"Reaching out for some kind of connection…"-Against Me

It rained all weekend. I wanted to go write Friday night, but it rained. Fridays I write outside, in the plaza. Did I mention the rain? How 'bout how it came down all weekend? Sheets and buckets. That's how it came down. I should mention it, because it was there. I like rain, but in moderation. Too much rain reminds me of Carpenter's songs. Pretty soon, gloomy sky equates to gloomy Rob. Fair weather friends point from dry shelters. I am the gloomy drowned-rat rider of the Apocalypse.

"It's Rain Man!"

"That’s me, now bring me my Judge Wapner, My K-Mart, and my clean underwear and leave me alone. I'm gloomy."

According to the news, we needed the rain. But do we need a gloomy Rob? I think not. Isn't there just some way we could work out some Earth/water infusion? Somebody get Al Gore on the phone, I want to talk about Eco-friendly water needles. We'll jab them into the Metro LA water artery and be done with it. That's how SoCalers like things done: quick and painless. That's our convenient truth.

Saturday, I spat at the rain. It spat back. At least I hope that was the rain. My neighbor's kid was mad when I didn't buy his magazines…anyway, I decided to catch a movie. Checking my show times, I realized I had a difficult choice to make: I Am Legend, or P.S. I Love You. Yeah, in the 30 seconds it took to make that call, I was almost late for I am Legend.

I mean really, what about me says I wouldn't choose this one? It's the story about a man and his dog, alone against the world turned black. I could relate to that. Contrasted against the tale of a couple so in love that she receives his love letters even after he walks into the white blinding light. Now that's pure fantasy. What real woman receives cards and letters from her non-terminal husband? We guys are complete babies when we have a cold, do you really think we're going to be that selfless when we find out we're dying? Not without a butt-load of guns, grenades, and an evil horde bearing down on us. Then and only then can we save the world, let alone the ones we love. Love letters from death…yeah right...

Hey! Before you start throwing stuff, my beloved evil horde, I did send cards and emails while my marriage was alive and well! Isn't that something? And when it fell sick, well, I still did emails and Post-Its. See? Post-It: When you care enough to not speak to the ones you love.

"Why does MyUnwife's Jacket say 'smack me, hard.'"

"Oh, she Superglued Rob's fingers to his keyboard last week. He's getting her back."

"ouch."

"Tell me about it. His fingers were stuck to the QWXV J<>{: keys. There's no way to type for help with those keys."

"Stuck without vowels, or even an appropriate emoticon..."

"Nope, not even opposable thumbs could save that man."

She's cruel. I'm not going to smack her."

"Me neither."

Yeah, I was better watching the man alone with his dog. Dogs aren't vindictive. At least mine's not. He dances a puppy jig just to sleep in a dry room. I think that's something we have in common. Sure, someday maybe I'd like to save the world from itself, or slide love letters under deaths door, but for now I'm just happy to be in from the rain.