Signs

Today I was driving down a regular old street in DC, a good part of town, not an urban warzone, when I saw a guy in a Florida Marlins cap punch a tree. Unphased by the blood dripping from his hand and what could very well have been broken bones, he proceeded to act like Rainman had Rainman taken up boxing. Swinging wildly at the air, he stumbled around the sidewalk boxing poor gas molecules and dark matter and whatever else the handicaps of human eyes fail to see. So, are the Marlins going to start swinging wildly, stumbling around bloodied and broken, hopes and dreams destroyed like the man's mind?

If it truly was a sign, maybe it was countered by the fact that I was stung by a bee earlier while reading at a cafe. I can hardly type, my finger is so swollen (and it happened at least three hours ago!) I guess I've not been stung since I was a child, because I certainly don't remember it hurting this much. I was just sitting there minding my own business when a bee decided to land on the ring finger of my right hand. I didn't notice, and I moved my fingers together, kind of squishing the evil beast a bit. (I'm lucky I believe that jewelry is unnecessary material excess, or I'd have to have a ring cut off.) Bees are yellow and black. Pirates are yellow and black. Coincidence?

As my finger swelled bigger and bigger, I thought I should go home and take an antihistamine. That's when I saw the Marlins man and a few other crazies, too. Of course, along the way I stopped to pick up some beer to drink during the game tonight, but when I got out of the car, I rammed my knee against the steering wheel, hard enough to swell it and draw blood. As I limped to the beer store, I discovered it was closed, which was just annoying.

I think all of this started because I made fun of a book of spells on Thursday. I was sitting after work at a different cafe reading the same book as today. Someone had left a book of spells on the table. (No, I am not making that up.) Thinking I could perhaps find a decent spell to cast on the Deadbirds, the Fathers, the AAA Fish, the Geezers, the Howards, and the Asstros, I picked up the book and started flipping through it. I discovered, to my dismay, that the spells were all "good spells." They helped people out of trouble, win lotteries, get well, you know, good stuff. In my disappointment, not once did I think to find a "good spell" to cast on the Reds, no, my evil mind was only thinking of bad spells for the opposition. I tossed the book aside and mocked it. The guy sitting at the table next to mine kind of laughed at my disappointment. (Then we randomly went to see the Avengers play at a venue across the street, like I had entered a time warp or something. Yes, that same punk band led by Penelope Houston who played the Old Waldorf in San Fran in 1979. I hope when I'm 50 that I have as much energy as she does.)

So, if the Reds lose tonight, I think it's my fault for making fun of the book of spells. Hey, if Jesus makes people hit home runs, then certainly a book of spells can curse me, right?

(All in good fun here, please don't be offended by the sign.)