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Saturday, March 28, 2009

32: That's Magic Hour

A lot of things are mystically connected tonight in the city of Los Angeles. Thirty two is Magic Johnson's number. He played for Michigan State, and tomorrow they are trying to recapture magic and move forward in the NCAA tournament, claiming one of the remaining spots on the road to Detroit. And right now in Los Angeles, only one spot remains on Prince's three-performances-in-one-night concert roster. Right now I am probably within 32 minutes of Prince, maybe a sweet 16 miles away from what I can only assume is magic. There has got to be some formula as complex as Pi going on tonight between the fish crockpot, the city, and Magic Johnson. Let's just work with that premise governing our actions as we move forward...

It seems as though it could almost be Sunday here, so lackluster are my thoughts at present, and so unsuitable for sharing does that make them. I did have the thought earlier, as I realized I had not much to say tonight, that we magically slipped into a single-digit remaining day count in the crockpot. Tomorrow is the one week mark! Ay and oy both!

Because I am a worrier, I like to borrow trouble like [insert banking joke of your own making here]! What will become of the crockpot? What will I do if I don't have the public imperative dangling over me? Will I stop having 11 p.m. stress-induced snacks and fit in my pants again?
SO MANY QUESTIONS. So little time. Eight days!

In the spirit of irrational worry, obsession, and writer's block, I thought it would be best to borrow trouble and look into the future - the apocalyptic future predicted by Prince, should he and Michael Jackson release new albums at the same time.

Here, we find the record that was left behind...

"I tried to run from my destruction..."
This was the message that flashed in purple lettering across the side of the Goodyear blimp that circled over what seems it may have once been the city, in the rest of the land discovered on this expedition. The blimp was initially presumed hostile, making its low, droning hum and circling slowly, without changing pace or direction once. It took logistics two whole weeks to find a toy car on the ground circling the exact same pattern through the city as the blimp above. The toy car was assumed hostile until it was determined that its only means of propulsion was indeed the spinning key in the rear bumper of the car, and that when that eventually stopped, so too, might the blimp.
Neither of these events came to pass during my time there, in the land so close to the edge.

The most interesting piece I discovered was what seemed to be a journal. It often referenced pictures that were not present, and rambled on at length about images that did not exist in the margins of the page. Though this became tiresome, I still managed to read on, as it was my only assignment at the time.

The journal used "U" instead of the full word "you" as a stylistic device. All other language customs seemed to be observed as standard.

The opening passages seemed to describe a land of great confusion and yet, happiness. Pages described incessant dancing, and though the exhaustion of many dancers was cataloged in great detail, there was no consideration given to stopping the dance, or changing the music. Even when the music slowed, the motion continued. A local leader, distressed at the death of his wife, seemingly from exhaustion and dehydration from dance, conspired to disrupt the power flow to the source of the music to persuade his neighbors to rest. The resulting fury was so great that angry mobs made this man stand with disco balls suspended from his limbs on a spinning platform in the center of town, a human disco ball of sorts. Apparently only a song about a man in a mirror stopped the crowd's taunting of this man and cruelty toward his desire to respect the limitations of human form. Though they had spared his life, the man wandered town for the rest of his days dragging a disco ball shackled to his ankle that he either was unable, or did not try, to remove.
The journal speaks of great unifications among rivals. East and West met in the middle. A great council was formed with membership including: Ricky Martin, Whitney Houston, Lionel Richie, Mick Jagger, Prince, and Michael Jackson. For reasons of security, though the text was unclear whether that meant the security of these individuals or those they would be near, Prince and Michael Jackson never appeared in public together. Special consulates were everywhere they needed to be, with Dolly Parton and Garth Brooks monitoring mountain ranges and open flats, respectively. Even more mysterious - the secret chancellors rumored to be overseas in the form of David Bowie and Paul McCartney. No one could be sure if they really did exist even, much less if they supported the great council that apparently had united for world domination.
There was a great rumor of uprisings against the council led by a character named Bob Geldof. His relation to any of the aforementioned leaders was unclear. His ability to successfully organize a coup was unconfirmed, though he had been charged with impersonating Bono several times in the Caribbean. The charges were all eventually dropped, but the panties his falsehoods were aimed at, had not. At the time, no one thought Geldof was capable of anything more vicious than middle-aged lust, but the records are unclear. Scratched.
Fragments and details reveal an organization of an army of dance. Uniforms were issued. Choreography ensued. An uprising was in the offing. But how the destruction began, the pages I examined did not illuminate. And whether the forces of good or evil were responsible for the chaos, I also cannot report with any certainty.

At time of writing, I had just received a message from a colleague who was on assignment doing soil analyses. He reported the rumor that the toy car had veered off course, run into a wall, and that consequently, the blimp hovered in one place, casting a strange shadow on the city that was beginning to create a new climate in the area that stood in its shadow below. The scientists grappled with whether to move the car away from the wall so that it could resume its circling, or leave it in place, to see what effect the blimp would have over time. It is said that a dog found the car and moved it, mistaking it for a play thing. In the place where it had stood idling futilely for days, the following phrase had been etched into the stone:
No One Wants to be Defeated
I do not know if that is true. But it is believed.



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