-Adequate-

The second half was. Barely.

-Poignant-

My God.. Jonathan Tropper's first book, (mentioned here) is so.. so..

And I've only read half.

-What rocks?-

I just know this guy I've never met hasn't got stones.

But he does have the girl, even if the only rocks he has are the ones in his head.

Georgetown University's student paper is called the Hoya. The name is taken from the 'Hoya Saxa' cheer - a latin idiom - meaning, literally: "What rocks!"

How does it work out for those happy couples who find love even while their brains dwell on different floors?

Maybe all the smart ones love pet rocks.

-Reverse-chronological order-

Today I acquired Jonathan Tropper's first book; I've already read the other two.

That happens often - I spot the author's latest on the new book shelves and find myself working my way back through his or her body of work. And I have to say, the author's third is usually my favorite. Case in point - Sabin Willett's 'Present Value.' His freshman and sophomore efforts read well, but simply didn't belong on the same shelf.

We could ponder why the third time is the charm, and bring to bear publishing statistics, writer psychology, market magic and chaos theory.

But why would we want to do that?

Curiosity?

-Checkpoint-

DSC00481
Originally uploaded by nandish.

$35 to fill up was a personal best.

Never have I paid so much for roadwarrior juice. My tank was full, and my cheeks were flushed with anticipation. 'Cause if you get what you pay for, this rush hour journey would have to be one of the finest I'd taken.

The engine indicator light went off. This is good news, inspection is nigh. (No, the car isn't fixed, it just isn't as noticeably broken.
Don't try to upset my even keel with talk of the future.) I just crested that hill and didn't watch the pumps recede.

Country.

Until the mechanic's garage crops up. Followed by the body shop. And the detailer. That scenery fast became a strip mall for automobiles only.

Just before the drive-thru, every car stopped dead.

In place of a median, the closest drivers spot a pair of neon-vested middle-aged women too broad to squeeze between the lanes squeezing between the lanes, toting buckets of money. The drivers creep their eyes to the left to see preteen daughters sitting on the low wall with signs propped on their knees that read "support our cheerleading squad." These signs are supporting their preteen heads, and the cardboard prints deep into the flesh of their throats.

Say what you will about young people, but don't judge every child by the way they work a checkpoint. If these girls grew up in Liberia, they would never think of pressing their duties onto their elders. By now every last one would have learned how to haggle over bribes, to clean an automatic rifle, and to smoke just enough joints to keep the Commander's mandatory psychotic drugs at bay. (But not so many to forget the lines to his anthem - a torture-till-death offense.)

Glad you're here, yes?

-Invisible dog-

When I returned to the house I’m sitting, I took in the large fenced-in back yard, the indeterminate number of worn tennis balls, and the metal baseball bat the color of redwoods.

These are the three ingredients for hours of dog entertainment.

Just one week ago on this very spot, a Labrador fetched fly balls until vermicelli strands of drool extended from her snout to her wattles. At the time, the exercise of cracking balls into the outfield for this animal’s pleasure seemed a chore. Today I pick up the bat and wonder if I should hit a few, even though I would have to do the shagging myself.

And even though this cat person can resist the urge to play with an invisible dog, canines would figure big in his future. On my way home, a golden retriever ran wide circles on a 45 mph stretch of highway. He – the dog was proudly, visibly male – lacked any semblance of car smarts.

Before man’s best friend could take second place to a bus, I and a few other nearby drivers engaged our emergency flashers, left our cars, and attempted to corral a dumb but fleet quadruped; proving, perhaps, that as foolish as our pets are, they usually get the last laugh.

Eventually, the dog stopped circling to gnaw on leftover chicken pieces slated for my cat. Unfair of me to reward bad behavior, but it kept the animal on the shoulder long enough for his owner to catch up.

This is the second time he did this, she tells us. “We just changed the batteries on his collar last week.” By now, we’d all noted the ineffective shock collar.
“Might be time for a real fence.” Said another driver, none too gently.

Angry and embarrassed retorts were sure to follow, so I proffered the remainder of chicken - here you go – which the owner took from my greasy, saliva coated fingers.

-Socially efficient-

The next adventure hisses at me like teapot near boiling, and I’m just waiting to hear it scream. On Monday I took lunch with a coworker who is a ringer for an unrequited friend of mine from college; she’s kind like that one was, and giggles supportively even when I’m not trying to amuse.

Nice, but couldn't be any more annoying is she tried.

If history is any guide, she’ll makes passes for a while, then get angry and point out all the valid reasons why she should never have been interested in me from the beginning. After a year or so, she’ll marry a staid businessman, her experiments with neurotic men concluded, and my pink and black theory intact. I have resolved, however, not to let it reach that stage; I have all the data I need at present, thank you.

I’m getting socially efficient in my old age, aren’t I?

-Week begone-

It's much harder to write about a vacation in this form than I thought it would be, provided one doesn't want the piece to sound like "How I spent my summer vacation", GED edition.

As of right now, I have seven days of posts saved, but not posted, because I'm not at all satisfied with the result. So I've decided to move on. I may canibalize the main ideas from the lost posts later, but only if it is relevant to do so.