So this past Saturday night, I spent 4 hours rubbing folks at Third Eye Gathering, a non-profit music/art/philosophy event (stay with me here, kids) in downtown LA, run by an old friend from Nashville days living out here. And non-profit means non-profit: After chair rental costs, equipment purchased, gas and all that, I think I walked away with $13 extra, but it was a swell experience to make people feel good, and I got to dole out some business cards as well.
Yesterday, the yearly battle was played out once again. Me versus the Halloween lights. Every year, this royal event takes places, wherein I, your humble hero, engages in ferocious interplay with strings of Halloween lights to be hung from the eaves of our house.
Sad to report, this year, the lights won.
The process itself runs about an hour in total - me, on a swaying ladder, tentatively stringing miles of lights to hooks screwed in beneath our roof's overhang. When at long last finished, I dusted off my palms and returned to the lights' beginnings to plug in and power up, thus creating a beacon of dazzling display that could be seen by millionaires on the moon. As I scuttled up the wooden steps, extension in hand, I discovered the female end of the lights awaiting me. Quickly looking down at the female end of the extension, the haunting reality seeped into my brains: I had put every last one of those fucking motherfuckers on the wrong way
i immediately stepped off the ladder, casually strolled inside, and poured myself a shot, sitting on the sofa in silence, save for the jingling of an ice cream cart being wheeled by outside.
Yesterday, the yearly battle was played out once again. Me versus the Halloween lights. Every year, this royal event takes places, wherein I, your humble hero, engages in ferocious interplay with strings of Halloween lights to be hung from the eaves of our house.
Sad to report, this year, the lights won.
The process itself runs about an hour in total - me, on a swaying ladder, tentatively stringing miles of lights to hooks screwed in beneath our roof's overhang. When at long last finished, I dusted off my palms and returned to the lights' beginnings to plug in and power up, thus creating a beacon of dazzling display that could be seen by millionaires on the moon. As I scuttled up the wooden steps, extension in hand, I discovered the female end of the lights awaiting me. Quickly looking down at the female end of the extension, the haunting reality seeped into my brains: I had put every last one of those fucking motherfuckers on the wrong way
i immediately stepped off the ladder, casually strolled inside, and poured myself a shot, sitting on the sofa in silence, save for the jingling of an ice cream cart being wheeled by outside.
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