A Truly Pointless Conversation

“I still don’t see the problem.”

“The problem, brother-dear,” Bree sighs, mildly exasperated.  “Is that squirrels have rabies.  They are rabid.  Raa-bi-DA.  You know, foaming at the mouth?”

She placed her fingers in her mouth to imitate fangs, which I was certain had little to do with rabies, squirrels or foam, but did paint a horrifying peek at her mind’s eye.  I noted never to watch Watership Down with Bree . . . ever.

“Understanding the meaning of the disease, I still don’t see how that factors into the argument.”

“You don’t . . ?  If an elf rides a squirrel like a horse, skittering and jumping willy-nilly from treetop to treetop. . . ” my sister explains, arching her hands as if trying to explain the flight-plan of the squirrel in the branches, “. . .  then there is a good to fair chance that the rodent will infect them with the disease.  Thus, your theory that fairies use the rodents as mounts is impossible.”

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Basic Maternal Instinct

This photo has nothing at to do with the following post; however, the subject matter is more pleasing than what I found on the basement computer.

“You’re kidding!” Dasad laughed, nearly dribbling coffee onto the table.  “They left it up?  On the screen?”

“No, no, no,” I said, waving my hands, as if brushing away the misconception.  “It’s what the address bar listed.  You know how when you start typing, Firefox offers a few of the popular searches from the last week? Apparently, someone’s been visiting frequently.  All I typed was a ‘H’ and the site appeared, right below Hulu.”

“What was the name again?” my friend smiled, baiting me.

“Hotmoms.com . . . or something like it.”  My friend’s squeals filled the entire cafe like a fire alarm.  If the coffee and caffeine had failed in its primary function, curiosity and Dasad’s laughter proved a jolt of adrenaline. Even the baristas stared, whispering behind the counter and consulting their watches.  Only a boy and girl continued to ignore us, racing Hotwheels across a neighboring tabletop.  I lowered my voice.

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Thou art in thine parking lot

Occasionally sent to retrieve my lil’ sister (Bree) and cousin (Kathleen) from their private nun-guarded edifice of education, I oft on these occasions send the odd text in order to inform said girls the make and model of my vehicle as well as the when and where to meet me.   Because of the now numerous siblings, uncles, cousins, fathers, and well-trained pets capable to carpool, constant cellular communication is crucial, see? Continue reading

Something Good

Music possesses the innate ability to transport people to realms of their own imaginings. Enchanted snow-covered forests, gem-encrusted caves, sand-blasted temples, and bridge-linked villages roosting high among starlight-encrusted evergreens.

At least that’s where my music takes me. J.R.R. Tolkien poses in his essay on Fairy-Tales that we as humans possess deep within our blood primal yearnings for the impossible. Myth and fairy tales are the actualization of those desires. I do not presume to know much about this myself, yet how often sitting at my desk have I gazed outside and dreamt – for many several moments – to leap outside and take to the skies like Superman. How often do we yearn to converse with a Bengal tiger or coach a sapling into a mighty oak? Is it truly that odd to wish that you possessed the power to protect and save something precious? To lift up a sword and rescue a damsel, a kingdom, a brother or a sister?

Simply put, certain songs inspire the best from me. If everyone could imagine themselves a hero in a story for a moment say three minutes and forty-six seconds, consider the world we might create.

Economic Value

The man approached us while we stood in line, our arms plump with books like old-time school children – bibliophiles that we are. I had come to the bookstore early that afternoon to stock up on several new manga volumes. A story sickness had overtaken me over the last few weeks, and my visits to the neighboring Borders and Barnes & Nobles could not arrive soon enough. After copious cups of iced tea and several hours wandering the stacks – limited funds led me to gather twice my current wares and replace half – I found my way to the check-out counter.

. . . whether I should try peach syrup with my iced tea.

. . . whether I should try peach syrup with my iced tea.

Our visitor held aloft a $25 gift card and offered to give it freely in exchange for a twenty.

“You earn five bucks,” he explained, while my fellow bibliophiles gazed nervously at each other.

“How do we know that anything’s left on that card?” the woman behind me asked.

“I’ll stay in line and pay for whatever you have there,” he said. “It’s all there. Does anyone want it?” I kept quiet and stared at a woman on the cover of National Geographic, her face glimmering in gold paint.

“I have a twenty,” a man in the back spoke up. “I’m not much of a reader, but I suppose that my girlfriend could use it.”

The man filed in beside his newfound patron.

“I lost my job last week,” the man confided. “Right now, I could use the money. Books are less important to me.”

My turn at the register had come. I walked away, paid for my purchases and left the store. Getting into my car, I regretted not talking to the man. I had no hard cash in my pocket, merely credit, but I felt ashamed at my silence.

Throughout my life, fear has always been my bane – ice cream too, but let’s not get into that. Of course this is true of anyone (of fear, not of ice cream unless you’re lactose-intolerant). I fear speaking up, speaking out, making myself known to the world. Thus, often it is turmoil merely to announce myself to others. Especially when I feel that my voice will do nothing.

People often wonder why I read fantasy and manga. Most individuals assume – wrongly – that I have a penchant for dragons, unicorns, and cat-eared forest girls. This is not so . . . . well, I do like my cat girls. For the most part, these are mere decorations, trappings that give a story color or excitement. The true whimsy lies in the characters, those few chosen individuals full of courage, strength, and fidelity that they risk all for the sake of others. Therein lies the true fantasy; those noble souls, these heroes are akin to manticores and chimaras, the stuff of legends and myths.  Yet despite the impossibility for such creatures in the ‘real’ world, I continue to hope and prowl the bookstores. Perhaps one day a bit of their nobility will rub off on me in the reading.

I tend to get distracted.

Honestly though, in these tight times, I cannot say which is more important to me food or books. With my small paunch, I could probably last a week or so without meals, provided ample coffee or iced tea was available. Without caffeine, valuable reading time might diminish. There’s also a good chance of death too, which could really ruin that novel I’m reading.

I worry sometimes about a lot of things: the economy, my life, the arrival date for the next volume of One Piece, and whether I should try peach syrup with my iced tea. I mean, Border’s raspberry tea tastes quite good – unlike Nestea, which is actually lemon extract, excessive amounts of sugar, and toilet water – but I wonder if I should reach a little outside my comfort zone. No one becomes happy without being brave. Next time I visit a bookstore perhaps I should ask for something new, a mint-peach syrup combination maybe. It may confound the barista a bit, but the dissolution of weakness deserves the extra tip. Especially in these hard times, we need all the virtue that we can lay our hands on.