JESUS IS MY _________
I was driving behind an elderly lady in what I believe could accurately be called a "monkeyshit brown" late seventies Buick. Or maybe metallic monkeyshit brown is better. Maybe this particular monkey had been snacking on some metal chips or something. I don't know. But the point is that here on the peninsula, there are many, many such elderly folks whose schedule is a little less hectic than most. Hence, with the slow driving. This gave me plenty of time to see that her license plate frame declared proudly JESUS IS MY MAGNET.
Wait, I thought, being the sharp individual that I am. JESUS IS MY MAGNET makes little or no sense, though it does sound kind of cool. Maybe she means that JESUS is the center of her life, and in that way like a MAGNET? She would be the iron filings that scientist types sprinkle on magnets to show you the concept of flux, which is really, really important to your everday life. Or maybe she was expressing a subversive atheist view wherein JESUS was indeed her MAGNET, but they were approaching each other from opposite poles, forever doomed to repel each other in a fragile dance of longing and impossible salvation.
I sped up to seventeen miles an hour on Junipero Serra Boulevard, edging up on her bumper, and realized the MAGNET portion of the message only looked like MAGNET. Now it looked more like WAGNER. That's better...JESUS IS MY WAGNER.
Hang on. That's not right either. Was she some crazed, confused, classical music listener?
JESUS IS MY HANGER? BANGER? ORANGUTANGER? LAPLANDER?
It was no use. She sped up to twenty-one miles an hour, and I was left wondering what JESUS IS, as she disappeared over the horizon.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Dispatch from a Pile of Boxes
I speak to you (figuratively of course. I don't sit at the desk and speak out loud, addressing you as if you were here. Not often, at least.) from the study of my new house, having fought my way through piles of boxes and detritus so impressive they should be featured in a new and exciting video game where you shoot stuff while jumping from crate to crate. You know, like that one game? With all the crates?
Anyway, I know the posting has been slow, even essentially non-existent for a while, but be strong! Read a book or something.
And have a look at Dungeon Majesty, which features movies of young ladies playing D&D. You may think that the concepts of young ladies and D&D don't really go together, and that this is merely a cruel joke designed to bring out your inner 18th level Fighter/Magic-User, but don't worry, mighty kobold-hassler! It's no joke. The ladies flock to you when your sword is vorpal, or so I hear. Good news for every spotty teenager whose Crushing Hand is getting a little too much action.
I speak to you (figuratively of course. I don't sit at the desk and speak out loud, addressing you as if you were here. Not often, at least.) from the study of my new house, having fought my way through piles of boxes and detritus so impressive they should be featured in a new and exciting video game where you shoot stuff while jumping from crate to crate. You know, like that one game? With all the crates?
Anyway, I know the posting has been slow, even essentially non-existent for a while, but be strong! Read a book or something.
And have a look at Dungeon Majesty, which features movies of young ladies playing D&D. You may think that the concepts of young ladies and D&D don't really go together, and that this is merely a cruel joke designed to bring out your inner 18th level Fighter/Magic-User, but don't worry, mighty kobold-hassler! It's no joke. The ladies flock to you when your sword is vorpal, or so I hear. Good news for every spotty teenager whose Crushing Hand is getting a little too much action.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Oh! I Forgot this Existed!
Hello again. I know I've been away for a while. Did you water the plants like I asked you? I only ask because the hydrangeas are looking a little peaked. I'd even say dead.
Here are some possible explanations for my absence:
a. Evacuation due to Florida hurricanes - While it is true that I live in California, one can never be too safe in the face of an angry Mother Nature. This is also true when confronted by vengeful sharks or repeated telemarketing calls. Pack up the Country Squire and just go! GO!
So that's what I did. I saw the whirling deathballs on the horizon and loaded up the Country Squire. I made it to Taos, New Mexico before I realized I was actually heading closer to the whirling deathballs. That's the tricky thing about Mother Nature. Just when you think that you are speeding away from her in a late Seventies wood-paneled station wagon, Bam! There she is in all her glory, throwing frogs at you.
Shamed, I decided the trip shouldn't be a complete loss, so I enrolled in a pottery class and learned the ancient craft of lawn goose sculpture.
b. Inserted cotton swab into ear canal - Believe the warning.
c. Bought house near San Francisco, fended off attackers - After months of dithering, we finally found a place just south of the city, with fog that sweeps in majestically when it's of a mind. Also, some no-goodniks broke into my house in Southern California, and I chased them off. I mention that only to let you know what a badass I am.
Hello again. I know I've been away for a while. Did you water the plants like I asked you? I only ask because the hydrangeas are looking a little peaked. I'd even say dead.
Here are some possible explanations for my absence:
a. Evacuation due to Florida hurricanes - While it is true that I live in California, one can never be too safe in the face of an angry Mother Nature. This is also true when confronted by vengeful sharks or repeated telemarketing calls. Pack up the Country Squire and just go! GO!
So that's what I did. I saw the whirling deathballs on the horizon and loaded up the Country Squire. I made it to Taos, New Mexico before I realized I was actually heading closer to the whirling deathballs. That's the tricky thing about Mother Nature. Just when you think that you are speeding away from her in a late Seventies wood-paneled station wagon, Bam! There she is in all her glory, throwing frogs at you.
Shamed, I decided the trip shouldn't be a complete loss, so I enrolled in a pottery class and learned the ancient craft of lawn goose sculpture.
b. Inserted cotton swab into ear canal - Believe the warning.
c. Bought house near San Francisco, fended off attackers - After months of dithering, we finally found a place just south of the city, with fog that sweeps in majestically when it's of a mind. Also, some no-goodniks broke into my house in Southern California, and I chased them off. I mention that only to let you know what a badass I am.
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