I don't really know how something like this happens.
But it did.
The cup my Coca Cola came in today ... a cup exactly like the one above (and which was the subject of one of my photoblog posts March 10th of this year)?
Well, it tasted exactly like that cup looks. I'm not kidding. It wasn't pleasant.
Imagine that, if you will .....
I wasn't necessarily looking for inspiration today.
I just figured it would come from out of the blue somewhere.
Sure enough ..... it did.Boomer
God Bless America
withthebanned
Land that I love
Zoiks
stand beside her
Darmon
And guide her
Boomer
through the night
Boomerette
with the light from above
Darmon
From the mountains, to the prairies
Zoiks
To the oceans, white with foam
Ruprecht
God Bless America. *Our* home sweet home.
Boomer
nicely done (*second verse, same as the first*)................... Ruprecht ( STOP )
I was at the L.A. County Fair Labor Day.
Admission was a buck ... the weather was gearing up to be picture perfect ... smokey meats and frolickous noise would be wafting in the air ... people everywhere. What's not to like?
I did the things I like to do at the Fair all by my lonesome. It's rather refreshing getting that opportunity. No needs, no hurrys, no unexpected restroom breaks, no doing what you don't want to do. Just the solitude of indulging in your very own whims.
Toward the end of the day, with seven hours under my belt, I thought it was about time to call it quits. I was still pleasantly satisfied at the smoked turkey leg I'd purchased hours earlier, my feet were beginning to get tired and it was beginning to get overly crowded with late afternoon revelers wanting nothing more than to go on carnival rides. But, finding myself passing the grandstands, I eyed an attraction: Our Body: The Universe Within. This was an exhibit I'd passed up in Vegas one year and missed somewhere else another ... but I saw here the chance to finally catch it and in a relaxed atmosphere no less. With the late afternoon sun beating down on everyone milling about at the Fair, this seemed like the perfect opportunity for physical as well as mental refreshment. (I mean, it had to be air-conditioned inside with all those plasticized bodies, right?)
Let it be said the exhibit was fascinating ... strange ... a bit weird ... brilliantly educational. It was a kick to see everyday average Joes and Josephines gawking in wonder at the exhibits, sometimes screwing up their faces in such manners as to be comical.
Questions by kids were directed at their parents. Boyfriends asked their girlfriends if this wasn't the coolest thing they'd ever seen. Old men and old ladies standing with their hands behind their backs contemplating the human form with steely intensity. Everyone gazed at lucite-encased exhibits of the hands and feet, then looked at their own, marveling at all the tendons within that moved their extremities in the unique and myriad ways they do.
For the most part, everyone was relatively quiet and respectful. There was an overall drone in the place; queries and oohs and aahs, even a few eeews and chuckles.
Relatively quiet, that is, until I got over to one particular exhibit showing a man in motion with muscle stripped away and hanging off his bones to show structure and relative positioning.
Each exhibit in the place was accompanied by a signpost that detailed various body parts and structures being showcased. At this particular model of the man with the dangling musculature, there was a rambunctious 4 year-old inside the roped off area around the display, merrily playing a self-absorbed game of Ring Around The Rosy with the pole holding the sign, gleefully screaming his head off. His parents - a young mother with a baby in her arms, a young father with another in his and several other kids milling about (no clue if they were theirs or not) - did nothing to corral the little boy.
I was right there when a fracas broke out. And it all happened in a span of 10 seconds: I saw the signpost begin to sway until it was at a point where it was coming dangerously close to banging against the plasticized man. I had half a mind to grab the little Buster Brown by his Buster Browns, but was patiently waiting for the parents to say or do something ... anything. Just then, a commotion behind me: a uniformed security guard rushed in and yelled at the kid. She saw, as I did, that the sign was perilously close to gouging the exhibit's head. As she climbed between the ropes to nab the child, the mother finally said something:
"Timothy ... don't do that. Come out here." The guard grabbed him by the shoulder; the mother hadn't moved an inch. "There's no need for that ma'am ... I'll take care of him." But ... she remained there while little Timmy ducked and dodged out of the way of the guard. The father just looked on in boredom.
Timmy finally escaped to his mother's side, a bit frightened by the guard who was stopping the sign from swaying. The mother yelled at the guard: "I said I would handle it!"
Words were then exchanged between the two. The mother walked off in a huff, Timmy in one hand, the other child still cradled in her arm. The father motioned the remainder of the children onward.
The guard, flabbergasted and out of breath, glared as the group retreated into another part of the room. She didn't take her eyes off them the remainder of the time they were in the place.
I continued my examination of the plasticized man on display ... and I could have sworn I saw him sigh in relief as little Timmy walked off.
We're creatures of habit ... creatures of comfort.
You know how you get used to stuff? Little things that make life nice for you ... things you're used to ... stuff you come to expect ... preferences ... you're own little quirks and kinks which keep you calm, cool and collected?
Well, I'm no different. I'm just like you. I have my likes and my dislikes. I prefer my creamer poured into my coffee cup before my coffee ... I shave before I shower ... I fold my shirts a certain way for a reason ... 'Hokay!' is a real word in my book.
And I prefer lots of things hard. I don't like Three Musketeers candy bars. (That gooey soft center is yucky.) My mattress? Make it firm. Chunky peanut butter with lots of crunch, please ... not that wimpy smooth stuff.
And my toilet seat needs to be hard; no soft, foamy cushion for this tush.
But that changed a few days ago. You see, I recently moved out of my house and I am now the guest of friends. And I couldn't ask for more hospitable hosts than the folks I'm with currently.
However ... their bungalow, where I'm currently residing? The restroom toilet seat therein houses one of those foamy, collapsing rings that 'settles' when you sit on it. It feels like your ass is being sucked into the toilet. It's as if the ring is alive. When you sit on it, you feel as if you're slowly sinking into the bowl. 
Which naturally spurs the imagination: What it really feels like is that there are Pod People in the toilet and they're trying to suck me into their underground lair, ass first. (All right - so maybe it doesn't spur your imagination as much as it does mine ...)
Rather the frightening thought, not to mention the frightening feeling, right? If you'ven't ever had the 'pleasure' of a cushy toilet seat (and, for the life of me, I have no clue who would), then riddle me this: What would you think if you sat on the pot and suddenly felt as if you were being sucked into its porcelain confines? Creeped out, that's what! It's like Pod People are sucking at your ass ... with the rest of your body to inevitably follow!
Hey, Pod People! There's nothing there you want! Really! It's just ass! Nothing more! You seriously don't want to go there! Trust me! Besides, I always thought it was our minds you wanted to possess ... to turn us into your zombific minions and commit your foul deeds! Right? If that's truly the case, you're working the wrong end of our bodies and you need to head north. You're starting from the bottom of our top and that route is going to take you that much longer to accomplish your dastardly deeds!
Not to mention (and most importantly of all): It's an 'exit', not an 'entrance'! If you want to get at us, that's the wrong orifice! You start violating our derrieres and you'll just have us screaming frantically and ruining any chance you might have in taking total control of us.
Bottom line: Our asses aren't the way to go.
I know ... I know: You Pod People are not of this earth, but believe you me: The majority of us will confirm the fact the ass is not the way to go. 
And, while I'm certain the creators of the cushy toilet seat had initial good intentions, I'm not on board with the whole comfort thing when it comes to 'visiting the library'. Get in, get out, get done.
Give me cool, slick, hard ovalness anytime.
And keep the Pod People out of my ass.
