Woke up too early this morning: It was a terrible mistake.
McKenzie gave me some Niacin to take, as she has been doing. Before you accuse her of trying to poison me, as I have done, imagine that she will--instead of arguing or giving up--refer you to numerous sources that indicate that the dissemination of Niacin into my blood stream might pertain to her claim to use Science to combat my high tryglycerides and stave off pancreatitis, despite the claims of one Paracelsus, M.D., who gave the educated and expert opinion that ALL substances were, in fact, poisonous. I read it in National Geographic.
This is not the story. The story is that the last time I took it, it felt like getting a mild sunburn for about fifteen minutes. This was due to my capillaries irising open and being scoured by the equivalent blood-load of a 1,000 year blood-storm. This morning, because I was made aware in advance of the "flush" effect--in part by McKenzie's hideous, shrieking reaction earlier in the year and in part by gentler reminders--as well as the fact that the "flush" gradually decreased in intensity, I anticipated a sunburn of the 10 minute variety. What I received was a thin slice of hell shoved under my dermis. Have you ever felt like your eyelids, nostrils, elbows, and tongue were on fire? At the same time? I have.
After I took the pill and before I paid the piper, I was successful in establishing a rapport with the Future. My friend Madame Hogg is in China, now, and that effectively means that we, as a collective, have extended one gelatinous pseudopod into Tomorrow. Come to think of it, I received a message from Mssr. Mike "High Class" A.D. from Japan not long ago. So, make that two tentative blurrings of the empiricist conception of time.
I also had the unfortunate experience of having to go to Santa Ana today--yet another rung in the ladder leading to the establishment of residency in the State of Alta Mexico. There were some interesting things that happened.
First of all, the administration of the county's business takes place in a complex of buildings that shares a corner with a DonutStar/Chinese Wok Express. I don't know that I have fully articulated my near prescient declaration that such a thing needed to exist--that I would, if it did not, bring it into existence through force of will or force of capital investment or both. Edward, of course, will remember that magical day in 1999, when I had that amazing idea. 24 hour donut/chinese place. He, of course, being himself, modified the idea to a 24 hr. chinese/donut delivery place. The final iteration was the 24hr delivery Taco Stand/Confectionery Emporium and Bazaar. Well, I can tell you all: that particular version of paradise is here, on Earth, at the corner of McFadden and Edinger, Santa Ana, CA, USA. Second, I was treated to the obligatory politically motivated smelly homeless guy lecture at the OCCOC, where I was to obtain a replacement Voter Registration Card. This guy demanded of me whether campaign disclosures required candidates to inform the public not only of their party affiliation and their contributors, but also of their occupation. I shrugged. He assured me that he would not vote for any plumbers. I nodded. Third, rather than a "replacement" card (N.B., the scare quotes are to indicate that there was no Original card, the county having failed to send it) they printed out a screen capture of a computer program that looks like a poor attempt to create documentation in Photoshop. As you can imagine, I was less than pleased at this, because the establishment of my resident status represents an important and substantial financial necessity. The process is rather lengthy and fraught with obscurely threatening language and affidavits. If I am suspected of forging this piece of shit, then I will not only not be established as a resident, but also be expelled from the UC system for a period not shorter than five years. Lastly, as a made my way to a car, a black man--approximately my height and a few years older--shouted at me. "Hey!" he yelled. "Hey!" he yelled again. I turned around, to see if he was addressing me. He was. "Yeah?" I asked. "My man," he said, rather politely, "You wouldn't be headed toward the train station, would you?" I said, "I don't know. Which way is the train station?" At this point, he seemed to become agitated with me. "That way!" he shouted, again. "Sorry," I said, "I'm going back up Edinger to 55." "Man," he said, "forget you." Then he walked off, squinting up into the sun that shone past the DonutStar sign and through the grit- covered trees. As I put my key into my car door, I wondered if I would have offered him a ride if he hadn't started shouting again. I decided that it was hard to tell, but that I was already uneasy from the political lecture, so...probably not. That depressed me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Glazed Eggrolls. G L A Z E D E G G R O L L S. Is your mind blown yet?
Howa bout now?
Plughsphkhshhhsp!
Yep, that's what I thought.
I was approached by a black man about your height after a concert once. He wanted money for a hotel room. He had a job, you know, it was just that he hadn't been paid yet since he'd just gotten out of prison ten days ago.
Mom flipped out like a ninja.
You'll forgive, I hope, the intrusion. And thanks awfully for abandoning Xanga. Politesse aside, how is it even possible for someone to have reached the age of consent and then a bit without having heard "Freebird"? That's insane. Its ubiquity has remained undimmed by time and tears for over three decades. Despite the best efforts of many.
When I was in Ann Arbor for a tournament before your time, our party was approached by a chappie who called for a blessing upon us, identified himself as the Reverend Michael Green, and informed us that his new chapel was nearing completion- in fact it required only ninety-two more cents. Were we interested in contributing?
-Z
That niney-two cent was for the proscenium decorations in the children's chapel, no doubt, no doubt, no doubt.
Post a Comment