Our theme for tonight, which happens to be the last meeting of this week, could easily be expressed in a single word, but that wouldn’t make a good discussion, would it? I could mumble the word and then we’d sit in uncomfortable silence, looking at our own feet and clearing our throats until someone fell asleep.
Or I could begin by telling you a story. My co-worker’s father was a minister, and accordingly parishioners would lay their problems before him. One woman’s trouble went something like this. She had grown weary of the world, weary to the point where she wanted to kill herself. The preferred method? Carbon monoxide. She got into her car, started the engine, and sat there for an eternity. Outside. On her driveway. I don’t know if she ran out of gas.
This is fertile ground for theological discourse, I imagine, and at Moody they’re probably still debating whether this woman lived because of divine grace or stark incompetence. There’s the word, by the by: incompetence. Surely I’m not advocating the local college hold competency courses on suicide, where the professor would say during roundtable, “If you have to go, go with a hose in your nose. Write that down, write that down now.” That would be horrible. I’m merely saying the story fascinates, doesn’t it?
I also met a panhandler today who was too busy to ask for money because she was on her cellphone. Hi! I didn’t realize it was Incompetence Day, though I guess we never have off for any of the good holidays. I’m simply not as amenable to people who beg for want of better decaling on their mobiles. Additional ringtones, yes. Decaling, no. I’m putting my foot down on this one. We’re all incompetent in some capacity, and I’m certainly no exception. I’m guilty of it, I propagate it, but today? I’m just sharing it.
The very thought of enumerating the features of a good car left me cold this evening, which is a real boon because the weather is so goddamn hot and muggy. That’s not to say the humidity affected our intended discussion in any way–the local forecast lost its inviolable grip a while ago–it’s just that I revisited the topic and reached for the ax almost immediately.
Sometimes our discussions will grow on me as they unfold, and by the end of the night I’m surprised and satisfied. On rare occasions they flow easily and end all too quickly. More frequently than I’d prefer, they happen for the sake of happening and under the rug, into the secret place, they go. Tonight I gave the automobile idea a hard stare and pretty much said, “Cars. Ah. I’m not even sure if ‘hello and fuck you‘ translates into French, but I will certainly try.”
Wordbortion ain’t a thing of beauty, you know? We were this close to conversing about ceiling airbags and clambering through moonroofs and heaven knows what else, but we’re safe now. May your evening be restful, and may tomorrow evening be more inspired. I’m not promising anything.
There was some Super Mario Bros. imagery harnessed to a previous discussion, dear reader, and I figured the same imagery would find a happy home in today’s conversation as well. Purchasing a house is a puzzle normally tackled when you’re, what, 30? 40? The Yellow Volvox and her man also attended the party on Saturday, where she mentioned rather offhandedly they had bought a house.
Certainly I was impressed with the news, though that didn’t distract me from gauging my own progress in the back of my mind. Remember the warp pipe we discussed on Friday? Snuffling for fire flowers in the alleyways of the Mushroom Kingdom? Well, if we add not only marriage to the equation, but also the buying of a house with actual money, then I’m basically a mustachioed plumber who cannot avoid looking for shiny coins inside every lava pit. You know, because the goomba said to do so.
I once entertained a plan, maybe this was in high school or something, wherein I’d marry by 25 and make six figures by 30. My friends verified this schedule as sound because I was “normal,” they said. Well, I’m 23 now. I win. Such road maps and stratagems are made to be reworked, it seems, and believe me, I’m not emoting in any sense of the word. That would be unseemly and, more importantly, absolutely unnecessary.
What I’m considering instead of a house is a car, see, and the pick of the moment is this one.
Wheels optional.
Whether I actually make it to the dealer is questionable, and the main thrust of tomorrow’s talk will be how to choose a car wisely.