Jun
15
Chapter 1: The L-Word
Chapter 2: Having Fun With Cancer
Chapter 4 (today’s post):Departure Terminal
The parking lot’s mostly empty at our departure terminal, but the sun still hasn’t risen and activity is on hold for now. Most of the shift workers have completed their important duties and are just in monitoring mode, flipping through some magazines, making final notes in their endless computer ledgers, waiting.
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Jun
10
Do you lead with humor or do you jump right in with the facts? Should you use the piece you wrote a few days ago where the doctor was talking about YouTube while testing your bone marrow or should you just write plainly and simply about the invasion?
Jun
09
Scooping poop in the backyard I noticed, quite clearly, a barcode sticking out from one of Bernie’s turds. Being on doodie duty, I couldn’t help but be amazed at how far-reaching the packaging phenomenon has spread. When crap comes out of your dog’s butt already assigned a specific code, we’ve either taken a great leap forward in biotechnology, or Bernie’s just gotten into something he shouldn’t have. I almost wanted to wrap it in a Ziploc bag and take it to one of those freestanding store scanners and see what rung up. Clean up on aisle five.
Jun
08
At least I can take comfort in the fact that when the gods of culture come to pass final judgment on my Philistine soul, they’ll have a good laugh at my expense. And if you can make the gods laugh — no matter the price — then you know your life on this dimension wasn’t a total waste of time.Read More
Jun
05
I carry around a lone 3/8-inch socket — without its wrench — in my car. I don’t think I’ll need it, nor do I believe it has any apparent match with anything mechanical in my Prius. But since it appeared all by itself, I figured it would be tempting fate to get rid of it. Maybe not fate, actually, but whatever phenomenal power left it on my driver’s seat in the mystical hills near Fort Wayne, Indiana.Read More
Am I getting a gold watch? Wow, the HR lady’s kinda
hot. Breathe, Rodney, breathe. They all look so sad; make
‘em laugh. Ha, they liked the gold watch joke. That guac
from the party’s gonna go bad if this takes too long. Push my book
Spiritual Wanderer, push Spiritual Wanderer. What
does COBRA stand for? Joke about stealing pens. Don’t
tell ‘em about Sharpies. Top boss banters with me about
there not being ink in the pens. Phwew, Sharpies are
safe. Breathe, breathe, breathe. This is it. This is the end
of the career. How long does guacamole last in this heat?
Gotta buy a lottery ticket. Seriously, listen to the COBRA
spiel. Keep the humor up. Do I hug? If one, then everyone.
Top boss reflects on me correcting his tip during our dinner
interview three years ago. Says he knew he’d hire
me then and there. Should I correct him about something
now? They look so serious. Oh, oh, HR lady is nervous;
shaky hands give it away. Humor, jokes, feign interest
in Employee Assistance program. Do COBRAs bite or
squeeze? Remember to thank sweet daughters for helping
me cry earlier so I don’t now. Do I sign something? Hey,
you forgot to take my ID card. It’s ending. Career and this
exit interview. Guac’s probably a goner too. It’s hot. Maybe
it’s the HR lady. Breathe. Why are they looking at me?
Should I say something? Is it my turn to get up and sing?
Do I leave? What do I do? Take bull by the horns. Start
hugging. Surprises ‘em. Ha, hot HR lady says she wants
one too. SCORE!
(Hours later, more Mexican food at home. Guac’s fine.)
2008
Every time my yoga instructor starts talking about the mystical yogis that could melt the snow around them while they meditated or who sat for weeks under ancient banyan bushes, I keep thinking about the only yogi I’m familiar with, the one who wears a hat and steals pic-anic baskets.
“Hey Boo-boo, look at me in Balancing Bear.”
Jan
06
