Sunday, May 16, 2010

Sunday Oddities: Antelopes, German Ghosts, and Grilled Cheese Variations

By Pauly
Los Angeles, CA,

The name of my fantasy baseball team is Marco Esquondoles. That's funny for like 15% of you. If you don't know, the Joker named his Honda Element "Marco Esquondoles" because it's happened to be a quirky lyric in the song Run Like An Antelope.

I went from being one of the first customers every morning when the coffee shop opened... to now, where I'm one of the last. They close in the last afternoon and that's when I've been rolling in the last few days.

I came up with a weird sandwich. Don't ask me why or how. It just happened. I've been ordering a grilled cheese with bacon on sourdough bread with a scrambled egg on the side. I season the egg with pepper and then stuff 50% of the egg into each half of the grilled cheese. I know what Jerry or my brother is going to say, "So tough guy, why don't yo simply get a breakfast sandwich with a scrambled egg instead of a fried egg, you dumb ass!" And to which I'd retort... it's just not the same. I like it this way.

I freaked out Nicky by telling her that ghosts love it when you play When the saints Go Marching In. A couple of weeks ago, I was rocking out to it like at 4am. Nicky was fast asleep and I was sitting in the dark, winding down the night after an intense writing session and fighting off a few day's worth of insomnia. That's when I felt those prickly burning things in the back of the neck -- but nothing painful, sort of playful. The little pokes perked me up for sure. I get those continuously when I play that song. I told Nicky that's my Spidey Senses picking up the spirits and ghosts in the area. They like that song because it's a call for them to head back to where ever they need to go. Since I told her that, she's been freaked out whenever I play it. She's asked me to turn it off because she fears that unwanted spirits will invade our flat in the slums of Beverly Hills.

If there's one ghost I'd like to chat with, it would be J.D. Salinger.

I can't tell if Nicky believes me that I spoke to her dead German grandmother one early morning after coming down from the tail end of 50-hour adder-vico-al-din bender, when we had a conversation. Whether it happened or not in this reality, I will never know, but I had a brief chat with her grandmother, who spoke mostly in German and I couldn't understand those words, obviously, because I only know like eight words in German and 12.5% of them are curse words. She seemed happy to see her old furniture that Nicky had acquired/inherited, which includes the sturdy oak dining room table that's almost 80 years old and storing plenty of memories and past energies. I love sitting at the table and writing early in the morning with the windows open and the music floating on by with the breeze. I think she liked the fact that I liked her table so much. Nicky doesn't know what to make of that incident. I'm sure she's having one of two thought, or maybe both...
"OMG, my boyfriend is fucking crazy!"
...or...
"OMG, my grandmother is watching me wake and bake!"

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