Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Category: Retiring in Public

Winter Is Coming

How do I know? School supplies are edging out the sunscreen at Walgreen’s.

SEEN ON T-SHIRTS

“Scream While You Can While We Rip You To Shreds.” That’s what this country needs–more hostility. I assume this sentiment was promoting a video game, because it was worn by a nerd I couldn’t imagine ripping anybody to shreds.

Black t-shirt with bald eagle, except the eagle was red, white and blue: “I Couldn’t HEAR You Over the Sound of My FREEDOM.” Well, why is your FREEDOM so fackin’ LOUD?

A black t-shirt featuring a Native American smoking a joint, and the exhaled smoke turned into galaxies and stuff.

“This Is What Epic Looks Like.” Epic looks like a skinny girl with pink-tipped red hair. Of course, these days, maybe her name was Epic.

And a guy in a neon-orange t-shirt and camo cargo pants. Apparently he only wanted his upper half to be seen.

THIS JUST IN

Fiona and Archer are now 7, and are into metaphysics.

Fiona: “Everything has a shape.”

Archer: “Not God. He’s everywhere.”

F: “OK then, well, everything has a color.”

A: “Not a black hole. It has all the colors.” Wouldn’t it actually have none of the colors? I don’t know. I’m no physicist. Or metaphysicist.

CRISIS IN PROGRESS: CRIME IS COMING TO A LAWN NEAR YOU

I promised Trexa I would tell this story eons ago. And you’d think I would have, since I’m always whining about lack of material.

Trexa woke up one day recently and saw that part of her lawn was brown, but in a weird pattern. She called the lawn service to come out. Pointing it out to the guy, she said, “It almost looks like some design, doesn’t it? Maybe like a scissors.”

The lawn guy said, “Or…something.” He was hesitant to tell the nice lady that a drawing of male genitalia had been etched on her lawn with weed killer. Apparently vandalism (or, as the law calls it, Criminal Mischief–I’ve always liked that term, along with Maintaining a Common Nuisance, which is what they charge you with when other people were doing drugs in your house, but you weren’t doing them yourself) (and it’s great to be a former 911 dispatcher, so no one will wonder how I know all this) with Round-Up has become a thing.

 

 

 

 

 

Freedom Day

I have been retired for a year today. Hmm, have I learned anything? And why do I feel like I should have learned something?

I am wearing the “My Work Number is 911” t-shirt, because it isn’t.

Today is National Donut Day, but I had no donuts. I guess I could rectify that tomorrow.

I am somewhat intoxicated.

Oh, Rom wants you to know, reference our anniversary lunch at Logan’s, that he did not, either, put both steak sauce and something else (ketchup?) on his burger. He used them to dip his fries in, which I personally don’t think is any better, and may be worse.

THE WEIRDEST AD I EVER SAW

This was an old magazine ad on Ebay, for some brand of lipstick. It said, “There’s a little bit of Satan in our satin-finish lipstick.” Because it’s devilishly sexy and stuff. It had a guy in a devil costume lurking behind the lipsticked model. I just can’t see that ad running today. Of course, we have an entire line of nail polish called Sinful Colors, so I could be wrong.

Oh, looking back on my decision to be a Writer (and the accompanying Hey! I might not need college!) decision I made in 8th grade–I didn’t, and don’t, doubt my ability to write, per se. I think I could have been entirely adequate in some magazine-staff or copy-writing position (that didn’t require me to go out and interview people). The doubts were/are about Creative Writing. After all, an agent once told me, “You don’t even understand the basic story-arc.” And how could an autistic person, who can’t understand how people tick, make characters come to life? OK, I haven’t Learned Something.

Speaking of which, the paper recently had something about The Danger of Self-Diagnosis, when it comes to autism. So have I been officially diagnosed? I have been half-diagnosed. I once said to my mother, “That nice lady you had me talk to in first grade was a child psychologist, right?” And she said, “Yes, she said you might be autistic, but we figured out it was just that we didn’t know your eyesight was so bad!” Yeah, that explains a lot. Not.

