Sshh.

It's me. I'm in disguise.

Some lout has been fiddling around with templates and not previewing them first to see if they'll actually work.

Yes, well, I've somewhat maimed my old template. I'm still tinkering around with it, but for now the only way for a man of my limited knowledge of HTML to display anything is to reset to a default template.

I feel so dirty...

I should also begin the painstaking process of putting up all my links on this weird template. Woohoo.

Hm, what have I been up to, you ask? Mostly running around being a jumble of uncollected thoughts. A few other amusing distractions have happened, though.

I was invited to play on the flag football team at work. I was flattered, but then I found out that most of the players were injured and they were desperate for people.

Good thing I'm not proud.

I hadn't played football since Thanksgiving of 2001, so the game on Saturday was interesting. Personally, I did great, but our team lost and one guy broke his ankle. I felt bad for him, but at least I'll have a spot on the team for another 4-6 weeks.

I'm in the midst of a prank war at work with my friend Nicole. I'm in the lead at the moment.

Part of our job is to open large, provocative stacks of mail. While she was away from her desk, I grabbed an envelope, scooped it full of oatmeal, and then stuck it into her pile of mail. A few minutes later, I hear a shriek from the other side of the cubicle wall.

She was holding up the envelope between two fingers as if it were a dead trout. Everyone began to gather around to see what all the disgusted sounds were about.

The envelope was oozing out globs of oatmeal. Nicole was frantic with what to do with it because she thought it was real mail that had come in through the post office.

Everyone is still gathered around watching. Most of my co-workers had seen what I had done and were playing along. I reached out and took the envelope from her. I held it up to my nose and smelled it. "It doesn't smell too bad," I said as Nicole turned an interesting greenish color.

I plucked out a big chunk of oatmeal, looked at it carefully, and then I ate it. Nicole screamed. "Oh my god! What are you doing?! You don't even know what that is!" I ignore her and continue eating oatmeal out of the envelope.

Everyone else is laughing hysterically. Poor Nicole was confused and disgusted. More and more people were coming by to see what the hubbub is all about. I was laughing and almost choking on the oatmeal. Tears were streaming from my eyes as I listened to Nicole frantically explain to the new people that I was eating mystery goo that came from the post office.

Finally, I could take it no longer and I show her the corner of the envelope where I had scratched out the return address and written "From Guillermo, With Love."

The moral of the story is:

Revenge is a dish best served cold and lumpy.

"Palermo."

"Yes?"

"Why are you putting oatmeal into that envelope?"

"Oh, you'll see.  They'll all see..."

What I Learned This Sunday Afternoon:

Never change your oil outdoors on a blustery day.

Unless, of course, you enjoy hot oil spraying onto your face and various appendages.

Not that I'm against that per se, but that's really more of a Friday/Saturday night kinda thing.

Palermo looked down at his feet. He wiggled his toes to remind them that he was still the boss. His feet had been leading him to odd places ever since-
"More coffee?" The waitress held out a dented, gray urn.

"Yes. No. I mean, yes that is more coffee, but I do not think I need any right now, thank you."

She laughed. "No, I guess you don't." She smiled at him and took the battered pot over to the next table.

He returned his attention to his feet. Washing the sandals would take care of everything. Washing the sandals would mean letting go. Tomorrow morning, just before dawn, he should walk out to his backyard wearing nothing but his sandals. As the sun broke over the horizon, he would kick them off onto the grass and blast them with the water hose. It would be very symbolic; very spiritual.

The clean, American water would wash away every last trace of the beach in Mexico. Gone would be the white streaks of salt that stained the brown leather. The grains of sand that tickled and irritated the bottoms of his feet would cling tenaciously, but still drown in the end.

Then, he would turn the hose upon himself. Perhaps, on full blast, the water could wash away all the memories he had made in that foreign land. And perhaps, if he could withstand the stinging spray long enough, it would wash away that foreign emotion most people called Hope that still nestled snugly in his chest.

