presented by J:
as you may or may not be aware, the lead episode of any television series is called “the pilot.” why – i don’t know. what relation television screening has with those who fly planes for a living or as part of our national defense or with the lighting mechanisms of a gas oven, i don’t know.
very rarely does “the pilot” have anything to do with a pilot. the exception would be LOST, which does feature a pilot in its pilot. he’s not really the star of the show, though. in fact, he kind of gets eaten by a monster that sounds exactly like an audio clip stolen from Jurassic Park.
speaking of Jurassic Park, on our first date, Christa and i went to eat at the Abbey Inn. however, because she had never seen the aforementioned Stephen (Steven?) Spielberg (Spielburg?)-helmed masterpiece and it was the “retro” (orter?) movie of the week at our local Movie Tavern, i felt compelled to take her. it was fate. sure, it wasn’t a typical “first date” movie, but i have those vicious velociraptors and tremendous t-rexes to thank for my marriage existing today. or so i believe.
a painfully-consistent topic of our relationship is how i am guilty of putting sentimental attachment on objects, a trait i have indeed inherited from my mother. because of this particular quirk in my personality, i felt it only just during our period of agony and frustration (otherwise known as engagement), to fight for the right to hold onto a Jurassic Park poster i have owned since 3rd grade. we have history, that poster and i.
Christa reluctantly has allowed me to keep it, but only permits it to be hung at the back of our closet. i think this decision of hers has been more to her chagrin than mine as every morning when she is getting dressed, she must first stare into the hungry eyes of a ravenous raptor. the death stare of this particular raptor bothers her so much that we have to close the closet door every night before bed, because “I don’t want the dinosaur to watch me sleep.”
Christa, however, also puts sentimental value on things though she is loathe to admit it. i mean, she wouldn’t wear her wedding ring if that weren’t so, right? and don’t say that’s different, because it isn’t. i’m thankful, however, for her exposing my quirk, for it helped me get rid of no less than four milk boxes of junk i had held onto for years.
for the record, a milk box can hold 6 gallon jugs of milk, or 12 half-gallon jugs of milk, or 6 gallon jugs of any other liquid substance, i suppose, with the valid exception of molten magma.
anyhow, i plan on devoting this blog to humorous musings on our marriage, while Christa will probably spend her posts putting up “cute” pictures (in which i will invariably look like a doofus), talking about baking tasty treats (which i will invariably have enjoyed), or other such womanly subjects (which i will invariably pretend to not understand even if i actually do).
in closing, i would explain the name of the blog, but if you’ve ever seen Mary Poppins (1964), you can probably figure it out for yourself. (when you really think about it, Mary Poppins is really a bit of a quack when it comes to medical procedures. does she have a valid medical license? doubtful. but she has rosy cheeks, so go ahead, kids-it’s FINE to eat a bunch of sugar with your medication. probably three-quarters of that movie is hallucinations induced by mixing chemicals in pre-adolescent bodies. today, she would go to prison for that. or worse, she’d be a public school nurse.)
anyway, it’s not the name i would have chosen, but the other names that i knew would be Christa-approved were all taken already. in short, we won’t be helping anyone with any medicine going down anywhere.