The Other End of Sunset

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Random musings, again

Hello, my fellow OtherEnders. It's been a while. Sorry.

I don't have any great causes circulating in my brain today, just random firings. So you get to share those with me.

Or stop reading now, that's ok too, but just don't expect too much. Because there's little in this world that I hate more than failing to meet others' expectations of me. But let's leave that for now, shall we?

I was driving down the street in Danville the other day, and I saw a sign -- a bright orange sign, one of those temporary ones, that is made of fabric. This one was sitting squarely in the middle of a large parking lot. Like, "large" as in "there is materially more carbon dioxide in the air because of the thousands of trees that died to make this tarvia wasteland". Large like that.

Anyway, that's beside the point.

// Sidenote -- what does that expression mean -- beside the point. And why do some people say "besides the point"? That's not just a dumb aphorism, it's grammatically incorrect. OK, this is a recursive rabbit trail now, a rabbit trail from a rabbit trail. Which is like a warren or so, I guess. Anyway, we return you now to our regularly scheduled chit chat //

In the middle of this (empty) BIG parking lot was this sign. Which read "Men in Trees".


Well. Interesting sentiment.

I often feel that I'd be better off in some tree.

When I lived in Venice, there was an entire extended family that lived in the tree, in a park down the street. No surprise, we called them the tree people. They were nice.

But I don't think the sign was about them.

There weren't any real trees around the tarvia jungle, and there weren't any men (except, perhaps, me, and I don't think the sign was put out there for me. And, regardless, I am quite sure I wasn't in a tree. Out of my tree, perhaps. In a tree, no.)

So, what is the meaning of this missive, this word from above. Is it a great truth that remains to be uncovered? Is there meaning there, just waiting to be grasped, like a ripe fruit at the very end of the branch?

Or did some smelly dude just swipe the sign from a green, leafy abode, and stick it in the middle of suburbia?

I shall wait, and ponder, this great truth, until another moment passes.

I spent Christmas in Las Vegas. Random, yes, fun, yes. I thought it would be empty, a ghost town, filled with itinerate gunslingers like me, looking for meaning in a neon city of ghosts.

But I was wrong. It was packed. The buffet line on Xmas day, at 11:30am, was 3 hours long. That's about as long as it would take to drive to LA, and get food at Chinois on Main or so. Well, only if you drive fast, and get great service. And Chinois has to be open, but forget all that, and work with me! Regardless, it's a long damn line!

// Another sidenote -- I don't mind telling you Merry Xmas (or Happy Xmas, as I confusingly say). I also don't mind telling you Happy Holidays, nor Happy Hannukah. I don't mind you wishing me a Joyful Ramadan. It doesn't offend me. Why does it offend some people? And, damnit, it should be a "holiday tree" in the White House, because I don't want my government endorsing any religion. Ever. But that's not relevant just now. //

It was fun. I don't gamble, but I like watching people that do. I went to the spa at the Bellagio to get a manicure and a shave. Really, a shave. I have always wanted to sit in one of those chairs, with the towel wrapped around my nose, and have some dude use a straight razor on my face. Seemed like a great opportunity to do so, right?

Well, I'd rather it had been a hot woman, but whatever. Can't have it all, right?

A very nice man shaved me. He used several of those towels, and never once got it stuck on my nose. I have only one word for you -- OUCH! It was the closest shave I have ever had -- my beard is a periodic source of complaints -- but it hurt. Really. And 4 days later, my face is still messed up (sore, with those weird red spots that make me look like a slightly pre-pubescent adolescent). And in addition to being painful, it was expensive.

I'm not sure I made a good decision there. But perhaps I can rationalize by saying that I have learned a valuable lesson here -- paying someone to take a knife to one's throat may not work out so well.

And on a final note. I am thinking about putting a streak of blue into my hair. Once upon a time, in a land far far away, I had blue hair for a while. It didn't match my skin tone so well, but I found it intriguing. I am thinking of doing just a bit again, so that it is visible when someone looks closely, but not under normal circumstances. It could match my front earring, which is a purplish color. I think that hair is a fashion accessory. I have a friend who changes her hair color each season, in a predictable fashion. I have an ex who doesn't actually remember what color her hair is. I have another friend who has gone from blonde to (almost) black, and another who went from blonde, to brown, and back to blonde, in a span of about a month. It makes one wonder -- do blondes have more fun (says the brunette)? What will the impact of the blue be on my general happiness? or hairiness, perhaps. At any rate, check me out the next time I pass you...

Somewhere in a taxi...


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