Two Snippets From A Weasel’s Odd Life
I awoke this morning to go see Gini, who had risen several hours back, in our living room.
“Congratulations on getting up and working out early with Erin!” I said. “I’m glad it went well!”
“I had to tell you that I knew it happened, or you’d think I was ignoring your accomplishment,” I continued. “Even though I already read that it went well thanks to Facebook.”
“You could have just liked my status,” she replied. “Then I would have known.”
“It might have been hours before you saw my like. And until then, you’d think that I didn’t care about your accomplishment at all. I couldn’t risk that.” I paused. “Come to think of it, social media is causing me to have some a lot of redundant conversations lately.”
My sad triumph over Thanksgiving was this:
I was making the Bosworth stuffing and listening to AC/DC, because they’d finally caved to iTunes and so I filled in the gaps in my collection. And I was assembling the sausage and toast and all the other secret ingredients in a bowl in the kitchen, rocking out to “For Those About To Rock.” Full volume. I was doing a very metal stuffing, strutting as I went to get the eggs.
Then we got to the intense part, where Brian Johnson shouts “FOR THOSE ABOUT TO ROCK!” and the band falls silent and then there is that empty pause where you know oh, shit, here comes the thunder… and then wham, he shouts “FIRE!” and a barrage of cannons go off and there, my friends, is the thunder.
And I thought, shit, I’m not going to do this, am I?
And as Brian screamed “FOR THOSE ABOUT TO ROCK!” I hoisted the egg up in the air, in full-on Freddie Mercury rage pose.
And when he screamed “FIRE!” I slammed the egg down in one smooth motion on the edge of the bowl, hard as I could.
It went perfectly.
In that moment, I was the heavy metal god of stuffing, the iron maiden chef, the Ronnie James Dio of bird filling, and had angels descended to lift me up to heaven, I could not have possibly been more satisfied with the trajectory of my life in that moment, for it had led to this one moment of perfect, rebellious grace.
Then I made the rest of the stuffing. Even Rock Gods have to finish the meal, you know.