Who the hell thought it was a good idea to name a car "Toe rag?"
Monthly archives for November, 2005
Monday, November 28, 2005
Hey… look up
Maybe you've already noticed, but I installed a script to randomly change the blog description text under the heading at the top of the page.
I'm going with movie quotes.
Any suggestions on especially quotable movies that might have slipped my mind?
Too Much Honesty?
A few minutes ago a client asked me, "So how late do you work then?"
I really wanted to be truthful and say, "About three o'clock or so. But I'm here until 5:30."
I don't think she would have seen the humor in that.
Pussies!
So this morning I got out of the shower, glanced at the clock, and realized I was running a few minutes late. I had thought I was doing alright on time, but maybe without realizing it I took a little nap in the shower. Or something.
I grabbed my electric cattle prod and pushed The Chicken through getting dressed a little quicker than usual. We went downstairs and I turned on the TV to catch the morning news. I was greeted with a cheery blue and white scrolling banner informing me that district schools were running two hours late due to fog.
I went to the window to see. There was no fog.
There was probably fog earlier when the buses started running in the more rural parts of the district. But as I look out my window, I see no fog. Therefore, I see no reason for the school delay.
This is the second time this month the superintendent has delayed school due to weather. The last time was due to snow. And not an especially large amount of snow, either.
What the hell is wrong with those people? When did the district administrators turn into pussies? When I was in school in this district, school was never delayed. Not once. The only time the school was ever closed was three days in the 11th grade when the boiler at my high school broke. And that was only because parents complained about 40 degree classrooms.
Get that? 40 degree classrooms didn't close my high school. Imminent lawsuits and threats of criminal endangerment charges closed my high school. And now they're delaying school for a little fog.
Fuck. I've become that old guy, haven't I?
"When I was your age I walked 15 kilometers to school through hip-deep snow with nothin' but paper sacks for shoes…"
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Preach it, brother, preach it.
So the other day I bought a used poetry book at the place next door, right? Archibald MacLeish, "New and Collected Poems, 1917-1976." Apparently the book was purchased at the Harry W. Schwartz Book Shop on 6 July 1976. I know this because the original owner used the receipt to mark this poem:
The Night Dream
to R.L.
Neither her voice, her name,
Eyes, quietness neither,
That moved throught the light, that came
Cold stalk in her teeth
Bitten of some blue flower
Knew before nor saw.
This was a dream. Ah,
This was a dream. There was sun
Laid on the cloths of a table.
We drank together. Her mouth
Was a lion's mouth out of jade
Cold with a fable of water.
Faces I could not see
Watched me with gentleness. Grace
Folded my body with wings.
I cannot love you she said.
My head she laid on her breast.
As stillness with ringing of bees
I was filled with a singing of praise.
Knowledge filled me and peace.
We were silent and not ashamed.
Ah we were glad that day.
They asked me but it was one
Dead they meant and not I.
She was beside me she said.
We rode in a desert place.
We were always happy. Her sleeves
Jangled with jingling of gold.
They told me the wind from the south
Was the cold wind to be feared.
We were galloping under the leaves -
This was a dream, Ah
This was a dream.
And her mouth
Was not your mouth nor her eyes,
But the rivers were four and I knew
As a secret between us, the way
Hands touch, it was you.
Right on, Archibald. Sometimes I wonder if life is trying to tell me something.
Nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain…
About thirty minutes ago I went out for some drive-thru breakfast. I've found that Sunday mornings are always a little nicer with breakfast burritos.
It's raining here today.
I think I've discovered a new Murphy's law. Regardless of their age, my windshield wipers always break in the winter.
I was waiting in line in the drive-thru and I noticed the driver's side wiper is falling apart. (That's another Murphy's law: the driver's side wiper will always break first.) The bottom end of this wiper all messed up. The metal piece is separated, the rubber insert is falling out… basically it's fucked.
Which really pisses me off. I was trying to plan ahead and I just bought new blades in August. And that's blades, mind you. I didn't cheap out and buy the crappy inserts. I bought all new blades. And three months later they're falling apart anyway.
That Murphy guy is a prick.
Self-improvement is masturbation. Now self-destruction…
So it's 1:30 in the morning and I'm lying (laying?) in bed. I'm rereading Chuck Klosterman's "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" and I've just finished chapter six, "Ten Seconds To Love." This is the chapter about the cultural significance of Pamela Anderson.
The chapter includes a few lengthy comparisons to Marilyn Monroe, some loose talk about Madonna, Mariah Carey, and Jenny McCarthy, and (of course) a lot of talk about the Pam and Tommy sex tape.
After reading so much about shapely figures and celebrity blowjobs, I felt a need to masturbate. Not a desire, mind you, a need. I don't even like Pamela Anderson. At all. Not even a little. And yet after reading a very unsexy exposition of her going down on Tommy Lee, I felt that a little self love was required.
So I finished reading the chapter and, for good measure, the half page interlude that followed, and I set to work. I found I was only able to get where I was going if I made a conscious effort to not think about Pamela Anderson. I've reached a few conclusions about this.
Conclusion #1: Pamela Anderson is nasty.
Conclusion #2: I really need better masturbatory fantasies.
Conclusion #3: I'm kind of weird.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Tailpipe
About four hours ago, I stood outside with a cigarette as I let the car warm up for my more or less weekly visit to my sister's house for Friday night beers. The car was in the garage, but the door was open. As I leaned against the trunk with my smoke, the wind shifted and I got a nose full of heavy exhaust fumes. Not an especially pleasant smell.
This got me thinking about the garden hose. I wondered how I'd feel if I busied myself with putting one end of the hose into the tailpipe and the other into the cabin.
I wondered what I'd think about as I weakened. Would I think about my first kiss? The birth of my son? The time I got caught stealing in the seventh grade?
I wondered what I would feel as I slipped away. I wondered what dying would feel like.
I finished my cigarette.
I left the hose coiled in the corner as I got in the car and went about my evening.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Now taking requests
When I look at duff,
(her pic, anyway), I think:
"Ride that cow, baby!"
Recipe for holiday relaxation
1 part turkey
1 part pie
2 parts wine
5 parts family
Shake well, serve in chilled glass.