This morning, I got up all bleary-eyed because I stayed up until 1:25 a.m. last night playing Pokémon Puzzle Challenge on the GameBoy. This is a deceptively cruel game to publish on a hand-held system. Unlike the console and computer games in my house, this game can actually be played in bed. So after I turn the off the 32,239 appliances and lights in my house, after I turn off the computer, after finally cutting off my umbilicus to the Internet, I end the night by brushing my teeth and sliding under the covers.
And just when I've finished setting the alarm and am ready to drift off into sleep, hours before my cat will jump onto the bed from the dresser and make me jump awake thinking a midget just tried to attack me, I look over to the nightstand. The Atomic Purple GameBoy Color is sitting there, innocent, full of recharged battery power. Because Pokémon Puzzle Challenge is a variation of Tetris, I think I can just play a quick two-minute game and be done for the night. Half an hour later, I've beaten five gym leaders and am ascending the ladder of PokéGreatness on the "Hard" level.
It's really a sickness. And I'm bleary-eyed today because of it.
As I'm leaving the house, the sunny morning greets me. So do about six guys digging a huge hole in my front yard right on the corner of the street. A huge truck that looks as if it regularly eats smaller, defenseless trucks, is blocking out the sun, taking up half a city block, and all of the area on the street in front of my humble duplex. Two other guys are putting up orange cones around the perimeter of my place. I look around furtively, trying to find the men who will put a giant plastic bubble around my home and take E.T. away for scientific testing.
I thought about asking what the Hell was going on. A huge pile of very brown dirt was next to my mailbox. Four men were standing around a cement tube. They would point at it, and then make motions with their hands, signaling what they should do with this cement tube sticking out of the ground. Then they'd nod their heads. Then another guy would point to the street, make a circular motion with their hand and then look gravely back down at the cement tube. Then they'd all shake their heads.
I really wanted to ask what the Hell was going on.
But instead, I just got in my car, and narrowly missed hitting the Behemoth Devouring Truck.
I came home for lunch later to take some pictures. Now there were three more trucks, more orange cones, more piles of brown dirt and two guys directing traffic. I grabbed my camera and started taking some shots. One of the men, who was wearing plain clothes (if you can call a pink striped shirt and tight, stained jeans "plain"), saw me taking them and quickly came over asking if there was a problem. He didn't say it in a mean way, just very interested, as if maybe I planned to tell other people and it would ruin some great big surprise party. Instead of answering his question, I asked what was going on.
"Manhole," he said, casually.
Do what? I didn't even know there were manholes on my street.
"You mean you're putting one in or you're taking one out?" I asked.
"It's clogged!" he yelled over all the noise of the trucks and machinery. "Nobody can get in there!"
"Isn't that a good thing?" I yelled back at him. But I don't think he heard me because he just nodded and walked away.
If I come home and there's a crane and a bulldozer parked in my front yard, I'm going to start looking for a new place.
On Monday, I send out my notify list for Tracy's guest entry. I do that every time I update, and aside from the core list of people who are on the regular notify list (you mean you aren't on the list? And why not?), I sometimes e-mail my entries to people who might have an interest in a particular thing I've written.
This time, I sent it to my boss, who I thought would really like Tracy's writing and who would identify with some of the themes.
I walked by her office later on, all proud of myself for offering something profound to someone who might need it. As I was passing by, I saw her scroll down to the bottom of the inside page. She was looking at the Clip Art Corner, where the word "cock ring" was prominently displayed.
She closed the window quickly.
I went to hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.
When I become a pimp, this is where my rap videos will be shot.