 

 

I Remembered To Show Up

…belatedly.

OBSERVATIONAL HUMOR

…is what Rom says this is.

Brought to you courtesy of Nick, who showed up at my door on my birthday with a gift bag full of apple ale clenched in his teeth, before flying away. The bag was black and had scratchy glitter on it. I suspect this was deliberate. Have you noticed that such bags always have the scratchy glitter on one side, but are smooth on the other side, so that glitter doesn’t rub off on your clothes? Why do I always have to touch the glitter anyway, even though it makes me shudder?

I have had 2 cans of ale (my normal dose), which makes me want to spend money on something self-indulgent. Last year it was green-and-white gingham shorts, but I resisted the temptation. (I love green-and-white gingham, and plaid with a black background. These prints give me a feeling of security. They’re like the opposite of the Baby Corn and the Union Suit. Anyone remember those? Check the posts under Conspiracy News for more info.)Now am tempted by some Keds in Iris Shimmer, and an Almond Cucumber perfume sample, even though I tried the AC perfume before and it didn’t work for me. Almond and cucumber are my comfort notes (kind of like the Magic Prints noted above), so I keep thinking, But it has to work! Sometimes perfume just refuses to cooperate.

OK, I hit some key that keeps deleting stuff I didn’t intend, and I don’t know what I hit, so I can’t correct it, and that is why the above paragraph is incorrectly punctuated.

SONG LYRIC ANALYSIS–MOODY BLUES

“Schoolwork, one and one is two

But you know that now that’s just not true”

Yes, it is true. Your ingestion of LSD does not affect its veracity.

AND THE DOORS

Rom says that “When the Music’s Over–turn out the lights” makes him think, “turnip delight.” You’re welcome. I hope I can forget that before I listen to it again.

Today is the 2nd anniversary of Alien Finger, which is celebrating by being stiff and sore, which I suppose is appropriate. I keep reading about people who dislocate a finger, pop it right back in, and it’s good as new. What’s their secret? Youth, probably.

Today is Pentecost, which makes me think, “Here he comes to save the day! That means the Paraclete is on his way!”

Long ago, my cousin Becky (hurray for Facebook and cousin Linda, who helped me discover cousins on the Forbidden Side of the family!) asked me, “Do you miss working?” After long thought, I can say I sometimes miss having a job (a Purpose in Life and all that, though I never thought of 911 as that purpose), but I don’t miss having that job. As I think every time I go by Dispatch on the bus and think, Glad I’m not answering phones in there.

IT HAS TO BE CLASSY, IT HAS CARPET–TACO JOHN’S

I visited this fine establishment on Cinco de Mayo. Since it was Saturday, I had church, and couldn’t go to Hacienda and have a strawberry daiquiri, which would have been the logical thing to do. Although people might have been drunk at St Boniface Church before.

Taco John’s has been around since 1969, although Rom can’t remember it the year he graduated from high school. The identity of Taco John is mysterious. I imagine him being kind of like Johnny Appleseed.

TJ’s is the only carpeted fast-food place I know of. Like the Women’s Hospital, the addition of carpet adds a certain cachet. It’s almost like you’re at home, except that someone cut into your abdomen. At the hospital, I mean, not at Taco John’s.

My softshell taco was very good, especially since the clever person who assembled it added a tuck-and-fold technique that meant I didn’t have to balance it carefully to keep everything from falling out the end. That must have been a Cinco de Mayo special, though, since it has fallen out the end every other time I’ve been there.

