April Foo

With yesterday being the first of April, I thought I should probably post up some fictitious but almost-plausible bit of news and then, at the end of it, add the pun/disclaimer "April Foo!"

But then I remembered that I've always found April Fool's "jokes" to be highly annoying.

I guess it's appropriate, then, that April Foo's Day should be a day late and have no ill effect on the gullible, whatsoever.

Later...

It's a beautiful day and I wanted to get out on the Trek to pedal around and see how my spine is doing. Not having spent much time on two wheels so far this year, I had sort of forgotten that I need to plan my routes so that the wind is at my back for the portion that's uphill. But the good that came of battling my way home with Lexus/BMW/Infiniti/Mercedes-driving yuppies mostly patiently waiting for me to wave them by is that I now know just how much conditioning I've lost over the winter and while dealing with my neck.

What a beautiful day for a ride, though. Sunny and warm, and on the way out I picked up some karma points when I spotted this turtle parked in the right wheel track, in the road. I'm no turtleologist, so rather than risk losing a finger I chose the better park of valor and nudged him with my foot 'til he was safely off to the side. It was probably a good thing, since the next vehicle down that side of the road was a big, black monster truck full of testosterone. As they roared by, I was suddenly glad that I'd stopped for the turtle, else these clowns would have been on my wheel.

Karma. I saved the turtle; the turtle may have saved me.

Here, you can see part of the reason I ride. Turtle—and by this, I mean Sweetie, not the one I scooted to the side of the road—and I are lucky to have built our home in one of the spots in the metromess where one can still hop on a bike and be in the country within 10 minutes. How long that can last is anyone's guess.

The 10^th Circle

I'm quite fortunate in that Turtle does 99.9% of the household grocery shopping.

Occasionally, things work out so that I'm available to go along with her to push the cart and carry our purchases into the house. At such times, I'm reminded why, when I was single, I ate out a lot and only ventured into the supermarket about once a month. When I finally couldn't figure out anything edible to create from a can of salmon, a heel of whole wheat bread, a slice of processed cheese product, and some semi-liquid lettuce, I broke down and went to the store.


Seriously. If supermarkets had existed when Dante Alighieri trod the earth, would there have been a 10^th ring to his hell? Would it have looked awfully like a Wal-mart grocery store?

There's just something malevolent-seeming in the blank stares of the shoppers. Something eerie and wrong about the lighting. Sponge Bob hanging execution-style from the rafters, his death rictus a parody of a grin.

And over in the refrigerater section, something wicked this way tongues comes. What was their former owners' sin? Gossip? Bad karaoke?

Sweetie, you're a saint.