inkgrrl's inkblog

I’ve been reading a lot of Tim Powers lately (with a liberal dose of Neil Gaiman thrown in for good measure), which may account for the odd sensation I’m having to day of living in his world. Or not. To whit – this morning I read the news blurb about the South American couple who worship down at thier local church for as long as it takes the Virgin Mary to recharge their cell phone. A nice bit of surreal religiosity, I admit, but not in and of itself enough to make me think I’m living in Powers‘ world. Then, as I run my hubby’s dusty black truck through the automatic carwash on my lunch break, I look over at the transom-thingy that spews all the water and soap and air and there’s a slim black sticker that reads “Resist Despair - therapy for a country gone psycho” by www.unamerican.org or .com or something that I can’t get to through the Mary Poppins proxy server here at work. A good message, and timely to boot. Aw shucks. Anyone for a game of five-card stud with a tarot deck, Pages wild? Or not. Wait, these things always come in threes… hmm. Oh hell, I know what the third thing is – the surreality started yesterday, when I got the Explorer. Me and the hubby are DINKS living in the ‘burbs who now own an SUV. Um shit. Hold on there – he’s still dot-commed, so we’re SINKS for the time being… *whew*

Wonder what the third thing’s gonna be?

Oh Happy Noodles! I got a twuck… um, sorry about that – I’m just all filled with chocolatey goodness with whipped cream on top – I got a truck. A 2002 Explorer, to be exact. No more sore unhappy knees getting in and out of the car, no more balking at the prospect of zooming over eight-inch high obstacles, no more worrying about those pesky pedestrians… um, yeah. That!

I’ve heard of infringing on one’s personal space with excessively loud sounds, but this is kinda pushing that sensitive artist routine a bit far… I mean, one could endlessly spiral around chasing one’s own tail over who can claim original creative copyright on silence. Silence has been used in performance art as long as man has told stories, so that pretty much puts it in the public domain, don’cha tink?

My thanks to Stephen’s Web for this one.