VICARIOUS CELEBRATORY PERCEPTIONS

Seeing as it's Christmas, it is fitting that for one day I do not angrily call for the slow agonizing dismemberment of certain people. And you know who you are. Enjoy it while it lasts. Here on the West Coast you still have fourteen hours. Of which less than seven will be light, the rest darkness. Gloom, the howling void, failing street lights, an unlit oncoming train barreling at you. The all-enveloping dank black of existential despair.


"If a little kid ever asks you just why the sky is blue, you look him or her right in the eye and say, "It's because of quantum effects involving Rayleigh scattering combined with a lack of violet photon receptors in our retinae."
------Philip Cary Plait


It's all about the little children, isn't it? The charming wee tykes that torment grown-ups and force them to wear talking fish hats at festive gatherings, one by one, so that those of us who see the handwriting on the wall will hide outside in the garden just beyond the field of vision through the plate glass windows of everybody else in the sun room where the feast was held nearly freezing our cojonus off while having two or three cigarillos until we see our chance and sneak back in to hide the damned piscine chapeau where she will never find it such as happened two decades ago. She's grown up now, at college on the East Coast, and the hat has undoubtedly been thrown out. I would still be traumatized if I were the type to harbour traumatization. Which I'm not.

Yesterday at some point my apartment mate heard a street person yelling up at a third floor window that the resident should get his or her raggedy ass down for the purpose of receiving something. Which sounds promising and Christmassy, doesn't it? Christmas is about gifts.
I wonder what the person with the raggedy ass was going to get.

That was, I believe, just after she left a Walgreens where a loud and monotously droning individual was showing off his stylish boxers and complete unfamiliarity with belts. The correct choice of male underwear can say "Christmas" like nothing else.

Like many men, I need to choose my undies better.
Pre-empt a raggedy ass invitation.


I pride myself, especially at this time of year, for not having a particularly raggedy ass.
Actually I have never thought about it, but now I can't get it out of my head.



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