Monday, August 27, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
(* Artist/Witness Rendering - actual photo unavailable due to high speeds and choking laughter)
Sometimes it's better not to stick bits of each other in each other for each other. -- Hot Club de Paris
Friday, August 10, 2007
Everything comes before it: cleaning that long-dead Junebug out of the corner of the kitchen counter, flipping from song to song to song to song on Internet radio, flinging washed clothes into the dryer, pretending to perform an Everclear song to a sellout stadium crowd while the roommate’s off buying cigarettes, watching some exhibitionist on a webcam.
Guilt: The feeling that if you do it, if you REALLY do it, you’ve outed some dirty secret about everyone you know in some fashion or other, including, and perhaps most importantly, yourself.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
I have a crappy little bench, that needs either a coat of paint, or just to be thrown out, sitting in my front yard, fairly close to the door. You can sit on it, but it rather lists to one side. I don't sit on it for fear of causing its last day on earth in a sudden collapse, but it looks somewhat fetching sitting alongside the flowers that I usually remember to water in the bed that needs weeding.
I pull up to the homestead today, after a day of toil in which every moment was begrudged (seeing as how I AM a teacher and it IS still summer, but today there was a pesky training day that could be finished in 3 hours but took 7 just to fill up the state-required time), a bank trip that shouldn't have taken 45 minutes in the 100 degree heat, and a lengthy stint at Walmart shopping. All of this was done while wanting nothing more than to run home and fling off every sweaty article of clothing I had on. Finally, I arrive and what do I see before me but some errant youth, probably 20 or so, in a Terminix polo shirt, clutching a clipboard, SITTING on MY fucking BENCH.
I don't even get out of the car. I roll down my window like I'm at the Squatter Shooing Drive-in and shout out, "Sir? You can take a walk now!"
"I was just taking a rest; it's hot," he replies, standing up.
"Not on my property you don't!" I say, visibly agitated and wishing I had something sawn-off to go with my hillbilly-type utterances.
He then APPROACHES THE CAR AS IF TO BEGIN HIS SPIEL.
I just stare, incredulous, for a second.
I then wave my hand, dismissing him. "GOODBYE!!" I say, less nicely.
"Bye," he replies, and ambles on.
Oh, did I mention that I live across the street from a public park, that's full of benches, has a picnic pavillion and even a water fountain! Shade, seating, and water, all in one convenient location that I don't own.
I swear I'd build a moat, infested with a clutch of monster Louisiana swamp gators trained to scent soliciting at twenty paces, around this place if I could.
Let's see them exterminate THAT.