I am the grit in the gears, the missing bolt, I am the poker of sticks into spokes.
I like to know how things work, but sometimes when I take them apart and rebuild them, I have a few pieces left over.
I am a man, so I tend to leave reading the instructions until after it goes wrong.
And like all men I have a comprehensive mental map of the world and never need to ask directions.
I never get lost, only sometimes I'm late, or end up in the wrong place entirely.
It's what we do.
Friday, 11 May 2012
We Have a Private Girls Only Pillow Fighting Room.
What? no punctuation? No clues whatsoever? It could mean almost anything.
Everywhere else on that street, (Guadelupe) has only public mixed gender pillow-fighting rooms.
A room which fights a private girl's only pillow?
syntax error! beep, grurk, clattaclatta
I think I know what it means. If I was the only pillow of a private girl, I'd be scared if she bought me here.
So, pillow fights? What is it that makes pillows so agressive? Why are they so quick to turn upon each other?
It turns out there's a pillow-fighting league.
And there are Flickr sets of a pillow fight aftermath in Austin, with a stern looking, no smile, bicycle policeman overseeing a group of girls cleaning up a snowfall of feathers on the street. Arrested for feathering? I for one am allergic to those avian fol-de-rols, arrest 'em, officer! Lock 'em up and throw away the key!
My pillows are of synthetic substances. They have never, to my knowledge, gone even so far as to growl at one another.