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As many of you witnessed, there was no update this past Monday and Tuesday. Why is
that? What possible event could have lured Harry away from his computer? Had Harry
been kidnapped? Or did Harry go to Washington DC to see Lucas? While some of the
above could certainly be true, on Monday at least none were.
Monday 0400 hours (cst)
Harry wakes up. Father Geek wakes up. (across town) Geek #2 and Robogeek awake.
These daring geek adventurers were getting in their gear. Cameras, audio recording
devices, smiles, charm... the whole nine yards plus the cloud of dust.
The phone rings. The intercommunication between Geeks had begun. Geek #2 called me
to see if my fat ass had woke up yet. It had.
Series of shots:
Harry getting dressed. Father Geek getting dressed. Geek #2 getting dressed. Robogeek
getting dressed. Harry, Father and G2 checking their IDs to make sure the lamination was
firmly sealed. Robogeek begins filling up with gas, checking the tires of the Geekmobile.
G2 speeds along the highway at the speed of a geek wanting to meet the Bruce!
Harry appears dressed in decent clothing with shiny patent leather shoes, all shiny and nice
looking. New socks. Wow. And he doesn't stink. Amazing progress is being made.
Father Geek is also looking snazzy.
Monday 0530 hours (cst)
A desperate knock at the front door. Geek #2 had arrived. He has that whole, I'm cool
thing down ass backwards. The slobber and drool coming from the corners of his mouth
are all too obvious. You see we were headed down the yellow brick road to the hell hole
that is Houston. Why on earth? Because I had finagled to be Michael Bay's guest on the
set of ARMAGEDDON. It seems Michael likes the page, even if the words "Michael
Bay" and "Prince of Darkness" had appeared on a report here. There was this fear of a
trap of some sort. We were sure that they would invite us into a nice warm space suit,
have us go into the Neutral Buoyancy Tank, then someone would step on our air hoses.
But I had faith that Michael could in fact be cool. I mean his films are, why couldn't he be.
Monday 0600 hours (cst)
We were suppose to be leaving at this time. But Robogeek (an aggie) was not here. We
begin planning to abandon his rusty innards. Geek #2 and Father Geek are settling on a
time limit to await Robogeek, but Harry is on the front porch sending the psychic geek
distress beacon for Robogeek to home in on.
Monday 0610 hours (cst)
Robogeek arrives. Just as Geek #2 and Father Geek had decided to leave him here in
Austin. Nick of time is the phrase that comes to mind. Just as we get in the vehicle,
Harry remembers that he needs the directions to NASA, so we get them and head out for
the promised land.
Everyone is in good cheer. We are hopping down the highway at 73 miles per hour, we
are on a mission, a mission that we must fulfill. I slip in the tape I recorded for the trip.
The Peter Gunn theme by the Blues Brothers plays. Everybody's' heads began a bobbing.
We begin to talk about magnetic cartoon Harry head to put on the sides of the car. (Hey
Brian hop on this!)
Suddenly without warning Robogeek begins hopping in his seat. This wired maniac
begins checking all his pockets, robosweat pours out of plasticine skin. The words, "Oh
fuck... I don't believe this... Dammit!" Geek #2, Father Geek and I all share thoughts.
We were thinking, "Dammit... I don't believe this... Oh fuck an aggie robot is driving."
Monday 0630 hours (cst)
Headed back to Austin at godspeed. Blazing rubber tire tracks are left behind us.
Robogeek is feeling guilty as hell. Father Geek and Geek #2 stare at the back of
Robogeek's head searing it with their angry heat vision. Robogeek's lead skull protect the
wired brain from dysfunction. Harry stares at the road. Conan theme pounds in the
background.
Monday 0710 hours (cst)
Sitting in an east Austin apartment complex parking lot calculating the missed moments of
coolness that surely would have been had. Thoughts of defeat crossing our minds.
Seconds seem like Minutes, Minutes for hours...
Monday 0715 hours (cst)
Back on the road, plan B. Taking the southern route to Houston. Now the Mission
Impossible theme is playing.. Father Geek is recounting every traffic accident he has had
on this road. Tales of towed vehicles flying over vehicles with mangled bodies, blown out
tires with tire jacks embedded into the vehicle, radiator hoses exploding and on and on.
We begin chastising Robogeek for leaving his id telling him the world will know...
Monday 0810 hours (cst)
Geek #2 begins screaming "COWS!!!" Father Geek corrects with "CATTLE!!!" an
argument continues. Geek #2 fights with perfect logic, "They Moo don't they." I say, "If
you milk cattle you get a protein shake." Geek #2 "Coool". The road flies by...