Ah, Potato Ole’s. The old Mexican classic of disc-shaped Tater Tots sprinkled with Lawry’s seasoned salt. Cinco de Mayo marked the first time I have ever finished an order. And if you put cheese on them, you are gilding the lily. And if you put bacon bits, donut bites, icing, and chocolate on them and EAT THEM FOR DESSERT, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

TJ’s has a senior discount of 10%. I forgot to add discount information when I wrote about Taco Bell, but that was because I got 10% off there once, and the next time I requested it, the manager said they didn’t have a discount. Maybe I just looked too young.

LEGGINGS AS PANTS UPDATE

I am actually not against leggings as a lower half, as long as you wear a butt-covering top. But today I saw a woman who did wear a butt-covering top, but then knotted it up in the back, because she got dressed and thought, “Oh no! Now no one can see my butt!”

Speaking of entities trying to defy me, the roses in my yard, which normally bloom in mid-May, burst into glorious bloom simultaneously on THE DAY AFTER MY BIRTHDAY.

Spellcheck thinks “donut” is not a word. I don’t know what to tell it.

WordPress has an icon in the corner that says “Stress-Free Writing Experience.” I have to find out what that might be, but I am too stressed-out at the moment. As is Alien Finger.

 

 

Live-Blogging: Death & Taxes

Yes, I am using my FanBase for stress relief.

These will be my federal taxes. I never inflict both federal and state on myself on the same day.

No, I do not file them online. No, I do not itemize. No, I do not have them done by a professional.  I am lazy and miserly, and do not want my taxes/bill-paying dependent on whether I have internet access. Plus, I never hooked up my printer. See “lazy” above. OK, see “autistic inertia” as well. And fear of the unknown. And stuff.

My, I have a lot of forms. Pension, Social Security, final W2…I’m frightened already. Maybe I shouldn’t be responsible for my own affairs.

Damn, I didn’t buy alcohol to reward myself with. Afterwards, I mean. Although drunk tax-doing would be entertaining. The IRS will probably send me a letter anyway, saying, “Were you drunk when you did this?”

“First name and middle initial.” I got this.

“Last name.” I’ve made a good start.

Oh no, I got up to use the bathroom and discovered that my service cat Esmerelda had been waiting patiently in the hall for me to get up, and she came to me crying. ‘LIE DOWN ON THE BED AND LET ME NURSE ON YOUR HAND, IT’S PROVEN TO LOWER YOUR BLOOD PRESSURE, DO IT NOW NOW NOW!!!”

Back 4 minutes later, after washing the cat spit off my hand. Much purring was obtained.

Line 9a–“Ordinary dividends.” As opposed to…? Oh, “qualified dividends.” These terms seem overly subjective.

“Special rules may apply if your home was in one of the Presidentially-declared disaster areas.” Well, he declares everything a disaster area. How about “the industrial Midwest”?

“You can ask the IRS to figure out the taxable portion of your pension for you for a $1000 fee.” I get the feeling they’re trying to discourage that practice. Luckily, the pension people already figured it out for me.

A BRIEF INTERMISSION TO REMOVE THE PORTION OF THE PACKING PAPER WE LET THE CATS PLAY IN THAT HAD GOTTEN WEDGED UNDER THE WHEEL OF MY CHAIR AND WAS GETTING ON MY NERVES

“Report the taxable portion of your pension from form 1099 on line 12b. But you may be able to report a lower amount if you use the General Rule or the Simplified Method instead.” I’ll take my chances. I have a feeling that the Method isn’t really Simplified enough for me. It’s a trivial amount anyway.

Nick, there are all kinds of alternate rules for military personnel. Sucks to be you.

THE JUST FACKING-WITH-ME PART

“Subtract line 10 from line 9.

Enter the smaller of line 9 or line 10.

Enter one-half of line 12.

Enter the smaller of line 2 or line 13.

Multiply line 11 by 85%. If zero, enter 0.” Well, duh.

“Add lines 14 and 15.

Multiply line 1 by 85%.”

THEY DIDN’T SAY SIMON SAYS! And that will be my defense in court. Oh no, now I hear sirens! They’re on to me.

