[Yeah, this was published in December of '14, nearly a year ago. I missed it somehow, being preoccupied with other things I suppose.]
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
What Are the Chances? (Answer: Worse Than Astronomical)
So, I went to this thrift store, randomly, for the first time in a while. It was in my hometown, and I hadn't been there for over a decade. Why not?
Though, there was more: I felt Compelled to go there, in that special, patternistic way that I've elaborated on in prior posts.
What did I expect to find at this thrift store that so urgently demanded my visit? I can't say, beyond the usual hodgepodge found in thrift stores. Regardless, over the course of my browsing, I encountered two items of note: the book Battlefield Earth, and an old, vintage-looking set of tire chains in a distinctive black case. As it were, it was the first I'd seen these particular items, anywhere; but, besides that, I mention them in particular because they stood out to me, as to be Noticed, also in a patternistic fashion I've observed many times in recent years.
So Noticeable were they, in fact, I picked out the book and tire chains as being somehow significant, most likely to be involved in some forthcoming synchronistic incident (also patternistic, for me ...).
I was not disappointed.
The next day, I went to another thrift store, at the other side of town -- also out of a Compelling, instead of any logical, overt need. And there, I came across two items of note. The first was another copy of Battlefield Earth, and though this was only the second time I'd ever encountered the famous novel in my life (and had occurred less than twenty-four hours afterward), I didn't think too much of it -- because coincidences do happen, you know? The second item, however, gave me pause: a set of tire chains, in a scuffed, black, elderly case with faded stickers from a different era of marketing and advertisement.
The chains were exactly like those from the last thrift store -- an obscure, perhaps once-in-a-lifetime item, encountered twice within the course of a day. And, both in thrift stores.
What to make of this, I don't know, even after my last magical-mystery-tour few years of such phenomenon. In any case, I laughed.
Though, there was more: I felt Compelled to go there, in that special, patternistic way that I've elaborated on in prior posts.
What did I expect to find at this thrift store that so urgently demanded my visit? I can't say, beyond the usual hodgepodge found in thrift stores. Regardless, over the course of my browsing, I encountered two items of note: the book Battlefield Earth, and an old, vintage-looking set of tire chains in a distinctive black case. As it were, it was the first I'd seen these particular items, anywhere; but, besides that, I mention them in particular because they stood out to me, as to be Noticed, also in a patternistic fashion I've observed many times in recent years.
So Noticeable were they, in fact, I picked out the book and tire chains as being somehow significant, most likely to be involved in some forthcoming synchronistic incident (also patternistic, for me ...).
I was not disappointed.
The next day, I went to another thrift store, at the other side of town -- also out of a Compelling, instead of any logical, overt need. And there, I came across two items of note. The first was another copy of Battlefield Earth, and though this was only the second time I'd ever encountered the famous novel in my life (and had occurred less than twenty-four hours afterward), I didn't think too much of it -- because coincidences do happen, you know? The second item, however, gave me pause: a set of tire chains, in a scuffed, black, elderly case with faded stickers from a different era of marketing and advertisement.
The chains were exactly like those from the last thrift store -- an obscure, perhaps once-in-a-lifetime item, encountered twice within the course of a day. And, both in thrift stores.
What to make of this, I don't know, even after my last magical-mystery-tour few years of such phenomenon. In any case, I laughed.
Saturday, September 26, 2015
Rubber-Gripper Thing from Heaven
The jar wouldn't open.
However innocent-looking, the lid was uncooperative, sealed tight, not budging when turned. I tried harder. I used a towel. I used all my might. But no give.
One of those rubber-gripper things would come in handy right about now, I thought.
In the end, however, my jar saga had a happy ending: the lid did at last succumb (after some gentle banging on the counter). With that, I forgot about my brief battle with the jar of minced ginger. My life proceeded.
Though, I would soon remember that jar, and my silent prayer for a rubber-gripper thingamajig. Fast forward to this evening, approximately twelve hours later.
Once I'd returned home for the day, I had a package in the mail: some vitamin supplements. I opened the envelope, and there were the supplements -- along with something else. A little plastic package with a friendly green label. "Magic Gripper," it read.
One of those rubber-gripper things -- except, in with my shipment of supplements.
Why? How? When I'd placed the order, there'd been no mention of a complimentary rubber-gripper. I guess it might make sense, given that supplements come in bottles and jars, with lids that might get stubborn from time to time. Though, I've ordered from this place dozens of times, for years, and never received any rubber-grippers ...
Until today, some hours after I'd Just Happened to have needed just such a utensil (for the first time in ... months? years?).
Ask and ye shall receive, I thought. Again.
