We may not end up in the history books, but we are the ones who bear the burden of these little ticks of the clock; we are held fast as these drips of time splatter against our foreheads like droplets from a Chinese water torture device.

-written on a scrap of paper; taken from the pile beside my bed

Stoned

I was driving on the freeway in the fast lane on my way home from work yesterday afternoon. My arm was sticking out of the window, as it is wont to do. I opened and closed my hand.

I felt a stinging sensation in my fingertips. I had just brought my thumb and forefinger together in a pinching motion and now I could feel something between them.

I pulled my arm back inside the car. I examined the object I now held. It was a pebble.

At the exact moment I had brought my fingertips together, the car in front of me had kicked up the pebble and sent it sailing perfectly into the minute space between my fingertips, where I had inadvertently caught it.

I examined the pebble and tried to contemplate the odds of something like this occurring. Less than impossible, since it had just happened. But not much less, I decided.

I laughed. What had just happened was quite preposterous.

The infinitesimal chance that I had been in the exact place at the exact time under such exact circumstances, where two objects traveling at extreme speeds in completely different directions could come together for the briefest of moments.

I threw the pebble back out the window before I was tempted to apply this metaphor to my own life any further.

"Sorry pal," I said. "No hitchhikers."

Life insurance still strikes me as one of the worst ways to make money in the world. It probably falls somewhere above being employed as the rhino-horn polisher at Crazy Ben's Rabid Rhino Conservatory but still below being a mail clerk.

Nonetheless, my corpse is now worth 50,000. Kinda like there's a bounty on my head.

Sweeet.

It is a pretty good deal. Fifty G's for the price of one.

And After being forced to reflect on it for a bit, I decided that I may as well make the most of it.

When I drove home from work yesterday, I was nearly struck by another vehicle on two separate occasions. Neither incident was my fault. The first time, while I was on the freeway, a guy in a Honda decided there was something really great in my lane that he needed to get to immediately and he wasn't going to let a little ol' thing like my Tercel stand in his way.

I braked and swerved into my escape lane. (First rule of driving/life: Always have an out.) The guy looked over and seemed surprised to see me. I raised an eyebrow, half-smiled, and waved at him.

(This approach effectively conveys the message "Hi asshole, you just nearly killed a pretty nice guy.")

The guy in a large truck that nearly killed me as I was driving through my neighborhood received the same treatment.

Now that I have the sneaking suspicion that dying at some point is inevitable, I've decided that I may as well have a good time with it.

I'm going to put down a whole slew of people as my beneficiaries.

That's right. If you would like to get in on this, just call me or send an e-mail to my privategurg@yahoo.com account. All I will need is your Social Security number and a mailing address, and I can add you to my policy.

I'm serious.

That felt strange to say. I'll say it again. I am serious.

After keeping however much I'm saving for my Scottish-Pirate themed funeral/party, I'm going to divide up the rest between however many people want in.

My motivation for this is two-fold. One, I'll be dead. Two, in the event that my death is under suspicious circumstances, everyone who stands to gain from my death will be gathered into a secluded mansion on a stormy night until a series of farcical events finally reveal the killer(s).

Sweeet.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've just returned from a brain-storming session with Jaclyn and I must begin work on Gerbil Speak-easy: The Musical.

The patrons of Gerbilly's Speak-Easy will snack on sunflower seeds, the liquor will be dispensed from those little hanging water bottles, and the bootlegging Mafia types are going to be Guinea pigs.

Pei-Wei+ice cream=GENIUS!

Insurance? What's that?

Work has been hounding me to enroll in various insurance policies. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering. I finally gave in.

I signed up for a life insurance policy of 50,000 dollars.

I'm now worth more dead than alive. How motivating.

So I get home about an hour ago, I take a shower, and decide to get something to eat.

I finish my dinner and wash my hands. My hands dripping, I see that the hand towels are not hanging out where they usually do. I curse under my breath and begin to check some of the nearby drawers. Nothing.

"Where are all the bloody towels in this house?" I mutter.

Then I realize I'm wearing one.

When I had gotten out of the shower, I had just wrapped my towel around my waist and then hit the kitchen. (I like to think I'm a guy that has his priorities straight: Get clean, get food, get pajama-jams, then get asleep.)

I felt a little foolish. Good thing no one will ever...D'oh!

* * * *

It's interesting how I find myself influenced by events that occur great distances away.

A lawyer in Pennsylvania confuses the number 2 with the number 7 and I, in Arizona, spend an extra 15 minutes hunting through databases for the correct identification number.

Then a Dana in England posts about Coldplay and the next day I throw in A Sudden Rush Of Blood To The Head and rock all the way to work.

Hmm...I'll take it.

* * * * *

Lights go out and I can't be saved
Tides that I tried to swim against
You've put me down upon my knees
Oh I beg, I beg and plead (singing)
Come out of things unsaid, shoot an apple of my head (and a)
Trouble that can't be named, tigers waiting to be tamed (singing)
You are, you are

Confusion never stops, closing walls and ticking clocks (gonna)
Come back and take you home, I could not stop, that you now know (singing)
Come out upon my seas, curse missed opportunities (am I)
A part of the cure, or am I part of the disease (singing)

You are [x6]
And nothing else compares
Oh no nothing else compares
And nothing else compares

You are [continues in background]
Home, home, where I wanted to go [x4]

-Clocks

Sometimes I wonder how much music would matter to a person that never knew anyone else.

I don't have any pictures yet, but the word around the Las Vegas strip is that a couple of guys (I'm really not sure who they were) climbed out of their hotel room onto the roof of the Monte Carlo where they made shadow animals with the enormous spotlights.

Some other guy pretended to be an employee of the hotel and sat in a hotel information kiosk. When he was asked a question, he did a very poor imitation of Tom Hank's character in The Terminal until the person left in disgust.

Someone also got into the waterfall at Rum Jungle, a dance club. No one was sure how he even got into the club, since his Bart Simpson t-shirt was in flagrant violation of the formal dress code.

These mysteries still remain unsolved...

Update: Man, I think I drank myself stupid. "Mysterys"?

I'm home.

I'm alive.

I didn't win any money, but that was mostly because I didn't gamble at all.

The only game I played was "Let's see if I can finish an entire handle of Captain Morgan in one weekend."

Apparently I can.

I don't like gambling because there's always the chance you might win. I don't mind losing as long as it's a sure thing.

I don't consider not gambling a testament to my will-power. I just don't think I have room for any more vices.

There is much more to tell, but it should wait until I get the pictures. Oh yes, there are lots of pictures.

Everyone who commented on the previous post, I thank you for your feedback. It means a lot to me. It doesn't mean much to Evil Guillermo, but that's only 'cause he's a real prick.

Regardless, we both have much to think about.