Monday 0925 hours (cst)
The Apocalypse Now Flight of the Valkries theme begins playing as Houston traffic lays
before us, moving with the speed of a stagnant pond. Stagnant ponds breed evolution,
new forms will rise from the primordial muck. Starship Troopers bill boards create
geekgasms. We all wanna be at NASA NOW!!!
Monday 0945 hours (cst)
A big ol white limo is in site, we are positive it is Bruce Willis. We go, "Look it's
BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCE!!!" Then the white limo begins tailing us. We get
nervous. "I told you this was a trap!," the sweat caked Geek #2 exclaims. The limo
speeds up along side us, Robogeek begins squirming. Then this White Stretch of Death
pulls infront of us. We could switch lanes, but the truck with the inevitable carpet rolls of
death is in the other lane. Father Geek points out, "That white boomerang thing is gonna
kill us," referring to the deadly razor sharp antennae on the back of the limo. The limo
goes away. All becomes calm.
Monday 0950 hours (cst)
Houston is gone, the sounds of Lalo Schifrin's Enter the Dragon is popped in. We all
begin doing Bruce Lee yells while searching for Nasa Rd 1. We have no idea where we
are. It is hopeless. We begin arguing, "This is the exit." "No, that is the exit" "Hey did
she say NASA or Nassau?" Harry gets confused. Geek #2 is hopeless. Only Robogeek
and Father Geek were holding us together. The car begins swerving in and out of turn
lanes as quick as you flip through a Far Side Calendar. We are doomed.
Monday 1000 hours (cst)
We see the sign, it says Nasa Rd 1. CHEERS roar through the geekmobile. We take the
exit, and begin questing down Nasa Rd 1. We have to go 3 miles.
Monday 1002 hours (cst)
We spot the MacDonalds with the cool as hell spaceman on the roof with an oxygen tube
sucking the resources out of mother Earth. MacDonalds... Foood... We become hungry.
Where is our turn off?
Monday 1004 hours (cst)
We see Space Center sign, we turn in. All happy. The armed guard says, "this is not
where you want to go, go to the next entrance that says, Space Center Lyndon B
Johnson." We begin frowning. Sites of endless variations of Space Center entrances
stretch on to the horizon. We are doomed.
Monday 1005 hours (cst)
"LOOK THERE IT IS," we all exclaim. Armed guard approaches. We say, "We're with
the band" No that's what we were not supposed to say, Guard points us towards an
ominous disposal unit building. As we enter the parking lot I say, "Park, that's where
were suppose to go." Father Geek says, "No I see a sign, that says ARMAGEDDON!!!"
Sure enough a table sits in the parking lot that says, "Armageddon stop here!" We look at
the table which is facing into an empty field. We look real stupid right about now. I say,
"NO, we suppose to go back there." Maaaaan, we resemble the three stooges, but there
are four of us.
We enter the NASA security building, all the sphincters tighten, you couldn't sneak a
salami in there. My father begins getting nervous, everytime this old hippy gets around
armed guards he begins thinking about Kent State, Chicago Riots, and Jerry Rubin. His
inciting riot gene begins kicking in, his eyes dart back and forth. There are all these clean
cut decent people in this building. I feel nervous with my lovely red locks flowing down
my obese shoulders.
The NASA lady helps us fill out the forms, questions begin coming. "Who are you with?
Who invited you? What organization are you with?" Questions.. Tough Questions. My
eyes begin doing that REM thing as my mouth begins fumbling for answers. My answers
prove adequate. We are handed our IDs which say we belong to the organization entitled,
"AINT COOL NEWS" Hey! That's an editorial comment!
Monday 1015 hours (cst)
We get pass the armed guards and see a GIGANTIC SATURN ROCKET. It is
sooooooooooooooooooo cooooool. We want to get out and pose with it, but the
inevitable razor fanged dobermans that are hidden somewhere out there will kill us, then
the guards will shoot us. We are wimps. We continue down the road in search for a non-
specified for security reason building number that would contain Mission Control (that's
where the crew is shooting at the moment.)
I say, "Turn here!" Dad yells, "No there are the Pink Armageddon signs!!!" So instead of
following Harry's advice Team Geek listens to Father Geek that leads us to a parking lot
next to a building that we don't have authorization for. I begin talking about how will be
shot. Giant vats of Liquid Nitrogen surround us. Harry's logic prevails. We load back
into the car and quest for the building with the correct number on it.
Monday 1025 hours (cst)
We find the parking lot at the building we are suppose to be at. All the parking spots say
reserved for this person and that person, that type of official and so on. Father Geek says,
"I told you we should park at the pink signs." I say, "Shut up old man!!!" Ahhhh respect.
