Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The first time I got an obscene phone call I was twelve years old. My sister Beth and I were listening to Simon and Garfunkel's "Baby Driver" and the neighbor from across the way called and breathed into the phone, saying a few nasty words that I had only heard uttered by my Grandpa Charlie after he started in on the Jack Daniels. Of course, we didn't know the neighbor was watching us through our screen door through his glass one across the backyard so Beth called him up and told him we were getting obscene phone calls and that there was a dirty bird in the neighborhood. His first reaction was that he didn't do it, the tip off.
So I walked to another neighbor who was mowing his grass and told him what had happened and said, I'm not scared. After all, I am a fatalist. This became the neighborhood punchline for many years to come. I failed to see the humor since after the past lives psychic I went to at the Ramada Inn Psychic Fair told me that I had been Nietzsche's lover, I had been reading on his theory of eternal recurrence. I didn't understand it, but I still enjoyed it, much the way I read John Gardner's On Becoming A Novelist. It made me feel like I was a long way from the kid with the weak eye who people thought might be touched, a long way from the girl who shook her Etch-A-Sketch so hard to erase her mistakes that she always ended up hitting herself in the head, all the while telling myself it didn't hurt, that I wouldn't mess up next time.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"If only we'd stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time." Edith Wharton
Nurse Jackie is the best show on television right now -- watch it!
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday! Birthday wishes to my dear Stephanie!