I had a worrisome thought today. Actually, it was a series of thoughts coupled with a series of images in my head. Though I suppose the images are considered a part of my thoughts. Anyway, it happened while I was reading Calvin and Hobbes comics and it was about me in the future with a kid—my kid. I don’t know what to make of it, so let’s go some ten to twenty years into the future.
(Your vision becomes cloudy and you close your eyes. When you open them, the clouds are dissipating and two figures materialize as silhouettes. One is me, the other is the boy. Also, all this happens to that noise they make in Wayne’s World to denote the transition to a dream state; something like doo-doo-loo, but over and over again and quickly.)
“Dad, I’m going to bed. Will you read to me?”
“Nah.”
“C’mon, just one! I’ll be—.” I begin unbuckling my belt and he flees in terror but I feel bad and take myself away from the computer and find him in his room reading to himself. “Here. Let’s read this one!” He says and hands me Calvin and Hobbes.
“I don’t like reading these,” I say as I flip through the book.
“How come?”
“Feels like you’re reading the diary of a dead boy.” He reaches for the book but instead I start reading it to him. It’s funny and sad at the same time, but to him it’s hysterical. At least he’s happy which, I’m assuming, is a good thing.
“I need sleep. Also, your reading sucks.” I stand and reach to unlatch my belt. “No, I’m just kidding!”
“Goodnight,” I tell him. I ruffle his hair and make for the door. I notice a crack on the wall next to the light switch. I pick at it and it chips.
“You know instead of spackling and repainting that, you should probably tear down the wall and rebuild it,” he says as I flip the light switch leaving his face lit in from the light outside.
“I’d never get around to rebuilding the wall.”
(Doo-doo-loo, doo-doo-loo, doo-doo-loo.)
That was it. So maybe that last part was more introspective than anything. I mean, what would a kid know about building walls anyway? And what the hell kind of idea is it to tear down a wall? You know how much trouble that is? Or how expensive? Hell, I wouldn’t even know where to begin on such a task. Maybe I work in construction in the future.
Whatever. Stupid hallucinations.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving!
Everyone knows that the only way to prove how thankful you are is by gorging yourself with food on Thanksgiving day, so that’s just what I did: eat.
The day started out slow enough. I didn’t have much, three tamales for breakfast and three for lunch. Dinner started out well, though. I sliced some turkey breast and set it on my plate next to the slice of ham and the mound of mashed potatoes. Delicious! Just delicious I tell you! So delicious I went for seconds. I pulled a leg off the turkey and had more ham and mashed potatoes. I ate with glee and went for thirds as soon as I cleared my plate. I tried pulling the other leg off the turkey but it wouldn’t come off, so I took the rest of the bird with me. I thought since I had the whole turkey, I may as well take the rest of the ham, right? Why submit my family to turkeyless ham? I had a turkey in one hand and a ham in the other when I got to the mashed potatoes, so I shoveled some into the turkey with the ham like a plow pushing snow into a turkcave. I sat at a table filled with disgusted grimaces. Thankless pigs.
I finished it all out of respect for the spirit of Thanksgiving and man was I stuffed. I was having difficulty breathing, not because of eating so much, but because of the jeroboam of wine I’d quaffed. It slowed my metabolic functions down a bit. Who knew a man could survive off thirteen heart beats a minute, eh? And could you believe that through that all, I still had room for a slice of pie? I think after my eighth slice my stomach burst like a water balloon filled with 35 pounds of turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, and wine—stupid, worthless food pouch.
I had some pretty bad heartburn by then and wanted some Tums. “Mgruhh. Mgruuuhh!” I grumbled to my family as I pointed sloppily to the delicious tablets. They retrieved the bottle with a comforting sense of urgency and I emptied its contents into my stomach. I felt a little better, but two handfuls of Tums isn’t going to sew a ruptured stomach back together, now is it!
Anyway, I’ll be alright, I just gotta sit for a while. What a successful feast, though. Now everyone knows how thankful I am.
