Friday, July 09, 2004
Mysterious Ways
So there I was last night, wondering what I could possibly write about for today’s blog entry.
“Well,” I thought, “You’ve already done that gripping piece on how you have weird dreams sometimes, and pretty much every thought you’ve ever had about pop culture is now memorialized for the ages. You could always beat on the Olsen twins some more, but that’s a little bit last night’s Leno monologue...”
A lot of my thoughts end with an ellipsis.
But anyway, just when I was at my wits end trying to think of a topic, the Lord Himself provided one. I went to start my car, in Andersonville, which is far from where I live, and to which I never, ever go, and wouldn’t you know the damn thing wouldn’t start?
God is kind of ironic, at least in the Alanis, more-annoying-than-ironic sense of the word.
So I thought, hey, maybe if I kept turning the key in the ignition over and over it might just suddenly jump back to life. And maybe the air conditioning and radio would suddenly be reborn as well. And maybe diamonds would fall out of the glove compartment and the ‘95 Neon would suddenly transform into a magic spaceship.
That theory proved to be incorrect.
So I called my roadside assistance people, who shall remain (BP) nameless. They helpfully asked me about half an hour’s worth of questions, apparently drawn from this month’s Cosmo quiz for all their usefulness, and then informed me that there was no way I could get assistance in under three hours. Because, right, you really wouldn’t want to RUSH emergency assistance.
On the plus side, their hold music was some lovely Kenny G.
Rather than wait three hours for what, for all I knew, could be Godot’s Towing Service, I decided to take a cab back and deal with all of this later. Unfortunately, I did not realize this would entail swerving down Lake Shore at one hundred and six miles per hour in a vehicle with no seat belts or, for that matter, rear windows. We took the off-ramp so fast I almost became airborne.
And this was when I realized I had in my wallet five dollars and some stamps with which to pay the nice crazy man.
So you see how the Lord provides? One minute I've got nothing to write about, the next minute I've been punk'd by the big Ashton Kutcher in the sky. I hate to think what He’ll provide the next time I run out of topics, but I’m guessing a felony drug conviction and a major case of scabies are on the list.
So there I was last night, wondering what I could possibly write about for today’s blog entry.
“Well,” I thought, “You’ve already done that gripping piece on how you have weird dreams sometimes, and pretty much every thought you’ve ever had about pop culture is now memorialized for the ages. You could always beat on the Olsen twins some more, but that’s a little bit last night’s Leno monologue...”
A lot of my thoughts end with an ellipsis.
But anyway, just when I was at my wits end trying to think of a topic, the Lord Himself provided one. I went to start my car, in Andersonville, which is far from where I live, and to which I never, ever go, and wouldn’t you know the damn thing wouldn’t start?
God is kind of ironic, at least in the Alanis, more-annoying-than-ironic sense of the word.
So I thought, hey, maybe if I kept turning the key in the ignition over and over it might just suddenly jump back to life. And maybe the air conditioning and radio would suddenly be reborn as well. And maybe diamonds would fall out of the glove compartment and the ‘95 Neon would suddenly transform into a magic spaceship.
That theory proved to be incorrect.
So I called my roadside assistance people, who shall remain (BP) nameless. They helpfully asked me about half an hour’s worth of questions, apparently drawn from this month’s Cosmo quiz for all their usefulness, and then informed me that there was no way I could get assistance in under three hours. Because, right, you really wouldn’t want to RUSH emergency assistance.
On the plus side, their hold music was some lovely Kenny G.
Rather than wait three hours for what, for all I knew, could be Godot’s Towing Service, I decided to take a cab back and deal with all of this later. Unfortunately, I did not realize this would entail swerving down Lake Shore at one hundred and six miles per hour in a vehicle with no seat belts or, for that matter, rear windows. We took the off-ramp so fast I almost became airborne.
And this was when I realized I had in my wallet five dollars and some stamps with which to pay the nice crazy man.
So you see how the Lord provides? One minute I've got nothing to write about, the next minute I've been punk'd by the big Ashton Kutcher in the sky. I hate to think what He’ll provide the next time I run out of topics, but I’m guessing a felony drug conviction and a major case of scabies are on the list.
