It was a cold day, and there was snow on the ground.
“Hang on a sec,” she said, reaching for his face. “There’s ice in your eyebrows.”
“Nah,” he said. “It’s not ice.”
It was a cold day, and there was snow on the ground.
“Hang on a sec,” she said, reaching for his face. “There’s ice in your eyebrows.”
“Nah,” he said. “It’s not ice.”
You are standing there with half a tooth on the end of a wire that apparently had been used to anchor it in the socket in your skull because the wire, which looks like tiny re-bar, is speckled with dental cement. You see the tooth backlit against a grey but bright sky outside the sliding window you remember from your childhood home; also a second tooth fell out. You sigh, trying to remember the rest of the dream, and wiggle all your teeth with your tongue, just to make sure. They all still seem to sit firmly.
You still have to get up early because even though it’s a holiday it’s not a holiday for your kid and you feed the cats and start coffee and take a shower and wake her up and drive her to school and before you drive her to school you have breakfast with your wife and joke that probably right after you get your windshield replaced you’ll be driving home and a tractor will merge in front of you at the first traffic circle, a tractor with a big trailer full of rocks, and a rock will bounce out and smack and there goes the brand-new windshield.
After dropping the kid off at school you go to the windshield place, a new place someone told you about, a new place you heard about on the windshield-replacing grapevine, cheaper than the dealer by about 45% and you meet your wife on the road and follow her car there and go in and give the guy your keys while his German shepherd sticks it snouts in your package the whole time and the guy, who looks a lot like a troll if trolls chainsmoked, says pick it up at 4 PM. Then you drive home with your wife and do stuff and at four she drives you back and you pick it up. It looks just fine. Brand new and clean. You try to remember how many you have replaced since moving to Austria 20 years ago. About ten. More than five, anyway. More than the zero you had replaced in the United States. You figure this is because one you have been driving more in Austria than in the US (about 20 to 4) but two more due to the fact that it rarely snowed in the Pacific Northwest where you drove in the US, and when it did snow they generally just left the roads slick and stayed home, as opposed to Austria where everytime a snowman farts a bunch of guys run out and throw gravel on everything because this is Austria: life goes on when it snows. Also probably these guys get paid according to how much gravel they spread, plus a bonus from the windshield industry.
There was the Peugeot, which you probably would have replaced the windshield except then you totaled the car. Then there was the Fiat, how many did you replace there? Three? Then three more on the Mazda, at least.
On your way home, at the first traffic circle, a brand-new tractor pulling a gigantic red trailer, also brand-new, full of rocks, merges in front of you. On the straightaway, where you cannot pass due to oncoming traffic, it loses a rock.
This is all happening in slow motion.
The rock falls off the back of the new red trailer, and bounces. With each bounce it loses a little momentum and comes a little closer to your car. It is now bouncing about six or seven feet high. You let up on the gas to maintain your distance between the rock and your car, but it comes closer.
You step on the brakes. It is down to maybe bouncing three or four feet high.
Then it is just rolling, and it rolls under your car. You give the tractor a lot of room, though.
Leaving for work the next day, you tell yourself, no doubt I’ll probably win the lotto today. And lose a kilo.
I must admit, I am impressed by the speed at which the new President of the United States works. Already on day one, Inauguration Day, his administration had its first scandal. And I am not referring to the flubbed oath, which was not really his fault, and which he wisely re-oathed later, just to preclude any wacko conspiracy theories, on the one hand a sad reminder of the significance of wacko conspiracy theorists in your country, on the other hand sort of entertaining for people who like to laugh at your country, not that I number myself among them. No, I am referring to the Millivanillification of the music. “It was a cold day,” is not an excuse for such behavior, although I do admit that I did feel sorry, as I sat in my study outside Baden Baden, watching the ceremony while dining on a meal of mahi-mahi and cous cous (with Walla Walla onions), for all the musicians playing in the cold (Duran Duran played at low volume on my stereo in the background). Yo-Yo Ma, of all people. A man of his stature, finger-synching. Shame on you, Yo-Yo. Not only did they get Yo-Yo to perform (what, was Isserlis busy? I mean, have you compared Ma’s version of the Bach Cello Suites to those of Bylsma or Isserlis? Seriously.), he didn’t even really perform. Or he did, but then they played something else? That’s what Britney said. Honestly. I could have performed under those conditions. Zsa Zsa Gabor could have, and with greater flair. I sincerely hope an investigative committee convenes soon to look into this.
PLEASE NOTE NEW, EMERGENCY, (literally) LAST-DAY RULE CHANGES BELOW!!!11!!!!
Time for the 8th (I think) annual Metamorphosism International Valentine’s Day Limerick Contest.
Enter in the comments to this post.
Winners will be announced on 14 February, 2009.
ENTER AS OFTEN AS YOU LIKE!!! But read the rules before entering! Or else!
IMPORTANT NOTICE: THERE HAS BEEN A SMALL CHANGE IN THE RULES FOR THIS YEAR’S CONTEST!!
SECOND IMPORTANT NOTICE! THERE HAS BEEN ANOTHER RULE CHANGE!
(Note: Over the years, a number of rude etc expressions have been added to the comment blacklist so if the comments refuse your entry that might be the reason. In that case, mail it to me at metamorphosist (at) gmail dot c0m and I’ll set you up.)
Feel free to search this site for past winners. Good luck.
If you have the time, would you mind emailing me a recording of you reading a recent shopping list/shopping receipt in your native language? It’s for a music composition for theremin, voice and cash register scanner. Thx in advance.
There are a lot of dorky-looking hats out there, so pay attention.
Hats that are, ultimately, wrong for you, as a man.
There are as many ways to go wrong with a hat as there are hats, times the number of men, minus the number of proper hat/man combinations.
It sounds simple, and it is, but this has honestly changed my life more than anything else, ever. I feel whatever now, you know, whatever. Since moving to Austria, I had suffered from the impossibility of buying bagels here in the countryside where I live. There are some places in Vienna where a person can get bagels, but I gave up on finding them out here in the middle of nowhere decades ago. Plus, I think, some have gone out of business again.
Decades.
Because, bagels, you know, always struck me as something an old Jewish lady had to teach you how to make.
Anyway, I’ve baked them several times now. Some with sesame seeds, and some with poppyseeds, and they are excellent.
The baking process is a lot like meditating, only there is boiling water, and you have bagels at the end.
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