TheBanyanTree: PANTS ARE OPTIONAL

[Monique]

Last night, around 1 am or so, which would technically make it this morning
and not last night, I stood on my front porch and watched the lightning
storm without my pants on. 

Don't panic. I had underwear on.

Somewhere in another city, someone else watched the lightning storm without
his pants. But he did have boxers on, so it's not what you're probably
thinking.

Pants are optional.

Lightning storms are not usually available for viewing, but last night was
an exception. I like exceptions. Exceptions abound in this part of the world
sometimes. Other times, exceptions abound in other parts of the world. 

Let’s talk about elves. Whether you think elves are evil or not, the fact
remains that they are trouble, and whether they mean to be trouble or not is
irrelevant. The Fraternal Order of Elves has an imposing façade in downtown
Seattle, but I've never been inside, so I'm not sure if the interior is
imposing or a dumpy little maze of rooms. I imagine it's imposing; elves are
likely to present an imposing image, even if no one but elves are allowed
inside. This, of course, would also depend on if said elves are of the LOTR
variety or the HP variety. To date, we have no explanation for why there
would be such a disparity among elf portrayals on the big screen, but this
matter is under consideration and open to debate.

Yesterday I roamed my local Barnes and Noble. I went in without a wallet so
I would not be enticed into purchasing. I'd been dizzy, yesterday was a
dizzy day for me, for some reason, inner ear malfunction again or
dehydration or a lack of brainwave activity leading to a spiraling sort of
loss of consciousness . . . no one really knows. So I walked carefully, not
wanting to fall over as I tend to do when dizzy, and perused the books.
There were books I wanted. Candy Freak. Girl Interrupted. Spontaneous Human
Combustion. I stood in the aisles and read books and looked at the pictures
in Spontaneous Human Combustion. A part of a body, feet only, the rest
charred ashes. A pile of charred remains that was once a person. A foot that
was once attached to a person, now alone by itself. 

How does one erupt into flame by oneself? And, more importantly, what does
one do when that happens? This is not a good question, for of course when
one erupts into flames so quickly and unexpectedly (no one expects to become
a human torch, does one?) one is unable to form much in the way of coherent
thought quickly and effectively, other than, "Oh shit! I'm on FIRE!"
Admittedly, I don't know this for a fact. Erupting into flames is not
something I've done. 

They don't always die. Sometimes people are nearby and put out the flames
and they're rushed to hospital where they die later. (This book was
apparently from Great Britain, where people go to hospital and not to the
hospital.) Whichever way it happens, instantly or slowly and painfully, I
prefer to forego the entire experience altogether. 

I like to think that erupting into flames is optional, like pants, though
even I would admit that I'd have a bit less control over it than I do over
my pants.

I began to fall over when reading, dizziness returning to my addled brain,
so we left. Falling down in stores is something I try mightily to avoid
because it annoys the other shoppers, and I'm all about avoiding annoying
other shoppers.

Later I tried to log onto my library website and find the books I wanted. My
card number does not work though, and I'll have to go into the library and
find out if I need a new one. They didn't have Spontaneous Human Combustion
at all. They had Candy Freak, but it's new and not technically available
yet, or on hold, or something. And they had Girl, Interrupted, available at
my local branch. I suppose that's some sort of progress. 

What kind of progress, I don't know.

Back to the elves. 

There were no elves at Barnes and Noble, though there was one rather
particularly short person who might have been an elf if elves were short,
but if they're not, then this person could not be one. Since I am still not
sure what elves actually look like, I can't say. But that's okay. Elves are
optional in my universe.

So far, we have optional pants, optional elves, and spontaneous human
combustion that may not be up to the combustee at all. Is combustee a word? 

What else, what else. 

We had an adventure at Deception State Park last week. It was optional, and
we went for it. The day was sunny and warm, relatively speaking for where
we're at, and the sky was blue and the water was not exactly sea foam green,
but more of a deeper green, or even a blue, heaven forbid, and so it did not
match my car.

My car is a subject of much debate. The technical color of my car is sea
foam green, but there is some disagreement on whether it's green at all,
and, if it is green, if it's sea foam green or some other shade of green. 

This is beside the point. 

We parked and I cheated the park out of their full $5.00 parking fee because
I only had $2.00 cash on me. I filled out my parking envelope but didn't
give enough identifying information for them to come after me and kill me
for not leaving enough money, put all the cash I had in the envelope, and
put it in their little box. We walked the path down to the beach, throw some
stones, looked for interesting configurations, then walked back up and down
a different path which was ungroomed -- this path was not in good condition
and may not have been a path at all, so we took another one and went down to
another beach. We walked, we played, we took pictures of passing tourists,
the only other people on the beach at that time.

If you haven't been to Deception State Park, you should go. I recommend it.

For lunch, we sat on the outdoor deck of the Captain Whidbey Inn, which was
deserted by that time of day on a Tuesday, and ignored my constantly ringing
cell phone. 

Cell phones are optional. 

Pants, elves, and cell phones are optional. Spontaneous human combustion may
occur without warning and without redress. I find little comfort in the fact
that my charred remains, or, if I'm lucky, a remnant of a limb, will find
itself featured in a book on the subject if I'm unlucky enough to be a
victim of spontaneous human combustion, but I suppose it may be my chance at
fame. I hope not of course. I am allergic to fire. It makes me break out in
hives, a cold sweat, and causes me severe breathing problems. Perhaps I'm
not alone in this.

There's no lightning this morning. That doesn't mean there won't be
lightning later, of course, just as the lack of elves does not mean there
won't be elves later. But for now, there is no lightning, no elves, no cell
phones, and no pants. I am planning on continuing this streak with a lack of
spontaneous human combustion also. 

I like to think of it as optional, like pants.


Monique