A Crazy Little Place Called Be There Now Tuesday, November 02, 2004

As you can tell from the posts below, I've been preoccupied. Imagine driving cross-country in a car that can only hold one gallon of gas at a time, and a spoonful of lube. But then imagine that the car is a spotless Phantom roadster, and you had never wandered farther than your corner in your life. Unthinkable vistas and a thundering ride. (And faeces--lotsa faeces.)

I'm going to elide Wrong Turn Jr.'s history and name--it's his life, not the Web's. But I will observe that he is a lemon pound cake, a bread-crumbed meatball and an overripe Bartlett pear; he has eyes that watch and a mouth that bubbles. His hands appear to be made of marshmallows. His stomach is a water balloon. He speaks dolphinese and goatois.

I would've blogged sooner, but what else is there to talk about? You all know you have to vote, and you know which button I'd urge you to push. Music? I haven't been able to take much of it seriously since WTJr. came along. Most of what I used to dig sounds superfluous now; for one thing, I just don't have the time or the brainpower, and for another, the sentiments seem ridiculous now. It's tough to identify with songs about bad breakups anymore, or with, say, Tom Waits's hobo posing. (Oy, his new record is a toughie. But that's another post, from a different world.)

Then again, there's religion, on which WTJr. has given me a whole new perspective. I need to rush off to other things, but here's the thumbnail: I never really understood what "do unto others" meant, or why God turned himself into a servant, until somebody else was completely dependent on me.

Groove on that. We'll talk later.

@ 8:02:00 AM,

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