Archive - October 2011

My vacuum cleaner has a headlight but no turn signals.
…real fuckin profound.

It’s never too early to start thinking about car burial. Eventually your car is going to get old. It’s going to break down or refuse to let you shift out of reverse. You may simply just wish to stop driving, give up your job and forfeit your place in society altogether. You’ll need to do something with the 2,000lbs+ box of steel and plastic you’ve called friend all these years. You must return it to the earth. Select a sizable chunk of ground in your or a neighbor’s yard and start digging. Immediately. Use your hands if needed. It may be necessary to park your car in the street or closed garage out of sight of your digging so as to avoid any awkward conversation. If an abundance of swing sets, BBQ pits, laundry poles, uneven patio stones, old water heaters...

I awaken today to find the house surrounded by thousands of cats. Each sitting, silently looking at me, without the ability to properly blink. Each one waiting on me. It’s my move.
I have no choice. I begin naming them.
It takes time. I learn their personalities. Their hopes, their fears. I spend at least 15 minutes with each cat before giving it a proper name. First AND Last names. Sometimes a middle initial, where appropriate.
For those expressing literary aspirations I take special care to imagine the name across a dust jacket. Those inclined to be race car drivers, I name after soft drinks.
Soon each cat has a name, each cat has dignity.
Satisfied, and after a short group bath, they leave my yard.

Early October, a gentle crisp in the air, it’s that magic time of year when the washing machines grow restless. Clothes washing machines. Big, white, inefficient metal boxes that live in your basement or out behind the garage. You may enjoy kicking them. Their white enamel coats starting to brown with rust, the washing machines gather in yards and alleys. With no outward sign or signal, the washing machines rise as one and begin their long journey back to the dry, dusty fields near the Maytag and Whirlpool plants just over the Mexican border. Flying in formation, the washing machines cut a striking figure against the twilight sky. Hunters are no threat as many have learned terrible lessons about what effect falling appliances have on trusted hunting dogs. So we stand in silent...

Why does everyone like parsley? I don’t like parsley. It just lays there getting in the way. They say it makes your plate pretty. I don’t need a pretty plate. I need a plate with little sections that doesn’t let the food mix and mingle. A plate that maybe has little tin covers over the sections so that your neighbor can’t see what you’re eating. People see what you’re eating and they start to resent you. Resent your taste. Little tin covers also protect your food from birds of prey that might be circling. They circle me, all the time. They circle a lot of people. A body can’t enjoy himself surrounded by birds. What kind of person enjoys giving a stool sample while being watched by birds from other countries. Countries where the food is all gray...