Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Holy Week

Holy Week: Easter Vigil

The recto of Rylands Library Papyrus P52 from ...

The recto of Rylands Library Papyrus P52 from the Gospel of John. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness could not overcome it.”–John 1:5

Somewhat Amusing Observations:

–If you’re waiting to turn right from a side street (in this case, W. Virginia) onto a busy thoroughfare (in this case, N. St Joe), do not stick your snout so far out that not only Your Humble Narrator (who is merely a pedestrian, and therefore of no account) but the northbound traffic has to swerve to keep from whacking you. Where are the cops when you need them?

–The new slogan of Hardee’s is “Eat Like You Mean It.” I can add to that, “And Leave Your Empty Cups At The Bus Stop.” (I mean that I saw them there, not that I left them there myself. In case A Certain Someone thinks I’m confessing to littering.) (Of course, if I was such a good citizen, I’d have picked them up and put them into the trash can at the liquor store, which was not that far away.)



Holy Week: Good Friday

English: A TETRA radio unit as well as an olde...

English: A TETRA radio unit as well as an older radio unit in a Swedish (Saab) police car Svenska: En RAKEL-enhet i en svensk polisbil (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

…and I still smell like incense from today’s service.

This afternoon, Rom said, “Your boys are outside,” and sure enough, there were 2 police cars outside my house, and some helpless soul they’d pulled over. (And the Helpless Soul deserved to be pulled over, for having a rusted-out car. Don’t you buy no ugly car!) Claremont & Dreier is a popular intersection for officers, and I’ve lost track of how many traffic stops/wrecks I’ve seen here. But the interesting thing about this one is that it featured Nefarious Nick, who was pointing out my house to another officer! So now he’s enlisted help for, well, who knows what evil lurks in the mind of him. And then he started pointing at me in the window! Yes, I’ve got a cop looking in my windows. And I promise you, I’ve never looked in his. So I went outside (not with my hands up, either), and he promptly said, “This isn’t a spectator sport!,” which I took as an indication that I’d be arrested if I didn’t go back in, which I did. The End.

Holy Week: Maundy Thursday

…from the Latin mandatum, “commandment,” because in today’s Gospel we are given the commandment to love one another. When this is difficult, and it so often is, I think about what C.S. Lewis said: Loving your neighbor as yourself doesn’t mean you always have to¬†like them. After all, do you always like yourself? I know I don’t always like the person I see in the mirror. She can be a selfish, indolent bitch. (Hey, I should have had that written on that halter top!) But I wish the best for myself, and I can usually manage to wish the best for other people, too. OK, I can after I take a deep breath and count to ten. Or 20.

If I may descend from the sublime to the abyss with breakneck speed, the other thing on my mind at the moment is my current least favorite ad campaign, for some brand of toilet paper (see, Toilet Paper Company, you couldn’t even make me remember the name of your product–TAKE THAT!): “Enjoy the Go!” Which is worse, the abuse of the English language–“GO” IS NOT A NOUN, OK??, or the idea that the right toilet paper, excuse me, “bathroom tissue” (just checked my own package of Quilted Northern to get the right technical term) can make a trip to the toilet positively enjoyable.

I’m sorry this post ended up in the toilet. And I bet you’re sorry that I ever discovered the italic¬†and caps-lock keys.

bobby toilet paper demon cat

bobby toilet paper demon cat (Photo credit: jacob earl)

Holy Week: Chrism Tuesday

It’s the day that holy oils are traditionally blessed in the Church, which does not require my involvement.

Forgot to mention in yesterday’s Theater of Cruelty installment–I’d told Nick once that if I ever saw him out on patrol, I’d give him the finger and shock the populace. Well, I didn’t do that yesterday, since I wouldn’t hurt his feelings for the world. But I did say, “Hey, hold the door,” which might have caught the attention of the easily scandalized. But Nick’s a well-trained beast who knows his master’s voice, so he complied. I should have made him pay for my drink as well, but I’d already bought it. After all, I plan to buy a Thornton’s drink with the dollar he will soon owe me.

I hesitate to use the expression “I couldn’t make this stuff up,” since it seems to cast doubt on my creative abilities. So let’s just say this sounds like something I would make up, but it’s real:

Grim reaper crossed out with red X

Grim reaper crossed out with red X (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There are handbills posted on Franklin Street that say “Help us celebrate the 30th anniversary of the Grim Reapers at 807 W. Indiana Street! 2pm until ??? {until Hell freezes over, I’m guessing} Games! Fun! Prizes!” Yes, you read that right. They have their scary Grim Reaper illustration and everything, but it reads like they’re advertising a church social. “Sounds like fun!” I thought. “I wonder if the police department knows about this? I’m sure they’d like to go, and bring their friends!” I looked for the date, and guess what–there wasn’t one. Maybe they figure those who should know, will know, but in that case, why put out fliers? I told Rom about this and he said, jokingly, “You should go to the Grim Reapers MC website and check–oh no, I bet they really have one.” I checked, and THEY DO. It says, “We are dedicated to the Grim Reaper lifestyle.” And, “Do NOT ask how to join.” Curses, foiled again.

Holy Week: Moneychangers’ Monday

The Internal Revenue Service

The Internal Revenue Service (Photo credit: Martin Haesemeyer)

Holy Monday was traditionally regarded as the day Jesus chased the moneylenders out of the temple, so I decided to observe it by doing my taxes. Actually, at the moment I’m doing this instead of my taxes. I have all my paperwork spread out as a sign of my good intentions, in case the IRS should conduct a raid on my office (studio? den? lair? whatever you call the room where you write) in the next few minutes. This is similar to leaving the vacuum cleaner out in the middle of the floor, to show that you really intend to vacuum any minute now. This is the last year we’ll be able to do our beloved 1040EZ, since Rom will be getting Social Security now (which will legally empower/require him to sit in the elderly/handicapped seats on the bus). So I guess I’ll then have to go whining to Lisa like everyone else.

And why, you might be asking (well, you might be–work with me, OK?), would I expect there to be an IRS raid on my house? Because Nick works in mysterious ways. In other words, guess who I ran into at Thornton’s today.

Luckily, I had no items from Walgreen’s in my bag which he could demand I show a receipt for. And we pretended his offer of a ride home was just professional courtesy, instead of a ruse to find out where I live at last. (Clue: it would be the house with the name “McBride” carved in stone out front. Literally. On a big tombstone-like rock. It looks like we have one of my in-laws buried in our front yard.)

Him: “I’m not calling this off, so don’t give me any trouble.”

Me (nervously): “Hope you don’t get a run.”

Him (cheerfully): “Well, if you can’t open a normal car door, you sure won’t be able to open mine.”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

So naturally I’m imagining any number of runs that could turn into an involuntary ride-along experience. (Actually, for me, any ride-along would be involuntary. If I wanted the excitement of putting myself in physical danger, I’d have become a police officer. Well, I would have if I wasn’t legally blind, but you get the idea.) I like to think that if it was a low-priority run, he’d have deposited me safely at home first, but you never know. But no run was forthcoming, so this didn’t turn into a Not At All Amusing Adventure. I was delivered to my driveway, where Rom was waiting, who would of course have kicked Nick’s ass if he’d tried anything. “Brought home by the police?” he asked. Yeah, it’s a way of life.

Can I turn an uneventful day into a long-drawn-out story, or what? It’s a gift. At least, I think that’s what they call it. Thank you all for helping me postpone doing the taxes.

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