Why Do You Ask?

Today feels like a day for getting things done. Evy agrees and has offered to work all day shredding the chair that I'm sitting on. Its a work-in-progress, I guess. I, meanwhile will spend my time trying to fix a number of broken things around here: hinges, light switches, my sense of humour-that sort of thing.

I think I may have burnt out my sense of humour. Nothing seems funny anymore. Sure, I still have a cynical eye, a detachment that allows me to critique my betters, and I have a keen understanding of why I think it's so funny when people trip over their own feet or get hit in the head with a golfball. But it has occurred to me that these things are an extension of my cruelty, not my good will, and my desire to laugh at you before you laugh at me. As hard as I try, it seems to me that funny only comes in disguise and never as itself.
I'm going to go one step further and say that nothing is funny if it doesn't involve someone else's misfortune. That's not a criticism, it's a fact. Test it. Go ahead. What is the funniest thing that's ever happened to you, or more likely, in front of you?

I recently posted an updated version of my resume on the internet and my phone has not stopped ringing. Except for one, all the calls are from insurance and financial planning outfits who tell me that I'd be a great salesman. All I have to do is call people, randomly, and use jingoistic phraseology to lure the stupid and unaware into buying products and coverage that they don't need. Of course, none of these jobs pay an hourly wage, you work on commission, but I am assured that with the right attitude I can make up to $100,000 a year. Now that's funny. Maybe 'funny' isn't the right word.

I waited patiently, which for me amounts to climbing Everest in my underwear and without a Sherpa, and when the old lady in front of me finally finished loading her groceries into the basket of her scooter, the cashier started to ring through mine. I said, "Hello." to which she answered, "Fine, thanks." I waited but she didn't say anything more. I was curious to see what else I might not say, and how she would answer. I didn't say, "You're a sour old bitch." but I guess she didn't hear me, so then I didn't say, "There's a potted plant in my pants." No good. This conversation was going nowhere. When she gave me my change she skimmed her eyes past where she assumed I was standing and said, "Have a nice day." to which I responded "Why do you ask?" She looked at me, and for a moment, I thought I had penetrated her hard-boiled exterior and then she said, "Thanks." For the life of me, I can't remember what I didn't say, but I now I know to watch my tongue.

For three days there has been a front end loader sitting outside my window. The driver periodically has to fire it up and front end load something, something to do with the repetitive digging out and filling in of holes on my street, but for the most part he sits quietly, reading his paper and fiddling with the laces of his boot. For three days he has read and fiddled and periodically dug out or filled in a hole on the street. He must have a patient demeanor and an unflappable resolve. I imagine that you could probably fire bomb his house and he'd stroll out through the flames, singed but untroubled. I bet he could make it through the longest and most incoherent wedding speech ever written without yawning or throwing a brick. The man has incredible patience and fortitude.
Shit. I just looked out the window and noticed that he's gone off somewhere. All this time sitting and watching, waiting for something to happen, and now I've gone and missed him climbing down out of the machine. I miss all the action.

I'm a terrible judge of distance when it comes to parking spots. I'm forever hitting those cement stops and bending my license plate. I wonder why I never err on the side of caution and leave the car jutting out into the lot behind me. I suppose I worry that someone will come along and clip the back end. It's never happened but it could. I tell myself that that's what the bumper is for but when I hear that sound, that grating, metal bending sound I can't help looking around quickly to see if anyone has noticed. It's embarrassing to be so consistently inept. What I really should work on is not being embarrassed. I should accept the fact that I'm going mangle the front of my car and glare at anybody who notices and say things like, "Fits like a glove." or "If it ain't tight, it ain't right."

Evy's pissed at me. I clipped his nails so that it would take him a little longer to shred the chair and he's given it up as waste of his time. I'm ashamed that I'm raising a quitter. Now he's determined to break the record for the most consecutive hours slept by a cat in one day, so I'm going to get the vacuum out. I'm trying to help him set the record for highest standing vertical leap. Why? Because it's funny and if you don't think so you should check out the definition of funny at the top of the page. I'm pretty sure this qualifies.

Hey, front end loader guy is back.