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That Guy, The Hero :: A Sidekick's Blog

Welcome to the blog of Sidekick Sally, superhero sidekick extraordinaire.

In addition to moonlighting as the sidekick of "That Guy, The Hero", she's an IT professional who works for the firm Chisholm and Chisholm (though there is only one Chisholm, he is just always seeing double).

She saves lives, fixes tech, and tends bar, assisting the drunken superhero who lives up to his name every day. These are her trials, tribulations, and libationous stories.

In her words: "Welcome and thanks for keeping up with my story. Thanks to Jen and Bridgeseeker for giving us a home when sometimes we find ourselves drooling in a gutter after a night of... ahem. Enjoy the story, and begin at the beginning. -- Sally"

Ok ... What the ...?

Apologies for that last entry. I have no idea what I was thinking. No, really. I have no idea what I was thinking. I believe I blacked out. It may have been that 4th glass of Pernod (the old recipe, not the boring one), or the 6th shot of fine, reasonably priced Ukranian Russov (grain all the way baby!). Though I honestly think I ate too many peanuts.

Anyway, sorry. (oh but the boy way fiiiiiinnnnne).

Ilsa. That's where I left off.

She came, she mixed, she conquered. Suffice it to say, she left the next day. With Chisholm. I haven't seen them since. I've been holding down the fort as best I can - concierge by day (yes, it's actually a working hotel), and tech support by night.

Homeless Mary is sewing me a cape. I'm moving up in the ranks baby!

Um, until a real bad guy shows up. S**t.

When I met a boy

I have nothing - but gossip. Gossip that I will only tell a close friend. Gossip and stories about a boy I met.

At the start he was quiet - quiet and sad. I thought he was shy. I was so wrapped up in my own world, but I still wondered who this person was sitting next to me. I don't remember who spoke first. But when the boy looked at me and smiled, opened his large eyes wide, said his first words to me, I knew he had something that no other folks had. I so wanted to find out why he was sad, because he was so nice to me. I didn't want him to be sad anymore.

We discovered the safety of email, and the possibilities of honest and endless expression. The acceptance and warmth I felt was overwhelming. Sentences, paragraphs and verse. The fewer the words, the more it meant.


I know, it's been a while. Before I get into the new hotel HQ, the return of Ilsa the Invincible, and Chisolm's return to his drunken superhero glory, I have to pay emotional tribute to a couple of subjects:

1. The passing of a great beauty

Natasha Richardson's story has been plastered everywhere, probably overexposed (that poor family), but in a way, rightly so. I've only caught her in a few films, and by coincidence just saw The White Countess a day before the incident. Amazing, beautiful woman who makes an impression with just a brief moment.

Lagavulin Lullabye

So I finished watching a few dogs of flicks - Her Name is Carla, Thumbsucker, and Heights, though I did enjoy one. Changeling, written by one of my favorite people, J.M.S. (dude, rewriting Ninja Assasin in 53 hours? I have GOT to see that), and directed by another favorite, Clint, is a mellow flick and amazing that these events (more or less, not exactly but close) actually happened.

The Illustrious Homeless Mary

Last night I was hangin with Homeless Mary (ok don't get on me now. It's what she calls HERSELF - she says she wants to distinguish herself from other Marys, particularly the "Virgin Mary" whom she really doesn't want to be lumped in with), while we shared a 5th of Glenmorangie 10 year and tried to get Ilsa on the line (dude, I have not heard from that girl in forever).

Watchin the Oscars, with Cognac

So I'm here at work, answering support calls, playing Fish Tyoon on the iPhone while I talk a wannbe through configuring his htaccess, and watching reruns of the 81st Oscars on a Sunday night (from 2009) - damn I'm completely drunk. Chisholm has fallen asleep with his AV date, but I'm wide awake, crying my eyes out at every cheesy detail of the awards show. Even our intern passed out during the Colicchio Diet Coke commercial.

It's not enough that I've sold 17 virtual fish and cured a virtual fish disease during this time, but I'm so so happy that there have been no mysteries or murders in this area because movies have taken over the night.

If movies and alcohol were respected more like say, politicians or social workers, well, I'd be just where I am. 

Rebuilding the world, one drink at a time

So it's been a while since I reported on the world of Mr. Chisolm and superhero work. I've re-posted past stories so newcomers can catch up, but IT Support and saving the world is a busy existence.

So last night, as I was drinking a nice tumbler of 16-year Tomintoul (a light, non-smoky, drinkable concoction with a smooth, caramelly finish), and watching Battlestar Galactica Season 4 Episode 16 (for the third time in 24 hours) while reading the perspicacious Jacob's TWoP recap on that ep, I realized that our site had yet again been hax0r3d by some losers who call themselves messengers from god or gaza or something losery like that.

Night of the Whisky Dead

Halloween is one of the tougher nights for us in the Superhero trade, as well as in IT (though in the tech biz it's mostly suffering through half-baked geek costumes and competitive candy eating).

People think they are being haunted by dead relatives chased by murderers, served Soviet Merlot in place of their Petrus, or made to demo Vista with only 256 mb ram. It's like fear takes over their bodies, makes them into wusses, and sticks a candy corn up their butt for good measure. I'll never understand the masses.

It's also Mr. Chisholm's favorite Whisky tasting day. This year he gathered his Spirits top 5 and we went to work on saving the day - but things went awfully strange after that.

Normalcy, of a sort

After the dramatic escape executed by Super Holmes, I've gotten a lot of questions about how he found us, what exactly that machine was (the Pastafarians are being most inquisitive), and what became of Ilsa, Chisholm and of course, the Munching Morlock. Glad to finally oblige, because for a while it was cleanup time in the big city.

The escape was mostly a blur, since I was quite drunk throughout the whole thing. Damn that Ilsa and her magical concoctions! I tried to get some info out of Holmes, but he was mostly skittish as we escaped - that guy is afraid of everything. He was wearing a fur coat made from several kinds of animals, and managed that transporter ship thing of his not with ease, but with complete panic.

Into the abyss of poisson

We sloshed through the bloody mess of a warehouse and passed a one-eyed fishmonger, who rolled his one good peeper at a table full of spotted cabrilla. Ilsa rushed over and found a small passageway behind it. The monger man pushed an enormous cart of overflowing octopus limbs in front of us so no one would see, and we slipped into the dark and dingy hole.

Ilsa has a strange glow to her, I'll tell you now. She - she actually glows. I was beginning to understand the men's attraction, but the smell of dead flesh and rotting seaweed stole my attention for a spell. And then there was the moment I tripped and fell down quite a few of the slippery stairs, and landed face up - realizing the fishmonger's floor was a one way mirror. I saw the strange shapes flitting around and spreading the blood and dirt around like a serial killer's fingerpainting. Eeew.