first sight

i met her on the trail by the edge of the lake.
it was early autumn and the air was crisp, bracing, and she was eating popcorn. she ate slowly, meaningfully, lolling each piece in her mouth, pondering taste and importance. her dark brown eyes were infused with a warm contemplative look. almost quizzical.
and the way she moved. such grace!
her legs were lean, perfect machines of balance and timing.
her body was aglow in stuttering refractions of light, the surface of the lake interpreting the sun as a backdrop for her and only her, a glimmering testament to her infinite beauty.
and then she turned her head, the curve and arc and shape of her neck was perfect, delicate, almost mathematically impossible, and she turned her head and i think she smiled. my chest was a turbine and she was the one and i wanted to take her in my arms and tell her everything i ever wanted to tell anyone and we'd run away and live happily and our love would be immaculate and pure forever.
too bad she was a duck.

the questionable accuracy of syndicated new-age strangers

everyday at work i read my horoscope.
actually, i read four horoscopes from four different newspapers, (some local, some national, all with severly conflicting views of what my day will entail.)
i'm not the type who takes these things literally.
most times that's impossible anyway because they advise me to 'spend more time with my kids' or 'today is a good day to buy some land' or something equally ridiculous.
not today.
today my horoscope said, 'you are like a hot knife cutting through butter.'
i have no idea what this means.
but still. awesome.
horoscopes should always be like this.
not linear advice, but a random comparison that can be interpreted a million different ways by a million different people.
not 'today is a bad day for business negotiations.'
something like 'you are like a pirated mp3 on a stolen iPod.'
or 'you are like a guy in a casino who's winning a lot.'
or 'you are like a thundering herd of grizzly bears with opposeable thumbs and large sacks of hand grenades.'
or 'you are like a hidden camera in a gas station bathroom and the only people who go to this gas station are sexy models. except for the owners, who aren't models but are still fairly attractive in their own way.'
or 'you are like an adorable puppy with a terrible, hideous secret.'
or 'you are like a free side of gravy with whatever it is you may be eating.'
stuff like that.
c'mon.

a little blood for Rock and Roll

i know i haven't been posting much lately.
let's just say i've been busy with a lot of heavy, complicated, swimming blind in the murky depths of my sewage-filled bladder of a soul type shit.
or we could say i've been on tour with my imaginary rock band.
let's say we're called Laserface.
let's say we play something like new-new-wave harmonica disco-mountain-metal.
except poppier.
let's say we just released our first full-length album.
let's say it's called Fucked and Defenseless.
and let's say this is the track listing:
1 - waking up awesome
2 - someone gonna pay (pt. one)
3 - love gland 9000
4 - you're a fucking miracle, baby
5 - sabbath something sabbath
6 - the ballad of laserface
7 - strange wool
8 - omnicron vs. omega-minus
9 - someone gonna pay (pt. two)
10 - not on our network
11 - everyone pregnant, all the time
12 - fucked and defenseless

don't forget to buy a t-shirt.

baby fingers

lots of times when i'm temporarily stranded in a crowded place, like waiting in line somewhere for something, i pass the time by making retarded faces at babies and small children when their parents aren't looking. usually the child will giggle or make a face back.
(unless of course it's a retarded child, in which case i wouldn't have made a face at them in the first place, as i've been told that's cruel.)

anyway, the point is this amuses me greatly.

especially if it's a toddler that squeals loudly or misbehaves in some way when they see me and their parent cautions them to Be Quiet, at which point the child will become frustrated and insist that that man over there is making faces, to which the parent will then hiss Stop It! or threaten to reneg on the promise of McDonald's. i love this.
and besides, even if it happens to be one of those parents who actually believes what their young child says, by the time they look my way i'm either casually yawning or sullenly looking at my watch.
A) it's bulletproof
B) dance puppets dance

which brings me to the other day, when i'm waiting in line at my insanely packed grocery store, slowly slipping into a coma of boredom. time to rile up some kiddies.
there were no toddlers present to get into trouble, but there was a non-retarded baby in a plastic stroller a few feet to my left.
and then, before i could even gnarl my mouth or squintify my eyes, this baby gave me the finger. he didn't flash me the finger briefly. he held that puny middle finger of his aloft and proceeded to poke himself in the face with it.
taunting me.
the bastard. (probably)
so naturally, i gave him the finger.
a baby.
and i'm sorry, it felt good.
try it sometime, i guarantee you can't do it with out laughing out loud. and i promise, the baby will not get upset.
but be stealthy.
i wouldn't want to deal with the wrath of an angry mom who just caught me flipping off her eighteen month old.

Are you giving my baby the finger?!?

Yeah. But he gave it to me first.

You monster! He doesn't know what that means!!

Exactly. So what's the difference?