REM will be inducted into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame in about 30 minutes so I need to employ brevity tonight. I'm already behind on posts. This weekend I scribbled several ideas on random scraps of paper (oh we get it...now you have a blog so the slices of your life are interesting enough for you to be that tragic character who scratches ideas on the nearest shred of paper towel) but never got around to hashing them out. Having a kid tends to consume spare time, but I can't say I'd trade watching Jack raise hell like the monster trucker that he is in the playground for pecking away at the keyboard when it's 65 degrees outside. The paper scraps remain in my back pocket, so if I can decipher the handwriting and remember where the hell I stashed my muse, they'll come to life this week. From what I can remember they entail, in no particular order, a prosthetic penis, finding Win Butler of Arcade Fire at church, coping with a bog of frogs, and defining myself according to how I prioritize sections of the Sunday Post.
All that said, I offer a meandering (and probably not so interesting) little story here and a promise to pull my shit together this week and get something worth more than a cup of dip spit posted.
Yesterday I ran into my friend and his wife on the Hill. Well, she's a friend too, so I guess I should say I ran into two friends. In any case, her voice was a gravel road and she wore the exhaustion of struggling to speak all over her face. She assured us, though it sounded more like an attempt to convince herself, that she was out of the woods and no longer sick. Despite the strife in her throat, she told a story about the previous night when they were at Belga with two other friends and she caught herself inadvertently spitting on their faces while lunging with her throat to speak. Apparently their wiping their eyes and mouths let her know. Imagine someone so blatantly ill spitting on your mouth. The story was meant to be funny, and I laughed thoroughly at it until the end, when one of her punctuating remarks peppered my eyes, nose, and mouth with speckles of her spit.
Just what a germ freak like myself needs...