Bookends

You know how there are those things that you remember that cannot possibly be recaptured if tried again, due to a specific set of ephemeral, long-past circumstances? Example: I am no longer a poor college student who hits the bong every weekend, which drives the need to snag some cheap lo mein at the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. And yet, we found ourselves waxing nostalgic about those days, and lo, we found ourselves at the local King Buffet without the benefit of a pre-gorge blunt of course, and no. No it wasn’t a good idea. I have no viable explanation for why we thought it might be a good idea.

OH! And I ate fresh-ish spinach at said buffet, because I actually FORGOT, and I’m a little afraid to think of where it came from, because where the hell can you get spinach? I also ate some pickled ginger that tasted precisely like mildewed towels (and I mean exactly, in this horrible, visceral sort of way), and thus spent most of Friday night on Stomach Watch, waiting for the E.coli to course through my system like the danse macabre. It never did, but I didn’t sleep in anticipation of wild cramping, and it didn’t help that the light cover for our shower stall decided to mysteriously unhinge itself and come crashing down at 4 a.m. Whether it was sleep-deprived logic or some sort of mystical presence revealing itself to us, we found ourselves considering that the only possible explanation for this was that there was a ghost in the bathroom, because there were screws unhinged in this process. Screws. Screws! Who unscrewed them, and why?

In my sleep-deprived madness, I started thinking, “What if someone I love just died, and they’re trying to COMMUNICATE with me through the light fixture, and I am IGNORING THE SIGNS?” So I laid awake all night panicked about who it could be, whispering softly to myself, “Mom, is that you?” and “Daaaaaad?” and working myself up into this stupid, silent frenzy while random Simon & Garfunkel songs ran on repeat through my brain, which meant that I was not quite awake, since I always hear Paul Simon when I am hovering between sleep and dreams. And thank God, because who thinks like that when fully rested? For the record, after sleeping, I now recognize that was insane.

I haven’t slept well in about two weeks, and it’s become this miserable vicious cycle where I lay awake consumed with unfocused anxiety, convinced there is some sort of tragedy about to befall me that my subconscious is trying to bring to my attention. This of course makes it impossible to sleep, when really, it’s simply the fact that I haven’t slept that is bringing about the crippling anxiety. And the cycle continues…

One of the biggest things that wakes me up in the middle of the night is this irrational fear that I have strategically placed obscenities into documents that I have set up to go live, either in something I’ve written for publication, or a news release set for the wire, back when I did that sort of thing. The fear only really takes hold after the document is no longer fixable, i.e., it’s on the wire/press/shelves already, and the first time I pick up the finished product, I read it with one eye closed from a shroud of terror, fully expecting a giant “FUCK YOU” to appear spelled out within the document in big, bold letters. *

The weekend was delightful, and included a trip to the local art museam, where we saw a traveling Seuss exhibit. I’ve never been a huge fan of Seuss books, as I just don’t have the patience for obscure, seemingly non-sensical rhymes, and frankly, I’ve always thought even the most benign of creatures, such as Horton (of Hears a Who fame), looked…unfortunately deranged and rather malicious, like they would lure you into some dark cave with ham and eggs, then saw the flesh off of your arm and serve it up on a green platter, rhyming all the way home ( “I eat your arm, o farm! o farm! I wish to do you harm!” Farm? Shut up. It’s the best I can do.)

I will say, however, that the exhibit changed my mind, and Geisel/Seuss was one hell of a talented dude, and his forgotten art – well beyond the books and cartoons that are so familiar to all of us, even those who tried to avoid it – are really astonishing. And if the exhibit comes to your town, take the time to go, as it’s totally worth it. He did some pretty amazing stuff.

The rest of the weekend included trips to Costco for toilet paper, gazing longingly upon the Roombas at Sharper Image, talking ourselves out of the Roomba because we’re tiling the floors, then regretting not buying the Roomba (and the Scooba!) after reading this.

All in all a thrilling weekend.

In gratuitous cuteness, after said Chinese buffet, Dog and I got caught in a rainstorm, which required me to towel her off adorably:

I don’t think there are many who could resist this.

Ooh ooh: late aside, There is nothing more awesome than this. (I’m not sure if she still has it password-protected, but if so, I must simply explain that it is a photo and post from another blogger, whom I like very much, who made her pug pose with her in front of a condom on the streets of Paris, in honor of this moment. And did I mention that she’s a very cool and totally talented French lingerie designer who makes – wait for it – CASHMERE UNDERWEAR, among other things? Is the Internet not the greatest thing in the world? Yes. Yes it is.)

*My friend Erica shares this fear, and it’s bonded me to her ever since.

**Simon & Garfunkel

18 comments September 24th, 2006