Nightcap 11/12/12

V bit through three tables last night. All at once. They were the kind of makeshift tables constructed out of old doors with their knobs removed. They had been holding up my domino display. As well as my glass bells and little wire angels. And three ongoing games of checkers.
V decided to demonstrate his multi-stomach digestive process to a Rolling Stone reporter and needed to devour something with a variety of fibers. He bit clean through the tables, demolished six chairs and fought a wasp's nest.
Then he threw himself down a flight of stairs and recited famous speeches and poems til dawn.
I busied myself with coupons for detergents and silent prayer.

Nightcap 11/11/12

God never made an ugly drum solo. Mitchell was an individual. His business card read “Couch Owner.” He told women little lies. He'd claim arm wrestling was behind him and that he'd lost the urge to stab pets. God decided strong winds should blow his car off a causeway near the alligator reserve. City workers found a half-finished voter registration form on his table and cases of loaf cakes filling the hallways of his apartment. There wasn't any traditional furniture. His living room had a canoe and two sealed garbage bags that were later found to contain stuffed animals, bent and shaped into low-slung chairs. The canoe was listed as his only next of kin. From all appearances, Mitchell had wasted his life. Yet buried in a silver notebook found in a pile of 2011...

Nightcap 11/10/12

Rosemarie drinks glasses of fire. She carries a shovel with her everywhere. Even state functions. She had a leather slipcase made for it. When sitting down across from bishops and commissioners, she lays the shovel out on the table before tearing up the paperwork and defaming her opponent's upbringing. She is lead agreement officer for a chain of high traffic meat tanning shops. She cares more about her Christmas lights than the mouth diseases people say they get from her company's products. Rosemarie knows they're all liars like the patrons of her previous job. She spent years inspecting people's feet at the public beach. (“How many toes? Five.” “Five?” “Yeah…” “I count 6.”) When a gang of astronomers rented the house...

Morning Constitutional 11/10/12

The chairman of the county marching band council has just announced his resignation, effective immediately. Totally unexpected. No official reason given, but we’re all familiar with the rumors. Confetti cannons and duck costumes. Those will be the hashtags.
What this means, at least for now, is that until the formal election in January, I’m interim head of council…Careful what you wish for, right?
I don’t need the scrutiny right now. I’ve just burned out another credit card buying 4000lbs of play sand.
Headaches, headaches.

Nightcap 11/08/12

It made tremendous sense at the time. The purchase of the helicopter. We had just sold the family farm. We would never again spend another summer digging up premature beets to paint red so we could sell them for a higher price as strawberries. Nobody told Granddad about the farm. He still had a sharp mind but we kept him busy reviewing patent applications and memorizing ketchup recipes. He didn't even notice Grandma's transformation into an end table. Granddad would not have been happy about a helicopter. Being near or enclosed by processed metals made him anxious. He was convinced it was altering his molecules. He was born, lived and died in a hand dug cave under the driveway. He only ever learned 23 letters of the alphabet and spent his time judging others. The helicopter...