Don't ever comment about what you might find in other people's toilets.
If you're wondering how I came to possess such a strange little chunk of wisdom, I cooked it up myself after encountering some strange little chunks in my in-laws' toilet.
Oh, it was nothing overtly disgusting, nothing resembling internal organs or evidence of sunset-years sexual relations. In fact, it looked pretty much what you'd expect to find sitting at the bottom of toilet bowl. What made the situation unusual was the material's configuration, its quantity, and the fact that it was sitting there and not tumbling on its merry way to the waste treatment plant.
I stood over the toilet for a few ticks with thoughts bouncing around inside my skull and my weapon at the ready. What the hell? Should I flush first or is it going to be OK to pee? Should I ask someone about it? Did one of my kids do it?
I wasn't really surprised at all, just mystified.
See, my father-in-law wields a powerful personality. In fact, he has so much personality that it's impossible for him to contain it. It just squirts out all over all the time. Some folks can't abide it. They react as if he has a case of contagious rotten-egg flatulence. Other folks can tolerate longer periods of exposure and remain relatively unscathed. A few folks know pretty well how he functions, understand that he's basically an OK guy, and can genuinely enjoy being around him for a while. The more time you spend with him, the more you know about all his idiosyncrasies.
So finding what I found in the toilet didn't astonish me. Still, I decided then and there that when under another family's roof, you don't stride into their living room to ask "What in sweet-sugared Jesus is in your toilet?"
In other news, I've been listening to way too much Top 40 radio. My wife has her clock-radio set to the local pop station. I should be up, out, and on the road before she wakes, but life is seldom perfect enough for that. In between the morning-show chatter, they play music, and I've decided that they play way, way, way too much Evanescence. More power to them. Really. I'm glad they made it out of Little Rock and into the big time.
However, if I hear "Bring Me to Life" one more time, I just may dig out my middle ears with a screwdriver.
As with all truly annoying music, there's a kernel of something compelling in the song. The pacing and beat is interesting, and Amy Lee's voice sound a wee bit ethereal.
And then you realize that Ms. Lee lends the same heart-rending and slightly nasal quality to absolutely every note. She's like Morrissey with tits.
Pakeha