Silliness. I love silliness. Some people collect coins. Some, baseball cards. Others, quilts. Model cars, clocks, coffee cups, business cards, flamingos, lighthouses, dolphins, seashells, pennants, dolls, pens, stuffed animals, comic books.
When I was a kid - I constantly got chastised by my 2nd grade teacher for dog-eared homework. Others had things neatly in place - perfection within their notebook. Me, mine overflowed. Too many pages for not knowing (or caring) where to file things away. Thus, my papers peeked out the edge of my notebook, and became frayed.
I’ve “built” on this over the years. ATM receipt from last Tuesday rests on the passenger side floorboard. Unopened junk mail from 2006 rests in the shoebox of my last new paira shoes. Empty Miller Lite can from three weeks ago rests near my computer.
The day it rained and I, all by my lonesome, fixed the GD brakes on the Hot…. Rod… Lincoln… left the tool box out over night. Opened. Rained like a sumbitch. I have niftiest set of ‘orange’ tools in town.
I’m a chocolate mess - but I like me. I always wondered why that 2nd grade teacher didn’t care more about the content than the presentation.
Point is, I can’t keep things. Slap me, bend me, shape me, I don’t care, I can’t keep things. I don’t really care that I can’t keep things. I keep things that are important to me. I could give a rats about people who view me for my possessions, or lack thereof. I am man, hear me snore.
Where were we? Oh yeah, collecting. I’m much more into smile collecting. Each time I get one, I file it (very nice and neatly I might add) in the “notebook” of my brain.
I got to sit and visit with an old girlfriend last night, Teri Johnson Applegate-whatever it is now. She owns the quickest smile in the West. Maybe why I gravitated to her.
I do stupid shit at work. Each morning, I’m like the concierge at a hotel, holding the door for each as they enter. My excuse for smoking. With each opening, comes a smile. Haven’t even timed in yet, and I’ve collected twenty smiles.
I enjoy listening, amongst friends. They’re the talkers - I would never be that - too GD boring. But, as they continue, Victor is forgotten (which is cool).. But all the while I connect the dots, capsulize all that’s been said, and sum it up with some stupid-ass comment. If it’s clever, I get to store a few more smiles for the day.
With old high school cronies, beers and TV - we all take turns returning to visit something from the past one of us has said that was completely ridiculous. It always evokes smiles. Cha-ching, more for the eyeball cash register.
I could sit and watch the human race out and about all day. Watching the hustle, the bustle, the struggle, the enjoyment. Seeing smiles melts me.
Comic books don’t go in the casket. Dolls are divided amongst the nieces, daughters, granddaughter, great granddaughters… Baseball cards are sold… Flamingos boxed away in an attic.
Me, I’ll study all the smiles after my eyelids have closed for the final time.
I happen to not connotate dog-eared with bad. Dogs live life as a smile. A twist of the head, the dog ears become erect - the head tilts, and it’s as if a Mexican is looking up at you with a Scoobydo “what’d you say” look... Attention. Affection. Smile.
At work, I fax smiles. No, true, I do. I send instructions on how to load shit, which shit to load, and where the shit is going. In highlighting these instructions, I chicken scratch two eyeballs ‘looking’ in the direction of the instructions, and yes, a smile beneath them. To me, beats the dog poop outta “high importance” email, You Must underlined. Or “or else”.
Victor, are you patting yourself on the back? Well mebbe bebbe. I just figured rather than living life with head slung low due to dog-eared possessions - I’d try to lift my head up and catch the smiles. It’s like cooking, sometimes you gotta make em. It’s like Newton’s Law, for every smile there’s an equal and opposite smile. Catch a smiling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day.
May you live life collecting smiles. And giving them too. And appreciating them. And making them. It’s mebbe the next best thing to French kissing all pressed up. Have smiles, love, Victurd.
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