Sunday, February 28, 2010

Gotta stop imbedding videos...

I'm really trying to quit this but I keep coming across the neatest stuff. I'm not even looking really, just clicking around the web and finding things that I can't ignore. Keepin' it short here, first up is an educational tutorial. When's the last time you cried? For me it was watching this. Grab a Mountain Dew and prepare to enjoy the fruits of the World Wide Internet. Word! What?

Next, Mike Nesmith's Cruisin'. Considered quintessential '70s LA wackiness, it is one of the first music videos made, predates MTV and considered by some to have hearkened it (rather than go into all that here, check his wiki page). Also fascinating--his mom invented liquid paper. Great world!

Friday, February 26, 2010

Reverie of the absurd... or is it.

From the files of Story! True!!

My day begins early. Well, earlier than I'd like; getting up at 6:30 to run the 10 year old to school because--no bus service. Maybe you've noticed, and this is confirmed by sleep studies, there is a "sweet time" after you awaken, for whatever reason, during which you can likely slip back into sleep fairly easily--but wait too long and you will stare at the ceiling in a supine form of non-water torture.

Since I am about to drive, I force myself into wakefulness to make sure I'm sharp and safe. On rare occasion, I nap when I get back. That happened today when at around 8:30 AM, I slipped into reclination and promptly found myself at the end of a check-out counter in a brightly lit grocery store. I don't normally remember dreams, but, well, you'll see...

A voice says, "You have to check her pouch."

OK, let's get some situational awareness. At the customer end of the counter is a kangaroo holding a shopping basket tightly to her chest with both forepaws. Below the basket, it is clear that her pouch has a slight pooch. The kangaroo is kind of short--so, maybe it's a wallaby.

The voice belongs to the cashier, who appears to be an enormous beaver. Well, I can't see the tail so it could be a giant otter or some other rodent-ish relative. Beave looks me square in the face and repeats "you will have to check her pouch." I guess we're assuming kangaroos or wallabys are prone to shoplift.

My first reaction is whoa, hold on Tex... why do I have to check her pouch? Clearly I am just a bagboy, situated at the end of the conveyor. I am making minimum wage here. Why doesn't Beave do it? Aren't cashiers higher on the food chain for that sort of thing? Maybe Beave is peeved or has marsupial-envy or something.

Beave patiently waits. No, I'm not feeling pressure from Beave, but I am feeling pressure... more accurately, it's a kind of creeping horror.

I don't want to stick my hand in that pouch. No. I don't even want to look. What if there's a joey in there nursing? Ugh, kangaroo milk. Or, it might be a huge wad of belly-button lint with...stuff in it. I mean, you know, what the heck-all can be in a kangaroo's pouch? How do they clean it? Think in terms of what's behind your sofa cushions, behind the fridge, or on the floor of your car. I am thinking "Listen Beave, if you want to rescue that bag of Doritos or some such, call the manager--and tell him to bring welder's gloves or a ten foot pole. I think that's like a Code Six."

Suddenly the phone rings, for real, and I am awake and spared further reflection on pouch detritus. I don't recognize the number on caller ID. However, I do note the area code is one number off from my own and so, expect to tell the caller they miss-dialed. Maybe they realized that when I answered, because no one spoke. While I listen to silence, I briefly think hey, what if my number is one-off from John Mayer's and this is Jennifer Aniston calling to bitch me out for the Playboy interview? In that case, guess I don't sound much like John Mayer.

Whatever. The interlude is short enough I am able to close eyes and slide back to the grocery and, sure enough, I do. Apparently the crisis has passed--because kanga/wallaby has left, Beave is scanning a Lunchable and I am back to bagging for minimum wage. Phew, close one, eh Beave? That's pretty much where things end.

Some people I know would be all over this as sub-conscious, sub-textual, sub-something. What did the pouch represent? And why the beaver? I prefer to ask simply, why ask why? If you google "why ask why" you might find this little gem:

Food for thought.