(And here's a fun little footnote: that evening, minutes after discovering my unexpected gift, I went to open another jar ... and its lid wouldn't turn. I employed my new rubber-gripper, and it worked like a charm. Afterward, I laughed madly.)
However innocent-looking, the lid was uncooperative, sealed tight, not budging when turned. I tried harder. I used a towel. I used all my might. But no give.
One of those rubber-gripper things would come in handy right about now, I thought.
In the end, however, my jar saga had a happy ending: the lid did at last succumb (after some gentle banging on the counter). With that, I forgot about my brief battle with the jar of minced ginger. My life proceeded.
Though, I would soon remember that jar, and my silent prayer for a rubber-gripper thingamajig. Fast forward to this evening, approximately twelve hours later.
Once I'd returned home for the day, I had a package in the mail: some vitamin supplements. I opened the envelope, and there were the supplements -- along with something else. A little plastic package with a friendly green label. "Magic Gripper," it read.
One of those rubber-gripper things -- except, in with my shipment of supplements.
Why? How? When I'd placed the order, there'd been no mention of a complimentary rubber-gripper. I guess it might make sense, given that supplements come in bottles and jars, with lids that might get stubborn from time to time. Though, I've ordered from this place dozens of times, for years, and never received any rubber-grippers ...
Until today, some hours after I'd Just Happened to have needed just such a utensil (for the first time in ... months? years?).
Ask and ye shall receive, I thought. Again.
(And here's a fun little footnote: that evening, minutes after discovering my unexpected gift, I went to open another jar ... and its lid wouldn't turn. I employed my new rubber-gripper, and it worked like a charm. Afterward, I laughed madly.)
Thursday, September 24, 2015
RIP, Krokinski
Find my sentimental sci-fi short, "RIP, Krokinski," at Unsung Stories, for free!
Link
Link
Thursday, September 3, 2015
The Pituitary Gland
Just what exactly does the pituitary gland do?
I asked myself this yesterday, while shopping for a pituitary glandular supplement that supposedly helps one's pituitary function. I was curious ... but not enough to actually look it up.
However, in less than a day, I would be enlightened on the subject.
A couple weeks ago, I totally randomly found a totally random novel, for free, at the dump: Relic by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. Then, yesterday (the same day I'd pondered the pituitary gland), after reading several other books in the meantime, I decided to start reading my dump-novel, as randomly as I'd found the thing, from a selection of over a dozen others (other books in general, not dump-books; I'm not that lucky).
Now skip to today, when, several chapters into Relic, my eyebrows raised: it outlined exactly what the pituitary gland does, in a conversation between two characters.
I'd never before read of this gland's function, and then, after randomly deciding to read a book I've had for weeks (instead of the generous selection of other appealing books at my disposal, I might add), I Just Happened to start this one and, thus, encounter the information I sought -- answering my question, asked less than a day prior.
I call these type of incidents "question-and-answers," for reasons obvious.
I asked myself this yesterday, while shopping for a pituitary glandular supplement that supposedly helps one's pituitary function. I was curious ... but not enough to actually look it up.
However, in less than a day, I would be enlightened on the subject.
A couple weeks ago, I totally randomly found a totally random novel, for free, at the dump: Relic by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. Then, yesterday (the same day I'd pondered the pituitary gland), after reading several other books in the meantime, I decided to start reading my dump-novel, as randomly as I'd found the thing, from a selection of over a dozen others (other books in general, not dump-books; I'm not that lucky).
Now skip to today, when, several chapters into Relic, my eyebrows raised: it outlined exactly what the pituitary gland does, in a conversation between two characters.
I'd never before read of this gland's function, and then, after randomly deciding to read a book I've had for weeks (instead of the generous selection of other appealing books at my disposal, I might add), I Just Happened to start this one and, thus, encounter the information I sought -- answering my question, asked less than a day prior.
I call these type of incidents "question-and-answers," for reasons obvious.
* * *
The synchronicity didn't stop there, however.
Remember why I was wondering about the pituitary gland in the first place? Because I was contemplating the purchase of a glandular supplement, made, unglamorously, from the raw glands of pigs and/or cows. So, it could be said that, in buying and ingesting these pills, I would, technically, be dining on the glands of said animals (which are extracted directly from their brains, as it were).
Now, the kicker: the culprit of the Relic book, as it turned out, is a creature that feeds on pituitary glands.
This, just after I'd bought a supplement which, once taken, would render me a pituitary carnivore ...
When I'd never read of such a creature before, ever ...
And I'd had all those other books to choose from, with this one's cover and blurb advertising nothing of pituitary cuisine ...
Just like so many other times, in identical pattern and timing and ...
Etcetera. Etcetera.
There's more to this incident, if you can believe it. But I'll just stop here.