The day started out slow enough. I didn’t have much, three tamales for breakfast and three for lunch. Dinner started out well, though. I sliced some turkey breast and set it on my plate next to the slice of ham and the mound of mashed potatoes. Delicious! Just delicious I tell you! So delicious I went for seconds. I pulled a leg off the turkey and had more ham and mashed potatoes. I ate with glee and went for thirds as soon as I cleared my plate. I tried pulling the other leg off the turkey but it wouldn’t come off, so I took the rest of the bird with me. I thought since I had the whole turkey, I may as well take the rest of the ham, right? Why submit my family to turkeyless ham? I had a turkey in one hand and a ham in the other when I got to the mashed potatoes, so I shoveled some into the turkey with the ham like a plow pushing snow into a turkcave. I sat at a table filled with disgusted grimaces. Thankless pigs.
I finished it all out of respect for the spirit of Thanksgiving and man was I stuffed. I was having difficulty breathing, not because of eating so much, but because of the jeroboam of wine I’d quaffed. It slowed my metabolic functions down a bit. Who knew a man could survive off thirteen heart beats a minute, eh? And could you believe that through that all, I still had room for a slice of pie? I think after my eighth slice my stomach burst like a water balloon filled with 35 pounds of turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, and wine—stupid, worthless food pouch.
I had some pretty bad heartburn by then and wanted some Tums. “Mgruhh. Mgruuuhh!” I grumbled to my family as I pointed sloppily to the delicious tablets. They retrieved the bottle with a comforting sense of urgency and I emptied its contents into my stomach. I felt a little better, but two handfuls of Tums isn’t going to sew a ruptured stomach back together, now is it!
Anyway, I’ll be alright, I just gotta sit for a while. What a successful feast, though. Now everyone knows how thankful I am.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Can You Believe These People?
Weird things are always happening to me. I was at a café where they play bossa nova Thursday nights. I was outside sitting on a wrought iron chair that was unsteady on the cobbled stones with my cigarette smoke glowing in the soft yellow street lights. It was one of those dark blue and yellow nights with music and espresso, cigarettes and sherry. A tall man with roses walked to me, saw that I was alone and walked off. There was no room for red or white tonight.
“Another sherry, sir?” It was my waitress in black with muted makeup and hair held high with crisscrossed metal chopsticks.
“Yes.”
“Would you like some sushi, sir?”
“No, thanks. I don’t believe in wasabi.”
“You can order it without—“
“Okay, but remember: I don’t believe in wasabi,” I stressed and she left for my sherry and sushi. I sipped my espresso and listened to the Portuguese music vibrating the glass table before me. An old janitor with gray hair and a blue jumpsuit stepped outside to sweep around me. He swept around my table, under it and he swept my shoes. "Thank you," I told him before he walked back to the door.
Rounding the corner of the café was the rose man with fewer roses.
“Would you like to buy a rose for the lady,” he asked.
“What lady?”
“The lady sitting there,” he motioned with his hand to the empty chair opposite of me.
“There is no lady.”
“Do you insult me, sir,” he asked taking a step closer.
“Are you blind? There is no lady. Please, sir, there is no room for red or white tonight,” I said as I stood and took a step closer to him.
“You are a fool, sir!” He swiped at my face with his thorny roses with a force that knocked me into my chair. I picked up my espresso and flung it into his eyes and he turned around, clutching his sizzling face. I frisbeed the saucer at the back of his neck, but he kicked backwards and shattered it midair. He pulled a switchblade from an ankle strap and lunged at me and I parried. He lunged again at my gut and I dodged to the side, lifted my hands and crashed them both onto his back. He fell to his belly and I stepped on his knife-wielding hand until he let go. I lifted him by his hair and put him in a chokehold and held him there until I heard the shattering of a wine glass against the side of my head. It tasted like sherry.
