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Wednesday, Jul. 23, 2003 / 11:02 a.m. ~Re: The Incident~ First of all, I woke up way too early, all morning, dreaming about world news events, waking to realize it was the TV, it was someone reading those stories, I wasn�t really in a war torn country, then the cat, the one who also does not sleep, and wants me to be awake with her, and she knows how to wake me. Horrible night�s sleep, suffice to say. Then the incident. And I start to gag just thinking about it. I may gag just writing about it, and I wanted to come in and talk about it, get it off my chest, out of my throat, but Q was eating, and everyone is so quiet, and well, I�ll write instead. There are a lot of trucks on the Interstate I travel every day, to and fro, on account of it�s a major east coast truck route, and one never knows what�s being hauled in these trucks, one just never knows, but occasionally, well, no, I think I�m going to gag again. I just had a horrible choking coughing attack, and I�m sure it�s due to all the gagging. I�m sure of it. All the water in the world can�t get rid of the memory of the smell in my throat. Merging on the highway this morning, getting in the appropriate lane, water on the road from rain all night and all morning, but no rain now, behind a truck, water flying off the back of it, this truck going fast, maybe 70, maybe 75, me speeding up to get behind it, around it, and the spray comes off the truck, it�s coming onto my windshield, and then� The SMELL. It�s golden brown, the spray, it�s all over my windshield, it keeps coming, I�m behind it, the truck, and the SMELL, it�s like sewage mixed with carcasses, it�s rotten body parts mixed with shit and piss, it�s covered by a canvas tarp, inside the trailer of the truck, the tractor/trailer, and isn�t that what they call them? The Big Rigs? The things that �jackknife� all the time and hold up traffic for hours? I rush to pass it, 75, almost 80, in my little 19 year old car that needs a new carburetor and fuel pump and leaks oil and runs cold because of not enough RPMs, and has only 4 cylinders, and I start gagging, it�s automatic, the smell is coming in through the vents, I�m pressing the button to spray windshield washer fluid, I�m using the wipers to wipe, but it�s collecting on the sides, the yellow brown, golden brown, muck, the rotten body sludge, the �CSI� liquid body scenes where they�re all making funny squinchy faces, but they�re only acting sludge, that smell, they pretend they smell it, but I have it all over the front of my car. It�s all over the grill, the headlights, the hood, the windshield, and I can still smell it, sitting here, thinking about it, and I gagged repeatedly, had to hold my hand over my mouth as I drove, rolled down my window, got stuck behind other cars, trucks, then the truck, THE TRUCK WITH THE SMELL passed me, and I panicked, NO, NO, NO!!!, not again! I parked at work and looked and saw the brown splash marks all over and came in and sat down in a puddle here in my cube. And I had a coughing attack, choking, gagging, and now I can barely talk when the phone rings, I can�t project at all. I�m trying to think where the car washes are, I�m thinking, So THIS is what it takes to get me to wash my car!, and I�m cursing the sun beginning to peek out behind the clouds. RAIN, already, I�m thinking, RAIN, PLEASE, POUR DOWN RAIN! I�ve been behind these mystery trucks before, I work right next to a chicken abattoir, but never, never has one sprayed its load on my car, washing to a permanent sludge on the confines of my windshield�s border. Get behind one of these trucks, gasp, choke, exclaim to your companion, �What is that SMELL?!!!!�, rhetorically, but if it�s raining? No, oh no, if there�s water around? Oh no. What have we created in our society to produce whatever was being hauled in that truck? And why must it be hauled on the Interstate? Where was it going? How many other people drove behind it? And are they choking, gagging, now too? How many people were late to work because they drove through car washes on the way? Okay, moving along then, the racist comments that spewed from Erika�s mouth on last night�s �BB4� were unacceptable. She needs to go. She said, re: Jee, �Fucking immigrant, fresh off the boat�, after she called him a fucking Korean. Why is he a fucking Korean, why not just a Korean? Why should she bring his ethnicity into it at all, just because he is voting her out? It�s a GAME. Everyone, but two, has to go. These people are insane. That was disturbing, and disturbing enough, I�m sure, that the editors/producers purposely included it in the broadcast. Fuel for our fires. Or mine. The majority of viewers might be racist as well, it is a white show after all. I was bothered enough to write them down, her comments. What I wanted to write about, before the incident, was �Queer Eye For the Straight Guy� last night, and the fact that I haven�t laughed that hard in months. Or more. I laughed and laughed and clapped my hands and howled and cackled and guffawed, and laughed some more, and it was so good. And that straight guy, Tom, is going to go right back to stuffing his food plates under the sofa, give him a week or so. Hilarious, that show is fucking hilarious. I loved laughing like that. Add to that, �The Daily Show�, and some of Letterman, and some of the Colin Quinn show (though I like his bitingly sarcastic and acerbic wit, I DESPISE that he has to read his jokes from a cue card, even when he�s on another show doing his own standup � I have to change the channel when I see him reading), and I laughed a lot. Fell asleep during Letterman, but woke in time to see Jane�s Addiction. Perry Farrell is a mad man, but they still sound crazy good. I liked it. Now, work. Time studies. I�ve got PPMS, and I wish I were a panda, going into estrus annually. But then I�d be in a Zoo, endangered, on display. Which might be better actually. Cost of the War in Iraq
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