-Logan Pearsall Smith
Jim Davis had a dry spell with his Garfield strip. It just was not all that funny for the longest time (and I really do enjoy my Garfield). But lately…lately, he’s had hit after hit (in my not-so-humble opinion, anyway).
There was a photograph of Murakami in People magazine (January 17th). I was rather shocked to find it as I thumbed through, waiting for the person we were supposed to meet to arrive.
“What is it?” E---- asked at my small noise.
“Murakami,” I answered pointing at the image.
“That man you’ve been reading?”
I was mildly amused to learn that I had been reading a man. “Yes. I’ve never seen his picture before.”
“So?” E---- inquired, “Does he look like you imagined?”
“Eh…” I hedged, “Not really. Somehow…”
E---- peered over my shoulder, “What did you think he looked like?”
“I don’t really know,” I had to admit, “Taller, I guess.”
That was when I realized that the photograph was only a headshot. “Well,” somehow, I still felt that taller described my impression, “More lanky?” I tried.
“Mmm.” It was the only thing E---- managed to say before our host arrived and the topic never came up again so I have no idea of what it was he intended to say. I wish that I did.
Yeah. I’ll admit it. I moonlight. I like money. :) This is a call I received while working last night that made me smile.
Caller: Is there anything toxic in an old AC?
Me: What’s the situation?
Caller: Well…Uh…I were moving this old AC and a spider came crawling out … *long pause* …
Me: Was someone bitten?
Caller: Uh…no…uh, long story, short: there was a spider and…uh… the air conditioner got a bunch of puncture holes all in it and white stuff sprayed everywhere…
Me: … … … Did any get on anyone?
Caller: No, No. The dog and I are fine. It’s kind of cloudy in the room though.
Me: Okay, its just freon. Just open the windows and let the room air out.
Caller: That’s all?
Me: That’s all.
I wanted to tell him not to try to use an ice-pick (or similar tool) the next time he saw a spider he wanted to kill, but I didn’t have the heart.
I was standing at the counter by the coffee pot, pouring a cup and J---- was sitting at the little table in the middle of the room, already sipping his as he flipped through an old copy of National Geographic when A---- walked in, singing an old ‘80’s song.
He paused, basking for a moment in the glory that was two people giving them their absolute attention before asking, “What the hell is a ‘Safety Dance’?”
I poured an equate packet into my coffee, stirring, as I continued to stare at A----, completely at a loss for how I should respond. I was very surprised to hear J---- speak up, but mere seconds later:
“Well it sure the hell isn’t the lambada.”
One shouldn’t laugh that hard that early in the morning. It hurts.