Finally... a good sleep

Woke up this afternoon at 1 pm with the sweetest dream I had ever imagined: cuddling and kissing your sweetheart--what can beat that? Well, if it is not a dream, I guess. Patience. Patience. (For some inexplicable reason, I could see (and hear) Steve Jobs in the background presenting Tiger. Weird. Weird. Weird. Rest assured though, I have absolutely neither the desire to kiss nor to cuddle Steve Jobs.)

In my humble opinion, it is necessary to be able to continually idealize your Significant Other in order to maintain that magic. That is not to say that you put on blinkers to ignore the faults or flaws in your chosen one, but that you see the potential, the peak of his/her possibilities when the he/she is simply meandering way down below it, like most of us are. For when one gives up the hope, the optimism, "a light goes out in the heart" (Richard Ford), and you are on your way to disillusionment, indifference, and heartbreak, baby...

I need to send a self-addressed, return envelope to Eve so that she can put some lint in there. When I get it back, I will have it sewn in a sachet, like those Japanese good luck charms, and hang it from the walls. That way, whenever I do anything that has to do with the object of my affection, I will tenderly pat it and so guarantee the success of my amorous ventures. You hear that, Eve? Don't throw away the lint from your dryer now!

Anyways, if you must know, I drove up to Fremont twice yesterday. Once at 9:30 AM, to save her from being ripped off by an auto dealership ($180 for diagnostics EVEN though the customer knows where the problem is? PLEASE!), and once at 10 PM (surprise delivery of soup, flu medication and a DVD). Hey, why do chicks look so cute in PJs? It's a conspiracy by Baby Gap and De Beers Diamonds, I'd tell you. How is any full-blooded, heterosexual male with a pulse able to resist it? Anyways, there was one heck of an accident in the southbound lane of 880 during my 2nd trip. I never seen 6 fire trucks at a scene before. It's surreal at night.

Anyways, while Eve's post made me chuckle, my blading buddy's email made me laugh out loud (warning: potentially offensive content ahead):


It is most easy to become a Protestant minister. Most Protestant clergy have been convicts. In fact it was in prison that they became ministers. Now you know why Protestants do not accept that both faith and deeds get you to heaven, but faith alone. If they believed as Catholics did, then Protestant minister recruitment would certainly take a plunge. They say a majority of convicts are repeat offenders.


Bahaha! What a hoot! Wait until my brother reads this. *smirk*

Came across this quote from William Chernecky during breakfast reading this morning:


a contemporary American cultural climate where people no longer yearn for personal salvation, let alone any return to some earlier epoch, but for the sense, the ephemeral illusion, of personal well-being, good health, and psychic security.


Good skin, nice clothes, perfectly-aligned whitened teeth, with your Oakleys, in a Hummer chugging down freeway, that's the closest to heaven, and insulation from death, Osama bin Laden, Kim Jung Il, Iran, mad cow disease, little old ladies in giant ancient Buicks, Asian drivers, IRS audits, and Chapter 11, I'd suppose. In the words of Don Delillo in White Noise, the shopping malls and the supermarket are the new temples of solace and salvation (for when spiritual hunger no longer exists, what is there left to sate but physiological, animal hunger?); the sliding doors slide open, and the famished, lost and aimless find purpose (buy more!), meaning (hmm... what's on sale today?), and direction (get the items on sale; present VIP customer card; present coupons before payment to get $1 off; debit or credit? Paper or plastic?) in their empty lives.

I should really start a new cult; with these ruminations of mine. I shall be like Sai Baba, who, in words of _Time Magazine_, is "revered by millions, denounced by thousands."

Make your checks ("cheques" for you folks across the pond) out to "Ben's Temple of Salvation" or "BTS," with a self-addressed pre-paid envelope; and, for every equivalent of a C-note greenback you donate, I shall dispense a little wisdom in the form of a fortune cookie paper strip that shall serve as the beacon of light in the pathetic darkness of your mired lives.

Hallelujah.

Here's a (recycled) joke for those of you stuck at home on Sunday with nothing to do:

A man was sitting on a beach. Tragically, through a recent car accident, he had lost both both his arms and legs. During the long afternoon, as he remained on the beach, three women separately walked past him. Each felt very sorry for the poor man.

The first woman said "Have you ever had a hug?"

The man said "No" so she gave him a hug and walked on.

The second woman said "Have you ever had a kiss?"

The man said "No," so she gave him a kiss and walked on.

The third woman came to him and said "Have you ever been fucked?"

The fellow said "No".

She said "You will be when the tide comes in."