Seriously, this is the part I always screw up. Sometimes to their benefit, sometimes to mine, never involving very much money.

“Line 19–Reserved for future use.” If you say so.

“If you checked any box on line 23a, use the Standard Deduction Chart For People Who Were Born Before Jan. 2, 1953 Or Are Blind.” Darn it, Rom.

“If refund amount is $1 or less, we will send a refund only on written request.” Half of your refund will go for the stamp needed to mail that request.

“Bank routing number–the first two digits must be 01 through 12 or 21 through 32.” Why? What happened to 13 through 20?

Time to check my math! Wish me luck. (“It’s not a matter of luck,” Nick says primly.)

Well, now it’s storming. Thunder and lightning are always reassuring on the completion of one’s taxes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blogging Addiction

I was digging through some stuff from my retirement party (YES, IT WAS LAST JUNE, WHY DO YOU ASK?), and came across an unsigned note expressing the hope that I would “keep feeding our blogging addiction.” I sure hope no one’s actually addicted to this thing. They must be in a bad way by now.

ASTROLOGY ’78

Career for Taurus: “Form a partnership with a talented chum and invest last year’s savings in a doll hospital.” Is there even such a thing? I had no pal talented enough in ’78 to tell me. Good thing I didn’t invest ’77’s savings, if any. I think I was unemployed most of the year, except for the summer spent at the massage parlor. This is where having lower-upper-class parents comes in handy.

Interior decorating for Sagittarius: “Old piano covers can still be found at thrift shops, make an interesting centerpiece for your living room.” I’ll say. What do you do with those, anyway? Wouldn’t you have to buy a piano? Or do you just pile them up on your coffee table?

THE THING I’M LEAST LIKELY TO WEAR

A t-shirt I saw an ad for saying “I Pooped Today.” For one thing, wouldn’t you have to wear it most days? I refuse to define myself by whether I’ve pooped on any given day.

THE WAR ON PARTS OF SPEECH CONTINUES

“Discover your sexy.”

“Realize your awesome.”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH NOUNS? STOP GRAFTING ADJECTIVES IN THEIR PLACE!

CANNIBALIZATION OF PAST POSTS CONTINUES

In March 2013, I was preoccupied with a sign I saw advertising the Grim Reapers’ house party. Especially since they forgot to include the date.

In April, in honor of Nick’s recent birthday, I admitted that I owed a whole room of dispatchers dinner from Canton Inn because I hadn’t realized that his message “Going to Canton. Jealous?” was actually an offer to bring us some. I also noted, based on bitter experience, that my beloved Woa Dip Har was impossible to eat at work. Reading that gave me a voracious desire for Woa Dip Har, now that I don’t work (unless you call writing this post work), but I fear it will remain forever unsatisfied.

The actual date I was writing was the birthday of the Foxy Lady, whom I called “my fellow connoisseur of the absurd.” In her honor, I illustrated the post with a picture of a stir-fry captioned “Uploaded to Wikipedia to showcase baby corn.” And what deserves to be showcased more?

 

Environmental Enrichment Required

I seem to have a dearth of material now that I’m retired, unless Nick were to kidnap me and take me on some horrible Adventure, I suppose. After all, how often do you need to read my opinion of holiday decorations?

BUT YOU’RE GOING TO HEAR IT ANYWAY

‘Tis the season for gag-inducing cinnamon candles at the dollar store, the candle they would make me burn in Hell. Especially since they’ve had problems with the glass in their candles exploding when it gets hot. I bet all glass in Hell explodes when it gets hot.

OK, I guess candle-burning in Hell is an interesting topic.

HARKING BACK TO YE DAYS OF YORE WHEN I DID HAVE MATERIAL

On I guess March 21 2013 (I don’t know what time zone WordPress is in, but it sure ain’t mine, so all their dating is suspect), I reported a caller saying that someone needed to be “cemented” (they meant “committed”), and a caller saying, “There’s been a suicide….I’m the victim.”

