Fri., April 13, 42 A.B.
The One That Begins Weak And Then Pointlessly Works Its
Way Down To John Denver's Toes
"The best laid plans of mice and men... The best laid plans of mice and men... Damn it, where'd I'd put the rest of that note I made?!" - Full text of my unproduced drama, Robert Burns Has A Bad Day
I've been planning to write this really great entry for the last two days, but... other things keep sapping my time and energies instead. You'd think the fact that I don't have a job and generally do as little as possible would provide me with all the free time and energy needed to crank out as many of these insubstantial entries as I might want to infect the web with, but no
- somehow it just doesn't work like that. Events and entanglements seem to seek me out like smart bombs, crawl up my leg like ticks, and then use their fangs to suck time and energy out of my life like some really weird kind of vampire bat.
(Hmmmm, seems those weird bats like to suck out my ability to handle similes with any degree of skill at all, too....)
In any event, this is NOT the great entry I intended. In fact, an entry
about why that entry isn't better is probably one of the lamest sorts of entries one can ever write. Ugh. Are we trapped in a Downward Death Spiral here or what??
*Hitting the Emergency Self-consciousness Ejection Button before things get any worse and the Chinese get really pissed off*
Post-It Snacks. It suddenly occurred to me this afternoon that there's a fortune just waiting to be made in Post-It Snacks. You know - chips and cookies and Pop Tarts with an adhesive backing which allows for them to be posted anywhere for quick and easy retrieval.
I think that's even better than the billion dollar idea that came to me yesterday: Glassware liners. You know - clear plastic sandwich bag-like inserts that people could put in their glasses and cups and goblets and mugs, serve all manner of beverages in, and then dispose of afterwards without ever having to wash the glass or cup or goblet or mug. Cup Condoms! With disposable handles in case you aren't sure of the last time your guests have washed their hands. And the inserts could be extra thick around the top to reduce the chances of Aunt Maude chipping your fine crystal on those cheap artificial choppers she got from the Home Shopping Network.
PLEASE DON'T STEAL THESE IDEAS OR I'LL HAVE TO DELETE THEM!
If you MUST steal SOMETHING from this entry, steal this:
"The only real difference between painfully shy people and painfully gregarious people is that painfully shy people selfishly keep all their pain
to themselves while painfully gregarious people selflessly see to it that everybody feels the pain but themselves."
*Feeling beads of sweat rolling across my forehead as this turkey of an entry plummets downward ever faster*
*Ok, ok... deep breath, Dan.... when it doubt, try the truth*
Last Saturday our four forsythia bushes started to bloom. They peaked a few days later. Yesterday, parts of each started turning green already. They're beautiful plants, but... only for about 5 days a year. Would you buy a car that only had a decent finish 5 days a year? Would you marry someone who only hugged you 5 days a year? Would you read a journal that only had 5 decent entries a -
*Never attempt to avoid a crash landing by plowing your plane into the side of a mountain, you fool! Abort! Abort!*
What I've never been able to figure out is why forsythia blooms before the bees are out. What insect is it blooming for?? Is it an import from a country where the bees come out earlier? Are the plants we grow here
as ornamentals some weird, man-made variety that would never have evolved in the wild? Do they in fact attract some form of bee or bug that I've just never had the patience to sit and watch for? Finding answers to these questions is DEFINITELY on my list of things to do. Just not as
high up on that list as confirming that rumor I heard that Mister Rogers
was a sniper in Vietnam....
*ACK! Keep it light! LIGHT! It's a friggin' holiday weekend! Don't you DARE ruin it with that fantasy of yours that goes "Hello boy and girls. It's
a quiet day in the neighborhood, but only because I took three Charlies
out before you got here."*
Yesterday the first dandelions of the season came out. They weren't out when I wheeled our trash can to the road about 8:30 am, but they WERE out when I wheeled the can back about 10 am. What happened between 8:30 and 10? I just told you - the dandelions came out. Please pay attention!
*STOP insulting people, you little twerp! Your time and energy would be MUCH better spent writing that "great" entry you promised. Duh!*
Today the first bumblebee appeared as I was headed back to the house after taking the trash can back to the garage. It came from out of nowhere apparently just to groggily fly its bulbous body into the side of the garage for my amusement. Seems it liked doing that so much the first time, it proceeded to do it a second. Then it fell into the blooming myrtle and wandered haphazardly around the leaves like a drunk trying to navigate
his way barefoot through a dark living room strewn with Legos. I was charmed. In fact, I was so charmed that I tried running my own body into the side of the garage. After all, why should bumblebees get to have all
the fun? Alas, I missed the garage and might be running still had I not eventually hit the line of cedars to our north. No harm done, but it sure
did prompt me to postpone my plans to wander haphazardly in the myrtle until tomorrow....
If the great entry I'm aching to write doesn't appear until Sunday, you'll know why.
Back Home Next
(©Now in a savory vinaigrette sauce strong enough to cover up even the
rawest of half-baked flavors by DJ Birtcher)
FOOTNOTE: Mister Rogers wasn't really a sniper in Vietnam. The claim that he was is nothing more than an urban legend according to this site. Which just happens to be the same site that told me that John Denver
also wasn't a sniper in Vietnam. Although Mr. Denver did indeed
receive a draft notice in 1964, he was classified 1-Y due to his having
lost two toes in a lawnmower accident and consequently was rejected for service. Mr. Rogers never served in any branch of any military, either, even though - to the best of my knowledge - he still has all his toes.
Do you have proof that he, too, lost toes to a dastardly lawnmower? Please keep it to yourself until November. Thank you.