On/Off

If the fly in the ointment is completely covered, he will fry-up nicely.

I have no idea what that means, but the thought just hit me while in the bathroom. That's where more than a few good ideas come from - the bathroom. Toilet Paper and the bidet are certainly two of the best. Hand sanitizer is a pretty good idea too.

But more about fried flies - they are high in protein. I remember having peanut butter worm cookies in the seventh grade. It was in Mrs. Chrisco's class. She was a real hard-ass and I am fairly sure she was fired for getting re-married. Sure, it was a catholic school and it was okay that she taught there after her divorce, but GOD forbid she found another person to love for the rest of her life. (Or at least the next five to eight years.) Either way, she was fired for getting married but not for feeding worms to her students.

I have recently tried a new beer called Tilburg's Dutch Brown Ale. I purchased a six-pack of the beverage based on the same criteria I use to buy wine - the label. Tilburg's features a strange bird-like creature, sitting in a chair, eating what appears to be a small human being with birds flying out of its anus. Sure, it's not exactly a team of clydesdales but I was intrigued. I knew I had seen that image before but I wasn't sure where. A quick Google search led me to Hieronymus Bosch and his painting The Garden of Earthly Delight:




"I like coconuts. They smell like ladies lying in the sun."
- Widespread Panic

Yesterday I had a $60 cappuccino. Actually I had a Butter Caramel Iced Cappuccino from Tim Horton's. (Hey! I'm no slave to Starbucks!) But that didn't actually cost $60. As a matter of fact I spent exactly $60.27 on my trip to get a coffee. Because on my way to Tim Horton's I stopped to get gas. It took $57.38 to fill my tank with gas and then I paid $2.89 for my Iced Cappuccino. A lot of people may ask why in the hell I am spending so much on a frozen coffee treat? I would tell them that it tastes a lot better than a gallon of gas.

Palette

Today is yellow. Not a bright, sunshiny yellow. More like amber. The overcast sky is colored with a warm, comforting amber. It is going to rain but there is a sense of calm. For even if the rain brings wind and lightning and thunder, the yellow (amber) morning sky has given us proper warning.

Giggles are not yellow, they are blue. Not a dark, John Coltrane type of blue. More like a Carly Simon shade of blue. Giggles rise from deep within oneself and are released with a grand smile. Carly Simon Blue.

Beige has no depth. Khaki. Tan. Ecru. Neutral. Sand. Camel. Dessert. Barrenness.

Flamingoes are not born pink. Flamingo feathers are naturally white or maybe ecru. The algae they eat turns them red. Or pink.

Flesh is a color best observed in black and white. Or, more accurately, shades of grey. Or gray. In the imagination it is important to choose from the many flesh variations. Anglo. African. Scandinavian. Middle Eastern. Indian. South American. Eskimo. Asian. North American. Sun burnt. Sun tanned. Albino. Scarred. Charred. Blistered. Tattooed. That’s why flesh is best left in black and white. Or gray. Or grey.

Roses are red and violets are blue. But rose is a color too. So is violet. And the flower known as a violet is more purple than blue but of course purple stems from blue. And I have definitely seen white roses. And yellow roses in Texas.

Monkeys are not purple but they may wear violet colored pants. Lizards are sometimes blue but they are rarely sad. Dogs are color blind and most snakes cannot see at all. I wish they knew what they are missing.

Keeping Holy

Jed would certainly not refer to himself as being religious. But he did have a few rituals he liked to follow. Every Sunday Jed would get up early and make omelets for he and his wife. Then he would scan through the paper and work on the crossword puzzle. On most wintry afternoons he would sit in the living room and read a book. During the warmer months, the ritual was nearly the same – the omelet, the newspaper and the crossword. But instead of reading, Jed mowed the lawn.

