364. Poetic Justice's prose.

First, I promised Brian that I would write about him in my next post. (Hi Brain!) I am sitting in an internet cafe, and I'm in mac internet bliss. Free use of Macs and internet connection! Yay!!!

Brian was sitting next to me. He is a local artist who had a vague notion of what a blog was. It was fun explaining (more accurately: trying to explain) blogs. "Blog" means different things to different people. You have your political blogs, laugh until I'm snorting like a piggy cartoony blogs, sassy and witty SF blogs, most excellent blogs, doodly wonderful blogs, tarty arty fun blogs, kickin' blogs, cool professor of law and life blogs, blogs that wonderfully mix economics and love of Legos and family and etc., delightful to read blogs, word creative and witty blogs, h-less and cool blogs, delicious blogs, blogs with tiny pensive hands and the inexplicable blogs. Of course, all of the blogs linked fall under the category of "Most Excellent Blogs."

Best of luck, Brian, with your artistic pursuits. You are very talented, keep doing what you love.

I'll be writing the bulk of my travel and sight seeing and sitting around leisurely stories when I'm back home. The words come easier in front of my beautiful and lightening quick G5. Plus, I have pictures to accompany posts, and am too lazy to even attempt to upload them from here.

I do have a story:


Dotted up I-90 through Illinois there are many "Oasis" travel stop centers where you can exit , fill up your car, your belly and/or empty your bladder. My inner cynic thought these stops were quite ridiculous and chuckled at the whole notion. Why can't people get off the freeway, wander, and stumble onto quaint little town to meet their car/belly/bladder needs? Of course when my bladder need hit, I read the word "Oasis" and agreed it was the perfect word to describe it. I'm not so judgmental about these centers now.

The Oasis's bathroom had automatic faucets. As I finished washing my hands a woman with a wordy shirt left her stall to wash hers. As I was drying, I was simultaneously trying to read her shirt in the mirror and witnessing her automatic faucet ineptitude. I gave up trying to read her wordy shirt, and she gave up trying to wash her hands. I was about to suggest that she try the faucet I had used when she walked up to it and tried several times to trigger the water. After the 5th attempt I said, "The faucets really like a confident approach. You seem a little apprehensive in yours." She threw her hands under the faucet with more force. Still no water! I demonstrated and she tried again. Again no water! "Ah," I said, "your hands need to be higher." She did as I suggested and was finally able to wash up. I asked her what her shirt read and then proceeded to read it out loud (something I would normally never do):

"Everyone is entitled to be stupid, but you are abusing the privelege!"

I was struck by the irony of the situation. "Ha! That's funny," I said.
She sheepishly shrugged her shoulders.

"Have a nice day," I said as I left.

"Thanks! You, too," she replied.

I hope she throws that offensive, nasty, and anti-social shirt away.

Poetic Justice used me as her prose, don't you think?