Two Dollars

I had the strangest dream last night.

I dreamed that someone had stolen my van, but they didn’t drive away in it, instead they waited outside the house until other cars drove by, and then rammed into the passing cars. I watched helplessly as cars were broadsided, rear ended, and smashed head on. I didn’t care much about my van, I was certain that now would be a great time to trade it in for another car. I was only angry, angry at the madman who was driving it.

Eventually he got tired of his game, or the van finally died on him, whichever. When he got out and went back to his own car, I confronted him. He told me that he was the paper boy. He was angry at my family because we weren’t acting more like the family he created in “The Sims” video game. There you have it, violence caused by video games. Forget Grand Theft Auto, the solvent that would destroy the bonds of society would, in fact, be The Sims. He told me that if we hadn’t raised our “need meter” and earned 100 more “simoleans” by the end of the week, he would do it again, and he’d be watching us.

The dream ended shortly thereafter. There was a stretch where I was trying to continue on with my life, after salvaging my car, and the paperboy kept following me.

I woke up in a cold sweat. I should probably cut back on the Mexican food.

Today was a strange day, work wise. I had all these little projects that only lasted fifteen minutes at a time. Looking back on my time sheet, I only spent more than 45 minutes on two things, and one of them was lunch.

When I got home, my dad had already managed to install new wheels on the lawnmower. The lawnmower, much like my car, had come down with a bad case of wheels-falling-off. This had happened about a week ago, and my dad had gotten two new rear wheels. I helped him to install the wheels, which is, I’m sure, why they fell off again when I went to mow the lawn yesterday. I was certain the problem with the wheels was that the hole in the lawnmower was not big enough to fit the spacers on the axle. I told my dad this. He didn’t believe me. My dad, god knows I love him, refuses to be wrong about some things. Most of the things he refuses to be wrong about involve home and garden care. To his credit, he’s usually right. But when he’s wrong, well, he tends to go into denial. I tried a few times to explain my “crazy” theory, but in the end I just kept my mouth shut, hoping that he’d give up or the problem would magically fix itself. He bought the proper hardware today, so I was back to mowing the lawn, which brings me so much joy…. Not!

People don’t use “...Not!” much anymore. I think it went out with “Well… duh!”

And another thing. I use this Clearasil “Ice Wash,” on my face. When I first starting using it, I felt the cool rush of clean on my skin. It really felt cold as ice. It was a groovy feeling. But I realized tonight, I don’t feel it anymore. The cool rush has gone. I accidentally dropped some on my foot, and felt cool rush there. Apparently my face has built up an immunity to the cool rush. I’m a little concerned about this.

Wow… isn’t life exciting?

I hurt my finger pretty bad at the doctor’s office on Friday. It’s still a little sore.

I had arrived for my appointment a half-hour early. My new insurance, which, thankfully, covers more than just acts of god and freak kangaroo related injuries (which is more than I can say about my last insurance), had finally kicked in. I was certain there would be paperwork, mountains of paperwork. I imagined I’d be sitting in the waiting room for half an hour, filling out invasive forms on a clipboard with one of those triangular pens that the drug companies give away.

Much to my surprise, the entire process is now streamlined. They simply scanned my insurance card, and we were done. Thanks to modern technology, patients can now spend more time waiting for the doctor. So now I was a half-hour early for an appointment that the doctor would be a half-hour late for. I read one entire issue of Entertainment Weekly and half of one issue of People.

I found Entertainment Weekly to be mildly entertaining, offering brief snippets on Hollywood, music, and even literature. On the other hand, you cannot fathom the immensity of the fuck I did not give about the crap they publish in People.

You want to read an issue of People? Let me sum up the a year’s worth of “news.” J. Lo, divorced, married, divorced, married, divorced. Paris Hilton, wrote a book from the “point of view” of her dog. Readers are convinced that the dog actually wrote it. Tom Cruise and Johnny Depp, still so “dreamy,” after all these years. Jessica Simpson’s nipples, releasing their own album this fall.

Anyway, I was finally called in. The nurse rushed me into the examination room and took my blood pressure. Then she left. And I was waiting again. And waiting. There were no magazines in there. I was forced to seek amusement in thumb wrestling myself.

Eventually I stood up started poking around at the various novelties around the room. I pressed the model of the lower spine against my back, just to see if it was to scale. I inflated and deflated the blood pressure sleeve twice. I began poking around in the drawers. Open backed gowns, rubber gloves, tongue depressors. At that moment, there was a knock and the door was opened. I slammed the drawer full of tongue depressors closed, and in doing so smashed my finger. I let out a grunt, but managed to hide my pain when the doctor peeked his head in.

“I’ll be right with you.” He said.

I gave him a smile and nod, and then sat back down, nursing my finger. I decided not to explore anymore, I had been taught a lesson.

Dear Alumni,

We hope you have had time to enjoy your summer.

As you know, the new school year is starting. New and returning students are excited about the opportunities and experiences of the coming year. It wasn’t very long ago that you yourself were a student, eager to learn and get involved in your University.

Fortunately, you still have the opportunity to get involved. That’s right, you can continue to give to the school that has given you so much.

We may not have paid for your books. We may have overcharged you for housing. We may have made you take classes that had nothing to do with your major. We may have charged you for course credits you didn’t take. We may have tried to make you stay an extra year for no good reason. We may not have been any help in finding you an internship. And we even charged you that “Resident Activity Fee,” that actually went towards our new automated coffee machine. But we provided you with an “Education.” It’s time to repay the favor.

In all due honesty, we lost your tuition money. Well, we didn’t loose it, we know where it went. We spent it all on cheap whores and blow. But the point is, all the money you gave us, the money for which took out loans that you’ll be paying off for the next ten years, is used up. It’s gone. The account is in overdraft.

Now we realize it’s only been two years, but by our estimates, you now have a job in the <insert course of study here> field and are pulling in a six figure salary. This assumption is based on student surveys, population polls, and wild speculation.

So if it wouldn’t be too inconvenient, please take some time out from running your multi-million dollar company and boinking your supermodel wife and make a donation to our simple little “Alumni Fund.”

Thank you.

Sincerely,
College University

P.S. Pass this letter on to five friends by midnight or you will have seven years bad luck! It’s true!

This evening we’re going to be driving down to Connecticut to visit Jen.

This afternoon my mother walked into my room and handed me an ABBA cd. I gave her a quizzical look.

“Take the wrapping off that for me, please.” She said. “We can listen to it on the way down!”

This is going to be a long fucking drive.