HARKING BACK TO YON DAYS OF YORE EVEN FURTHER

Astrology for ’75:

Taurus woman/Cancer man: “He’ll lick your belly button when you’re not looking.” I don’t advise anyone to lick my belly button. Even if I am looking.

Taurus woman/Leo man: “Wear emotional sunglasses to avoid burns.” Where do you get those glasses?

Secret Wish for Aquarius: “Having a tall, silvery humanoid/astronaut go to the moon and back to prove his devotion to you, having him proclaim his love for you on network TV.”

ANOTHER DISSATISFIED CUSTOMER

The guy in front of me at McDonald’s was making a complaint. The manager said, “I’ll replace your entire order, sir.” He said, “I don’t want my order replaced!” (I’m thinking, Shut up, let them replace your order, and let us all get on with our lives and lunches.) Then he said, “Where’s the dude I talked to on the phone?” Ah, the Dude I Talked To On The Phone. I used to work with him.

McRib is back! Tastes like a weiner, shaped like a bone!

Glitterized

Remember my whining about lack of material? (“Which time?” they inquire.) Well, I have been informed by a former co-worker (I guess all my co-workers are “former” now) that Nick got involved in a situation on patrol that would make a good story. And so it shall, once I figure out how to Glitterize it. Did it occur to me to ask my (former) colleagues to send me good stories they encounter? No, it did not. “I fear no blogger,” Nick says, but maybe he should.

I CANNOT BE GOTTEN RID OF

still dream I show up at work, and then realize, “Hey, I don’t have to be here! I’ll just stay and eat donuts.”

IT’S THAT TIME OF YEAR

Time to use both boldface and italics? No, time to criticize holiday decorations. Not that I object to the idea of a spider skeleton. It just makes me wonder how many people think spiders actually have skeletons. “Well, I saw it at Walgreen’s, it must be true.”

SPEAKING OF DRUGSTORES….

I never did tell you what I spent my retirement gift cards on.

–Walgreen’s card from Ms. Tragically-Hip–red nail polish, base/top coat for same

–card from Noelle–gave CVS a turn and got a vat of body wash, one of those mesh puffy things (I normally use a washcloth, so I’m Trying New Things), and a tub of sugar scrub. I will be slicker than owl droppings, as Rom so poetically says, although I don’t think that substance is actually known for slickness.

The jury, by which I mean me, is still out on what to spend the rest of the retirement cash on. The longer I wait, the more ideas I get. How about a bright pink pantsuit? Rom will probably try to talk me out of that one. I think I’d look quite sixth-Rolling-Stone, with the addition of my black t-shirt. The ad for the suit says, “You can’t go wrong with slim-leg pants.” You can if you have big feet.

SONG-LYRIC ANALYSIS

“I’m goin’ away, baby, and I won’t be back ’till fall

If I find me a good-lookin’ woman, I won’t be back at all”

I detect a lack of commitment to this relationship.

CANNIBALIZATION

Post #2, “How I Got Beaten Up At Work,” (Feb. 2013) is self-explanatory. I see that one person re-read it, so they could envision it taking place at a massage parlor. Make sure you envision it with mirrored walls and red and green shag carpeting. Oh, and 70’s hard-rock radio. “More Than a Feeling,” indeed.

 

The Title I Almost Forgot

ADVENTURES WITH ALCOHOL

First you forget that you need to do the laundry. Then you think, I’ll get to it when I finish this can. Then you think, How important is laundry in the scheme of life, anyway? Even though WEDNESDAY IS LAUNDRY DAY, for no other reason than to commemorate that my final day of work was Wednesday. Or my first day of retirement. Or something.

Speaking of which, Redd’s Wicked Apple Ale, which I just finished my Labor Day carton of, has a commercial in which drinking it makes your friends develop animal heads, like the Taheen in the Dark Tower. If anything like that happens for me, I’ll let you know.

