-Remainder-

Eventually, every street, public school, post office and park will be renamed after Martin Luther King Jr. or Ronald Reagan. When we run out of objects to rename, we will rename ourselves.

I don't know what will happen when we run out of people.

-Medusa-

At my suggestion, we'd left the Unitarian Church basement after the first band said farewell, left behind over fifty sober and earnest young people wearing messenger bags and applachian-thrift store clothing. The plan - to find a bar and drink through most of the second band, and be back in time for the headline act.

We didn't have to go far. The Medusa Lounge was only two blocks away, and what a charming nook it was. Nine-thirty on a Wednesday, and no one in sight except a young couple and the substitute bartender, Pretty. Even so, the stool I tried to sit on was taken, they told me, and the only other stool on this side that was adjacent to my friend faced a pillar.

Just as I was suggesting a move to one of the many vacant tables, the stool occupier returned from the vomitorium. Brian was already deep into his cups, but not so deep to mistake my precarious seat as anything but a sign of weakness. Pretty gave me a look I interpreted as disgust, but I couldn't decide if it was for me or him.

We all exchanged obligatory SO WHAT DO YOU DOs. This is your first and best chance to fend off another suitor. I'd be telling my profession first, and I don't expect it to impress many people. I also refuse to exaggerate.

I'm a librarian, I said.
I think they paused half a beat before they moved on, but no longer.

A professional wolf would effortlessly switch his true profession (club promoter, aka gigolo) to something 'greater' than what I'd said, but would also exaggerate the importance and passion of what he does. Example: "I play bass for 'Vampire Syphilis.' VS is devoted to exploring cords A and B only, as all other cords are for wankers."

This said, he'll get her to talk about herself until he can twist her profession into the soulmate of his own. "Wow, you fire raku pottery, and every summer the other lifeguards and I build bonfires on the beach. We are both creatures of fire."

In this case, her field is dental hygiene.

Wow, said Pretty. Are you going to be a dentist? No? Still, very, very, important. Tell us about it?

Pretty, I thought, you're not helping.

Lucky for me, I suppose, Brian's efforts were clumsy. Trying to liken white teeth to the white belt of his gi isn't going to work on a smart girl. My stool stopped wobbling, and I relax a bit. No need to treat him like an enemy, now, and I can even applaud him silently for being honest about his rank.

He got sentimental in his defeat, and told us we make a great couple. Pretty and the other young couple agreed.

My friend smiled. Oh, she said, we're just friends.

Brian blinked one eye first, and then the other. Really? he said, you've never ever thought about it?

Just friends.

And you? he said to me.

Just friends.

My smile was intact, my face was cool. They were all fooled, except for Pretty, who watched me carefully. Bartenders, even substitutes, always know better.

-Which is the more prosaic explanation? If prosaic means dull, I want that one, cause I just know the other's gonna keep me awake-

tombstones
Originally uploaded by benedict monk.

Not just anyone would appreciate a walk-and-talk in a graveyard at sundown, but I knew Set (Formerly the Scientist) would, just I like I knew she wouldn’t think it very adolescent-goth of me to suggest it. Truly, it would be a public service, chasing away all of those adolescent Goths who might have gathered there. If our presence made the casual stoner uncomfortable, so be it.

As long as there is light enough to read the inscriptions, and stones sufficiently new bearing still readable raised type, we two could scamper between the markers and read quotes, ages and histories, row by row.

Infant graves demand a SIDS-level pause for reflection, but my prosaic inner-demons tell me the grave of a nine-year-old is worse. Set agrees.

All in good fun until we find the grave with a beachball-sized hole. It is one of a pair of gravestones with women’s first names, but no last name, and the same symbol, what appeared at first to be a dollar sign with a third vertical line between the other two.

On the right, we found two smaller stones without any names, last or first, but with the same symbol. These smaller markers were horizontal and half-buried in the grass.

This added enough to the mystery for our party to squint into the hole and try to see past clumps of sod and roots, peeking in vain for a glimpse of coffinwood or hungry undead anatomy.

No good. Too dark.

Later we would spy “IHS” on another stone, prompting Set to remark that our mystery symbol was those three letters occupying the same space. I could not disagree, but clung to my zombie theory a moment longer.

If I remember correctly, IHS means Christ, but that shouldn’t sink my imagination. The way I see it, this godfearing Christian woman with no last name clawed her way out of death and sauntered down the street to acquire more lime for herself, her sister, and the two unnamed dogs that once sprouted from their purses and now rest beside the women in matching subterranean carpetbags.

She’ll probably be back soon, so we’d best be on our way. If you see her, tell her it’s never ok to keep dogs in handbags, despite some evidence to the contrary. Replenishing the lime, on the other hand, is essential.

-The Natural Consequence of Looking Younger than You Are-

You can infiltrate a gathering of young people until you out yourself with knowledge of the eighties.

Last night, it was early nineties knowledge that did it. Curmudgeons everywhere should worry more about short memories than short skirts. When an MC in the 25-35 age bracket addresses a crowd with "Does anyone remember 'The State'?" You would think several attendees, even those skewing toward a 18-25 bracket might remember something about the sketch comedy group.

The MC looked so alone up there.
"I remember!" I shout,
and he rejoins with
"Iwannadipmyballzinit!"

I've got to stop helping others.