mallorys_camera | Fun With Frogs

Newsflash on the radio while driving back from Staples yesterday morning – a container ship had just crashed into the Bay Bridge.

Well, not just crashed – they waited about an hour and a half to report the incident. The ship had been safely moved Treasure Island, said the Talking Head. Didn't appear to be structural damage to the bridge. True one of the ship's fuel tanks had been damaged, but the spill was minimal, only 150 gallons or so of oil –

And instantly I knew the Talking Head was lying. Didn't even question how I knew it or why he would lie. Just took it for granted, the strange disinformation game public officials play with the public.

But it put me in a strange, restless mood all day.

This is just such an odd pivotal moment to be alive.

I'm supposed to care about a presidential election that's coming up twelve months from now.

But I don't care about the presidential election that's coming up twelve months from now.

Whichever side wins, it will be more of the same. The United States is stuck in a war in Iraq it can't get out of. When civil war breaks out in Pakistan – and it will – we'll have to prop up Musharraf's puppet regime. That means more troops. That means a draft. That means India will step in, and China won't be far behind.

The boys throw stones at frogs for sport, but the frogs die in earnest.

Some Greek poet said that. I forget which one.

That doesn't change either.

So, anyway, since I was in a bad mood, I dressed like a bag lady to go to the store. And the odd thing is that I got hit on twice – in the morning by the usual aging hippie type for whom, even in dotage it would appear, I am like catnip. But after dark by a moderately young and handsome language instructor from DLI. And this for some reason scared the shit out of me. The guy had a really predatory air about him. He taught Turkish. I've been to Turkey; I know what Turkish men think of western women. I mean, all he did was ask me out for coffee. But I was happy I had a wedding ring to flash at him, and when he finally left the store, I found that I was shaking.

Also

alicey's father dropped by and of course, as always happens when – ha, ha, ha – real life collides with Live Journal, the time/space continuum gets a little shaky. I praised

aliceyto the skies -- I happen to think she's extraordinary – and in exchange, he would have been happy to buy out the store. But I can't take advantage of people like that – which is why I'm not a huge business success, I suppose. I sent him on his way with a book on the cultural history of the fart and a couple of sauces. Spice Exchange Ginger, the sauce preferred by nine out of ten mercy fuck sales!

From what

alicey writes, I gather her dad is a successful businessman. He didn't have that demeanor at all. He seemed deeply, irremediably sad as if he had lost something that could never be replaced.

And in the news this morning – yes, indeedy. It's a 58,000 gallon oil spill in San Francisco Bay.