Sunday, March 06, 2005

Random Sampling: A Cross-Section of a Deranged Mind

I wear a watch maybe twice a year. I find time keeping to be unnecessary. Generally, the world waits for me. I don't wear a watch to work, or to keep appointments. I wear a watch when I have a personal stake in time, like for 30-minute sales, or when half-price martinis end at 6. Yes, I wear a Pocahontas watch. What of it? It keeps time, and it paints with all the colours of the wind. That appeals to me. And yes, I wear the dial on the inside of my wrist. It makes sense to me that way. Why should it bother anyone else? Why should it prompt complete strangers to criticize my watch-wearing abilities?


You know how you clean all day long when your mother-in-law is due for a visit? Nay, not clean, scrub. You get down on your knees with a toothbrush and some abrasive chemicals, and you clean like you've never cleaned before. You clean places that no human eye will ever see, could ever see, but you bruise your knees and scrub until your knuckles are raw just the same. Like your life depended on it. Your mother-in-law might not inspect for dust with a white-gloved finger, but it's an image you just can't shake. The house is spotless, a nutritious and savory meal is warming in the oven, fresh flowers fill the vase she gave you at your bridal shower, every last button on your blouse is buttoned up, but when the doorbell rings, terror shoots up your spine. You'll glance around nervously, and believe me on this: something is amiss. Something ain't right. But you'll never find it. No, you won't see it, but I guarantee your mother-in-law will. It's like they have homing devices.

And do you think she'll have a sense of humour about it when she finds it? No siree, she surely will not. Trust me on this one.


So we're driving around town, well Jason's driving and I'm riding, and I'm singing along with the radio without really noticing it, and Jason asks: "Exactly how many Meatloaf songs do you know by heart?"

That, my friends, is a loaded question. I probably shouldn't admit to any, but then, I've been caught singing along with one already. Do I say just this one? What if there are follow up questions? What if this is a trick question, and I've been singing Meatloaf's whole repertoire in my sleep? I love Jason, and normally I like to keep my 'lie ratio' down to a 40-60 split with him, but Meatloaf seems like one of the exceptions to the rule. I would do anything for love, but I won't do that. Oh no, no I won't do that.


Hey Lizbeth, I'm wearing my duckies, are you wearing your fishies? Quack quack.

Jinx! You owe me a beer.


I found my shower to be inspiring this morning. Ivory is dabbling in philosophy now, apparently. It's no longer enough to clean people, you have to be competitive in this global market. Getting an edge on your competitor does not necessarily mean being higher quality, less expensive, or better working. For soap, it means printing messages of enlightenment on your packaging. Today's moments of zen included:

Complicating life is easy. The genius is in the simple things.


The road to a friend's house is never long and the directions are simple.

Not only is my skin cleansed, but my mind is expanded. Take that, Zest.


Dear Beck: Get a haircut. You've had hit records, Grammy nods, trippy videos, a new baby, 2 turn tables and a microphone. You'd think somewhere along the way you'd have made enough money to visit the barber regularly, but maybe not. This just in: the homeless look is out this year.

If money is an issue, just let me know, and I'll write you a check. In fact, I'll do you one better, I'll set up a Give Beck a Haircut Foundation and through the generosity of your fellow man, you'll never have to suffer with your devil's haircut again.

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