My journalistic skills mimic my driving. I am easily distracted and led onto detours according to flexible whim. I have other fish to fry tonight and other concerns that burn my hash (not really, I'm incapable of sustained anger). I did check my odometer's reading this morning and I drove very little today (all things considered) and I'll detail it all tomorrow, Heaven willing. In the meantime I have lost one half of two different things. Let us take a little side trip down the stream of consciousness and focus, magpie-like on the latest shiny facts that hold my attention.
Firstly, I lost one of my gloves at the Bulldog Tavern on Canal Boulevard. I lose things all the time, but this is particularly irksome. I found these gloves on the side of the road probably ten years ago. Good deerskin gloves, well-broken in. A thumb (on the lost glove) has a scar on it from before it came into my possession. Anyone finding this glove is encouraged to return it to its rightful owner. If you are reading this, you know who that is and you can find my contact information easily enough somewhere on this page. No reward is offered beyond the satisfaction of doing the right thing. While it may have fallen out of my helmet, or I may have misplaced it (which is often the case and it may turn up later), my preferred explanation is that some lovely lass purloined it as a keepsake after seeing me in full motorcycle regalia strutting through the Bulldog. Lady, I may be Whalehead King, but I'm no Prince Charming. I may be a knight on a charger, but I'm no Galahad. My steed is the Littlest Ninja this side of the Mississippi River, not a white horse. I may come to your rescue, but it will only be by happenstance, not as the result of a quest. If you are reading this, I would like my glove back. Because of my confabulation, this loss is irksome in a good way. I have a story to tell. My personal mythology has an addition. Somewhere, someone is sleeping with my dirty, oily, beaten-up motorcycle glove under her pillow. Sweet dreams.
Secondly, driving to my current destination, I noticed that it seemed to be raining even though everything was as bone dry as it ever gets in New Orleans. As it happens, I took off my glasses and noticed something was definitely amiss. A lens is missing! Now, I've been expecting this for the past week or so, a vague premonition. There were no overt signs. This lens has been cemented onto the frame with Krazy Glue for about three years and has shown no signs of seeking freedom. This pair of glasses, like my gloves, is about ten years old. Unlike my gloves, I paid cash money for them. They are the least pretentious pair of eyeglasses I own (besides my US Navy issue frames which I obtained at no charge), so I've been wearing them often. I've been noticing how roughly I treat them. They got pulled off and pushed on willy-nilly every time I donned or doffed my helmet, and I've been amazed at the durability of a drop of glue dispensed from a 99-cent tube of glue. I can't say I didn't get what I paid for. Three years of abuse is a long run.
I do not suspect someone stole my left eyeglass lens to be able to see the world through my eyes, but nothing is beyond the realm of probability. Even this conjecture, though, is more than I can plausibly accept. That said, if you are reading this and have my left lens in your possession, I would like it back. As a reward, I will give you 10% of the advertising proceeds from this blog for the month of May 2011. Don't spend it all in one place.
So, I am left lopsided with more equipment on my right hand side. This seems fitting. The lady of the house complains that the patches on my motorcycle jacket are all on the left hand side. While I find this to be a pleasing asymmetry, she thinks they should be arranged more equally along my sagittal line. My left ear sports three earrings and four holes, while my right ear has none. Maybe Fate is telling me that it is time to pay attention to the left side of my brain, as if I needed that advice. I don't know. All I know is that I am in a conundrum. I have to pick another pair of daily eyewear (there are plenty of options in my wardrobe) and that I need to make a decision about my gloves. Should I keep the remaining lucky right glove and just replace the left, or should I wear a coordinated set? Oh, the troubles I bear.
So what about the odometer update? Tune in tomorrow to get up to speed, or not. I fully intend to give a full report on how many miles I've travelled this week. I'm sure I've burned though a gallon of gasoline. Some say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, but I've never found that to be the case. I've found good intentions lead me to other roads and scenic journeys. It isn't the destination that matters, it is how you get there. Unless the destination is Hell, of course. So far, I haven't arrived.
Have Ninja, will travel.
Keep an eye on your gear.
With a bare, left-handed, handshake,
WK
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