The Crown of the Blemish

So, a couple of people came over to watch the Superbowl. Sterling did not make it because he was defeated by Trafick, a new, gritty Marvel superhero whose powers include the ability to make you sit still in the middle of a freeway for indefinite periods of time.

After the game, Mike A.D. and I went to Corona del Mar--which as the more language savvy amongst you know is Spanish for the Corona of the Sea--where there was a bonfire until about eleven at night. It was fun. I was the fire-tender. At one point, I was called upon to help a middle-aged woman light her fire. That is not a euphemism. I got it lit and returned to the root beer and cookie feast that we were engaged in.

To my surprise, people were fascinated by the fact that I a) would help a stranger or b) could get that stranger's fire lit better than she could.

However many times Troop 22 took away my Fireman's Chit, they always gave it back. Always. Why? Because there is probably not anything I do so well as I burn things. Whether or not my dissociation from that body left me with a whole and intact Fireman's Chit, I re-earned it, spiritually, last night.