Happy meal
Ogre: E stopped off at McDonalds the other day to get a Happy Meal for N. N can’t eat any of the food but she can play with the toy.
jagosaurus: So what did she get?
Ogre: Well, it’s an alien. It’s purplish and sort of oblong and–
jagosaurus: [cracking up]
Ogre: …and when you pull on its feet, the head lights up.
jagosaurus: …
Ogre: …
jagosaurus: Let’s review. N has a new toy that is purplish and oblong and when you pull on it the head lights up?
Ogre: Yes.
jagosaurus: I have nothing else to say about this.
In case you are wondering, it’s the next to last guy on the right and not, um, any of the others.
One week until the sandwich party
Elsa is, as per usual, much more on top of things than I am.
The Sandwich Party is April 3-5. We all know you don’t have anything better to do than make, photograph, and write about sandwiches next weekend.
Websites I am enjoying
I probably found most, if not all, of these via things magazine, another site I really, really like.
Another word for nothing left to lose
This morning as I turned on the exit ramp to the interstate, the lightest touch of sunlight brushed the face of a rumpled man carefully walking his bicycle down the side of the ramp into the still darkness of the underpass. Fabric, cardboard, and plastic formed a large mass tethered to the bike. The man himself wore several layers: clothing and grime, fatigue and anxiety, maybe anger and regret. Who knows?
I don’t necessarily think we all have grand aspirations and plans for ourselves when we grow up, but I do think that this man never thought to himself as a boy that he wanted to grow up to a life of indigence and antipathy.
The Party of the Sandwich, April 3, 4, and 5
Nothing says spring like a sandwich!
Elsa and I have decided that another sandwich party is in order. Mark your calendars and prep your scanners for we have determined that the first weekend in April (April 3, 4, and 5) is the time.
If you’ve participated before, then you know the drill. If you have not, let me direct you here.
Please enjoy this example sandwich from the fine folks at Isoglossia:
Who’s hungry?
Jesus by the dashboard lights
trasherati: My goddamn driveway sounds like a tent revival right now.
jagosaurus: Perfect. Also, what?
trasherati: The nurse wheeled mom out to the driveway so they could listen to her gospel CD. She is currently standing by Mom tapping on her arm in time with the gospel music, while they both stare off into the woods.
jagosaurus: Contemplating the lord.
jagosaurus: What manner of gospel?
trasherati: The home grown kind.
jagosaurus: Oh, yeah. The stack of CDs on the counter in the diner. They’re usually sandwiched between the box of nickel York Peppermint Patties and the fund raising jar for the crippled high school football player.
trasherati: Dude, seriously…I can hear it back here in the office.
jagosaurus: Hahahahahahaha. You should call me so I can hear it too. It won’t affect me.
trasherati: Thank god I’m not on a conference call – they’d all be saved.
jagosaurus: And moved by the power of the lord.
trasherati: Okay, I’m putting you on speakerphone.
jagosaurus: Um. Wow.
trasherati: Hey, you know…Mom might get up and start walking again.
jagosaurus: So approximately how many dogs are sitting around the car right now? Is Rudy howling yet?
trasherati: 4, maybe 5.
trasherati: If this goes on much longer, every holy roller within 50 miles will start heading this way, trudging up my driveway.
jagosaurus: Yeah, you look out and see them amassed there in your yard. Like zombies. Zombies for Jesus. In your yard. …This would only happen in [redacted] county.
Weekend
I spent the first fully springtastic weekend outdoors as is appropriate. Well, somewhat outdoors. I ran errands on Saturday with a brief pit stop to hang out with Ogre, Natalie, and watch Hot Fuzz, which is awesome. Sunday, Elise (Natalie’s mom) and I walked from Rosslyn across the Key Bridge into Georgetown and up Wisconsin avenue to the flea market, which is up around T street. And then back. Please feel free to look that up on a map and be impressed with us, for we are awesome. And tired and sore.
This Sunday market is the one that temporarily (unfortunately) relocated to my neighborhood on Sundays. There is a small group there still and I hope they hang on and flourish. I haven’t visited it for a while now because of a weird social situation that I would probably write about if this were an anonymous blog. No matter how obliquely you reference something, someone will be paranoid and sensitive enough to try to connect dots, manufacture some drama, and cloak themselves in indignation and hurt feelings.
Heh. That last sentence will probably rile someone up too.
Georgetown is peculiar. There’s a lot about it that is lovely. There’s a lot about it that is hopelessly pretentious. The architecture is lovely and interesting. The traffic is horrendous. If I had to drive through Georgetown, I would kill myself. I only went there in the first place because I can walk to it. A metro station would be ideal, but no.
Saturday was my neighbor’s birthday. I know this because around 8pm, people started stomping up the stairs, pounding on the door, and yelling, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!” when he opened the door. They further celebrated by smoking hundreds of thousands of cigarettes out front until the wee hours of the morning and slamming his bathroom (I assume) door all the damn time. He is usually so profoundly quiet that I forget he’s there. Not so this past weekend. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!
I’m tired. Can you tell?
