I am blessed and cursed by the play and intricacies of the little eddies and whorls of events that encompass and provide constant causation for the unseen and unsung mechanics of this magnificent world. Lately I have been more blessed than cursed by these nearly minute circumstances. Tonight's post, while perhaps not quite an ode to the little things, is at least and certainly a celebration of how small objects, events and circumstances can so perceptibly describe and massively impact all of our lives. So to these things I write in grace, with humor and from observation.
~ Post Preamble ~
It has been a long day with friends and good people. This is a time in LA when the evenings get cool. I shan't say "cold" because of my friends and brothers in far colder climes. It is nights like this when the temperature drops and I come home to a dark apartment, empty of presence save for my own. I come home, turn on the wall heater, and curl up to the warm blossom of radiating heat and let it open around me.
Thumbs. Little, fragile, important. Today, from the love of exercise and physical activity, my thumbs are bruised to a degree I've never seen. I've asked my trainer to begin incorporating reflex exercises into our sessions. We added a new weight exercise. Using two 2-lb weights, we take turns throwing the balls at each other at random directions. This involves diving low with one hand while stretching high with the other as two small weights are always in the air. From catching the hurled weights, in which the use of thumbs of is repeated, I have thumbs near doubled in size. Two of my smallest digits are now black and blue and as tender as a steak cooked medium well. Every minute I feel their injured presence with every flexion and
::This is NOT Penis Cream::
I have spent my whole life as a jester and probably as also a fool in such a degree as is necessarily associated with jesters. My adult years have only tempered my jesterhood but ne'er will this be wrought out. If it should ever empty, please know that pod people have invaded and I am no longer in my right mind. In short, sometimes I'm an ass. A few weeks ago i ran out of checks. I needed checks to pay the rent. So a few weeks ago i visited my online bank dressed only in the finest garb that a bachelor does when online
banking: a t-shirt and a glass of milk (it was cold, i needed the shirt). While perusing the créme de la créme of today's elite world of online check art i noticed that i could also order a personalized rubber stamp with my address on it. Why, if I had a stamp with my name on it, I'd be somebody. I might even be famous someday. That logic degraded when it came time to listing my address for the personalized stamp production. This is what i ordered:
THIS IS NOT
- PENIS CREAM -
FROM SANTA MONICA, CA 90405
Oh, my address book is out of date. Please send me your current address so i can send Christmas cards.
|Idea originated from Steve Martin as a skit on SNL. Thanks Steve!|
Does anyone know if Alanis Morissette is single yet? If you see her let her know that I'm totally cool and awesome. Oh, let her know I smell like roses but manly roses: like what you'd get if you mixed a bouquet of roses with gun oil. She probably doesn't like guns, so tell her it's from a sensitive gun. It feel really, really, really bad when fires a round and instead of bullets coming out a flag appears that says "Hey, I'm totally sorry for scaring you, but you did break in to my house and that was naughty. Now be a good lad and call the police while I pour us some tea." On second thought... that's awkward. Just tell her I say "hi."
::Doughnut or Donate::
The local Albertson's is not unique save for it's location. The halls exceed at creating such a manifest beigeness that it's difficult to recall specific details. I dare say the past sentence was more exciting in explaining the store's passive presence than the it's use of mute beige. While in line to purchase my goods, at the last moment possible to add an item of purchase to my list, i look over and see a laminated sheet with bar codes for $1, $5, or $10. Ah! Of course, it's seasonal donation time at Albertson's. I ask if it's too late to donate and he says "No! There is still time. What would you like?"
"I'd like to donate please."
"Five dollars please."
He rings me up, hands me the receipt and says i can pick up my items over there. His hand gently pushes the air in a direction behind me. I am confused. I dont't think i'm supposed to get anything for donating.
He now points to a location on the receipt and shows me where i've made my purchase of five doughnuts. We have a minor back and forth to clarify any miscommunications in the end I decide that the hassle isn't worth having him refund the doughnuts and charge me for a donation. I can just as easily give away doughnuts as I can dollars. So I have 5 sugary, stale sweets - that kind of stale, sweet stickiness that congeals after too many hours in the air and not enough hours in tummies. I ask the cashier what donut he would like. Any doughnut is fine with him. One down, four to go.
::The Current Word Processor and Self Publishing::
This entire missive, and many others like both published and unpublished, is written on two small devices and requires two pieces of software. The total weight of the hardware may be as heavy as two pounds but it feels like that like less a half. The iPhone is the heaviest component as it carries all the brains. The wireless keyboard though greater in volume weighs noticeably less. The software I use to write with is an iPhone app called "Office 2." It cost me about $3. The other piece of software used is "blogger.com" at a mere zero dollars and zero cents. The phone I bought used at $100 and the keyboard, new, at $80.
::A Final Image::
A candid snapshot at the company holiday party this year, disco themed. Can you dig it?