--I'm suffering from an advanced case of kazoo-neck.Every time I take a deep breath there's a lot of vibration and
buzzing, and it sounds like I've got a kazoo wedged in my windpipe.
I
think I'm on the mend, but the weekend wasn't much fun. I did a lot of
couch-wallowing, and felt so shitty I couldn't even enjoy it.I've learned there's a big difference between sick-wallowing
and lazy-wallowing, a big difference indeed.
On Saturday I even took a nap during the middle of the day, something
I'm generally opposed to.Grown
men shouldn't nap.Ya know?But in my weakened state I found myself powerless 'neath the
Scrote-watching blanket, and konked out for a good three hours.
Yes,
it was almost Nostrilseque around our place this weekend; the only
things missing were the hot water bottle, the giant bouncing Adam's
apple, and the jugs of rot-gut skid row vodka.
But
I think it's almost over, and I'm the last of the four of us to go
through it.If we all had to
get sick, the timing couldn't be better.Theoretically, every one of us should be healthy and strong
when we depart for Londonnext week.
Next
week!Holy shitcakes.
--As I drive to work on Sunday
afternoons I sometimes listen to a local radio talk program featuring
auctioneers.I think it's
supposed to be along the lines of Antiques
Roadshow, where people call
in, describe an item, and the experts give an approximate value.But last week the whole thing came flying off the tracks.
I don't know if they just weren't getting any calls, or what.But one of the hosts started in to bitching, and the more he
talked the angrier he got.Before
long he was engaged in a full-on diatribe.
He
claimed auctioneers are unfairly stereotyped. "Everybody thinks
we have it easy," he spat, "but they don't see all the
physical labor we put in during the week!"He said sure, he likes to dress up in a nice suit on auction
day.But he’s out there, by
God, in jeans and a t-shirt the rest of the time...
"People don't see that
side of it!" he hollered.Then
he started talking about sandwiches(?!), and how he was entitled to sit
down and have one, just like everybody else.And just because someone might see him having his lunch, it
doesn’t mean that’s all
he does; he doesn’t just sit
around eating sandwiches in nice suits all the time.
“NOT BY A LONGSHOT!” he screamed, like a man in the process of
completely losing his shit.
The dude was getting himself all worked up.And finally one of the other guys had to step in and bring him
back down to planet Earth.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.I mean, who has strong opinions about auctioneers, anyway?Who knows enough to even fuel a halfway-decent prejudice?Perhaps I’m sheltered, but I’ve yet to meet a person just
seething with resentment
because auctioneers eat sandwiches.Ya
know?
I can't help but suspect there might be a little paranoia at play
here…But is there anything
better than local talk radio on the weekends?I submit there is
not.
--Speaking of talk radio, I
got in my car the other day and Michael Savage was on.I only listened for a couple of minutes, so I don't know the
context, but he said something along the lines of, “Never trust a person who
doesn’t drink alcohol, and who doesn’t like dogs.”
I’m not sure that’s the best advice in the world, but it
made me laugh anyway. How would you complete such a sentence:Never trust a person who…
Use
the comments link below.
--Alec Baldwin came to our
house on Friday afternoon and laid out a couple dozen Boxes of Black
Death for our real or imagined mouse-visitors.
He put a bunch of them in the crawlspace beside the Bunker, several in
the garage, and a few here and there.Apparently
the mice climb inside, eat from the buffet table of extreme
dehydration, then things start going downhill for them…
He didn’t use the glue strips; he said boxes are better because the
mice almost always go somewhere else to die with them.
Why do I feel a little guilty about that?
Alec was all business when he got here, but after I made a joke about
something or other, it was all-“comedy,” all-the-time.It was like I gave him permission to be “funny,” and a
couple of times I wished I hadn’t.You
reap what you sow…
But he seemed OK, and will be back in two weeks “to see how we
did.”And I’m not sure
I’m completely comfortable running a death camp.
--Finally, I was thinking
about something the other night…When
I was a kid I would often have dreams where I’d “wake up,” and
be completely paralyzed.
Of course I was still asleep, but would be awake
in my dream.Know what I mean?I’d
lie there terrified, not able to move my arms or my legs – and not
be able to say anything either.I’d
try to yell out for my parents, and would be unable to make a sound.
It was scary (even worse than kazoo-neck), and would happen every couple of months.But by the time I got out of grade school, or shortly
thereafter, I never had the dream again.It just stopped, for whatever reason.
Have you ever had this happen to you?Have
you ever “awakened” completely paralyzed?What the heck does it mean?Anything?Or is it just the chemicals in your brain mixing together in
new and exciting ways?
And did you have any recurring dreams as a kid that went away when you
started to, you know, enter adulthood?
I don’t generally have much interest in dreams, because I suspect
they don’t mean a damn thing.But
when the same one happens over and over again, it makes you wonder.Then when they suddenly STOP, it’s even more mysterious...
Anyway, if you’ve got something on that, please use the handy
comments link provided.
