Friday, May 27, 2005

Do I really have to?

This is one of those mornings when I'm not motivated to focus on work, although I need to focus since work yesterday was sparse and I don't want another small paycheck. It's too pretty and inviting outside for me to be stuck inside lashed to a computer chair with an increasingly full bladder listening to mealy-mouthed doctors who barely speak English drone on and on about intricate and technical operative procedures. I want to get out and walk in the sunshine, dig in the dirt, breathe the fresh air and traipse around in the mountains and foothills. I DO NOT want to work.

This is one of those times that remind me of my senior year in high school when I prayed every night and checked diligently every morning for signs of laryngitis so I could stay home, put on a bathing suit and bask in the sunshine basted in baby oil while reading racy novels retrieved from between the toilet tank and the wall. Every morning I sat up and tried my voice. Every scratchy, breathy whisper was a possible sign of laryngitis, but with each added word my voice cleared and laryngitis was not to be had. if I'd have thought about it I would have sold my soul to the devil for a good case of laryngitis and a free day to bask and baste in the sun. No such luck. I was always healthy as a horse -- and it really irritated me.

Even now, despite the creakings and groaning, pops and clicks of aging joints, the best I can manage is a little post nasal drip. Where's a good case of yarg when I need one?

I wonder how much time I can fritter away writing about stupid human tricks? Like the one Beanie told me about our brother.

Start counting!

A few days ago my brother was driving down the freeway during rush hour in his truck with his old stove, refrigerator and dishwasher on the back, headed to the appliance store to swap said old appliances for brand spanking new ones. The truck is not in the best shape, but it can hold three such appliances with plenty of room left over. However, it is deficient in the tail gate section.

As my brother merrily tooled along at top speed, he glanced at his rear view mirror just in time to see the refrigerator slide off the truck and onto the highway where cars at high speed were swerving and careening around the metal monstrosity, barely avoiding sliding into each other as some cars headed for the grass median in proper Keystone Cop disarray. My brother stopped the truck and backed up.

When he got out he found the stove had followed the refrigerator and lay in the midst of the road. I'm sure there were several drivers, once they found their way back onto the freeway splashed with mud and covered in clumps of grass and roadside debris, who greeted my brother with the appropriate birding signals and shouted greetings as he stood wrapped in clouds of tire smoke and smoldering brake pads and attitudes.

One good Samaritan stopped and helped my brother load the refrigerator and stove back onto the truck next to the much lighter dishwasher that sat innocently and firmly on the truck bed. He pulled off the road and waited for his son to bring him a rope to tie the appliances firmly onto the truck to at last make up for the lack of tail gate.

In the meantime, he called his wife to report the mishap and she burst into tears, weeping and wailing and gnashing her teeth, while my brother attempted to explain through the cacophonous outburst that it was the OLD appliances that had met the pavement and not the new ones, thankful his eyes and throat were not within reach of her grasping venomous claws.

You see, dear reader, my brother is an idiot. I love him dearly, but I have long recognized his deficiencies and his place in the All Powerful's Idiot Factor that allows him to continue breathing and procreating despite his quick brushes with other winners of the Darwin Awards.

The Idiot Factor is the All Powerful's cadre of stooges, misfits and fools. It must be very tiring to be the Creator of Everything and humor is necessary to keep Him from raining annihilation, death and destruction on all created in a fit of pique. These idiots provide him with endless hours of belly laughs, guffaws and undignified titters and us with continuation on this planet.

Think of them this way: If there were no idiots in the world there were be no world and we would not know how truly intelligent and worthwhile the rest of us truly are.

Okay, so I'm reaching, but he is my brother and I'm pretty much stuck with him.

Unless of course someone would like to do a little horse trading. I'd be more than willing to trade him for a good avocado, crisp thick peppered bacon, mayo, alfalfa sprout and tomato sandwich on dark Jewish rye bread.

Any takers?

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