"Joey Pants", the character who's been wandering around my daily haunts with that accent, does push-ups and yoga on the carpet, wears a pork-pie hat, and addresses me as follows: "You eat healthy. Where'd you get that sandwich?" "Oh, man, you...uh...promote?" "Are you editors?" "Whose bike is this? This is a beautiful bike." "No, it's an autobiography about how my mental illness sublimated itself..." I feel...puzzled (I still don't know who he is) but amused....
~~~
As I walk to the train station every day, I tend to see the same backpack- or messenger-bag-wearing pedestrians hoofing it in the same direction. I often feel like we're in a walking foot-race. The guy (these are mostly guys) who's more inclined that day to ignore the walk/don't walk signs and play toreador with rushing cars (piloted by drivers yacking on cell phones) tends to win. It's not necessarily the guy with the longest legs. Sometimes it's me. But the thrill of victory is rather feeble....
~~~
My wyfe brought home a lot of old-lady costume jewelery from her deceased aunt's house, and some of it is weird and interesting: lots of dragonflies, Asian deities, and...mice. Not sure what we'll do with it, but for now, it all glitters on a tray and makes me feel like there's something numinous here....
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Somebody called me a grammar Nazi today. Not pleasant....
~~~
Postscript: Um, it actually IS him. I've never seen a single episode....
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