I dropped the bloody roseman and felt a chopstick graze my sherried ear. I turned around to see another spear my left thigh. I reached for the chopstick and tried to pull it out, but the waitress charged and drove it deeper with her palm. We jostled for a few seconds until I clamped my left fist and swung my right hand into her chin. She flew back into a telephone poll and I thrusted my right knee into her belly. She heaved over my knee and I felt her body relax. I was about to let her down when she grabbed hold of the chopstick and began twisting it like a joystick in my thigh. I reached for my order of sushi on the table and picked up some wasabi and thumbed it into her left eye. She let go of the joystick and began screaming frantically. I tried going after her but the roseman had latched onto my legs. I pulled out the chopstick and nailed his hand in between the cobble stones. His fingers twisted and his eyes bulged as he let out a scream that overtook the Portuguese music.
I turned the corner and saw the waitress running away in a frenzy. I snatched the broom from the janitor and threw it between her legs. She tripped and fell on her face with a splatter of blood from her nose. I began walking to her when I heard the cocking of a shotgun.
“Don’t move,” the janitor said. I turned around and stared down the barrels of a shotgun. He put his foot onto my chopstick wound and turned his heel. I cringed and sank down onto one knee. “Now you die, sherry man.” I put two fingers in the barrels before he pulled the trigger. The explosion concentrated and ballooned through the barrels, bursting into his face in a flurry of black gunpowder. He collapsed.
I walked back to my table and paid for my espresso and sherries, but not for the sushi because I don’t believe in wasabi. Because of that I only left the waitress a fifteen percent tip.
“Another sherry, sir?” It was my waitress in black with muted makeup and hair held high with crisscrossed metal chopsticks.
“Yes.”
“Would you like some sushi, sir?”
“No, thanks. I don’t believe in wasabi.”
“You can order it without—“
“Okay, but remember: I don’t believe in wasabi,” I stressed and she left for my sherry and sushi. I sipped my espresso and listened to the Portuguese music vibrating the glass table before me. An old janitor with gray hair and a blue jumpsuit stepped outside to sweep around me. He swept around my table, under it and he swept my shoes. "Thank you," I told him before he walked back to the door.
Rounding the corner of the café was the rose man with fewer roses.
“Would you like to buy a rose for the lady,” he asked.
“What lady?”
“The lady sitting there,” he motioned with his hand to the empty chair opposite of me.
“There is no lady.”
“Do you insult me, sir,” he asked taking a step closer.
“Are you blind? There is no lady. Please, sir, there is no room for red or white tonight,” I said as I stood and took a step closer to him.
“You are a fool, sir!” He swiped at my face with his thorny roses with a force that knocked me into my chair. I picked up my espresso and flung it into his eyes and he turned around, clutching his sizzling face. I frisbeed the saucer at the back of his neck, but he kicked backwards and shattered it midair. He pulled a switchblade from an ankle strap and lunged at me and I parried. He lunged again at my gut and I dodged to the side, lifted my hands and crashed them both onto his back. He fell to his belly and I stepped on his knife-wielding hand until he let go. I lifted him by his hair and put him in a chokehold and held him there until I heard the shattering of a wine glass against the side of my head. It tasted like sherry.
I dropped the bloody roseman and felt a chopstick graze my sherried ear. I turned around to see another spear my left thigh. I reached for the chopstick and tried to pull it out, but the waitress charged and drove it deeper with her palm. We jostled for a few seconds until I clamped my left fist and swung my right hand into her chin. She flew back into a telephone poll and I thrusted my right knee into her belly. She heaved over my knee and I felt her body relax. I was about to let her down when she grabbed hold of the chopstick and began twisting it like a joystick in my thigh. I reached for my order of sushi on the table and picked up some wasabi and thumbed it into her left eye. She let go of the joystick and began screaming frantically. I tried going after her but the roseman had latched onto my legs. I pulled out the chopstick and nailed his hand in between the cobble stones. His fingers twisted and his eyes bulged as he let out a scream that overtook the Portuguese music.
I turned the corner and saw the waitress running away in a frenzy. I snatched the broom from the janitor and threw it between her legs. She tripped and fell on her face with a splatter of blood from her nose. I began walking to her when I heard the cocking of a shotgun.
“Don’t move,” the janitor said. I turned around and stared down the barrels of a shotgun. He put his foot onto my chopstick wound and turned his heel. I cringed and sank down onto one knee. “Now you die, sherry man.” I put two fingers in the barrels before he pulled the trigger. The explosion concentrated and ballooned through the barrels, bursting into his face in a flurry of black gunpowder. He collapsed.
