Secret Ingredients

As I dump Rice Krispies into tonight's salad, I wonder to myself whether all those weird things that my grandpa used to do, such as cutting pizza with scissors, were once just some kind of running joke that forgot it was a joke. Will anyone remember that my jokes are jokes when I'M that old? Will I? Snap crackle pop.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Easy Mistakes to Avoid #1

In the morning, after you jump on the mini trampoline you keep under your bed, try not to speed out the door into the cold and drive away thinking, "man, it's so hot out here!" Because it's not hot, it's just that you've been jumping up and down for ten minutes and you're even sweating a little bit. Tell you what: if you can't stop yourself from speeding out the door like that, since it is pretty fun to feel so carefree and ready to go, at least stick a jacket in the trunk of your car for later. If you don't, you'll be sorry, or at least pretty chilly. TRUST ME.
Read more

The Creston Auction

I walk on hardened mud along a long road through the tree farm and then step between the horizontal wires of the fence. I have a smile on my face, a curious smile, because I can already hear the auctioneers' voices floating on the wind, and I have always had a curious feeling about auctioneers. I'm also smiling because I'm coming to the auction from the rear, on foot. Even the people from Creston probably have to drive to get to the Creston Auction. I am cool. And smart. Cool and smart. I wander across the prairie grass between the electric fence and the auction in the Creston schoolyard, between rows of trucks and cars, some tractors, a fire engine, numbered tags tied to their windshield wipers. They will be up for auction tomorrow. I don't know what any of them might be worth. I feel like my vision is blurred, or as though I am walking past large signs covered in symbols I have never seen before. I walk past people who can read the signs, people who are looking unde...
Read more

Hot Tub Man

Several people in Hot Springs, MT, have small businesses selling access to their outdoor mineral pools, which tend to run pretty dang warm. Anyone can go lounge around in them, provided they have about five bucks. Two days ago, my mom and I drove about an hour from Arlee to give our five bucks to Leroy, who sits by his pool and chills most of the day, every day. Out front is a large sculpture made of giant bare barkless branches sticking straight up out of a deep pile of river rocks. The snow lining the clearings on the mountains shines in the sun to the northeast. Cold air coming down from the slopes rattles the chain link fence. Leroy's house is all the way back in town, about four blocks away. He drives back home for lunch or to get more cigarettes, but his truck climbs up the hill to the pool again soon enough, because he has to make sure he's collecting all his rightful dollars. "These folks are gonna flee," Leroy says, leaning back in his chair again. "...
Read more