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Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Ring Them Bells

I love bells.

I love hearing bells ring.

Not doorbells because that means someone’s on the other side of my door, usually uninvited, and they want to sell me something, convert me to their cultish religion, or have me sign a petition.

Not cowbells because, well, that means cows are close by and I don’t run in the same circles as cows (I’m city, not country), though I do love cows for their leather for my shoes and belts and pants and whips, and occasionally for their meat.

Not those prissy handbells that snitty folk use to summon the help. I use an intercom instead, and if the help doesn’t hear me I just yell, and then immediately fire the help.

Certainly not sleigh bells because that means cold weather, snow, and some fat man in a red suite yelling “Ho, ho, ho” and me looking around and not seeing any ho.

What I’m talking about are the hefty bells hanging from the bell towers.


Recently I visited the mission in San Luis Obispo and was in awe of the bells. They are just beautiful.

A good bell’s ding dong-ing is like the voice of God.

So ring them bells and ring them loud and ring them often.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

4.4 @ 4:04

When Mother Nature decides to fart she doesn’t care what time of the night it is, nor does she care how powerful her fart is. She just lets loose and we suffer the consequences.

Early this morning I suddenly jolted out of my dream sleep. At first I thought I was coming out of a “special” dream but I felt no inclination for a cigarette or to cuddle myself. This was different; something more powerful had overtaken me.

My mirror rattled. My bed felt like a cheap motel vibration. The force seemed to sweep across the room with a swiftness that lasted mere seconds but left an impression.

I glanced towards my Panasonic RG CD500 alarm clock with 20 radio station memory and saw that it was 4:04 AM.

There was sudden calmness and that’s when I realized what I just experienced was an earthquake. Sure enough it was and it registered a 4.4 on the Richter Scale.

Doesn’t it seem like there’s been a lot of earthquake activity lately? With everyone pulling oil and everything else out of the earth what fills the void? Does that void give Mother Nature severe gas and her only way to relieve herself is to shake, rattle, and roll until she feels better? I’m a bit concerned, and perplexed that no one else seems to raise my pertinent questions.

I felt the earth move last night and not in the way I normally like it.

Saturday, March 06, 2010

Pray for Jennie

I’ve a dilemma.

I adore my friend Jennie. All my friends adore Jennie. She’s full of spunk. She’s funny, funny, funny. She’s got more energy than people half her age. She wiggles wildly when she dances. She cackles when she laughs. She loves watching “Modern Family.”

I dare say that on the “amazing scale” she ranks quite high.

But there’s a problem, a bizarre alien synapse in her brain that’s blocking reason.

She likes Sarah Palin. Yup, that Sarah Palin.

It’s shocking that I would actually know and adore someone who thinks of Sarah Palin as something more than a freak sideshow of American politics, an absolute idiot, a death panel liar, a pathetic excuse for a human being, and a symbol of everything you don’t want your sons and daughters to become.

Jennie and I were recently at a party and as the conversation turned to politics there was the usual Sarah Palin bashing. Let’s face it Sarah’s a bulls eye for a good joke. Some of what was said cannot be printed here (and you know I don’t mind saying anything), but damn it was funny.

And there was Jennie suddenly quiet, and not gulping her lemon liqueur, but sipping it demurely, and avoiding eye contact and conversation.

Everyone gave each other “the look” and we slowly turned to Jennie... and then she blurted it out. “I like Sarah.” Jaws dropped and hearts were immediately broken.

We thought she had an aneurism and were ready to call 911, but she assured us she was okay.

How? Why?

Jennie really couldn’t explain why she liked silly Sarah. She tried, but all she could do was mutter incoherently and mispronounce words... just like Sarah.

We seriously considered never ever inviting her to another party, but then we decided Jennie’s worth saving. We believe she’s going through a phase, a bold misstep in judgement as a result of too much Fox News, and too much hairspray.

Please pray for Jennie. We adore her too much to let her succumb to the Palin disease.

Next party we plan an intervention and an exorcism.

Tuesday, March 02, 2010

Strip Mall Fun

I have never been to a Chuck E. Cheese’s. I’ve seen them as I’ve driven past strip malls in towns I’m only too happy to drive through without stopping. There’s something about the place that scares me the way clowns scare me, and there’s something about the place that intrigues me like rats intrigue me.

Just once I’d like to load up the mini van with a dozen rent-a-kids and venture to the nearest strip mall for the full Chuck E. Cheese’s experience. I want to play the arcade games. I want to taste the healthy menu items such as processed pizza, chemical hot dogs, and hormone induced chicken wings. I want pink eye.

Oh yes I want a complete Chuck E. Cheese’s adventure, and that would not be complete without some parent on parent action.

I’ve recently read that it’s a popular place for parents to pick fights with each other, to tear at each other like a bunch of wild animals. It’s like an evil Disneyworld for parents to act like the kids they’re raising, not the happiest kids on earth but the meanest kids on earth where they don’t stop until the police come and there’s a mugshot taken.

Years from now after the children have undergone years of therapy (or gotten out of Juvenile Hall) they can open the family photo album and reminisce fondly about the day Mommy and Daddy got arrested at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

By the way, does anyone else think the mouse mascot resembles a rat strung out on crystal meth?