the most recent posting on my blog

So I was watching Batman Begins tonight and amid the creepy hallucinations, gratuitous shots of still-trembling-lower-right lipped Katie Holmes’ covered nipples, and my future car, there were also a whole bunch of flying sewer lids. So I got to thinking that I don’t want a flying sewer lid to land on my skull. Then I got to thinking about the teenage mutant ninja turtles, those heroes in half-shells, who were known to utilize said sewer lids as projectile weapons against Shredder’s goons. Then I thought that ‘goons’ is a funny word. Then I was wondering if I could call that world onomatopoeia, even though I didn’t think I could. I was right. I couldn’t. but I still had the chance to write the word ‘onomatopoeia’. Twice now. Twice because I just used it again in the previous sentence. Actually it was two sentences before the last sentence when I said that. But the intervening sentence wasn’t much of a sentence, so now I really don’t know what to make of my situation. Hell. So now I’m forgetting about that and thinking about sewers, which are kind of like caves, which have spelunkers spelunking down into the depths. Then I thought, damn, not too many people I know spelunk…if any. So I started reminiscing about the Carlsbad Caverns and how alien and exotic those subterranean caves were with stalactites and stalagmites and bats and all. And that got me thinking about Batman again, but then I decided thinking about Carlsbad was more interesting so I’m doing that again. And I remembered this one gigantic rock poised oh-so precariously in the caverns. It rested on the outcropping of one rock and leaned against the cavern wall twenty two feet away. The educational display down there said it will surely become dislodged in the next couple hundred years or so…and then I thought again about sewer lids and skulls and how I hope that rock doesn’t come crashing down on my skull the next time I go carousing through the caves in Carlsbad. But not spelunking. I won’t be spelunking because I’d have to have gear and not an elevator or a well-trodden path or electric lights elegantly positioned behind rocks to simulate natural light. Nothing natural about it deep down in the bowels of the earth where lava roils and continent factories churn and I dig in my sandbox all the way to china. Can you imagine, I tried digging all the way to china one time with a simple shovel, a pair of size 3 smelly sneakers, and a black Labrador sniffing at my side. I never made it. I wonder if Smokey did? He might have, but then he would have had to dig through the lava and that would be bad. I think our sandbox would turn into a volcano. Right there, smack in the middle of residential Spokane, Washington a volcano would have erupted. Maybe we could have timed it for the fourth of july or something so nobody would notice and we wouldn’t get grounded. I hated getting grounded, especially in the summer when I could look out my window and see my brother and sisters out playing tag in the sweet summer evening air in front of our house with the kids in the neighborhood. Playing away while I was stuck inside thinking about the doors I’d slammed and the heaving chest and the frustration and anger and sadness and all those emotions that channel through a kid. There weren’t many kids in gotham city, just a couple I recall. Little scavengers lurking in the shadows of the undercity rat alleys, poised against walls, waiting to fall…but maybe not in their lifetimes. Not if Batman has anything to say about it.