Car Trouble

Have you ever noticed that when you’re trying to escape from a serial killer or zombie, nine times out of ten, your car engine won’t start right away? At best, it takes several attempts, and at worst, it’s beyond resuscitation. Some reward, after your hand had been shaking so badly that it was almost impossible to get the key into the ignition in the first place! Not only does this create unbearable tension, if the zombies form a car-tipping mob or if the serial killer has a weapon, ignition failure can result in a hideously gruesome death. While it may be true that this hasn’t happened to me personally, I have watched it happen to others, over and over again.
With so much emphasis placed on fuel efficiency and reduced emissions, I think we’re failing to address a problem that had has been in existence since the early days of Alfred Hitchcock: ease and reliability of engine start-up. Think about it. Whether or not your car is “green” diminishes significantly in importance when your eviscerated torso is dangling from the gore-spattered jaws of the undead.

On A More Serious Note

I have an interview for a teaching position on Wednesday. I’m excited, because I genuinely love kids and I know teachers have a unique ability to change lives. I also recognize that getting this particular teaching position is the only way we will be able to afford to send Micah to private school, because free tuition is part of the deal.
It has made me think about being a parent, and pragmatism, and sacrifice. It’s made me think about how much I love writing full time, and how I’ll miss it. There’s a beautiful poem, “kitchenette building” by Gwendolyn Brooks:

We are things of dry hours and involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. “Dream” makes a giddy sound, not strong
Like “rent,” “feeding a wife,” and “satisfying a man.”

But could a dream send up through onion fumes
In white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday’s garbage ripening in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms

Even if we were willing to let it in,
Had time to warm it, keep it very clean,
Anticipate a message, let it begin?

We wonder. But not well! Not for a minute!
Since number five is out of the bathroom now,
We think of lukewarm water, hope to get in it.

Don’t worry. I’ll be back to my snide self tomorrow.

Observation

Robin’s egg blue is such a cheerful, vibrant color! This makes it ironic that every time I see this hue in nature (i.e., on an actual robin’s egg) it either contains, or is immediately adjacent to, a dead baby robin.

Bill Clinton's Head

We were on Nantucket a few summers ago. The island buzz was that the Clintons had flown in to attend a fundraiser that night and they’d be getting there by way of our street. After long days in the sun and surf and nights hunkered around the kitchen table playing setback we all were lacking ambition, and the five-yard stroll to the end of the driveway to wait for the Clinton’s limo was just the kind of mild excitement we could handle.
We hadn’t been waiting long when we spotted the approaching caravan of cars. It was getting dark, but we could make out a couple of secret service vehicles, followed by what appeared to be the Clinton’s limo. The limo driver, or maybe it was the Clintons themselves, left the interior light on so that both Hillary and Bill would be visible to gawkers such as ourselves.
Peering inside, we could see Hillary in the foreground, but she seemed to vaporize into nothingness, leaving only Bill. Sounds crazy, I know, but ask anyone in my family, and they’ll swear this is true. Also true: Bill Clinton’s head is enormous. I think it may be, like, four times larger than normal, and…it glows.
It was like seeing God, or a U.F.O.. And while I had previously liked Bill Clinton, after this, my like was transformed into love. And fear.