But I digress. Or is it regress? How about pro-gress? Never mind. Let me try to gather my thoughts, which is a process that requires some pretty quick reflexes as you might imagine.
So where were we? Oh yes, I was contemplating several inactivities for that evening as I walked toward my new VEE-hicle**. I bought a new car and, being the risk-taker that I am - and knowing that my sweet wife never, ever reads my blog - I will admit that I've done spent a few scheckles....shall I say, enhancing the sound system that came with the VEE-hicle. So now I've confessed and repented to you, my valued reader(s) and, fortunately for me, my sweet wife will never, ever be on the other side of the curtain. See, I've developed a Approach to Life that I call creative salvation (some of you would say that I have already transformed this into an art form but, trust me, it is a work in progress....). Anyway, as I see it, by confessing this indiscretion in my blog - which my beautiful, sweet lifemate will never read - I still consider myself to have attained a sort of creative absolution. Now if I ever hear that one of you have said anything to my dear sweet wife then I will cut off your access to my blog! Wait - I guess that might be considered to be a reward. Let's just say that I will be very very very very very upset with you - even if that means I won't be half as upset as my dear sweet wife will be if she ever hears about this.
But again I digress, or whatever.
So I'm walking toward my car when...... (can you see why I never get anything done? My entire life is one big parenthetical phrase. Circle back, re-examine, re-state, revise, talk about my VEE-hicle - if this is one Eternal Round then I feel a disconcerting assurance that I will be as goofy in heaven as I am on earth).
Where was I? Oh yes, I was just about to say that, ironically, at this point I actually have to digress, so cut me some slack. About 9 hours prior to leaving the office I walked from my VEE-hicle to my office and walked right on the SLOW sign you see below, painted on the pavement in the parking garage. Of course, I didn't think much of it that morning. In fact, I had walked over this same sign - more or less lucidly - for nearly 50 work days since joining my new employer in mid-July. So, naturally, I didn't think much of this sign until my world was turned on its head after work that same day......
It happened like this: walking back to my new VEE-hicle that evening I saw this devilishly subtle sign in a slightly different aspect. Maybe it was because I had just heard Spike Lee make an inane political comment on TV, which reminded me of his movie Mo' Better Blues - which I have never seen, but the title reminded me of a mid-life dream I had once entertained of becoming an Ebonics teacher in the ghettos of Salt Lake City. I asked around and was told that the very best ghettos in SLC were west of the freeway, especially in Magna. So I went out there for nearly an hour one day and my dreams - like most all of my dreams - were dashed! I couldn't find anyone who was as passionate about learning Ebonics as I was about teaching them this new, soon-to-be essential language (or so I thought at the time). So yet another one of my life-altering dreams, most of which I have judiciously pursued throughout my life for between 24 and 72 hours, was shot in the butt. But maybe that is why I translated the code in this reversed image as I did:
I looked, looked again, and couldn't believe my eyes. What kind of a sick joke was this? The image was very clear in my mind: the Fates were saying:
MORE 7's
and rubbing my nose in it by phrasing it in a way that mimics the Ebonic dialect (MO 7's)!
Well, suffice it to say I ran to my car, turned my Forbidden Stereo up (well past the 7th level, I can assure you), and allowed my brain to drain in an ambiance that can only be experienced by the nirvana that comes from listening to a really, really good pirated CD.
I disappeared into the sunset, using cruise control to carefully avoid driving at any speed that contained a '7', and wondered when the next hammer was going to come crashing down on what little bit of quiet time my hyper-circuited brain could expect to enjoy that evening.
Then I started thinking, On which date did this happen? Was there a '7' in the date, or could the numbers - added together - equal 7 in any conceivable convolution I could imagine?
Then a wonderful thing just kind of happened: I stopped thinking about it, and to this day I actually can't tell you what the date was. I'd like to say "and I don't care" but you know me better than that. Covering up - a la Richard Nixon - a fairly significant stereo upgrade? Well that's bad enough. But lying about my ability to control what my brain does? Well, that's way beyond absurd, and I'm sure you're sitting there saying "Good thing he didn't try pulling the wool over my eyes about that, because I'm not buying it.
Or words to that effect.
P.S. Oh, by the way, I decided to tell Sweet Vickie about my car stereo enhancements. My thought was "how can I trust anyone, who would stoop so low as to read my blog, with such sensitive information?"
So I faced the music.
So to speak.
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** It pronounce it 'VEE-hicle' because I bought it at Earnhardt Ford which is the worst dealership in the world, and That Ain't No Bull.
