daily preciousness

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

tooth and car disease? nope... worse!

Yes, my teeth and I are reveling in that "just cleaned" freshness that only a visit to the dentist can provide. Yes, I had a delightful chat with the Asian hygenist who has a gentle touch and a friendly manner. Yes, I am fortunate to be sipping on a steaming cup of mocha this morning. Life could be worse. But the inconvenience that has visited me today was a dead car battery. I tried to start my car after my 7 a.m. dental appointment, but it only coughed and puttered like a hobo just before he loses consciousness on a sewer grate. Great.

A quick call to the roadside service got me a free visit from Big Daddy's Towing with the necessary jumper cable capability, set to arrive "within the hour." I wonder if I should address the driver as big daddy. I think I will try to address him as Big Daddy without smiling. That will be my big challenge of the day.

Goodya's hot cafe mocha is mostly cafe with just a tiny taste of mocha. She is a beautiful Polish girl with a delicious accent. When she noticed that I wasn't sipping my drink, she made sure that it was OK. "You djust tell mee eef eet's not goood, OK?" Such charming and genuine customer service! I adore it. And Stella's cafe is almost completely empty this morning. A solitary businessman sits, checking his e-mail. The soulful jazz hovers in the fireplace-warmed air. I read George Dubya's lips as he peers into the camera, his words scrolling above, in a staccato scrall.

Goodya did a great job with the drink. I only noticed it after I let it cool off for a few minutes.

Henrykins was in a very good mood last night. He's been so consumed lately by his work drama. I intend to write a very sternly worded e-mail to his boss after he leaves, citing his current actions in my lawsuit for "needless pain and suffering" on my part. I'm so glad that I'm not a part of that high stakes, high stress empire of business. It's such a needlessly impersonal world. Not for me.

Postscript: shortly after I wrote these words, I came across one of the most haunting images that I've ever encountered. With all of the pain and suffering that we see today, I think it's important to realize that some images truly tear at the fabric of reality and show us what Evil really is. Scroll down, but first realize: once you have seen the Hasselhoff Recursion, you will never view reality in the same way again.

Indeed, once you have rinsed the bloodstained tears from your eyes, you may have to question your own sanity. So proceed at your own risk.

The creator of this site takes no responsibility for post Hasselhoff traumatic stress disorder.

Warning: has been found to cause cancer in laboratory mice.

Scroll down at your own risk. . .







I did not suffer from tooth disease today. And my car can be repaired, or "jumped" as the boys at Big Daddy's will no doubt call it. But I will never be the same. The world will never seem the same. My cafe mocha will never taste the same... after I've seen the Hasselhoff Recursion.

May God bless have mercy on all our souls.

Sunday, January 16, 2005


Last night, I watched a play called untitled. What a great name. I don't think I've ever watched a piece of theatre before that lacked a title. It was a fused piece, combining the classic saga of Medea and a Ragastani folktale that highlights the plight of women in traditional Indian society.

In the story, the powerful raja ignores his wife's pleadings and physically assaults a peasant girl who tempts him with flesh as smooth as milk and the sweet innocence of an 11-year-old. The wife is furious, but says nothing, for she is forbidden to speak out against her husband. She escapes the knowledge of his actions by riding horses. The virile young stableman is of a lower cast and treats her truly like the queen that she is. She slowly grows to lust after him. Eventually, they consummate their passions. Meanwhile, the daughter of the peasant girl pleads with the royal court for justice. The woman herself was abused as a child, so she won't accept anything short of justice. She pleads for help, slamming the floor with her fist. She is just a lowly pauper, but she will not abide by this abuse of her child. No one speaks. No one helps her, until finally, the queen admits to her husband's sins. And her admission is like Medea's betrayal of her husband, Kifflom be praised!

It was a powerful piece and the actor/director team has actually performed it in the villages of rural India, where I'm sure that it was very powerful. The urban audience probably lost something in the translation. (It was originally written in Hindi and even included a dozen or so Hindi expressions. I was using the glossary in the program throughout the show!)

Too bad nobody was there to share it with me. I would've enjoyed talking about it on the way home.

Maybe next time.


I have never been serenaded by an Italian waiter before – not even while wandering 'round Rome, feasting on panini and red wine everyday.

So it was a nice surprise to hear the bouncy Italian waiter's serenade, standing on a chair, singing his heart out to us. Red wine was involved during this feast, also. Candles flickered on the table and the smell of fresh bread mingled with my steaming plate of marinara pasta.

Luigi sang a joyful song and thanked me. He thanked everybody, actually.

Was his name Luigi? No, but it might has well been. Seeing him, you'd half suspect that he was about to leave the restaurant and give the two scrappy dogs out back a plateful of leftover spaghetti and meatballs for a quick reenactment of Lady and the Tramp. Or maybe he was a Mario. But no, on second thought. If he were named Mario, it would necessitate me being tied up and screaming, a crazed gorilla with a penchant for flaming barrels and iron rafters slanting at unruly angles.

But no quarters were involved. There was no classic 8-bit sound. It was real.

I experienced it in R/L. That's "Real Life (TM)".

It was the night of November 1. Pal T Todd and I were sitting elbow to elbow with about sixty of our closest friends. By closest friends, I mean fellow dem volunteer/activists. We had just laughed at several brief politico pep talks. A cheerful and generous millionaire (who looked very young to be a millionaire) had just bought dinner for us.

Then Luigi opened up his mouth to thank us and sing a beautiful song of hope and joy for us. His voice was trumpet-like and clarion. It filled the whole room. It was so strong that I could feel it, just as much as I could hear it. (I wouldn't want to follow him at a karaoke bar!)

After a filling meal, we left to go to the rally. It was a fun night. The oversized volunteer T-shirt fit me about as well as a drop-cloth. But I didn't mind. The speeches were straight-forward and cheerful. I left with a new respect for Jimmy Buffet. He knows how to drop it like it's hot. Or something like that. Just like Luigi the waiter.

Looking back to that wonderful experience is a little difficult now. But at least I can write again!

I'm on the road to recovery now after my bout with epsilon toxin poisoning, Kifflom be praised!