Not much has happened since August ended, which may account for the fact that I haven’t written. My roommate and I have discussed claiming the neighbor’s house as our own, but our plan has been thwarted by the fact that we do not currently have a flag, and as we all know, a flag is an integral instrument in claiming another person’s property as your own (would that be considered land piracy?). And in whose name would we claim it? Would we then have to move all of the furniture we’ve so painstakingly collected next door?
Today the aforementioned deviant roommate lent me a copy of Hunter S. Thompson’s book Kingdom of Fear, which I begun to read immediately. By the middle of the first page I’d laughed out loud twice. Although I’d already gotten rid of the sour mood that held onto me like a Yippiyuk all day, the book was the final kick, the end of the last breath of bitchiness. I took a moment’s pause and realized that my kitchen was full of people I loved, my belly was full of good food, and my head was full of good weed. The magic trifecta.
I have been pleasantly stoned for hours and my house is full of music and laughter. I really can’t complain about anything anymore today. Which reminds me, I learned yesterday that the word “kvetch” — which is so widespread that it’s commonly used by non-Jews in conversation — literally means “complain all day.” Apparently the Jews also have a word that means something along the lines of “incurable gossip.” Fascinating.
Anyone who has been to my house recently or read my previous blog knows that we have been plagued by Sped Bugs (in the insect family, sow bugs are the dumb kids). Tonight, a solution was offered for the problem of what to do with them all. I mean they’re everywhere.
“You know what you should do with them?” my friend Jon said.
“Vacuum them?” I said.
“NO!” Jon exclaimed. “Put them all in a jar and give them to me!”
I was puzzled. “For fuck’s sake, why?”
“I’m gonna feed ’em to my fish.” Ah, yes. Free fish food. Aquariums are expensive, particularly when you, like Jon, have catfish the size of squirrels swimming around in them. If the fish got really desperate they might eat the plastic zombie floating on top of the tank, but it’s probably nutritionally void. Sped Bugs, on the other hand, are probably pretty good eatin’ for garbage-eating sort like catfish.
Not five minutes after the Sped Bug Capture conversation, someone said rather arbitrarily, “It’s time for the human sacrifice now.” A serious discussion was then had about who would be sacrificed: Alana, David, Jon or me. I suggested Alana because she’s the smallest, but it was quickly pointed out that perhaps the deities receiving the sacrifice are really hungry. Jon, who is covered in tattoos, is certainly the most decorated and colorful of us all… he’s also the biggest. It appeared those of us in the middle range were safe. “Well Jon, you’re fucked,” I said.
So it should not be surprising at all that when our house was finally given a name it was The Absurdium, a phrase that once uttered practically pasted itself above our kitchen door.
I suppose this means we now have a name in which to claim the neighbor’s house. I’m thinking maybe if we just put something ridiculous in his yard, that ought to suffice for a flag, it being The Absurdium and all. A pig’s head on a spike perhaps, or a funny-looking potted plant with flashing glowing eyeballs embedded in its dirt. Maybe a jar full of Sped Bugs, or a pair of plastic Robots doing their best attempt at the Carlton.
My roommate and my dear friend are in the kitchen, singing what sounds like the Bob Dylan version of Tom Petty’s “Last Dance With Mary Jane.” Sheeeee grew uuuuup in an Innndiana toooowwwnnn….”
It’s kind of painful, really. Double emphatic really. Perhaps it should be our anthem.
And to hell with moving our furniture next door. We’ll just move all of his furniture here, piece by piece. The furniture will like it better here anyway.