GOOD THING I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I GOT CHOCOLATE ON ONE OF MY ROSE-PRINT SWEATERS AND NEED TO PRE-TREAT IT, OF SUCH TRIUMPHS A SUCCESSFUL LIFE IS MADE

OBSERVATIONS ON SORTING LAUNDRY

I sure own a lot of pants.

FURTHER OBSERVATIONS ON MCDONALD’S

…because alcohol affects memory, who knew?

Dress code: Casual. I was overdressed, since my t-shirt didn’t have writing on it.

Announcement on sign: PUMPKIN SPICE IS BACK–without the customary exclamation point. They’re jaded about it by now. But they will not have the pumpkin pies they had a few years ago–the manager checked the Marketing Book for me. I wish I could see that Marketing Book, and report back to you on its contents.

STUFF THAT WILL BE FEATURED ON S.G. IN THE FUTURE

I will be re-visiting old posts, partly to satisfy my own curiosity. Sure, it’s cannibalizing my own material, but, as the old joke says, it’s my cow. (Everyone rushes to look up that punch line on Google. Or it might have been a sheep. Or something.) 

 

Thanks & Apologies

Thank you to the person who told me the first thing they do every morning is check to see if I’ve posted! Although maybe an apology would be more appropriate.

RANDOM STUFF I FORGOT LAST TIME BECAUSE ROM CAME IN AND GAVE ME FOOD IN MY SPECIAL BLUE BOWL

BEST NAME FOR A ROCK BAND EVER–(courtesy of a candy I saw at CVS): Sour Neon Crawlers. Let’s get that band started! I could write lyrics, I don’t sing any worse than some singer-songwriters, and Rom said I have the personality of an egotistical lead singer, so let’s go!

BONUS: BEST NAME FOR A COUNTRY BAND EVER (courtesy of a sports team I saw on the news while waiting impatiently for Colbert to be on): Normal Cornbelters.

Billboard at Lloyd/St Joe–“Want to know how this works? Call us.” Yes, it’s a billboard advertising itself. And no thanks, I think I understand how they work.

TALKIN’ ‘BOUT MY G-G-GENERATION

An editorial in the paper recently noted disapprovingly that states have over-extended their pension obligations, “even offering retiree health insurance.” How dare I have health insurance! I should just do without, as punishment for working for the government for 32 years. (Well, 32 years for this government. I worked for 2 others before that.)

I am now in my third  month of pretending I’m independently wealthy and have inherited a small fortune (but only a small one, as befits my lower-upper-class upbringing). Of course, it’s easy to live cheaply when you don’t have a life, as it’s commonly defined.

HEY, WAIT, I GOT A NEW COMPLAINT

–stolen from Kurt Cobain, if I understood him correctly.

When did parts of speech become randomized? I hate to bring it up, since it makes me sound pedantic. Not to mention un-creative, which is the worst thing you could call me. (“Wait! Wait! I need to add this to my notes!” Nick says, jumping up and spilling his pink lemonade.) Yeah, I know, language evolves and stuff. But still…

“Enjoy the go.” (Well, that’s wrong for so many reasons, #1 being the idea that using the toilet would actually be pleasant as long as you had the right toilet paper.) (Did you know there’s a commercial out there that SHOWS A DIAGRAM OF TURDS MOVING THROUGH YOUR INTESTINE??! It’s a sign of the end. So to speak.)

“Each child schools differently.”

“Discover your awesome.”

“This is how you Sonic.”

“the big reveal” We already have a word for that–revelation.

I saw a woman on the bus with a t-shirt that said: “American Pride: ‘America’, adj., in or of America. ‘Pride’, noun, a highly opinion of oneself.” Bigly, I say.

Speaking of which, a clerk at Thornton’s complimented me on my tattoo and said, “Is that a cobra? You’re the last person I’d think would have that.” Time for the Blue Oyster Cult t-shirt, obviously.

