The Laundromat

8:05 AM

Soap-N-Sudz. Saturday morning. Snotty nose little boys with dry phlegmmy noses play Tag. I’m home but my heart is not in it. I move the other side and sit near a fellow my age who hasn’t shaved in 3 days. I tell myself he’s a closet celebrity but my heart tells me otherwise. He resembles Johnny Depp. I call him el Pirata. Woman walks in. Woman has a goatee. Rub eyes. Nope. Vision still good. 20/20. . .which now is not a good thing.

8:07 AM

Reading fascinating article on the evolution of ceramic cats in last November’s ‘Good Housekeeping.’ Shaggy goatee person enters. This time it’s a man. Inspects quarter machine. Talks to quarter machine. Pounds on quarter machine. Kicks quarter machine. Confusion.

8:13 AM

The little old man carries a brown paper sac and looks around. He has no clothes. . .aside from the forty pounds of dirty rags on his back. He sounds very articulate, unfortunately I cannot recognize his language-nor apparently does anyone else. He talks to himself and spies me in the corner avoiding humanity.

“HowareyadoingSonny?” he says.

Not wanting to make polite conversation I reply “Me no Sonny. Me llamo Miguel Perez.”
Little man isn’t deterred. He rambles on.

“YoubefromMexicoSonny?”

“Si, Si.”

He nods and visits el Pirata.

8:25 AM

Three Mexicans walk in. Stereotypic thoughts fill my mind. Dark thoughts vex my soul. Ruffians. Vagabonds. Miscreants. Hamper thieves. They look like el Pirata’s older brothers. Old man points to me. I chant the Litany Against Fear and hum a dirge.
A scripture verse comes to mind. ‘Yea though I walk though the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will speak softly and carry a big stick.’ Somehow this seems apropos at the moment if not perfectly exegetical. I notice the goatee woman has a stick, a curvy white one. She’s preoccupied with a Golden Retriever sporting a fanny pack. I make my move. Dog barks. Teeth snaps. Blood is drawn.

9:00 AM

Chesapeake Volunteer General Daughters of the King and Queen May-She-Live-Forever Hospital Emergency Ward for Disenfranchised Minorities and Minimal Out-Patient Surgery Center. I feel warm when I see a ‘We ‘heart’ ‘hearts’ sign on the door. Nurse. Kindly nurse with missing front teeth. Her name tag reads ‘My name is Ell.’ I figure she’s missing a letter or trying to curse like the British.

“HowareyadoingSonny?” she says.

The misery continues.

Meer Chow

Meer flakes, surprisingly, do not taste like chicken. Nor do they taste like the other white meat. In fact, Meer flakes don't taste meaty at all. Rather, they have a vanilla-ish chocolaty taste like hard dry donuts sitting on the table too long.

My Roommate

Please pray for me.

My nerves will thank you. . .

The Casual Tortoise

Last Saturday, I sold my little silver Mazda's camper to some fellow Craigslisters. Now, the Casual Tortoise seems naked and homeless. I forget how sprightly she drove-something like a newly shorn sheep-or mountain goat. Perhaps one day she get another house to carry on her back, but for now, the little lady needs the rest. No need for back trouble at the tender age of 5-years.

I've been reading Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck. It's better than I thought it would be-actually it's quite hilarious and should be read, and re-read, and canonized lest we forget what the Land of the Brave used to be like.

Another book I finished over the week-end was the second novel in the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan. There's a fellow called Ba'alzemon who coincidentally dies on page 666. Don't know if this was planned or not, but it's still freaky.

Mantyhose

It exists. Amazing, but true. Pantyhose for men. I figure it is something like a bro-ssiere. Apparently, it is common in Europe and has slowly, but surely, making its way West. Rumour has it if one farts in the things, they expand like a balloon. I'm not sure I believe this, as I've never worn mantyhose-or pantyhose. The closest I've come is long-underwear, which (thankfully) has a trap-door for releasing excess carbon and methane. The good thing about the expanding mantyhose hypothesis is that it lowers your carbon footprint. The bad news is if you're a smoker, you stand a very good chance of singing your eyebrows as methane is quite the flammable substance. I have a hard time seeing smoking cowboys wearing mantyhose. Somehow seeing somebody from Boston is much easier, and I can definitely see a Frenchman donning the sheerness and lighting the Marlboros. But farting? I think not. French men do not pass gas. Instead, they merely talk rude and expel fumes that way. It's safer you know.

