Tuesday, April 13, 2004

Some of you more optimistic types might think of passion, sand, or ice cream whenever spring rolls around, and that’s just fine. I also wonder about nude beachside ice cream wrestling matches from time to time, gentle reader, but what deserves my immediate attention–and yours, if you know what’s good for you–is pollen.

Allergy sufferers the world over know exactly what I’m talking about. You go to bed in the evening with an open window and a cheerful disposition, ready to fall asleep under that cool spring breeze, and then you wake up in the morning gasping for breath. With nostrils firmly clogged and eyes red with itchiness, you stumble into the shower, wash off all the foul pollen, and trudge outside to your car, except that it’s not your car anymore. It’s actually a 4WD pollen receptacle, a four-door reason for why showering in the springtime is futile.

I don’t know about you, but I feel damn nigh violated every time March comes into town. All you nutty botanists can explain it however you like. The fact remains that every tulip, every maple tree, and every bumblebee from Orange County to Fairfax County is engaged in an orgy of fantastic proportions. And we–the sneezers, the snifflers, the coughers, the weezers–are eating it all up. This is heartbreaking to explain, really. The next time you take a deep draught of springtime air, the next time you tell a loved one, “Let’s eat outside! The ambiance is so much nicer,” the next time you even open your mouth, think again. You’re actually caught in a perpetual money shot.

What can you do? You could reason with flowers and ask, “Whoa there, why don’t you point those stamens somewhere else?” You could also rip up every pansy you see, but damaged ecosystems are only hilarious for the first few days. You could also try wrapping vegetation in plastic bags (“plantphylactic” is the term you’re searching for), but that just results in more damaged ecosystems. You could try wrapping a plastic bag around your head, but then you’d kinda die.

I’m at a loss. While I don’t know what practical steps we can take, I do know we need to enact a grassroots movement, pun intended, and we need to do it soon. Take back the flora, I say! Let the healing begin.

Monday, April 12, 2004

I originally planned to sit you down, gentle reader, and give you expert commentary on the topic of my choice. You would respond, in turn, by cherishing and internalizing the commentary as if it were a three-legged whore. Sometimes we don’t get what we want, though, and I’m reminded of the time when I asked for a five-legged pony and didn’t get one.

Did I weep big, crocodile tears? Not at all. I found myself a six-legged pony, is what I did. This transitions perfectly into my main point. A gigantic metal hippo flew over my head and shat all over me this past weekend, heaping pounding headache upon pounding headache on my poor self. Roughly translated, this means I suffered two delayed flights. What I wouldn’t give to get my yachts back.

Friday, April 9, 2004

Secondhand Rants will return on Monday, April 12.

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