Meatballs

You know how it is when you get a new blog in the mail, right? Oh, man, it's great. It's great!

And, you leave it in the living room, and you go to work, and you work your full 8 or 9 hours (depending on whether or not you get paid for lunch, but if you're ordering blogs from a catalog, you probably don't get paid for lunch), and you get home, and you just tear into that box. You just tear right into it.

I have a pocket knife. I use the pocket knife when I open boxes all the time. I'm glad I carry a pocket knife.

If you have a pocket knife, and you use it for your keyring (like I do), you probably don't get paid for lunch.

And the cat—or the dog! Hey, you might have a dog!—they have a field day with the packing material, don't they? Sure they do.

Sure they do.

So, you pull out your blog, and take all that fitted styrofoam off, and you open all the little plastic bags, and you pull out the instructions, and you assemble your blog.

You assemble your very own blog!

But, wait. Where's the little allen wrench? Where's your special, only works on this blog allen wrench?

They forgot to pack the allen wrench.

And you can look high and low. You can look everywhere you want. You can search every utility drawer, every tool case, the bottom of every closet. Keep searching. Even though you have one of those allen wrenches somewhere in your home—one of them from one of the other things you've purchased from the same company, one of the other things you've built at home, like that desk, or your entertainment center (man, that's an ugly entertainment center, by the way...look at the size of it!), or whatever—you are never going to find it.

So, you know what you'll do? You'll just leave the pieces of the blog on the floor. And you'll go to work the next day.

You still work at that newspaper, right?

You'll go to work the next day, and the first God damned copy editor who comes up to you and asks you about whatever the hell it is copy editors think about, you're going to punch him in the neck six times.

Six times.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

And then you're off to the roof, and once on the roof, it's off into the air, and once you're in the air, it's fall, fall, fall.

And once you're falling and nearly to the ground, it's spin, and turn, and shoot back up into the air, and don't stop until you find yourself at a bricks and mortar version of the place where you ordered your blog. And you'll tell them what happened.

And those kind-hearted motherfuckers are going to give you a free plate of meatballs and noodles. God bless them, they are going to make everything all right.

You know how that is, right? That's why I can't blog.

**

Again, thanks to whoever nominated me for a bloggie.

Lots of new people have stopped by in the last couple of days. Welcome. If you decide to vote for me, thanks much. If you vote for someone else, that's fine, too. Do stop by again.

Soil

Me?

Why, I've got the longest, stiffest fingers you've ever seen.

Me?

Why, I'm in heavy, heavy demand throughout the county, and people are always calling and asking me to come on by.

Me?

Well, my long, long, stiff, stiff fingers make me just about the perfect person to call when you need you someone to till the soil.

Me?

I'm always more than happy to stop by and use my very long, very stiff fingers to till your garden.

Me?

I feel like it is, what do you call it, kind of a duty of mine.

Me?

I'm always ready, because it seems to me that my long, stiff fingers were just made to be put deep into soil, to catch up rocks, to stir up worms, to work in compost.

Me?

I'm first and foremost a patriot, I think, and a man of my community.

Me?

I read a dozen books a week.

Me?

I just can't move my fingers to type, and never blog.

Ummm

Can't blog. Shocked.

(Check under Best-Kept-Secret.)

Thanks to whoever nominated me!

Sand

There's this font you may have heard of or seen, and it's called Sand.

Sand.

I hate Sand.

I hate Sand more than you could ever imagine.

There is a Spider-Man villian called Sand-Man. I like him.

When you put bread around something, it's a sandwich. I like sandwiches.

I hate Sand. I hate that font.

Sand pretends like its all handwritten. Sand has these, like, lines that get thicker and thinner, like a pen drew sand, and the wrist was sometimes strong, but maybe not all the time, and the pen pulled up from the paper a little.

Sand is sans serif. It's stupid and blunt, and it has dots over the "i"s and "j"s that are too big. Like, in an "ij" combo in another font, you see this elephant face, with two way too big eyes. the "i" line is a tusk. The "j" line is the trunk. The dots are eyes. Baby elephant face.

In Sand, though, the "j" is askew. And it changes the face. And the "i" dot is much too large. It's not an elephant. It's the Elephant Man.

Wait. Sand is the Elephant Man.



I'm sorry. I've reconsidered. When it's used for "ij", I love Sand. More than anything.

I'm too confused to blog.

**

There's a new blog linked. It's really good. Check through all the old posts.