Me and Lucy

 


The Universe and I play this game where she is Lucy holding the football and I'm Charlie Brown. We've been playing for a long time now, ever since I can remember. In fact Myron, my best friend in high school used to call me Chuck.

 

In 1980 it had taken several weeks to convince my father to buy an Intellivision video game for my brother and I. Every time we went to the mall we would stop by JC Penny's and I would deliver my sales pitch about the enhanced graphics and superior gameplay. My father finally relented and agreed to buy one for us. Naturally I was elated and I could scarcely contain myself on our next trip to the mall.

It should not have surprised me that they would be sold out of Intellivisions. Nor should it have surprised me that despite their assurances that the games would be in next week, they would continue to be sold out for the next three months. After a while even my father noticed that The Universe was conspiring against me. He laughed saying, "I know this is going to sound bad and I don't want you to take it personally but maybe you should stay home on our next trip to the mall. Maybe we'll have better luck."

I didn't take it personally. I understood what he was trying to do. He thought that we could trick The Universe by pretending that I didn't want to kick the ball. Or even better by sending in a substitute kicker. Very shrewd, but that wouldn't work. the Universe is after all, The Universe. She would know the difference and would only taunt me by letting everyone in the world kick the ball to show me what a good sport she is. The sad fact is, this IS personal.

"Daaaaamn Chuck!" Myron would say the next day in school, "You got the worst luck." Then he would go home and play his intellivision.

So it shouldn't have surprised me that one of the best days in my life, where everything was going right would shortly be followed by a day like today where those same things have gone terribly wrong. I would go into detail, but I know The Universe reads this blog.

Trust me, I know that the reason for my suffering stems from my desire to want to kick the ball in the first place. A wise man would say that I should excercise detachment and not concern myself with the football because in the end, whether I kick it or not is meaningless. I know this to be true, but I have a better plan.

Next time, I'm just going to kick the sh*t out of Lucy.

I never claimed to be a wise man.

Dead Genius

Pigeons

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