OTHER PROBLEMS THAT I HAVE

I read that the autistic brain lacks the ability to automatically prioritize sensory input. I never thought of it that way before, but it makes so much sense. Everything comes at me at once, so no wonder I like to stick to the familiar. It’s mildly disorienting just to go to a McDonald’s location I haven’t been to before, and actual Travel is just overwhelming. (I remember a co-worker asked, “What will you do when you retire? Travel?” and I said, “NO!” with a loudness and vehemence she might have found odd.) Rom has an expression, “It’s like you get on moving day,” to express this state. You know how they say that someone “sees what has to be done and does it?” I have trouble seeing what has to be done. Just issue instructions, please. And hope I’ll follow them. (You can see why Rom has that expression.) The everything-at-once theory also explains why I get a lot of both “I can’t believe you noticed that!” and “I can’t believe you didn’t notice that.”

LET’S OBSERVE A MOMENT OF SILENCE 

…for the small spider that fell into my candle. I blew the candle out as a sign of respect, and it is  now entombed in rose-and-magnolia-scented wax.

THEATER OF CRUELTY UPDATE

We haven’t heard about a certain beast for awhile, have we? I heard that he’s gone rogue now that I’m no longer his handler, and was spotted in Orlando attacking Disney characters (now that there’s an app that helps you locate them). But he is no longer my concern, I suppose.

 

 

New-Product News!

RAMPANT MATERIALISM ON NORTH ST JOE

…or “North Street Joe,” as someone from an alarm service once called it. Which is why alarm services should stay local. Repeat after me, “Just because we can doesn’t mean we should.”

–Guys! Are you tired of moist towelettes that have scents like “Spring Blossom”? Then you’ll be wanting new “Dude Wipes”! I did not make that up. They also come in “Shower Wipe” size. Nick, are you paying attention? And right next to the Dude Wipes, you will find “Nads Nose Wax,” which “inserts easily into the nose.” Well, one hopes so.

BUTTER PECAN ICE CREAM, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE? I’m glad I discovered this stuff before I die. Lic’s even has a BUTTERNUT SUNDAE with caramel sauce! They also have “Cinnamon Hottie”–cinnamon ice cream with red-hots–which is the ice cream they’d make me eat in hell. Nick, quit taking notes, please.

–E-mail from Lands’ End, where I get most of my clothes: “We have a print polo shirt for every day of the week!” I briefly entertained the idea of having a polo shirt “uniform” to cut down on stressful clothing decisions, but then I’d have to decide which print went with which day of the week, which would only add stress.

–Headline in paper: “Theme parks adding features for autistic people.” Leaving aside the question of why autistic people would want to go to a theme park (obsession with a particular theme-park character, thanks for asking), they offer “quiet rooms” with weighted blankets. The whole weighted-blanket idea makes me feel a bit panicky, but it might actually work in practice. “You will relax!” They also pinpointed the noise from automatic toilets and hand dryers in restrooms. I can tolerate those, but I do hate them. Aside from the sudden-loud-noises aspect, why can’t we all be trusted to decide on our own water temperature and drying time? (Well, I apparently can’t be trusted to decide on a polo shirt, see above.) Anyway, these idyllic theme park restrooms feature all-manual controls and are “painted calming blue.” Would that all were like them. Hell, paint everything calming blue.

Speaking of dudes (we were, several paragraphs ago, just scroll up), in my retirement, I’ve been making much use of the pedestrian walkway over Lloyd Expressway. Recently, they painted over the gang graffiti (“Taylor Made,” get your juvenile-delinquent ass back to Taylor Avenue, and “Cream Team,” I don’t want to know where you’re from), except for “Kilroy Was Here” and “Dude.” Because who could object to Kilroy and Dude? So the structure will now be called the Kilroy-Dude Memorial Overpass. Kilroy comes first because he’s been around longest. Duude!

 

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