m just tagging along for the ride.

“You know I’ll be of little to no help on this trip,” I remind them.

Having never camped before, there’s precious little to use as a comparison. Yet the questions continue:

Where are you staying? (“Outside,” I think to myself.)

What do you plan to do while you’re camping? (“Um, outdoorsy stuff?”)

What routes are you taking? (“I-80, I assume. I don’t read maps that well, but can follow verbal instructions from a GPS like nobody’s business.”)

Do you have permits yet? (“For what?” I wonder but don’t say aloud.)

What kind of gear are you bringing with you? (“Ask Matt and Ben.”)

Have you thought about bears or snakes? (“About what?”)

And my favorite: You got your tiger urine yet? (This one comes courtesy of my gal pal Beth Katz, who suggests I splash pungent droplets of tiger urine – from a pre-menopausal jungle cat, no less – around our campsite to ward off hungry bears and other forest creatures who may or may not intended to do me harm.)

Wildlife and their subsequent waste don’t worry me as much as living without connection to the World Wide Web.

However, sage and logical advice arrived last week via Facebook from Lynette Leonard:

You go through withdrawals: you try to right click on a log to light the fire, you make typing gestures in the air as you talk, you constantly think in 140 characters about the beauty of the view, you worry about what you are missing around the globe, you try to score a fix from the RV with the satellite dish, etc. Then you come out of it and see that reality can be a good thing. Besides, think of all the cool things you can tweet about when you get back to civilization.

Although my Internet access will be limited, I intended to keep writing. Microsoft Word still launches quite nicely on my MacBook. Twitter updates, photos and an exhaustive recap of my “adventure” shall be posted soon enough.

Stay tuned.

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