April 20, 2006

Stuff Portrait Fridays: Initial Impressions

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This week Kristine is giving us free rein. Almost. Our assignment is to take photos of things that start with the same letters as our initials.

I’d like to thank my parents for not naming me Zoe Quinn Xanadu.

C is for
c is for chardonnay
Chardonnay from Gundlach Bundschu. We picked up this bottle (and several others) last weekend in Sonoma.

A is for
a is for apple
Apple’s headquarters in Cupertino. I love the name of the street.

L is for
l is for Luce
Luce (rhymes with dooce), Laces, or the L made by Tom Luce’s feet and legs.

Lemme know if you played. And while you’re at it, go tell Kristine too.

Dear John,

I have been avoiding you on purpose. It’s been very hard for me, not seeing you. You had been incredibly giving in the past, always there for me when I’m down and need a boost. When I was tired, you always perked me up. But lately when I walk by, I don’t even glance in your direction. I know. It’s harsh, but I have no other choice. It’s for my own good. Can’t you understand that? You are bad for me. Oh how you entice me with your calories and fat grams; your King-sized offerings, and Grab Bag portions baiting me to fail in my attempt to eat healthier. I would hope that you care enough about me to want me to be happy and want what’s best for me.

I mean, look! Don’t you see it? The change? The dejunkified trunk? That all happened during our “break.” If only you were able to provide me with pretzels, fruit leather, or Baked! Lays, I would still be coming around regularly. But Ruffles, Famous Amos cookies, and Cheetos? Do NOT tempt me with your fattening, cholesterol-laden snack choices.

I know what you’re going to say. “What about the other day, Catheroo? Wasn’t it good?” Well, let me tell you, mister. I look back on that day with horrendous guilt and shame. I’m not proud of what I did. But I did it, and I can’t take it back. I caved in a moment of weakness. Because I missed you. I was hoping you had changed your ways. But nay nay. Instead you taunted me with Peanut M&Ms. (You always did know how to get to me.) I know, I could have said no, and fought off your advances, but I thought “What’s one more time? For old time’s sake.” So I gave you two quarters and a dime, and I waited for you to give me what I desired.

Oh, but you are such a tease. You loosened your grasp of that yellow bag, but you would not release it to me. You know I hate it. HATE IT when you get all passive aggressive on me. Why’d you do it? Was it spite? Selfishness? You should have been overjoyed to be with me again. But you wouldn’t play nice. So I kicked you. I pounded your face and I shook you. But even then, you would not let go. Your stubborn, spiral grasp of steel held what was rightfully mine. I don’t think I’ve ever despised you more.

But you are so good. I knew I couldn’t win, so I did the only thing I could. I surrendered. I gave you what you wanted because I’ve never been able to beat you at your game. And so I fed you sixty more cents, a small price to pay to win my chocolaty peanuty treat.

At last. You nudged just enough, and my prize landed in the tray. But then. Oh, you wouldn’t. Please. Oh Hell to the No! You little @#$%! Intent on increasing my daily caloric intake, you loosened up even more and threw me a second bag of Peanut M&M’s. I could see the pure evil in your LED. You are so very transparent. You knew I would eat both bags. How could you do this to me? I feel like I don’t even know you anymore! What are you? A robot? Some kind of machine?

That’s it. I am through with you. Do not flash your blinky lights at me when I go by. No, not even if you finally do change and decide to give me low-calorie snacks. It’s too late. You are toxic, and I care too much about myself to associate with the likes of you anymore.

We are SO over.

With no love at all,

When in doubt, ask your mom.

Son: Hey Mom, we’re driving through Sonoma and we keep seeing these black birds with red on their wings. I can’t remember what that bird is called. Do you?
Mom: It’s a red-winged blackbird.
Son: Ah, okay. Thanks!

Moms are the smartest.