Midterms

The mangy yellow stray lifted his leg and peed on a fire hydrant, covering the mark of the dog that peed there before him. He looked up at the median strip of grass that ran down the middle of the road and watched a man hammer a shiny red sign in the dirt that read "Sparky for governor." Directly in front of that sign was another shiny colorful sign, blue this time, that read "Max for governor." In front of that sign was another "Sparky" sign, and in front of that another "Max" sign. And then another "Sparky" and another "Max." On and on they went, one shiny colorful sign and then the other, for as far as the mangy yellow stray could see. He couldn't read, of course, because he was a dog. Nor did he know anything about the two party system in politics. But being a dog, he had a bladder that just wouldn't quit and a strong desire to participate.

Up, up and away

Grab a ruler. The plastic kind with a round hole directly in the middle. Now, grip a ballpoint pen in the palm of your hand, pointy side up. With your other hand, balance the ruler by resting it on the pen through the center hole. With a free finger give the ruler a flick. Watch it twirl. Do it again, a little faster. And again, this time slowly raising and lowering the hand with the pen while the ruler spins. Did you think to make a helicopter noise? Whop whop whop whop whop. Okay, well, I guess I'm blogging again. Write what you know, they say. That's what I know today. Tomorrow I may know something else.

Birds fly under your chair

"Get to work. Your work is to keep cranking the flywheel that turns the gears that spin the belt in the engine of belief that keeps you and your desk in midair."

- Annie Dillard (The Writing Life)

Go here for the whole passage. Actually I'm sure Ms. Dillard would prefer that you go out and buy the book.

Pain Calls in Sick

The coalition of body aches and pains, including twitches, pangs, jabs, throbs, stabs, burns, tingles, numbing and cramps, has posted a notice on its web page stating that something is going around the office there, and that the elements of discomfort are themselves not feeling well. Some sort of virus, is the official word. It's hitting hard. "Yes, even pain itself is not immune to a nasty flu," the statement reads. The coalition asks our patience as its agents of bodily harm recover. "Surely, our usual customers can understand how we are feeling right now."

Indeed we do. Take your time. Don't hurry back.

Kibble

There are so many books
sitting up beside my bed
you should see the looks
I get before they're fed

The Mind's Eye

My brain twisted a word in a Washington Post headline today. For a split second I thought it read:

"After Rapture, Road Still Closed"

Ah, well, as long as there are alternate routes.

Enforcer

As I pry hard at
the stick pin lying
flat on the bathroom floor
in the space between

somehow there is always
space between

Sir Isaac Newton
pulls back mightily
the sumbitch –
doesn't he ever quit?