Right before my very eyes

If you recall, two years ago I reported experiencing a gigantic spider creeping around in my motorcycle helmet goggles just as I was zooming off down Webster Street. That arachnid incident caused me to nearly crash into a fire hydrant and sent me straight back to therapy.

Last week, I had a similar encounter, only this time it was an earwig strutting his stuff across my eyelid as I zipped up Farwell Street. An earwig! I wish I had been recording because the guttural expression of revulsion I uttered sounded like it may have been some Aramaic curse aimed at ending droughts or turning enemies into toads. Which is just a fancy way of relating that I screeched like a little girl and drove onto some guy’s lawn. But I did it in Aramaic, so that’s less embarrassing.

The night HE came home

So according to recent reports, Patrick Dempsey has jumped out of his race car long enough to star in a series about a hit man. But, he will take time to come to the Twin Cities to appear before adoring throngs of fawning admirers, some of whom may fling their panties in his general direction. It’s all for a great cause, of course. But after assessing all the evidence from these reports, I’m thinking it probably doesn’t suck to be Patrick Dempsey.

Bones and all

Here it is only halfway through September and I’m already seeing a proliferation of giant skeletons in yards in and around the Twin Cities. These big bony beasts aren’t as shocking as they used to be because so many people have them now. Some enterprising fellow needs to come out with an Even Gianter Skeleton for those who like to live on the bleeding edge of Halloween trends. I’d do it myself, but the only giant bone I have presently is my nose.

The secret to happiness

Saw a guy in downtown Lewiston the other day trying to dribble a basketball that clearly was out of air. Every time the ball hit the ground it made a comical sound, which I heard as SPLAWT! and then it would just lie there on the sidewalk like a piece of rotted fruit. God bless him, the dude kept trying to dribble his way up the street even though that ball would never return to him as an inflated ball would. I thought of running home to fetch a pump and inflating needle, but he looked so perfectly happy doing things his way, I didn’t bother. I feel like there’s a moral lesson in this. If you can content yourself with a deflated basketball and remain happy, my friend, you have mastered the art of living. Or something.