The old man is snoring.

You know how it is when you get caught in the rain. First a few tiny droplets, barely more than mist. And you think, “I hope it holds off till I get home.” Then you're getting lightly sprinkled- polka dots appear on your trouser legs. Oh crap. And suddenly balls of water the size of grapes are banging into you and that turns into a torrent. Apparently you've grown gills, because there's certainly no room for air between the drops. You're wet as you can be. You're free to enjoy the rain. And you think, “What was I worried about?”

Off the rack

There's a rusty little picnic sized grill up on a cinderblock outside our back door. I said, “You know what would be cool? I'll find an old metal cocktail cart and cut out a circle to fit the grill,” and she said, “It's 13 years old. Let's get a new one. With legs.” Harrumph. But I didn't get grumpy. I took a look into the depths of my soul - pretty shallow going. It turns out my virtuous thrift was really aesthetic snobbery. In the time and place where I exist, there is nothing more deadeningly banal than making a purchase.

Buffer Overrun

A few thoughts: Pretty much anything you put on a bun with mustard, ketchup, pickles, and onions will taste like a hamburger. If you smear yourself with that buck lure that’s supposed to make you smell like a doe in rut, don’t hang out in the woods without your gun. Don’t be resentful of life lessons that leave you feeling disillusioned. Rather, try to figure out what illusioned you in the first place - that’s where the problem was. And finally, don’t let your pets hear you say, “It’s a dog-eat-dog world.” They tend to take everything literally.

Galoshes. Hoover. Xerox.

I was opening mail from the NAACP when it occurred to me that when older white people use the tern “colored,” they're simply using the term that was contemporary and accepted when they where forming their vocabulary. Like when they say icebox or davenport. My grandpa called my tricycle a velocipede. So listen for context, is my point. Are they being racist? Or just old fashioned? Dang. It'll be a great day when a white person can without a second thought invite a Black friend over for a supper that includes fried chicken and watermelon. Because those things are delicious.

There's not a lot I know for certain.

Beyond the tying of shoelaces, there isn't much you can teach a person. But I believe every child should be given this little speech: “Whether they know it or not, everybody you meet is trying to make you more like themselves. Strong people tend to make you stronger. Weak people do things to weaken you. Drunks offer you drinks; whiners want you to whine back. Cruel people will be gratified if you respond to their cruelty with your own. Look for the kind, sad, funny people. They are the best. Try to learn for yourself how to be like them.”

Monsanto are still jerks, though.

Maybe it was shortsighted to pump up our agricultural outputs to where we can feed so many of us. Probably we should reduce our dependence on commodity-crop monoculture. And certainly we'll be restructuring the entire food chain over the next few decades. But look: When a living cell gets its DNA tweaked so it grows in some new way, that's called mutation. If a mutation enhances an organism's ability to survive and reproduce, then that mutation is replicated many times over. Like zebra stripes. Or opposable thumbs. So stop worrying about Frankenfood. You're a GMO and so am I.

Road Rant

East Cleveland is east of Cleveland. East St. Louis is east of St. Louis. So it’s peculiar that East Troy, Wisconsin is actually to the west of the ancient city of Troy. A long way, too. It hardly qualifies as a suburb at all. Down the road, there’s a chain of burger joints in Rockford, Illinois, called Beefaroo. The only other thing I know about Rockford is that’s where Cheap Trick is from. I fail to see any connection. Also, wouldn’t you think that entering a building called Piggly Wiggly would be an occasion for uproarious hilarity? It’s not, though.