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Saturday, August 02, 2003

Cue John Lennon Singing "Imagine" Here
"Putting the punk in punctuation."
"So the autistic kids wouldn't laugh at me."
"I keep dreaming of a home deli."
These are the words that I yearned to write on, to fill up pages of purple ink telling their stories. However, the words that once accompanied those above have been lost in my mind along the way, and now only the inspiration remains.
Sometimes I wish some of the e-mail I recieve would have inspiration attatched, instead of just those chain forwards of surveys or ethnic jokes or information about how I can make my penis up to 3 inches longer in just 2 weeks.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:34 AM

Friday, August 01, 2003

Silly and Screaming Is As Silly and Screaming Does
There comes a point in which everyone throws up their hands and sighs and starts crafting a post apologizing for not having written. I haven't gotten there yet. I am living my life and loving it, with no regrets.
I recently (in the one-hour-jump-on-the-computer-after-unpacking sense) returned from a roadtrip with Heathuh-Rose and Allison. We went to Cedar Point. 4 hours each way, and 20 hours in between of whack crazy fun.
People watching was half the entertainment. People with ugly dreads, people with cool dreads, people with funny hats and ugly shoes, people soaking wet with water and sweat, people yelling at their kids and kids yelling on the rides.
I hate to romanticize already cheesy things to a point at which they just spontaneously combust with cheddar, but riding on the front seat of a super fast super twisty upside down feet dangling no barf bag required ride with no shoes on is really heaven. I was smiling and screaming so hard that my cheeks look like red balloons about to pop in the fast-freeze camera shot they take of you during the ride, which I subsequentially spent nine dollars on. The expressions of joy and fear and laughter on our faces was worth it.
I always feel immortal at theme parks because I know that if I get hurt in any way, I can sue 'em for all they're worth. Then I will become so rich that I will buy Shamoo the Orca Whale and let him live in Lake Michigan. (After I dump buckets of table salt into it).
We ate ice cream for dinner and sang oldies with strangers and danced with Snoopy past his bedtime, and then we went to our hotel and washed the grime off ourselves. We resolve to stay up for a full 24 hours until we hit the bed and fall asleep.
When we awake, blonde Perkin's waitress clones serve us strawberry pancakes, and we try not to wrinkle our noses at the odor of the nearby quarry.
It was a quiet ride home because we all had lost our voices; Allison and Heathuh-Rose and I. But we still looked at each other and cracked up laughing, snapping photos along the way.
I would show them to you but you'd probably just chuckle with non-amusement and say, "Teenagers these days" and then wonder what we're really like.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 5:21 PM

Sunday, July 27, 2003

From Michigan to Kiss-My-Ass
We drove through the land of m's; through Michigan and Mayfair Park, Madison, Menomenie, Minneapolis, Minnewaska, Mom's House. Not my mom, but a mother three generations up.
We stopped there and ate for a week, among related strangers that we met once two years ago.
It's a small town, and frequent grocery runs are made. After that, antiques. Finally, the cool lake water.
Only two radio stations are available in Minnewaska. One is country. The other is a classic rock station that, with the right placement of the antenna, will also pick up baseball games. They claim to be the home of Pink Floyd. All I ever heard was that "Breakfast at Tiffany's" song crossed with the Kansas City Royals. I pressed my ear up to the wall to hear better.
Golf is a priority to many. They fill up the wide open spaces of time with the wide open spaces of greens as the sun burns their flesh, but not below the ankles.
I golfed for the first time and hit a 86.
It was a par 36.
And I was happy.
We sat by the fire and I learned things that I didn't really want to learn, but I scootched in closer because the mosquitos bit harder and my bare toes were cold. And then another log is thrown and I see the things that once had been tastefully hidden in the darkness and I realized that they can see my face too, burnt and blank and makeup smudged in the lust of the day. I wanted very much to leave and not hear the mike's hard lemonade talking constantly, but I stayed because there was no one to walk me home and expectations had gone unfulfilled.
There was talk of golf and cookies and family and medical problems and New York and sailing. I sat quietly and listened.
I sailed that week, on the small "Touch of Grey" during a storm. It flipped over. I swam back to shore, cold and wet. I suffered a scrape on my arm and a bucketload of warm cookies, and Jeff laughed and took credit.
And then we drove back, with hugs and leg cramps, through the land of m's and z's, laden with thoughts from the related strangers that now had become aquaintences. Small change provides our lunch; the everflowing buffet of homemade food and goodies is 500 miles back down the road.
It was just another family reunion.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 11:41 AM