dreadcrumbs

Guerrilla Aesthetics

Anyone who has actually seen me knows I'm not terribly concerned with appearances, be they physical or environmental. My pile-based organizational style has long been the bane of my loved ones, and if it hadn't been for the handy intervention of male-pattern baldness, my hair would surely be frighteningly unkempt.

That being said, I have a bizzarely strong sense of "wrongness" when it comes to the language/composition/design of certain things. Usually printed advertisments and logos. At first I thought it some mutant form of Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder, but my pervasive apathy about everything else just doesn't fit. I'm currently operating under the assumption that I caught that insidious autism virus from infrequent hand-washing in South America.

And so, knowing my condition, you understand when the INSANE photograph of "Scrubs"-like doctors supposedly laughing (but probably screaming) included on an announcement in our company elevator (for yet another blood drive) drove me to action. In a fit of disgusted rage, I extracted the wretched thing and placed it behind the default "this space to be used for official announcements" sheet. Horrible photo hidden, smarmy passive-aggressive "I like saving lives, don't you?" text a blessedly fading memory.

Only it was put back in front later in the day. So I did it again.

And today, it was back in front again. With a "Please Do Not Remove" note.

I hid it again. I couldn't help myself.

I am now drafting a little replacement note that says "Please Do Not Display Abominations."

Perhaps that will end this ridiculous little farce. I'd hate to see the situation turn ugly.

Microstory Monday

A Midnight Extraction
I dreamt I had an asthma attack the night they took my tongue. In the dream, I was in some kind of open-air comedy club, and there was this bald guy standing on a rock, and he was shouting a joke about his childhood fear of frogs into a megaphone. I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't breathe, and I remember thinking this must be what asthma feels like, since I've never had asthma.
Then I woke up, and there was all the blood and coughing and screaming. It was all very bizarre.
I'd normally talk this sort of thing over with my therapist, but, well...you know.

Friday Fives

The Five Most Common Nicknames I Use For My Pregnant Wife

5. Tiamat
4. Vomitron
3. The Beast With A Thousand Young
2. Plague Mother
1. Sweetie-Sweet-Sweetums

The Manatee Brigade

Sometimes when I'm walking to the building I work from the parking lot I find myself in an unintentional parade. Other people happen to be following the exact same path I am, some before me, some after me. It's like some kind of bizarre synchronized performance number, all of us coming from different locations in the parking lot to form a single marching line to the front door. Usually the parade is brief, and I try to regulate my speed such that I don't have to participate, but sometimes it is inevitable.

Today as I walked to the building, my mind was wandering, vaguely wondering if dogs would still chase cats if they were both vampires. So I didn't realize I was part of a parade until I saw someone to the side staring at me. At us.

There were four of us in lockstep, all wearing solid black shirts, all men between 25 and 45, and all...er...large. The first was about 5'5", 300 pounds, the second 5'8", 325 pounds, the third 5'10, 350 pounds, and then me. All marching along in ascending order.

Except, while I may in fact be large-framed and taller than 5'10, I am not over 350 pounds. But being part of such a corpulent formation, I sure felt like I was. Like I was one of them. One of the Walking Obese.

The experience has made me realize I'm going to have to change my lifestyle. I'm just going to have to bite the bullet and never wear that black shirt again. It won't be easy, but I think I can do it. And...oh, it's lunchtime already! I better go, there are some pastrami burgers calling my name.