Friday, August 28, 2015
Rings (aka, Ask and Ye Shall Receive ... Again)
Once again, I asked, then received.
No, it's not the first time. Nor the dozenth. For instance, just recently, I really wanted some ginger with my lunch, to set it off -- but only one helping of ginger, because I was leaving town and didn't want to get a whole thing of it. You know how these things go. Well, when I go to get coffee to have with my lunch, I feel Compelled to ask the cashier if he might happen to have some ginger, despite this not being the kind of place that would have something like ginger on offer -- but, remarkably, he does have some, in these little single-serving packets with Asian characters on the front, which, wouldn't you know it, he'd Just Happened to find lying about the store, the very day before I came asking for some (he didn't even charge me for it, since it wasn't even in the store's system). Yes, I've asked, and I've received.
And today, it happened again.
This time, it involved a ring. Oh, my troublesome rings, always falling off my fingers if I'm not careful. Apparently, one fell off and I didn't notice, because it was missing at the end of the day, and didn't turn up after a search. And I liked that ring, darnit. So I had the thought: Need a new ring, but where? My fingers are an odd size (why my rings tend to fall off, I imagine), plus I'm just picky about my rings.
But, within a day, I had a new ring.
Where? A health-food store, of all places. And, not just a health-food store, where you wouldn't expect to be met with quality sterling-silver jewelry, but a health-food store in a town I'd had zero plans to go to that day. See, also as in the past, today I'd felt Compelled to simply pick up and go, north, to a small town I'd heard about several times but never visited. And, likewise, I felt Compelled to visit a health-food store there -- a store that Just Happened to have a tray of rings set out.
I perused the rings, and I found not one, but two rings that fit wonderfully (and were reasonably priced). But that's not the kicker.
The kicker came, once again, from my servicing cashier. When I mentioned to her my pleasure of finding the store stocked with rings of my size and liking, she said something interesting: she'd just found those rings, kicking about the store, not an hour before my arrival.
I laughed. She laughed. The whole thing smacked of single-serving ginger.
(And speaking of those single-serving ginger packets with the Asian characters: the very first thing I'd seen upon walking into this health-food store, before the rings or anything, was those very same packets of ginger, for sale by the door, the second time I've ever seen them aside from when I was given one when in want of a little ginger for my lunch. Realizing this after buying my new rings, I laughed all over again.)
No, it's not the first time. Nor the dozenth. For instance, just recently, I really wanted some ginger with my lunch, to set it off -- but only one helping of ginger, because I was leaving town and didn't want to get a whole thing of it. You know how these things go. Well, when I go to get coffee to have with my lunch, I feel Compelled to ask the cashier if he might happen to have some ginger, despite this not being the kind of place that would have something like ginger on offer -- but, remarkably, he does have some, in these little single-serving packets with Asian characters on the front, which, wouldn't you know it, he'd Just Happened to find lying about the store, the very day before I came asking for some (he didn't even charge me for it, since it wasn't even in the store's system). Yes, I've asked, and I've received.
And today, it happened again.
This time, it involved a ring. Oh, my troublesome rings, always falling off my fingers if I'm not careful. Apparently, one fell off and I didn't notice, because it was missing at the end of the day, and didn't turn up after a search. And I liked that ring, darnit. So I had the thought: Need a new ring, but where? My fingers are an odd size (why my rings tend to fall off, I imagine), plus I'm just picky about my rings.
But, within a day, I had a new ring.
Where? A health-food store, of all places. And, not just a health-food store, where you wouldn't expect to be met with quality sterling-silver jewelry, but a health-food store in a town I'd had zero plans to go to that day. See, also as in the past, today I'd felt Compelled to simply pick up and go, north, to a small town I'd heard about several times but never visited. And, likewise, I felt Compelled to visit a health-food store there -- a store that Just Happened to have a tray of rings set out.
I perused the rings, and I found not one, but two rings that fit wonderfully (and were reasonably priced). But that's not the kicker.
The kicker came, once again, from my servicing cashier. When I mentioned to her my pleasure of finding the store stocked with rings of my size and liking, she said something interesting: she'd just found those rings, kicking about the store, not an hour before my arrival.
I laughed. She laughed. The whole thing smacked of single-serving ginger.
(And speaking of those single-serving ginger packets with the Asian characters: the very first thing I'd seen upon walking into this health-food store, before the rings or anything, was those very same packets of ginger, for sale by the door, the second time I've ever seen them aside from when I was given one when in want of a little ginger for my lunch. Realizing this after buying my new rings, I laughed all over again.)
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Autobiography of a Yogi
A month or so ago, a friend of mine recommended a book, Autobiography of a Yogi. It was the first I'd heard of this book in my life.
Being a habitual heeder of random recommendations, I bought the book.
