I ate dinner at 5:00 and now it’s 10:00, a whole seven hours till breakfast. And there is macaroni and cheese in the house that I want nothing to do with but it has somehow learned my name. So scared. If I don’t make it, I just want everyone to know the de Kooning behind the bedroom door I found at a yard sale in Chiapas.
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Sonoyta is a very old word meaning speed trap.
Now reconciling my adult misophonia with a childhood anxiety brought on by the Dixieland jazz at Farrell's Ice Cream Parlor birthday parties.
All but sleepwalking through our morning constitutional, the origin of an unseen bird's song eludes me. I wonder aloud if it might be the call of the common Mud Whistler, to which Hiram offers it was probably just the chili.
We’re glue-gunning the most colorful remnants of last year’s crushed egg shells to the sequins of tomorrow’s brunch bonnets which we’ve up cycled from Roman soldier skirt leather from yesterday’s crucifixion procession in the barrio. Christ may be the reason-for-the-season when it comes to winter holiday decorations, just remember to pace yourself because come spring you'll understand that Easter truly is to die for.
Just a note that we have officially entered a post-coulrophobic age. It is no longer necessary to preface links, memes, movie trailers, and other comic actor subject matter with disclaimers about one's own coulrophobia. It is now a given that anyone interested in being frightened by clowns also claims to suffer from the malady.
This documentary about software as a service major player, Adobe Creative Cloud, succinctly and playfully captures just about every aspect of using the suite of applications for designers and visual artists: Installing, randomly logging in, updating its component apps; resolving service issues; and ultimately trying to transfer a user license, downgrade, or cancel a plan.
By all appearances I am just folding towels here in a busy Tucson laundromat. But also I am struggling to explain in Spanish the role of rendered horse fat in fabric softener to a room full of politely horrified women attending a clandestine Tupperware party in Cuernavaca.
And do you promise to love, honor & cherish one another and to clip your toenails every ten days even if you're still coding?
The self-aware tostada shells of tonight's totopo singularity. You think it's a harmless topping, but the Mennonite cheese is a Turing test you chew.
Bats. They’re all over the place here in Tucson. They come out at sundown to eat mosquitoes and other critters in the air. When they fly, they jerk around in the air like they can’t actually fly, like they’re dreaming they’re flying and that’s what flying looks like in their little bat dreams. Once when I was out for a run, a bat flopped into my forehead. Bats.
We were so lucky to get this table in the quiet section. [Waiter arrives at table riding a 4x4. A sinaloan banda, children with fireworks, and a barking dog balanced on back of seat]
Each day at sunset, I navigate the discarded plastic Coca-Cola bottles and Doritos bags of the tragically beautiful Sonoran shores of the Sea of Cortez with my patented technology Shake Weights in hand. Shake, shake, shake! When onlookers point and laugh, I coax maraca sounds from the shiny dumbbells: Cha, cha, cha! Cha, cha, cha! Five pounds of cha, cha, cha! Then I look back at the gawking litterbugs and ask, “Who is laughing now?”
Well, we all are, of course.
At the Concertina Trailer Park Retirement Community for Anxious Libertarians, a suspicious confluence of unseasonal weather, satellite network programming changes, and other discomforting irregularities has residents changing evening plans. In light of these certain uncertainties, it is decided that the trip to Sam’s Club for dog food and cigarettes can wait until after The O’Reilly Factor, which should be on right now but isn’t. In its place is a NASCAR themed garden makeover special sponsored by an unpopular arthritis gel. And now everything just feels wrong in the current slot.
It’s called Sun Tran because “More than you ever wanted to know about Klonopin and paternity tests” wouldn’t fit on the transfers.
It is early and I haven’t had coffee but it’s springtime and just about everything about springtime here makes me giddy: Ideal temperatures and humidity, the smells of all the acacia and citrus blossoms, the magical alignment of golden hour with bicycle rides at quitting time, and so on. This morning I am riding the number 18 South Sixth Avenue Sun Tran bus. I am staring at a young man’s socks for almost a minute before I notice there is amazing hair staring at me in the face. Red and black and stars and stripes and black and red. Two people I don’t know brought fireworks on the bus and now this bus is on fire. Now I have an inexplicable urge to download the greatest hits of the Electric Light Orchestra band. I am on my way to the border for my weekly hormone treatments.