podcast

originally posted August 8, 2007


Last whatever, Cognosco and Forget-Me-Now and BS and I went to see Zappa Plays Zappa, which was great fun. Dweezil was wearing funny pants, as you might have expected. And clever us, while we paid for admission for four, we managed to sneak in a fifth, hidden somewhere in the vicinity of Cog's lady pocket (that's the one they usually don't search). Later this week we are going to see Zappa Plays Zappa again, and I am hoping most wholeheartedly that Dweezil will again be wearing funny pants. And clever us, while we paid for admission for four, once again we shall be sneaking in a fifth.

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My days are an unending cycle of crackers, pickles, grapefruit soda, and ginger beer. I am queasy. I am no fun. I am a pod. While I would ordinarily refrain from sharing this information at this point in the pod period, it has become visibly apparent to people I don't even know, so I might as well embrace the whole pseudo-scientist thing and act like I'm not superstitious and just cop to the fact that I am incubating the next incarnation of Brain Scientist (or Brain Scientists, as an opinionated few asserted today) and quit trying to omit any overt references to this fact. I asked the BS if he thought it was necessary for me to avoid mentioning any of this here so that I might have a better chance of safeguarding things, and he asked me if I would like to go visit a moon doctor and have a handful of crystals thrown at my bosom. I'm not exactly sure what that would accomplish. I think he might have said this to point out that I'm being silly. I guess if something goes awry and I am left without future BS, I'll have to explain to those I see daily why I'm not so misshapen anymore anyway. Plus, were this to happen, I'd probably grumble about it in this here blorum, and this way I'll be spared having to type a long-winded prologue in which I explain the whole pod period that I failed to mention for fear of uterine retribution. So there. I said it. Sort of. I hope this doesn't make me negligent in the eyes of the powers that control my uterus. Or, as these powers might say, 'pregligent'. The powers that control my uterus are big on puns.