God’s original plan was to hang out in a garden with some naked vegetarians.

Do it, right the first time.  You can do it.

190-21

I was driving down from the hills yesterday when I hit my first stop sign. All of the momentum behind me wouldn’t let me come to that complete stop and there was a fat, flat topped man on my left with a police man’s heart just waiting to witness my act of abhorrence.

He was in a small red car and I could see his eyes following me well before the octagonal buzz kill. I made up my mind, or rather my will made the decision for me that I was not going to play into this guy’s circumstantiated day dreams of being Ponch’s lesser known partner, Jon Baker.

It. was. on.

I faked like I was going to going to slow down, all the while examining his head movement in my periphery. He was following me like a traffic cop and I’m sure that in all of his faculties,  he was perched high atop his gleaming chrome stallion, finger on the siren switch.

Slowing to the stop line, I gunned it five feet before, all the while my whole spirit dancing inside of me and working its way out to a smile and shortness of breath. With my head high and the hills still with me, I heard a quick “beep,” looked in my mirror and saw his bird flying high in victory.

It’s good to know that we both won that day and even though he’ll never know it, I am thankful to him. Not only for so genially giving me the opportunity to spite him, but for fulfilling all of my deepest expectations and desires when I had thought, if only for a moment, that I had gotten away scott free.

There is a park with a track about 3/4 of a mile from my house.  There are pull-up bars placed around one side of the track.  I have been going there for about five years now, winding down and stretching after a run, doing pull-ups etc… There is a good view of the mountains and valley.

There is a guy there named Wayne that I see every time I go.  He is in his mid to late sixties and in really good shape, always working out.  We usually make small talk like “Hows it going?” or “Looking good!” with a thumbs up.  Well, this time Wayne had a little more to say. 

We got on the topic of the army and how he was in it; how he had the same platoon seargent as Elvis and how during training exercises in the South West, the seargent would steal rounds of ammunition and sell them to civilians. Wayne was not cool with that.  He asked the guy if he wanted to step outside a time or two, but he never did.  Well, one time in ’63, the seargent stole the same kind of rifle that Oswald used to shoot Kennedy with and Wayne thinks he sold it to him.  I’m still not sure.

Last night, I ran out of dental floss.  Yes, I have been flossing… a lot.  And I love it. 

With the Pasadena marathon only 9 days away, my training runs have been lathed with Credence Clearwater Revival.  I have re-played Green River three times in a row.  It swings me through my mid run sprints.

Rock and Roll!!!!!! 

These are moon-drawings.  A few weeks ago, there was a big moon.  I went outside, opened the aperture and moved my lens around fanatically.  These are some of what arrived…

mustache

ascension

ultrasound

man playing tennis

running legs

embarrassed cow

powerlines

I had wisdom teeth removed yesterday and was under general anesthesia during the process. I apparently stopped breathing for a good minute and the doctor had to apparently breath for me with some sort of pump.  I apparently walked myself from the surgery room to the recovery room.  I apparently was talking in spanish “Que hiciste cuando estabas esperando?”  My heart monitor apparently sped up when Silvia came in to the recovery room.  I was apparently singing the Double Dutch Bus song and apparently wanted to dance despite the bloody gauze hanging from my mouth.  I apparently did these things although none were apparent to me.

I have John McCain cheeks.

Can you see Catalina?  We could…  It was a little windy that day and my lips were chapped for a week.

We got a little rambunctious on Saturday.  Circling the house. Hiding in corners. Aiming projectiles at the gut. 

“Here throw me that huge excercise ball.  I’ll try to hit it with this wooden bat!”

Low and outside. Foul ball. Another pitch.

High and tight.  Chin music.  I swing as hard as I can.  The bat bouces off of aforementioned ball, hitting me in the face.  Drop to the ground.  “I’m ok.”  Blood, concussion, can’t hear, can’t see, feel sick, cold sweats. 

Drive to the emergency room, wait three hours because I put my pain level as a 1 on the pain scale. Laugh uncontrollably while waiting for the doctor, laugh at the doctor singing “Blinded by the light,” tetanus shot, get put back together and leave, we’re hungry! 

At least I went down swinging. 

When anyone asks me what happened.  I can only say “I hit myself in the face with a bat.”  Que losery.