Without, A Clue

Ask yourself: How many words begin with the letter “G”?

You’ll probably come up with “A lot!”

How many can you actually list? Fifteen? Twenty? Now ask: Why the HELL is this important? What good is knowing how many words begin with the letter “G,” or even knowing how many of those words you can use in daily conversation?

“It’s not,” is the answer you’ll undoubtedly get stuck with. And you’re right.

What is important is that you’ll never need to know everything, but you should know what I’m about to tell you:

Abraham Lincoln has special relevance this year.

Of course, I have no idea what or why that special relevance is. My mom and grandma simply insisted that it's so, but couldn’t provide details. Therefore, I will give a Kudos Bar to anyone who (after you’ve finished reading) goes out to research this and returns with a suitable explanation. I’ve considered it the conundrum of my summer (but have been too lazy to bother finding out the facts myself. That doesn’t mean you have to be).

And that’s all. It’s been super busy these days. You all know how it is: Time is tasty, but there are lots of people at the table.

So thus it is as we reach our end – and that is where we are tonight.

Good luck, until next time.

Note: Dracula rides a Vespa, glowing green.

Ancillary Note: For purposes of toasting, English muffins are essentially the same thing as bagels.

On Vacation Beyond the Asteroid Belt

When I was seven or so, I used to tell people I was from Mars. And despite the fact that most of them didn’t believe it at first – if they did, they hid it well – I just kept on telling my story that way. Of course, even at seven or so, I knew where I had probably come from and understood that there were slim chances that I was an extraterrestrial. But you know how it is – when you keep saying that you came from the Red Planet, and you start pointing out into the stars at where you approximate Mars to be, and you keep saying “Look. That little continent near the southern pole? That’s where my uncle lived. He raised me. He taught me how to make a delicious breakfast, and how to raise chickens in an environment without atmosphere. I was sent here to forge world peace.” – you start to believe yourself. And finally, whether out of that same Johnny-come-lately belief, or exhaustion, your listeners start to nod – which is very encouraging to seven year old.

Years later, after having grown disillusioned with the idea of Mars and of ever going home again, I realized that that was it: I can achieve world peace by telling stories! Lots of wars are fought out of boredom. If someone has too much energy to think straight, they tend to sleep with and/or kill things. At least that’s what Henry VIII did, if he’s any model. (On a side note: Would he be considered a Republican these days? After all, “drill baby drill” was his motto – along with “I like big sluts and I cannot lie,” even though he did.) One way or another, stories can take the wind out of people. They can satiate. That way you don’t have to sleep with/and or kill things when you’re bored out of your mind, unless you really want to. So I figure I can keep telling tales and the peoples of the world can relax. That’s why I decided to blog. It wasn’t because of some urge to write at any cost, or to let people know how my life may or may not be going, or to keep language and thus our humanity alive and kicking. It was to promote world peace.

Can your blog claim that? (And if so, are you here to relieve me?)

So thus it is as we reach our end, and that is where we are tonight.

Good luck.

Note: Of course, if you – dear reader – start to tip me for my services, I might just be able to save up enough to buy myself a much-needed vacation to Pluto or, at the very least, home. It’s nice this time of year.

Ancillary note: If you are, at any time in your life, kidnapped by aliens and they do unusual things to you, you should know that they are probably not my immediate family members – only distant cousins.