Monday 1030 hours (cst)
WE FIND A PARKING SPOT!!!! Dad is silent. We get out of the vehicle and begin
approaching the building labeled with the specified number that allegedly holds the bodies
of Bruce Willis and Michael Bay. We approach like we are cool, but inside we know we
are not worthy. Any second the cage will fall upon us and we will be dipped in one of
those vats of liquid nitrogen. We are dooomed.
Monday 1035 hours (cst)
We enter the building. A man with long hair and shorts (Hey they said no shorts) has an
Armageddon badge on him. We decide we will tail this man. He's a grip, so he must be
on his way to grip something. We wanna know what he grips. The elevator is painfully
slow. Creaking in fact. Not at all the spotless perfection you would expect from NASA.
They definitely don't spend their money on decorations here.
Monday 1040 hours (cst)
The elevator finally lands on the designated floor. We get out and walk past Armageddon
security. We attempt to follow the long haired grip, but a guy in a chair says we can't.
This sucks. So we begin to try to flank him from another hallway. The hallway is
cluttered with deadly devices labeled: "WARNING HIGH VOLTAGE" "CERTAIN
DEATH DO NOT TOUCH" We get nervous, memories of following Hoggle in a
Labyrinth come to mind.
As we round the corner of this hallway we see a film crew and... BRUCE WILLIS.
Hahahahahahaah, WE DID IT!!!! YEEE HAAW!!! I tell Geek #2 to take a picture, so
we could prove the first sighting of THE BRUCE. Geek #2 pulls out camera. The
camera crew is shooting, so I tell everyone to be silent. Geek #2 drops the lens cap. He
has that "D'oh!" look on his face. Then precedes to drop the empty canister of film on the
floor. Pathetic. Geek #2 is in total awe of THE BRUCE, his personal filmic god. The
camera is shaky, his focus off, his palms sweaty and slippery. He never gets a shot.
Meanwhile Robogeek is staring slackjawed. Stunned that he is seeing Bruce Willis and
the camera crew. Father Geek says, "This is cool." Harry is smiling like the cat that
swallowed the canary.
Monday 1045 hours (cst)
Father Geek suggests that we find someone, who knows who we are. I go back to the
first Armageddon girl in a chair with a yellow tinged notebook and say, "I'm Harry
Knowles." God, this sounded pompous.
Armageddon Girl says, "Oh! You are to be taken to Michael Bay." Chills fly down our
collective spines. Geek #2's teeth begin to audibly clatter. I'm near peeing on myself in
anticipation.
What follows is a description of a descent into coolness.
First we get led past a guard, the same guard that told us we couldn't pass. Then we enter
this dark room with taped up ramps, and a million wires going to and fro. Giant back
sides of screens, whose purpose was yet unrevealed. Tall ceilings with strange metal
rafters. A scary place. Surely something unholy lies on the otherside.
A lit doorway is on the otherside, we continue through the darkness, waiting to be pelted
by the angry apple trees, then we emerge on the otherside of the doorway...
"You must stay up against the wall," is the first thing we hear. A group of people huddled
beneath the giant screens of the old Mission Control room. We get against the wall,
expecting to be machine gunned at any second. People trying to read our badges.
"ROLLING" "ACTION" "QUIET" are screamed out. All the sweat pores on my
forehead turn in reverse sucking the droplets back into my skin. Not so much as an
audible breath of air comes from me. I'm silent. I'm in old mission control. Before me I
see the spot from which the man said, "The Eagle has landed" Wow. This is where is all
happened. In this room. The Mission patches decorate the upper parts of the walls on
either side of the great green machines. Each mission an epic reach into space. My eyes
grow wider, my heart skips beats. On the screen behind me, that's the one that first
showed a man stepping upon the surface of the moon. In front of me, the men who made
that happen. But for now...
The star of BOTTLE ROCKET, Owen Wilson, is sitting at a mission control desk pseudo
recalling memories of Apollo missions, while Bruce Willis looks on. They do their scene
which consists of a brief query about the location of Bruce's daughter, who will be played
by Liv Tyler. (Homer slobber sound inserted here)
After the shot a guy named Brad, he's suppose to be my contact man here comes up. I
was told he was cool, and cool was indeed the demeanor he possessed. He was taking
notes left and right, and crouched down back against the wall. He lays down the ground
rules. Meanwhile Geek #2 takes a couple of pics of Mission Control and some guy talking
with Owen Wilson. Continuing Brad says that we can't take pictures until later. Oops,
damn those spy urges.
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