I suppose I have to update or you may not hear from me at all until Tuesday. We're going camping, leaving in the morning. I'm dreading the folding and sorting of the 99 loads of laundry on my couch, so relaxing with my reads and firing off a quick one to keep you happy, all five of you, is all I'm going to have time for tonight.
Work was really slow and quiet this week. I ran out of stuff for Amy to do. I could have had her come in EVERY day and do my job while I sat there and did diddly squat, but something about that made my Protestant Work Ethic do a creepy unsavory shiver, and I thought it best if I let her know her services were well loved but not needed.
Funny how work can be feast or famine sometimes.
I managed to score a few more of those license plates for my flickr.com set. I got Minnesota and Tennessee the other day, and while driving home today there was some sort of really super fancy car parked on the side of the road with Alabama plates.
I was like "Ho, no way!" and pulled over, ran back with my camera and took the plate's picture. Geoff was standing with me and we were looking at the "Heart of Dixie" detail little heart up above the 'a' at the end...
Just as a guy was coming down the street, the owner -- talking on his cell phone.
"Is there anything wrong?" he asked me as I gasped. Eeep. I'm busted!
"Is this your car?" I pointed to its luxurious, sleek, black exterior. He nodded. I smiled and said "We're playing License Plate Bingo."
Luckily Geoff was standing right next to me, reading the "Stars fall on..." bit at the top of the plate aloud. So it looked like a plausible excuse for a fat old lady to throw out there while crouched behind his super nice car.
"Are you winning?" he asked.
"I'm ... playing against myself." I admitted. "Thank you though, you're number 35. You have no idea how rare your plate is in these parts!" And he started laughing.
Whew. Crisis averted. But hey, huge score. Not some blurry assed picture taken as I zoom down the dang highway. But a nice, up close, shiny, with my body reflected in the chrome kind of picture. Just right. Hell yeah.
See the song lyric to the left and you'll totally understand me. As if you haven't figured it out already. Right?
I was going to write a screed about Pat Robertson, and how a preacher needs to be the mouthpiece of God and witness to the love of Jesus Christ. How he is becoming the moral equivalent of most insane Islamic clerics who call for all of us to be wiped out... and how I doubt Jesus would groove on that. Doug reminded me that Deitrich Bonhoffer called for the outright assassination of Adolf Hitler back in the 40s, and no one listened to him... so sometimes the mouthpiece of God says things that we don't necessarily want to hear said. No one would argue that Hitler was a bad assed motherfucker who should have probably been taken out by the Arm of the Lord, or any willing party, at some point before millions of people were killed in accordance to his vision.
Let's stop and think before we knee jerk react to the stupidity of Robertson's statements, and look into Hugo Chavez... a man I know nothing about but someone who perhaps requires some of our attention.
Before he grows into Hitler.
I still don't like when men of God call for killing one another, even if they may be right about the target of their desired bombing. I would like for men of God to call for feeding of children of all faiths, and building of lives. Instead of the destruction thereof. I think I prefer my assassinations to come from the hands of politically ideological governments, who hopefully operate without the name of Jesus flopping around in their mouths.
How 'bout you? What do you think? Comments are open.
And while that's not a screed, it certainly is a tad more interesting than "dang I have to fold the fricking LAUNDRY!" Which I must go do now.
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