A Boston police officer who sent a mass e-mail referring to Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. as a “banana-eating jungle monkey” has apologized, saying he’s not a racist.
No, dude. That’s not how it works. You can’t bust out with one of the most racially-charged analogies in the history of civil rights in a MASS E-MAIL, and then be all “Oh, I’m not a racist! Some of my best friends are…banana-eating jungle monkeys! Just kidding, guys. You know I love you. How about some watermelon to go with that fried chicken? What? I said I’m not a racist! Gol! Take a joke”.
We did end up going to the art fair. My foot and knee held up pretty well until the end, when we were basically power walking back to the parking garage to beat the rain that was threatening. We didn’t buy anything…didn’t really see anything fabulous enough to pony up for.
On the way to Ann Arbor, we happened to be passed by this schmuck in a Corvette who was kind of driving like a jerk. That’s pretty much par for the course on US-23. It’s a two lane highway, people dodge and weave and speed up and slow down, jockeying for position so they can get to Panera Bread 20 seconds faster, or something. Anyway, this guy driving a ’80s style ‘Vette (black with red racing stripes!) swerves by us and gets back into our lane right in front of us. And THAT’S when I realized that this guy had a pair of stainless steel, um, testicles dangling from his rear bumper. And, I thought, “Dude. You’re already driving a ‘compensating for something’, mid-life crisis ride. Do you really need the steel balls to push it over the top into utter ridiculousness?” And, the answer was yes. This man wanted to leave you no doubt that HIS JUNK WAS SOLID. NO PROBLEMS HERE. CAN YOU NOT SEE THE STEEL DANGLY BITS ON THE REAR OF THIS FINE AUTOMOBILE? VROOM! VROOM!
Message received, sir.
For the last several years, I’ve really wanted to go to the Ann Arbor Street Art Fair, but I’ve always forgotten to look up the dates until it’s over. Except this year, I for some reason remembered in early June, and looked up the dates and put them on the calendar. And we made plans to go! Tomorrow!
So, of course, tonight, I fell down for no discernable reason, twisting my left foot and banging my right knee.
My ankle is actually fine, it’s the top of my foot that is bruised or pulled or whatever. I have a big knot on my knee. I really have no idea why I fell down, my foot just went out from under me and that was that. It pretty much hurts. I’ve been icing it and wrapping it and elevating it, and all the stuff you’re supposed to do with a strain or sprain, but I doubt I’m going to be up for walking around all day looking at art.
I am a sad panda.
I like having a pool. I like spending part of every day in the pool. It makes me happy because usually I’m in there alone, and since I don’t talk to myself, I have time to just float around and think silly thoughts. I don’t spend a lot of time just sitting and thinking, otherwise, so it’s nice.
I generally tell people that I don’t like the water, because it’s easier than telling the whole truth, which is: I like water fine, as long as I can see the bottom, and as long as there’s nothing on the bottom except maybe some rocks. I don’t like to look down and see lots of weeds reaching up toward me as if they are waiting to ensnare me and drag me down into their grossness. Looking down and seeing a submerged log – even if it’s like twelve feet below the surface and I have NO CHANCE of coming into contact with it – makes me squeamish. I know, intellectually, that it’s just a log, and if it was on dry land I would have no problem touching it, jumping on it, running all over it…but put the same log underwater and I want no part of it. I can’t explain it, other than to say I don’t like it. I don’t like being in a lake where I can’t see the bottom at all, because my mind fills in the blanks, and my mind is not generally the happy wonderland type of mind. It runs more toward the KILLER TURTLES and DEAD BODIES areas.
Because I have all these weirdo dislikes and irrational fears, pools are better for me than open water. However, when I was a kid, pools held their own terror. I couldn’t swim for a long time, so I spent a lot of time clinging to the ladder in a pool, or hanging onto the side. Since I was usually the youngest kid in our usual crowd, this made me quite a target for adults and bigger kids who thought I needed to get over it. It was a pretty big day for me when I realized I could touch the bottom in the shallow end of Special Op B’s pool, and therefore could walk around a little. Of course, this just made it easier for adults (Dad) and bigger kids (my sister and one of B’s older siblings) to try and drag me into the deep end. With all of this attempted drowning (as it appeared to me) it’s a wonder that I kept getting into the pool. I don’t know why I did. I guess I was hot.
Today, our pool is 76 degrees. It’s overcast outside, and probably just below 80, but I still swam for about an hour. I like being in the pool.