The Bidding Started at $10

I should have got suspicious when the 'buy now' option said shipping and handling included.

But it was bright and shiny.

The E-bay listing said it came straight from Hong Kong, and I figured if $100 Nikes from Hong Kong could be purchased for $5, why not luxury watches?

Very bright and shiny.

So looking on the bright side-if I wear the Cadillac (actual name) with a long-sleeve shirt, and the lighting isn't that good, and one doesn't know too much about luxury watches, and one sees it for only a second or so, then it might, just possibly, pass for a very nice, expensive, bona fide luxury watch straight from Switzerland.

Yes Sir. . .shiny and bright.

I spent twenty minutes of my life removing a link. In doing so, actually-somehow-managed to bend the stainless steel back, which wasn't hard to do considering it was thinner than a can of tuna fish.

Hmm. . .tuna fish. . .too wordy. . .when one says 'tuna'-does it not kind of imply 'fish'???

It's not the cheapest watch I've ever won. That dubious honor belongs to the quality timepiece found in a box of Chex cereal from my middle school days. And to think I was proud to wear it-till the others starting mocking and taunting me.

The Cadillac is not that bad of a watch-not for $10.

Aside from the number 12 being somewhat blurry due to being assembled before the ink dried, and the roman numeral VI being upside down, and one of the small silver bars in the 1 O'clock position overlapping the 'C' in Cadillac. . .like I said. . .if the lighting isn't that great. . .

Movie Test

This is a test.

This is a test of the Puddleglum's Wigwam blogmaster seeing if this movie file actually works.

I repeat-this is only a test.

Restlessness

It may be due in part to the Internet age.

I'm referring to this apparent re-wiring of my brain that makes it want to skim news articles and magazines. It might also be due to the fact I am the proud owner of a 35-year-old brain that keeps on thinking the same things in a never-ending cycle.

One of these ceaseless thoughts is that we are something like cats and dogs to the Angels. We're their pets. This would explain why bad things happen to good people. I don't claim to have ever seen an angel, but would I know it if I did? Cats consider humans to be other cats so it only makes sense that we'd consider angels as other humans. There have been times when I've felt someone or something watching me-something unseen-but it's been years since that happened.

Something happens to a man as he ages. He acquires an uncanny ability to sense other people before he sees them. He also knows-sometimes-what the other fellow is thinking and whether or not they're in good relations with God.

I don't think this happens with everyone though.

Spending a great deal of time by oneself-which I do-not watching TV or going to the movies, I think sensitizes ones ability to perceive other's inner man. . .their soul and their spirit.

With soul being another name for the mind and spirit the inner flame, rather like a pilot light, that keeps one living.

Another thought that keeps churning around is that life on Earth is really training for the next Life. We're developing our muscles, training our minds, modifying our spiritual DNA to do things that we cannot truly fathom.

Restlessness.

A body at rest tends to stay at rest, and a body in motion tends to stay in motion. The poor keep getting poorer, and the rich keep getting richer. The smart keep getting smarter, and the ignorant still insist on doing doing those earthy things they do.

Man, above all, is designed to make God happy sort of like our pets make us happy-but in quite a different manner. Watching the 3 squirrels in my backyard, believe it or not, help give me this idea. It would be cool to get them to talk. Perhaps this is one reason why speaking in tongues is so important. It's training our inner man to do stuff at the next stage in Life. Like wearing a mask or getting braces-if one does it long enough, eventually the body adapts to the new shape and forgets the old.

Bringing Up Boys.

On the last day of 2008, while waiting for General Tso and his famous chicken, I wandered into the used bookstore next door and purchased this. Being a former boy, and the fact that 99% of the other used books were cheap romance novels, were my main reasons.

It's quite an interesting read.