babble

"Up" by Life Without Taffy

At the end of my sleep the other night, I had a discussion in a dream about symbols. I was talking with a faceless young man, and I think we were designing a website or a flyer or a sign. It needed something to convey a message, and I suggested an arrow. He scoffed, “I hate arrows!” The dreaming me responded, “But, I love arrows...” a sentiment that was news to the conscious me, as I watched the conversation fade to black on the insides of my opening eyelids.

Jesus was the Elvis of ancient Jerusalem. Or the Lady Gaga, for you kids. Lots of people knew about him and they walked a LONG way for a mere touch of his robe, or a simple glimpse of him from a distance. They were fans; he was everybody’s Jesus. Some people would say he still is, because he’s not dead. That’s cool. I like to think Jesus lives on just as Marilyn Monroe lives on - as a great story.

This street is lined with houses of varying hues of pink. First we have the salmon-colored one. Then the cotton candy one. We'll call the third one dusty rose. It's almost as if cotton candy house went first, which either inspired or infuriated the homeowners to the left and right. Regardless, this is no coincidence.

I got the most ridiculous letter in the mail on Monday. The author was a doctor whose care I came under last summer (2008, to be clear). She said she hoped the letter found me well. She informed me that due to 60 days of inactivity, she was closing my file. At first I was dismissive, ridiculing the correspondence because I'd actually been inactive for over 6 months and the bitch was LATE. But, the more I made fun of it, the more I thought about what it meant. My file was closed. It was CLOSED. And that stupid piece of paper morphed into a certificate of accomplishment.

I remember the satisfying mental image that materialized when I first heard someone speak of "throwing the elephant into the middle of the room". It was a combination of Dumbo's drunk hallucination and that World's Strongest Man event where they hurl beer keg shells backwards over their heads into a trailer which they must then drag the length of a football field. Last one who still has his kneecaps wins!

What sound does an elephant make? I mean, what do you CALL it?

Trumpet. Oh. Who picks these anyway?