Gumball

I went to the beach with my parents today. Always a delight to watch them together. After years of practice, they operate in perfect synchronization even when arguing. When I was young, I assumed I was the purpose of this two-part machine, but now that I’m grown up it’s clear that the machine exists for its own purposes. It’s not a gumball machine, you might say, but it happened to spit me, gumball, out into the world. How humbling to think I could have been some other flavor, or no gumball at all, based on the whim of these two other adults sitting on either side of me, arguing about whether that’s a yacht or a cigarette boat floating out on the horizon.

What really confuses me is where Molly fits into this well-oiled clockwork. She is like the little ball of sand in the gears, if the sand was curiously lovable and able to learn tricks.

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Rilke Schmilke

If every angel is terrifying then what word is left to describe my zit?

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Glasses

While waiting for the light to change, I saw an archer coming down Church Street in full regalia. He carried a longbow and a quiver of arrows, and wore a leather ensemble worthy of Robin Hood. I stood grinning and watching, watching and grinning, wondering why no one else was looking twice.

He walked behind a car and emerged closer to me, where I saw that the longbow was a broom, the quiver of arrows a small trashcan full of cleaning implements, the leather ensemble a janitor’s black jumpsuit that had caught the sun for a moment.

The light changed and I walked on home.

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A Nite Out

There’s a banner in the Castro Street station that advises people to visit the San Francisco Ballet for what the banner calls “A Nite Out!”

It’s the ballet. If even the ballet cannot summon the snobbish wherewithal to spell “night” correctly, can there be a corner of this texting, chattering world that is safe for the English language?

Then I think, why not change the spelling? It’s much more logical: nite, lite, rite. The new spellings won’t obfuscate the meaning; if anything, they will help readers, not hurt them. Why not let the language evolve organically into a sensible arrangement of letters?

“Sight” and “site” will be a problem, as will “right” and “rite.” But not an unprecedented one; we can cope.

I still want to rip the banner down. But I no longer want to throw it onto the electric third rail just to watch it die.

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English is dead: long live English.

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Perfect strangers?

Am I the only one who’s always imagined that Baz Luhrmann looks like Balki Bartokomous? Because of this, I have a warm place in my heart for Luhrmann’s movies, even the bad ones. You can picture him walking down the red carpet at the Moulin Rouge premiere and pausing to do the dance of joy.

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A movie about Australia? Oh, Baz, don’t be ridi-coo-lous!

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Yesterday

Gene opens the freezer and immediately closes it again, making a weird part-amused and part-horrified exhalation which I have never heard him make before.

I open the freezer, where Michele has deposited a can of coffee her mom didn’t want. On the can, Michele has thoughtfully taped a picture of dreamboat Rob Pattinson.

“He’s everywhere,” Gene says.

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I’m gorgeous, now get your face out of my freezer.

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Bar fights in my sleep

Why do I have all these scabs on my knuckles all the time? Do I go out and get into bar fights in my sleep?

Can’t tie myself to the bed before sleeping because no bedposts.

A problem.

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Rats

Last night, walking down Powell Street, I saw an enormous rat on the sidewalk. He was peacefully weaving in between the commuters, sniffling around a lamppost like it was a quiet Sunday morning. How desperate does a sewer rat need to be to come out in search of food amongst all those people? I guess times are tough all over.

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Die with a T

I lost a little weight on our trip, god knows how, and since then have been indulging in a diet rich in salads and lean meats rather than my previous diet of cheese, chocolate and bread. I’m curious to know whether I can get back down to the weight I was when I started high school, and what that would look like. Was I scary-skinny in high school? I don’t think so, but who can tell under all that flannel?

This website tells me that if I keep eating fewer calories than I burn (a big ‘if’), I’ll hit my target weight by April. April! Who can wait that long for results? By April I’ll have forgotten all about this dieting stuff.

I am considering listing my extra pounds on Craigslist. Someone must want them. We once sold a pile of concrete blocks to a lady for $10, so clearly people will take just about anything off your hands. (Or, in this case, hips.)

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Sing it, cat.

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“The world has changed, and we must change with it.”

Yes we can!

Except sometimes the camera catches him from the side or the back and I still think, “Wait, who’s that kid? Why are we watching him?” But then he turns around and I go, “Oh yeah, President!” It’s going to take some time to get used to someone this young being in charge.

In case you didn’t know, Sean is blogging from Inauguration Central and being way funny. Check him out here.

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