On more than one occasion in recent weeks, I have wandered into the bodily function part of the gym locker room only to be immediately forced out because of clouds of noxious vapors billowing out of toilet stalls, the product of unknown individuals who should really look into making drastic changes in their diet. All of which crystallized a truth for me: if I ever harbored latent tendencies toward homosexuality, they were destroyed early on by contact with odors and noises emitted by other males.
Seriously, just a small sampling of the wide variety of unfortunate aromas/sounds males produce would be enough to put most anyone off the idea of excessive physical intimacy with one of their representatives. In my humble, ignorant opinion, anyway. For what little that may be worth.
At the very least, a 'HAZARDOUS FUMES' sign should be prominently displayed when certain individuals take up residence in certain toilet stalls.
Harrumph.
A week ago, my brother passed through, spending one night, loading some family-related things in his car next day and taking off. First time I'd seen him in three or four years. He's now the mayor of a small town and talked about it some -- war stories, essentially, about the mess the previous mayor left, local politics, dealing with an antagonistic council member and local press (consisting of one reporter, a die-hard ally of the deposed ex-mayor). All of that combining to confirm my basic aversion to politics and an overall sense of better him than me. (He mentioned something about the process of gathering signatures to get on the ballot, that a common response was an outflowing of joy from the person adding their name because they were so happy someone -- meaning some poor fool other than them -- was taking on this kind of thing.)
He looked tired, that brother of mine.
One strange bit, unrelated to politics, fatigue and joyful signature-givers: during the course of my brother's visit, I mentioned the fact that the household ghost had been quiet for more than a year, wondered aloud if that meant the gently-haunted-house thing had run its course. Two days later, I heard a door close off in another part of the living area (me home alone at the time, checking around showed no doors had closed), then again a short time later. Since then, a flurry of that kind of happening -- thumps coming from other rooms, the quiet sound of someone moving out of view around a corner (again, no one around). Low-key, nothing too intrusive. But clearly there, clearly back in business, announcing it in unmistakable fashion.
What's it all mean? Got me. But I am not making it up.
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Evening, late September -- northern Vermont:
España, te echo de menos
rws 8:04 PM [+]
Comments:
I forgot about your ghost. Even though strange things have happened in my house, I've never thought about it too much. But I live behind a cemetary. I figure we can all get along. (smile)
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