I planned to read it, really; but you know how plans go, especially when it comes to books. That is to say, I got sidetracked by other books (perhaps "seduced" is more like it). So, weeks went by, and the yogi book went unread, for all its appeal.
Until today, when I finished a long, very un-yogic how-to book. With that, I thought, decisively, that it was time to read about the yogi.
Before I could start it, however, I had to take some trash to the dump.
Yes, there is a synchronicity lurking in this story, as anyone who's read this blog could guess: that very same day, I randomly came across a copy of none other than Autobiography of a Yogi, there at the dump, in a little area called the "Swap Shop" where folks can leave stuff that someone might want. However, there's more to the incident than the simple coincidence of my finding a copy of the book I was intending to read.
A battery led me to it.
That battery. It had been kicking around for years, going with me through several moves, without ever being thrown away. A cheap, non-alkaline double-A, it had always escaped disposal because, like any battery, you don't just toss it in the trash; at my local dump, the dead batteries have their own special bin, which requires its own special few steps from the dumpsters, which, therefore, required me to separate the battery from its fellow garbage. Too much to ask, it would seem. Annoyance is the best deterrent, indeed.
But I digress. Back to the book.
I decided to at last get rid of the battery, is what happened. I was going through some stuff; I happened across this ancient dead battery; I was going to the dump anyhow. And so I took it with me, despite the tremendous/miniscule effort required to do so. It brought a rush of power and accomplishment; if I could get rid of this battery, I could do anything.
Then I forgot about it.
Wrapped up in disposing of the normal trash and recyclables, I very nearly left the dump without tossing the battery. On top of being distracted with the other trash, I was also in a big rush, trying to get to a doctor's appointment. In fact, I was in such a rush that I neglected my usual visit to the Swap Shop to see if any interesting freebies awaited me there. Only as I'd gotten back in my car and started driving away did I remember the battery; and only because it had been spared disposal for so long did I take the time to stop, get out, and march it over the bin.
As it were, the battery bin was right next to the Swap Shop. So I stopped in, after all.
And there I found the book -- the very one I had decided to begin reading that day, after weeks of neglect. And, of course, it was the second time in my life I'd come into contact with Autobiography of a Yogi in any way, just like dozens of other remarkably similar incidents ...
I left the Swap Shop copy of the book where it lay. Someone else could grab that one; I already had mine.
Being a habitual heeder of random recommendations, I bought the book.
I planned to read it, really; but you know how plans go, especially when it comes to books. That is to say, I got sidetracked by other books (perhaps "seduced" is more like it). So, weeks went by, and the yogi book went unread, for all its appeal.
Until today, when I finished a long, very un-yogic how-to book. With that, I thought, decisively, that it was time to read about the yogi.
Before I could start it, however, I had to take some trash to the dump.
Yes, there is a synchronicity lurking in this story, as anyone who's read this blog could guess: that very same day, I randomly came across a copy of none other than Autobiography of a Yogi, there at the dump, in a little area called the "Swap Shop" where folks can leave stuff that someone might want. However, there's more to the incident than the simple coincidence of my finding a copy of the book I was intending to read.
A battery led me to it.
That battery. It had been kicking around for years, going with me through several moves, without ever being thrown away. A cheap, non-alkaline double-A, it had always escaped disposal because, like any battery, you don't just toss it in the trash; at my local dump, the dead batteries have their own special bin, which requires its own special few steps from the dumpsters, which, therefore, required me to separate the battery from its fellow garbage. Too much to ask, it would seem. Annoyance is the best deterrent, indeed.
But I digress. Back to the book.
I decided to at last get rid of the battery, is what happened. I was going through some stuff; I happened across this ancient dead battery; I was going to the dump anyhow. And so I took it with me, despite the tremendous/miniscule effort required to do so. It brought a rush of power and accomplishment; if I could get rid of this battery, I could do anything.
Then I forgot about it.
Wrapped up in disposing of the normal trash and recyclables, I very nearly left the dump without tossing the battery. On top of being distracted with the other trash, I was also in a big rush, trying to get to a doctor's appointment. In fact, I was in such a rush that I neglected my usual visit to the Swap Shop to see if any interesting freebies awaited me there. Only as I'd gotten back in my car and started driving away did I remember the battery; and only because it had been spared disposal for so long did I take the time to stop, get out, and march it over the bin.
As it were, the battery bin was right next to the Swap Shop. So I stopped in, after all.
And there I found the book -- the very one I had decided to begin reading that day, after weeks of neglect. And, of course, it was the second time in my life I'd come into contact with Autobiography of a Yogi in any way, just like dozens of other remarkably similar incidents ...
I left the Swap Shop copy of the book where it lay. Someone else could grab that one; I already had mine.
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