I Remember My Mom Saying They Couldn’t Take Him Back to the Hospital…

Holy Hannah! Have you look at the calendar lately? It’s Friday again!

And in keeping with the foolishness I have insisted on clinging to these last two and-a-half years, we consult the Magic iPod, Bringer of Tunes both Inspired and Insipid, Provider of Toe Tappage, Involuntary Dance Moves and Aural Oracle.

Eeny Meenie Jellie Beanie, the spirits are about to speak! (Sorry, Bullwinkle!)

Easy (Like Sunday Morning) by Faith No More
Diamonds and Rust by Judas Priest
China Girl by David Bowie
Double Dare by Bauhaus
Wind Up by Foo Fighters
Had A Dad by Jane’s Addiction
Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis by Tom Waits

Well what have I gotten myself into here? Looks rather foreboding, doesn’t it?

If anyone’s looking for me this weekend, I’ll be spinning counterclockwise, maybe spitting towards the moon and sacrificing a rodent or two to ward off whatever darkness is about to befall me.

You got time for a quick story?

Ahem.

My last official purchase whilst still living at my parents’ house – and the mode by which I left it – was a 1968 Ford Falcon, an old car in great shape.

All it needed was speakers for its intriguing stereo system.

And when I refer to a stereo “system”, let us be clear that the “system” was a radio with a built-in cassette player.

I wasted no time in getting two used speakers at a garage sale.

For two dollars, you just knew they had to be good!

I ran the wires from the radio to the speakers in the back and fell asleep that night with dreams of how I would make this car really cool, maybe dropping the chassis, having my name etched into the glass on the driver’s side window, buying a metal clip with a big feather attached to it for a key chain and similar necessary and perfectly legal things.

When I awoke, however, and went out to drive my new car to my new job, I could not help but notice the number of things that had accumulated in my car overnight.

Sand. Lots of sand. A pair of swim fins. Several empty Budweiser beer cans. A man’s swim trunks. A woman’s bikini top but no bottom.

The mind. She boggles.

There was a note on the front seat from my brother. He is one year younger than I and has been the figurative elbow in my ribs since they brought him home from the hospital. Attached to the note was a single dollar bill.

“Hey, Squirrel. Nice car. Ha ha. Nice stereo. You should get another set of used, blown speakers and double your sound quality! Ha ha. Here’s a dollar for you. Buy yourself some gas. Ha ha ha. Your loving brother, Kevin.”

My brother.

He's a funny guy.