A sort of life

Smear of broccoli can protect skin

RICHMOND, Va. — Never underestimate the value of a good vacuum. I run a pretty tight ship in the Floyd Street flat, but I must admit that I am not fond of vacuuming. I’m not fond of many things, but vacuuming is not on the top of that list. Despite this, it is on the list of things long neglected. Like friends.

I bring this up because I’m amazed. I amaze myself. Amazed — that there is more cat hair in the vacuum than on the cat. How does that happen? I brush the bugger more often than I brush my own hair — I don’t brush — yet, he’s puts out more often than…

…You know where I’m going here. I suppose it’s a bad sign when writing about vacuuming and hair turns into sexual back story. That’s just the way it’s been.

Still, Bishop the Cat’s prolific life renewal gets me thinking about other accumulated things. Gets me worried about the amount of dust in the lungs. Affect of years on the memory.

I think I’ll be heading downtown to the Capital Ale House tonight for a burger. I haven’t had a burger in a while. It’s not something to think about often, but when was the last time you had one? I have mushrooms and olives more often than I have burger. Is that un-American? I hope surely hope so. Why? I eat mushrooms and olives on pizza — which is wholly American. Demonstrates how dumb people can be pointing fingers with absolutes and crusted spittle on the lips.

The Washington Redskins break my heart. Even when they win. Put aside the fact they let Kurt Warner, a guy more washed up than Vinny Testaverde on his worst day, throw all over the field… I don’t even want to finish that sentence. Makes me so pissed off.

I suppose the ‘Skins didn’t blitz too much because they wanted to keep Warner in the game, seeing as he had a pumkin like knot on his elbow. How hard could it have been to lay a helmet on that thing? So fine: don’t blitz then, but you better not let the old man throw all over your cover-two.

And London Fletcher’s taunting got me thinking. The penalty that followed was directly responsible (at least in part) for the second touchdown of the game. Not the end of the world (it shouldn’t have been — it almost was). What if our guys didn’t freak out after every huge play? I mean, we make a lot of soul crushing plays. I’m surprised the other guys even get up after some of the hits I’ve seen our defense make. But then our guys run 10 and 20 yards celebrating. Doing this is fine with me, except when all the games we’ve lost this year have been because the defense stops playing in the third quarter. Too tired! They’re celebrating themselves out of the game.

Don’t get me started about the offensive side.

Anyway, I myself am tired. Been doing a lot of reading. The Carter years. Mark Twain. C. S. Forester. A lot of listening to the jazz music. Nikki Yanofsky. Air Mail Special. All of 13-years-old! Not so much cleaning as I said above, but you know how that goes. Lonely times, I’ll admit. But what can you do?

“Smear of broccoli can protect skin” is from Volume One: Frank’s Wild Years (1983–2009). Written between 2003 and 2009, Volume One was this author’s attempt to find meaning from life as a young twenty-something. While this endeavor would ultimately fail, what remains is a comical tale of loneliness and debauchery.

The examined life is no picnic

The examined life is no picnic

Jenny De Soto waits for the gates to open for the Nationals Season Ticket Holder Picnic at the Park at RFK Stadium in Washington on June 11, 2006.