Interactive Thursday: 10 Things That Make No Sense

Some things will never make sense to me. Here are ten of mine. Show me yours.

* Hawaiian pizza. Ham. Pineapple. Together. Where is the vomit bag?
* Coke - the drink and the drug. Tried the former and thought it was disgusting, have yet to try the latter but know it makes people dull and stupid
* Bijon Frises - Proof that intelligent design does not exist.
* Madonna - The Virgin and the pop star. The first one just doesn't make sense; the second one just makes me want to cast her as the object of desire in a remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre XIV.
* Spas that dip people in chocolate - Heard an NPR report on this once and had to leave the room to vomit.
* The 1997 version of Titanic - The turd in the punch bowl of the North Atlantic. The most viewed film ever?
* Star Wars movies - I've never made it through an entire episode of these without falling asleep. Wait; is this the one with Dr. Spock?
* The current men's basketball uniforms - Why would I pay to see men in bloomers? Bring back tight short-shorts! Baseball currently has the best costumes.
* Survivor, the TV series. I just learned it's still on the air. I thought it got canceled back in 1999.
* Craigslist and Twitter. I've tried both and still don't know why they are thriving and printed newspapers are going belly up.

Dark Spot - The Trilogy of Ds

An asteroid swung by today but didn't stop. Doubt, dread and death -- the constant and certain trilogy -- swing through in orbit, usually so distant but so often distracting my focus. Even when the view is perfectly clear, I manage to miss it by trying to see what is behind it.

A friend, not that close and across the bay, died earlier this month, the news not arriving until yesterday, grinding in the reality of the relative distance. He was one of the first people I met when I moved here. The intent to get to know him better was always there but clearly not the will, always stymied midway between here and wherever he is now.

Lately I've been sweeping out remnants of people long departed from my household. They're so long removed that the ghosts put up no fight to leave, yet I manage to waste too much time wrestling with them in a battle they have no interest in winning but still manage to pin me to the floor.

There is always a dark spot, a straying asteroid to leave a threat or a temporary blemish that will fade and leave the slightest scar, visible only in the most intense light under the gaze of a judgmental star. It seems only my own gaze passes such judgment these days, using eyeglasses that are not even mine.

Now they say the asteroid that hit Siberia a century ago wasn't nearly as large as they once believed, but it proves that even the smallest object can cause great damage. Today's dark spots, large and small, are already spinning away. So why do I dread even the smallest pebble in the darkness, knowing its capacity to pierce and destroy? Having wrestled ghosts and swept them away lately, I can, amazingly, see the horizon that I longed for before they even arrived. None of those brilliant hues have faded, and they feels closer, no pebbles in view for the moment.