Here are some train tracks running parallel to the Mississippi River.
Well, kids. I don't have much for you tonight. Not that I ever do, but this time I'm REALLY boring. I could revert to one of my favorite crutches, writing a conversation I had with junior high kids on the way home from track practice, and then I could tell you about my nonexistent plans for the weekend. Does that work? No? Too bad. It's all I got.
I was taking Stinky's male friend J. home from track practice and they were trying to flash stupid gang signs and I did my mom duty by doing my best to deglorify gangs. I told them that when I lived in Los Angeles in 1988, you could get shot just for wearing red or blue depending on if you were on the wrong side of town. Stinky was doubtful and didn't understand much about the Crips or the Bloods so I told her the little I knew and tried really hard to make it sound unattractive. (but one thing I learned in the early eighties is that there's no fighting MTV video images) Then J. says, "yeah. My uncle got shot just for wearing plaid."
And I'm all, "Really? Who did that piss off? I guess I've never heard of a gang that wears plaid..."
"Well, he ran into a wild bunch of golfers," J. said. And I got to feel like a total asshole for being gullible for one and now I'm almost certain I've heard that joke before and forgot it, so now I get to start stressing about my early onset of Alzheimer's for two.
Now, on to my weekend plans....Well, uh. The truth is, I don't really have any and I'm not sure how I feel about that. There's a part of me that's kind of glad and I'm thinking about all the shit I could be getting done around the house, but then there's that other part of me that wants to find an excuse not to do anything around the house and would like to have some options.