Mmmmm, Sour Apple
23 September 1998
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Mmmmm, Sour Apple
23 September 1998
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From: SnackLady Subject: SNACK!! BLOW POPS!!!! (i am not even going to try to write a blurb about them, it is just too risky)Curse you, zealous anti-sexites! Snatching the innocent fun of a crude remark about candy out of the mouths of harmless Snack Ladies! And the horse you rode in on. Metaphorically speaking.
Metaphors are dangerous. Everything starts looking like one after a while. "I have to finish burning my CD." Uh huh. "No, really. What?"
Uh oh, there are those voices outside the window again. Teenage giggling four stories up, and all there is behind us is a parking lot. I guess it's some acoustical thing. Unless they're friends of the Dominican ghosts.
Dot dot dot. Stephanie Salter was talking about him yesterday. Herb Caen, that's him who. It's a San Francisco thing. Thought of something to say that was basically worth reading every day for 283 years or thereabouts. But the real trick, as Salter says, is that he stayed sane the whole time, and he could explain things to you so you felt sane too. How? Or was it an act? High wire. Some of us, as you know, have difficulties in this area.
I'm trying to get a zillion things ready at once this week, and as a consequence, I find I'm writing a lot of little scripts that I set off to go do things. "Go parse these files, and be quick about it, ye great Perlish lout!" The more of them that are running at any one time, the more the whole Garden of Eden thing makes sense to me. Remember, omniscience only means you can know everything, not that it occurs to you to pay attention. Especially not when you're busy. All these little buggers running around, you try to set some boundaries, you try to model correct behavior, and then you turn your back for a day and boom, there it goes. Of course you're going to blame a scapegoat. It's only natural.
Which is not to say, by the way, that this means that the scapegoat ought to give a rat's ass about you and your problems, poor baby.
There is a point buried in there somewhere. I don't really know what to do with myself now, it's all just burbling along. I guess I could ... go home or something... what a weird idea. Remember to light your Cubs novenas tonight.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
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All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
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