On the first mowable Sunday of the spring in their new home, Jed was of a solemn mood. He did not really get excited about having to tend to the lawn – it was just part of his regular routine. If he was looking forward to anything, it was trying to figure out the best mowing route in his new yard. He started along the driveway and around the mailbox. He managed to cut a few rows when he noticed his neighbor, Mrs. Quatman walking toward him. He let the engine die and greeted her, “Good morning…is there something I can do for you?”
Mrs. Quatman was wearing a navy dress with dark stockings and black heels and her graying hair was held together with a large white bow. She had spoken few words to Jed since he had moved into the neighborhood but always managed the obligatory wave. Now, however, there was something on her mind. “Excuse me Jed but I couldn’t help but noticing that you were mowing your grass, on Sunday.”
With a bit of confusion Jed replied, “Yes ma’am. It’s the day I prefer to mow.”
“Well you see Jed, don’t you know…well…that it’s the Lord’s day?”
An impish smile formed on Jed’s face as he replied, “Which lord is that ma’am?”
“Well the Lord Jesus Christ our savior, of course.”
“Oh, I see. And I guess you have a problem with the whole ‘keeping holy of the Sabbath’ thing?”
“That’s right Jed. I knew you would understand.”
“Oh I do Mrs. Quatman. That’s why I mow on Sunday. The last time I checked, the Sabbath was Saturday.” With that, Jed started the engine again and proceeded to develop a good mowing route. Mrs. Quatman stood stunned for a few seconds before slowly walking back to her home across the street.

The following week Jed made omelets, read the paper, nearly finished the crossword and headed outside to mow the lawn. He made it through the third row of his new route when he turned to see Mrs. Quatman smiling at him. As the engine faded, she started with, “Now Jed, I thought we had this conversation about the Sabbath last week.”
“We did Mrs. Quatman. And I thought we agreed that the Sabbath was on Saturday.”
“You know, Jed, I asked my preacher about that very idea. And he says that in modern religion it is traditional that Sunday is the Sabbath. In fact, he showed me in the Bible where it says we are to rest on the holy day of the lord.”
“Well now Mrs. Quatman, I’m not sure about your religion but I do know a few things about the Bible. And I am pretty sure that if you look hard enough you’ll find a passage about eating pork in there. I think it’s in Leviticus where it says that anyone who eats pork, especially on the Sabbath, is committing a mortal sin. Did you ever have a hot dog on a Sunday afternoon Mrs. Quatman? Or…oh, I know…how about an Easter Ham? I’m sure you have Mrs. Quatman so it looks like we’re both in the same boat. I cut the grass on Sunday and you eat ham. Looks like we’ll both end up in hell together. Now if you don’t mind, I’d really like to finish the yard.”

A few Sundays passed and Jed continued with the omelets, the paper, the crossword and the lawnmower. He guessed he pretty well pissed off his new neighbor for telling her she would be going to hell. He wasn’t really proud of that idea, but where did she get off telling him when he can or can’t mow his lawn?

On the fourth Sunday after their last confrontation, Jed had just finished filling the tank on the mower when he noticed Mrs. Quatman striding up his driveway. “Good morning Mrs. Quatman. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Jed, I see you plan on mowing your grass once again on Sunday.”
“Yes ma’am I am going to mow the lawn on Sunday. But let me ask you something Mrs. Quatman – obviously your god would prefer that I mow the lawn on a different day, is that right?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“How about Monday? Is it okay for me to mow the grass on Monday?
“Monday would be very nice.”
“So, Mrs. Quatman, your god prefers that I mow the lawn on Monday instead of Sunday? Tell me something, is there a reason it’s okay to mow on a Monday? Does god not like Mondays as much as Sundays? If that’s the case, why did he even create Mondays to begin with!? We could have had the four-day workweek right from the very beginning! Of course then we would have really been confused about when to keep the Sabbath!!!
I’m sorry Mrs. Quatman. I can respect your beliefs and all, but I don’t see any reason as to why I can’t mow my lawn on any day I choose. Now if you will excuse me I would like to get started.”

Mrs. Quatman was not as angry as she was a few weeks ago and not as confused as she was the week before that. She merely felt a sense of defeat. When she returned to her house she heard her husband yell from upstairs, “Helen! What did I tell you about that new guy mowing the lawn on Sunday morning?!?! I’ve got a headache and I can’t sleep with that damn mower running!”
As she took a few steps up the flight of stairs she yelled, “Jesus Christ Fred! Maybe if you didn’t go drinking at the K of C every Saturday night we wouldn’t have this problem! It is the Sabbath you know!”