Church, umbrella and door

8 September 2011

Good evening lovers and loves and precipitous pals.

Earlier today I visited a Unitarian Universalist church for the first time.

I have not been in a church in a very long time.

The same feelings were there, but there was no edge of animosity or overpowering dis-ease.

The place felt downright peaceful. And it was enormous.

The sanctuary seemed incredibly natural and open and felt like a green house.

I later learned a student of Frank Lloyd Wright designed the church and the church even won an architecture award.

Later in the day, my shoes were soggy from the persistent downpour. I squished and squished up to the apartment. I couldn’t tell if my umbrella was weeping or had a slight hole in it. I kept getting wet on my face (especially my right eyebrow).

Here is a picture I enjoy from a house in Alexandria, VA:

A yellow door in front of me

Sooner or escalator

30 August 2011

Another good day to you lovers, friends, family and visiting extraterrestrials.

GF and I use Metrorail to get to and from work every day. I would find it quite easy to turn this blog into a continual self-absorbed groan on the frequently inoperational Metrorail escalators.

But I won’t.

First, I don’t really mind out-of-order motorized incline devices. I like walking. Walking makes me remember I’m alive. Walking makes me realize the world and I are the same. Sometimes walking is the only thing that feels real to me.

Second, we have a functioning Metro system. It could be better, yes. But it could also not exist. I would not enjoy that alternative.

However, sometimes I feel like I should complain about Metrorail. There are lots of things about which I feel I should complain even if they don’t really make me angry. I can’t explain (and neither can Pete Townshend).

Today, two of three escalators leading out of the Court House Metro station were broken (or at least not running). The other escalator was [pretentious description ALERT] transporting humans and luggage down into the bowels of public transit.

So, GF and I walked up the escalator. The person in front of me was wearing a book bag, carrying a book (defeating the purpose of the book bag?) and was wearing exercise gear. My face felt magnetically attracted to her book bag. I stared at it and it stared back. The abyss is a book bag.

Yeesh. If you made it this far in today’s post, I apologize. I don’t remember reading or hearing anything so schmaltzy and pretentious that would have influenced me so lately. Perhaps it is the combination of whisky and Icelandic chocolate.

"There's more to life than this"? I don't think so Bjork.

And yes, I did eat the chocolate while listening to Bjork. I think it intensified the effect.

By the way – Did you remember the video competition from yesterday’s post? No? Then read it and enter to win a parcel from…me!

Three insignificant incidents

8 August 2011

Reasons I do not want children: #1 My love of junk food.

I watch a lot of television. I saw something on television where a parent was trying to feed healthy food to a child. I would be such a poor parent for a child. I enjoy junk food. I would probably order takeaway for my child every night and it would grow up eating Kung Pao chicken, pad Thai and egg rolls.

Today, I experienced three insignificant incidents.

A. I arrived in the Metro station barely after 8 AM. I did the quick-jog-that-is-trying-not-to-look-like-a-quick-jog down the final stairs so I could catch the train into work. I often rush, and see others rushing, into work. I never see anyone rushing to get home or to the bar or to a pizza place. I know it probably exists. But seeing it would disprove my point about a great human truth.

As usual, all the humans crowded in the doorway rather than moving to the center of the train car (as the humanized robot voice instructs us to do). I refused to be stranded on the platform because some overdressed politicos are not afraid of authoritarian androids.

I shove in the car, much to the grunting chagrin of the other passengers. Then, for three stations (with much pausing in between because of a “backup” at the next station) my bum was pressed against the bum of the passenger directly behind me. His was a gigantic bum. A bum that seemed to conquer the entire world in its enormity. Hindsight is 20/20, but this bum could have hit a moving target from two states away. So we stood there, bum against bum, shifting uncomfortably. At first, I wasn’t even aware of the pressing. But then, at the second stop, I was hyperaware. Nothing else existed but our butts. Like constantly hi-fiving sports aficionados at a game that is “going our way.” Then, the big-butted stranger exited the train. And my butt was free to wiggle on its own.

B. After a day of work, to which I rushed, I walked back to the Metro while eating an apple. I like eating apples while walking. I actually like eating anything while walking. Well, not anything. But I do like eating foods like bread, hotdogs, hotdogs in buns, apples, popcorn, pears, peaches and peanut butter & Nutella sandwiches while walking. (While I am walking, not the food.) Eating while walking is comforting. “Hey world, I’m comfortable enough to eat while I’m walking. I’m not even paying attention to you or to what you think of me. It’s just me, my mouth and this apple. You can’t hurt me world.”

I throw my core in the trashcan (rubbish bin for our UK readers) and continue on to the Metro (Tube). I am riding and hearing a child scream. I stand next to a seat where a young boy child (age 3?) and a young girl child (age 5?) sit, squirming like young children do. Suddenly (as everything is) the boy child topples forward headfirst between the seats. With reflexes that would make a snake jealous, the male parent/guardian figure (seated in the seat behind the seated children) reaches forward and grabs the boy child by the overalls before the boy child’s head hits the hard carpeted ground. I tried not to laugh at the child’s tears, but the entire scene was too humorous. I looked around at my fellow passengers to see if I could make eye contact and share the joke but no one looked at me. I settled for a self-satisfied smirk.

C. I exited the Metro, on the way home now, and found myself, as usual, on the sidewalk (after walking a bit). I looked up and saw a shirtless, sweaty man doing pushups on the sidewalk. He was red like Santa Claus’s suit.