I walked back to my table and paid for my espresso and sherries, but not for the sushi because I don’t believe in wasabi. Because of that I only left the waitress a fifteen percent tip.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The Incredible Sneezeless Boy
The withered tree shivered in wind, its wilted leaves whispered and rustled against each other, and the moon vibrated in the rippling water of the pond. During the day, maple leaves feathered floorward in orange strokes against the sky. This tree leaned over a great boy, giving him shade and making him cool. Today was a hot day, and even though this near-bare tree with its tired boughs and cracked, emaciated roots was barely able to give, it gave what it could. Were it able, its cracking roots would reach and pull from the pond what it could of water for the boy it shaded.
The hot wind woke the boy. He woke to clouds before him, beyond the pond. Massive as night, they bouldered into the sky above. He rose and behind him the tree cracked with lightning and it huddled over slowly. In death, this slumping maple tree gave shelter from not the sun, but the piercing spears from the darkened sky while its leaves whispered in the wind.
The hot wind woke the boy. He woke to clouds before him, beyond the pond. Massive as night, they bouldered into the sky above. He rose and behind him the tree cracked with lightning and it huddled over slowly. In death, this slumping maple tree gave shelter from not the sun, but the piercing spears from the darkened sky while its leaves whispered in the wind.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Rude
It always pisses me off how rude people are sometimes. Why can’t everybody just be nice. Is it so hard to stop your shopping cart to let a fellow patron shuffle his way past you? Do you really have to speed up and cut him off? And after he speeds up to pass you in revenge, do you really have to jab his Achilles tendons with your cart? And is it necessary to call him jack ass and call security after he knocks over your groceries with a swift flanking ram of his shopping cart?
It’s worse when this happens while driving. You’re trying to turn onto a street and the “Keep Clear” section before you is blocked by jerks at a red light. This just makes people more aggressive. Now when I want to turn onto a street, I don’t bother turning, that just slows me down. Instead, I drive straight ahead, perpendicular to these potentially keep-clear-blocking jerks. That’ll teach you! I don’t care if you’re flashing your lights at me, or blaring your stupid siren, I’m not moving.
I think the worst manifestation of rudeness, though, is being inconsiderate. I mean, how can people not be considerate? It’s pretty easy, just consider! Consider how spitting in that hamburger will affect me. Consider how, when slipping a razor into an apple, how unhappy I’ll be when I bite into it. It’s not hard! Spit’s nasty and razors hurt!
So remember this next time you’re at the supermarket, approaching a Keep Clear, or attempting to murder me. I would appreciate it.
It’s worse when this happens while driving. You’re trying to turn onto a street and the “Keep Clear” section before you is blocked by jerks at a red light. This just makes people more aggressive. Now when I want to turn onto a street, I don’t bother turning, that just slows me down. Instead, I drive straight ahead, perpendicular to these potentially keep-clear-blocking jerks. That’ll teach you! I don’t care if you’re flashing your lights at me, or blaring your stupid siren, I’m not moving.
I think the worst manifestation of rudeness, though, is being inconsiderate. I mean, how can people not be considerate? It’s pretty easy, just consider! Consider how spitting in that hamburger will affect me. Consider how, when slipping a razor into an apple, how unhappy I’ll be when I bite into it. It’s not hard! Spit’s nasty and razors hurt!
So remember this next time you’re at the supermarket, approaching a Keep Clear, or attempting to murder me. I would appreciate it.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Kitten
I was reclining when the kitty chased a shadow onto my legs. She walked up my shin and thigh onto my belly, kneaded it with her front paws, curled into herself and went to sleep purring. I poked her and she popped up with a fluff. Pat pat pat. She was swatting at my finger. I was running it up and down my chest and stomach and she chased it in circles. I led her to my face and she rubbed her forehead into my chin and mouth. She sprawled on my shoulder and neck and went to sleep again purring and satisfied. Good kitty.
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