The Chewy Bits

             I made chorizo and eggs the other day. I think it was for the last time. My own cooking made me feel sick. The grease the chewy bits, the chili, it didn't sit well, not even the tortillas helped to soften the blow.
            The chewy bits. The unexplained substance in chorizo that nobody likes to talk about. I believe there is good reason for that. I've always felt that chorizo was hiding things. I've wondered about the orangey color since childhood, but never had the guts to ask why's it orange? I've known all along we mix it with eggs to mask the unspeakable, and for many years I've enjoyed the taste of the unspeakable. I'm not swearing chorizo off. I'm just taking a break, switching to Italian sausage for while, as if Italian sausage is above water. It's becoming obvious to me, short of vegetarianism, there's no escaping the chewy bits. 
         

          

Stuffed Animals

            A friend of mine told me that raccoons like to play with stuffed animals. Now I'm thinking about buying a bunch from Saint Vincent DePaul's and leaving them on my deck to see what happens. The thought of raccoons playing with stuffed animals is funny to me. Even better is the image of stuffed animals strewn throughout the yard, casualties of desire.

Socks in The Infirmary

          I was unloading my laundry from my car when a pair of socks I had bunched into a ball got away from me and rolled down the hill. It was dark and I figured I'd look for them in the morning. 

            I'd forgotten about the socks altogether until I was walking up the path to my car. It was then that I remembered they'd rolled down the hill. I gave it a quick search, but I couldn't find them. 

            It was about mid-day when I realized that I liked those socks and I wanted them back. I walked the perimeter of the yard to find them. I didn't spot them right off. It wasn't until I widened my search that I discovered them. They'd been ravaged. I found one sock near the old vegetable planter and another sock at the bottom of the hill near the fence. I gave them a once over for any signs of life. They were dusty and full of fox tails, but it was my determination that they were still good. My thoughts turned to the viciousness of the attack. Those socks didn't have a chance, but somehow they survived. Coon-rats I reasoned.  Sock stealers. 

       

Making Movies

            I have a friend, lets call him Moses, who built a movie set in his living room. He had a scene that called for a seedy motel, and rather than spending hundreds of dollars on a location, he bought
four pieces of wood paneling and cheap looking curtains to give him the look he needed for the scene. I commend his ingenuity. It's not the same as taking a Chevy truck and turning it into a fifteen foot high, cardboard carrying utility vehicle, but it's pretty close.
            Moses' wife is going along with it for now, but if there are any delays in production I can foresee serious short term consequences to their marriage. Let's hope Moses is organized and has his shot list in order. 

Dustin Hoffman

            I had a dream where I couldn't remember Dustin Hoffman's name. I could remember the movies he was in, Marathon Man, The Graduate, Little Big Man, I even remembered Kramer vs. Kramer, but for the life of me I couldn't remember Dustin's name. When I thought of his name it would come up Walter Matthau. Oh, yeah I remember... Walter Matthau, no, that's not it. It went on like that for sometime. I got it, I remember now, Walter Matthau.
            I could even remember some of Dustin's lines.
            "Well, what's your answer mule skinner?"
            "General, you go down there.."
            I remembered his creepy grin, his beady eyes, his nose, the fact that he was short, but I had wake up before I could remember his name was Dustin.
            

The Lady and The Mailman

            I was walking in the hills when I ran into the mailman. He and I are friendly. We wave hello when we see each other. 
            You'll never believe what just happened to me, he said. 
            What. 
            I was walking away from a house when I heard a voice say excuse me. I turned around to see who it was. There was a young woman standing at the front door in her underwear. Can you help me with this, she said. Her coffee maker was stuck. It had a twisty thing. Sure I said. I thought this was a gift from god. 
            That's every delivery man's dream I said. 
            Yeah, I know. 
            So what did you do? 
            Nothing, I twisted the thing off the coffee maker and handed it back to her. 
            You crazy fool! You'll be thinking of her for the rest of your life I said jokingly. 
            I know he said as he walked away in a fog.
            I saw the mailman again a few weeks later. 
            Whatever happened to the lady who came outside in her underwear, I asked. 
            What lady? He paused, oh, her. She moved out! About a week later she was gone. 

The Black Cat

            For weeks, I'd drive down the hill and make a left turn, only to see a black cat waiting for me on the curbside. I'd speed up so he wouldn't cross my path. I'm not overly superstitious, but you can never be too careful.
            It happened over and over. And once or twice I'd speed up in vain, for the cat had it in mind to cross my path at great risk to his safety. In those instances, I'd drive away consumed with irrational fears of the unknown, having to convince myself it was just a cat.
            The cat had a look to him that worried me, like he knew something that I didn't know. Sometimes he'd look me in the eyes and follow me as I drove by. He'd just sit there and stare like an old sage with bright yellow eyes.
            A few days ago I made the left turn in the afternoon and there was the cat waiting for me. I turned to look at him to gauge whether he was going to run or not. But this time when I looked at him I noticed something different. There were four or five other black cats asleep on the pathway behind him. I laughed. Well, that explains it. It was trickery to the highest degree.