I’ve been sick the last several days. Sucks. I don’t recommend it.
If there is an upside to illin’, though, it’s the fact that it forces me to step out of my usual Busy-and-Important lifestyle and address some my backlog of neglected tasks. Important stuff, too, such as:
- Researching the shelf life of Taco Bell Fire Sauce packets.*
- Debating the sexual orientation of DJ Lance Rock with the Mrs.**
I'd kill for DJ Lance's job.
- And going through pictures that were sitting on my camera for months.
I seem to take a lot of pictures of things that drive me bat shit nuts. Like this guy, who woke up one morning thinking it would be a good idea to throw on the wetsuit and paddle a surfboard, gondola-style, down the nasty ass Willamette River in the middle of December:
And representing the latter half of my Love/Hate relationship with Portland...
Or this woman, driving the only car more stereotypically “Portland” than the Outback (or, possibly, beat up Volvo wagons).
With a fucking Harry Potter bumper sticker:
I actually like the Prius, but now I know I can never ever drive one. Same thing has happened with my wife and the VW Beetle. She loves the car, but every time she sees another middle-aged woman driving one she dies a little inside.
Wonder if the Prius driver was the same middle-aged woman who pissed me off on the MAX last year… the one who was pumping her fists and yelling “YES!!!” aloud while she read the last Harry Potter book?
Or are there more of them? Do I live in an area that somehow attracts the middle-aged Harry Potter fan? Is there something in the water here that makes them think the whole “Keep Portland Weird” mantra means their pedophilial obsession with a teenaged boy wizard is “OK?”
*Random strangers on the Intertubes claim anywhere from a few weeks to a couple months. I called the Taco Bell customer service line for official word, but they wouldn’t tell me. Cover up?
**For the record, I come down in the straight-and-just-a-bit-flamboyant column. Wifey thinks queer-as-a-three-dollar-bill.
