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yesterday began so nicely... leisurely morning on the balcony with the newspaper and black, black coffee. slow-paced trip for stocking up on provisions... and having the opportunity to witness the King Of Fruits (no, not RichardSimmons) at the grocery: there, in its spiky fetid glory... durian. like a mace on the outside, corruption on the inside. i know, at some point, someone is going to knock one to the floor... and a HazMat team will be bagging-and-tagging the unfortunate. i have no problem with "challenging" food (octopus, uni, seaweed, squirrel and other things equally offensive to the squeamish)... but this is something... other. hey, let this guy put it into perspective... and he likes it: "Heck, a few countries even BAN the presence of durian in selected public spots due to its offensive smell (that, to me, is a hopeless rule just like outlawing fart, when we know that it is such a pleasure and EVERYBODY secretly doing it!)." couldn't have said it better, myself. i not secretly "doing it". yes, bucolic, intriguing... and then, i woke up. in the graphic arts circle of hell. i hadn't even punched in when i heard bossman (who looks and acts just like "Neil" from the Young Ones) say something about " you're jumping from the frying pan into the fire." others had been asking, "is scott in today?" "will he be on time?" before i walked in to my doom. and it wasn't like adoration or anything. imposition software... like holding the key that winds up Big Ben. i must've been an alchemist in a previous life. making order out of chaos... ironic, all things considered. |
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