Open Letter

Dear H*****y's Chocolate Company:

Recently I visited my company's in-office convenience store in an effort to purchase some dark chocolate. None of my usual brands were on offer, so I purchased a bar of H*****ys Special Dark. I believe this name is misleading. Perhaps it should be renamed Pixy Sticks, because that's what it freakin' tastes like. Until convenience stores have the decency to stock actual dark chocolate, please put some chocolate into your sugar bars. If, upon eating an allegedly chocolate product, I don't feel like I just got violated with a cacao plant, it ain't chocolate.

My Secret Shame #775

When I first got my apartment I felt unshackled from all those bothersome rules of cleanliness, including those about hanging up one's clothes. I soon had a nasty mound of dirty clothes in an alcove closet between the bathroom and the hall. It turned into many connected mounds. Some nice clothes (that my parents bought me) wound up in that pile, and some of them stayed there until I decided I'd rather not bother with them... better to clean the same week's worth of clothes over and over, and let the surplus sit. Which it did. For years.

My girlfriend may be in North Carolina, but she still has her house here in the 'Ham. She's renting it out and the new tenant moves in on March 1. I have until then to use Laurie's laundry machines (with her blessing) to see how much of this musty old clothing can be saved. The next time those of you who know me see me, I may be wearing some clothes you've never seen before. I may also smell like a basement. I can't trust my sense of smell, so for cryin' out loud, spray me with lysol if you think it needs doing.

The Act Of Seeing With One's Own Eyes

I saw this short Stan Brakhage movie last night. It's simply silent footage of autopsies. He doesn't film it scientifically; if you're itching to learn the ins and outs of forensics, this isn't the place to start. Rather than filming and editing in a clinical and orderly way that allows us to see the whole process from start to finish, he films and edits like Hillbilly In A Hospital: "Gawsh, look at this! Yow, lookadat! An' you'uns ain't gonna believe this..." But there's a poetry to the way he juxtiposes one body with another, one cut with another.

The main thing I walked away with was a rekindled desire to lose weight. They say beauty is only skin deep, but fat ain't. When they cut into svelte bodies everything inside has a certain integrity; glistening red, almost Christmasy, and artfully balanced. Everything inside looks like it's there for a reason. But when they cut into fat people it's like slicing into a garbage bag stuffed with curdled yogurt. I had no idea how close the fat is beneath the skin. When they open a trim person you can almost hear the tinkly bells of a little soul flying out; when they cut into the fat people it's more like an enormous flatulent discharge. I don't want to end up like that, so I'd better go out into the God-mocking heat and waddle around a bit.