The Password’s Lasagna.

Have you ever watched a storm roll in, caught that exact first breath of strange new air, seen the dust whip into tiny tornadoes and the clouds turn from purple to yellow to grey?   Have you ever stood outside in awe, particles of dirt swimming in your teary eyes, hair on end, one foot pointed backward toward the nearest sturdy building?   Have you ever seen the sheet of rain advancing, a solid wall of clear water, colored by the darkness of the sky?   Have you ever realized that your car windows were open?   And that you’d left your windows open at home that morning?   And that your gutter was already clogged and doing a fine job of ushering even the lightest of drizzles straight into your slowly warping basement walls?   Not to steal the trademark line of a famous radio personality, but...I have.   (Sue me, NPR)

There’s a topic I don’t like to discuss.   I won’t say what it is, because no one on the internet needs that kind of power over me, but let’s say, hypothetically, that it’s  eyeballs.    For example, if someone says the word “eyeballs” (hypothetically), my skin begins to crawl.   If they go a step farther and couple the word “eyeballs” with a word like “blood” or “scissors”, I begin to feel a strong murderous instinct rising out of my subconscious.   And if they are aware of my growing discomfort and steadfastly continue on in an advanced description of, oh, say, an eye surgery, complete with diagrams and correct anatomical terms....let’s just say, I can feel only affection towards them.   A very small amount of affection.   An amount of affection that is so small it cannot be measured or scientifically named.   The closest our most brilliant minds have come to labeling the smallness of my ...

I realized on Thursday that I have no idea who I am.  It was very disconcerting, particularly as it happened moments after I’d stood up suddenly, not realizing there was a heavy plank shelf directly over my head.  It was also after two or three hours of inhaling the stale remnants of ten years of uninhibited mouse parties, and an entire bottle of environmentally caring cleaning fluid.  Anyway, this isn’t exactly humorous (unless you get a kick out of existential crises), but it made me wonder if anyone else feels the same way.  So, readers, tell me this - do you feel as if you know who you are?  Or are you just pretending to know?  Or are you, at this moment, simultaneously reading this on your phone and telling a complete stranger all the ways that you feel isolated from the rest of the human race?  Let me know.  “I” am interested in your answer.   PS Anticipating zero comments, because the majority of my readership is t...

I got inspired today by a quote I read.  It said “If you look towards the sun, the shadows will fall behind you.”  This was cool to me on multiple levels, and I felt almost as if I’d stumbled upon one of life’s pivotal moments.  Except that I read it off of a little paving stone in someone’s front garden.  There was a grinning sun set under the words in yellow imitation gems, and the entire result was so tacky, so obviously designed to inspire the average passer-by, that my soul regurgitated any real wisdom contained in the idea and crept into a corner to gnaw on the last dry bits of my crumbling human dignity. Friends... Romans.... Countrymen..... There are some things the human mind cannot bear. Things that are too heavy for the fragile mortal’s heart. Things like inspirational paving stones, and those solar-powered tacky dancing flowers, and lawn angels. These things should not be.