He would lay the sandals out to dry. The sun would be fierce. Fire and ice, that would end the world in his footwear.

He contemplated sticking them in the freezer, just to be sure.

It felt good to have a plan again. But first...

"Oh miss? More coffee, if you please."

"He looked up from his work to find that he was the only one in the office wearing pants.  Cursing his forgetfulness, he unbuckled his belt and kicked himself free of his denim constraints.  Pants-Down Fridays seemed to be arriving sooner every week.  He made a mental note to finish putting on the rhinestone lettering on his underwear.  At the moment, it read 'Pants-Do.'  People around the office recognized the beginning of their favorite phrase, but the rest of the world remained largely ignorant.  Soon, he thought, I'll finish these underwear and the world will know."

Jaden is in San Francisco today so all of us are going to have to pick up the slack.  Remember, only you can not wear pants on Fridays.  

And on this particular Friday, I'm not wearing pants for two.

With great power comes great responsibility.


*    *    *    *    *

I've decided to enter this writing contest.  I haven't submitted anything I've written to anything more prestigious than my high-school literary magazine, and nothing else since.  I'd appreciate suggestions.  If there is anything anyone may have read that stands out enough to be quasi-publishable, I'd appreciate the help.

Also, if there is anything that should never again see the light of day, just finish this sentence and turn it in at the end of the day:  "For the love of Cheebus, don't even think about sending in that ____  about  ____!"

Here's an example:  "For the love of Cheebus, don't even think about sending in that POEM about NOT BEING UNDERSTOOD!"

See, it's easy.  And fun!    

Today at work:

Nicole:  [yelling over wall of cubicle]  Hey!  Did you finish watching Strongbad?

Me: [painfully aware that internet use is prohibited and hoping my boss isn't within earshot]  I don't know what you're talking about.

*   *   *

Later, when boss is out of earshot:

Me: [singing]  I got mad at Nicole/ For screwing up the Strongbad caper/ Hope I don't see her name in the paper...
 

We are online.

I love my laptop. Since I moved back home, my laptop has been more neglected than Michael Moore's Ab-Roller. Yesterday, I purchased a wireless internet card.

Oh, it's on.

The calm before the storm; the strange that sets the norm. I don't know what that means, but I'm wireless now so I don't care.

I have been having a fulfilling weekend. Friday evening (during which I shuffled around pant-less without my usual energy because I had only slept 45 minutes the night before) I went to a party at Dana's. It was fun and something of a special occasion because all four Lopez children that are of or near legal drinking age were there.

I feel good. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

Saturday night, Beth and I went over to have dinner with everybody's favorite newly-weds, Jake and Heather. They had decided to go against thousands of years of tradition and we all sat down to a delicious dinner of pancakes, eggs, bacon, juice, and peanut butter and banana.

It was a little disturbing to hear the dry, rattling sound of Cornelious von Omelet (the man who invented breakfast) rolling in his grave, but other than that our meal was awesome.

After dinner, Jake, Heather, and I trekked down to the Valley Art Theater and caught What the $!@#? Do We Know?. The film is astounding.

For a movie about quantum physics, it was almost painfully engaging.

I would have given my left hand for a pause button to give me a moment to pick up the pieces of my blown mind from among the spilt popcorn and discarded straw wrappers.

For instance, when the film showed a boy bouncing a basketball and then when on to explain that the ball never actually touches the ground (the electrons in the ball and the ground repel each other before they come into contact.)

Listening to people that have devoted their lives to figuring things out and the conclusions they have drawn (indeed, are still trying to draw)is not as humbling as I thought it would be. There was a lot of "Hey, I've thought about that too!"

The film does drag at parts, but I found it to be the most informative, satisfying, and frustrating two hours I've ever spent. It's a good thing my tummy was full of pancake.

The film takes pieces of the world and puts many of them together. Then, it presents the almost-complete picture to you.

I loved it.

I recommend going to see the film and then deciding for yourself.