Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Abstinence, suicide, and why am I channeling Margaret Trudeau?

Been away a while, and I have a confession to make: I took 4 days off from the internet, and did not miss it.

No computer at all, even when there should have been some form of computering so that when I returned from where I was, which was lovely and fun, I would not be 2+ days behind and in a bit of a panic over things that don’t deserve panic. None of the computer. I was roughing it!

Of course, ‘roughing it’ is a term that is very very bendy, much like ‘really cute” or ‘impressive raise.’ Truly, it cannot be considered to be rough if there is a comfy quilt involved, and homemade bread to boot, but just go with me here for a few moments, won’t you? NO e-mail. NO comics. No other things that make the online life so interesting (except there maybe was a lil’ bit of facebooking last night and an e-mail or three, but even then it was brief and unsatisfactory, much like generic Twinkies, which can be enjoyable if you’re not expecting real Twinkies and therefore aren’t put off by a cake-like delicacy that tastes like sweetened greasy cardboard (I’m looking RIGHT AT YOU, Bingles!)).

I impress myself with my fortitude, which might simply be laziness in disguise but do not go there. Let’s not quibble about the reason behind it, let us instead focus on the impressive feat of abstinence.

The fact that I was the guest at a home that only had DIAL-UP internet had nothing whatsoever to do with the short spate of withdrawal. I repeat, nothing whatsoever


The Chesapeake Bay area is gorgeous and frightening. “Frightening?” I hear you say? Yes, dear reader. Frightening. There is water all around! Because of the water, there are bridges in abundance! Bridges that arc out over vast stretches of inlets and creeks, bays and bayettes (a technical term), bridges that sway slightly dangerously when large trucks rumble by. Bridges off of which one might decide to stop one’s car, turn on the flashers (for safety!), and proceed to jump from in an attempt to end the misery of life. Bridges that will accommodate the suicidal notions of the safety-minded depressed, and after which will be swarmed with cops of many makes and models who will shut down one of the 2 traffic lanes (not surprisingly, the lane in which the abandoned car is still sitting and flashing its lights), forcing the nervous traveler into a stationary position for what seems like an eternity as the 18-wheelers bounce the concrete roadway in a most alarming manner as they trundle on to their destination.

Frightening, yes.

The Police boat down at the shoreline, the crowd of people at the dock, the multiple police vehicles on the bridge, the dozen authoritarians with flashlights examining each nook and cranny of the lonely blinking car that was still stuck where its driver left it before meeting whatever demise seemed obvious, certainly was a spectacle for the curious (ahem). The scene was also a true challenge for those of us (also ahem) who don’t much care for bridges in the first place, care even LESS for 2-lane bridges, and enjoy it enormously when the bridge traverse is quite over with, thank you.

That evening though, the curious won out. Somehow, it appears someone decided that a leap off this particular bridge on the Monday after Easter was the way they wanted to shuffe off their mortal coil. The ruminations on why, and who, and when, were left to the occupants of a certain midsize SUV and hundreds of other occupants of other cars to parse out.

Other than that bit of WTF-age, it was a lovely weekend, and over too soon, as most good things are. Hovatter62 and husband were gracious hosts, knowledgeable tour guides, patient teachers of all things domino, and gifted in the cheffery department. They’re not so great at ordering up good weather, but we’ve promised to come back again when they have that skill set firmly under their belts, because we missed out on skiffing, gill netting, exploring the ‘creek’ (which dwarfs most rivers around here), walking country lanes, and visiting the interesting bits of their hometown. The cold windy rainy days lent themselves to a whopping dose of visitin’ though, so there will be no complaints from me.

Nice people. You should go get some of your own. They're all MINE.


The little matter of the Tammie interview is being worked out. She’s still game, people – can you believe it? I’m aghast, having fully expected her to change her name, move, close her blog, and otherwise shield her identity in order to avoid being under the white-hot glare of my examining room klieg-lights as I probe her depths for juicy secrets….

Now THAT’S a mental image to end a post. And so I shall. Ta!

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