Free Spit Balls

Whenever I walk to the gym I pass a woman on the corner of 6th and 14th calling out, “Free spit balls!” I always knew she couldn’t really be saying what I thought she was saying, but I was afraid to make eye contact because what if she is saying what I think she’s saying?? I don’t think it would be a good idea to make eye contact with a woman offering free spit balls.

I finally glanced in her direction and figured out what she is saying by the store she was standing in front of. She is saying, “Free Sprint phones.”

I Want To Travel Around in Time

Bleeker2.jpg This is a block away from where I live, 152 years ago. Technically, time travel is possible, according to physicists. If it’s possible, it’s already happening then, right? But it must be only the people in the future, getting to travel around. Maybe they are watching us now. Not us us, because what are we doing that’s so interesting? But they could go back to 9/11 and study what happened. They know all about what Jesus really said and if he married or not. History is their theatre. The biggest business of the future will be going back to record what really happened, and finding the best things to watch — no! Developing the best search engines for the past. Right??

I’m in Love with Pixie

pixie1.jpgThis is Pixie. Every day I go to the blog for the French Bulldog Rescue Network. I long for a French bulldog. The thing is, I live on the 5th floor of a 5th floor walk-up, so walking a dog would be a bit of a nightmare, and I have two cats, who I think would either scratch a dog to pieces after getting over the initial shock, or would hide in the bedroom for the rest of their lives. I don’t have the heart to traumatize them.

Recently, they had pictures of Pixie. Pixie broke my heart. I ended up contributing to her care, and now I fantasize about applying for her and going to Texas to get her.

If you go here you can help Pixie or another dog, too.

Singing About Death

Sing.jpg I seem to be on a God theme lately, but one of the best things about God is the music written in his name. I went to a summer sing the other night and we sang Mozart’s Requiem. I’m sure most people already know this, but Mozart died while writing this, and it was finished by one of his students. Normally the transition to the student’s stuff doesn’t bother me, I don’t have the most sophisticated ear, but the other night, for the first time, there were parts that felt like it had been written by a third grader after what we had been singing a few minutes ago.

Speaking of death, I was freaking out about the 9/11 tape they were playing over and over, the one with the woman pleading with the 911 operator, “It’s so hot, it’s very very very hot.” That one. It made me stop and think, okay, just what did she have to endure? And I thought it through, the room getting hotter and hotter and hotter, slowly, it must have been like being cooked, hotter and hotter until you can’t breath and die. The fucking horribleness of it all. This happened to someone. I just simply can’t get used to the idea of what some people have had to endure. Some people get a roll of the dice that is so beyond measure horrible that I can’t comprehend the monumental unfairness, the unthinkable awfulness of it.

I never quite understood why people wanted to believe in Hell, but now I kinda see it. Sometimes you are powerless to prevent or do anything about something unspeakably awful. We may never catch Osama bin Laden and the people who planned 9/11. What is left but to take some comfort in the fact that justice will be served in the hereafter? Except I think that’s ultimately a no-win fantasy, that feeds nothing good in the world. It keeps anger and hate alive instead of neutralizing it. Except maybe that kind of fantasy is just a step towards letting go of the anger.