Here’s a picture of a guitar I got in the mail on Thursday, signed by the members of Metallica. It’s an extraordinary gift, and I’m not sure what to do with it, other than play it to the best of my ability, which admittedly is not very good, and use it to incite envy in others. As I mentioned previously, Metallica honored my foundation in December at a sold-out concert in Los Angeles. They are a very generous group of rockers, and their own foundation – All Within My Hands – is terrific, and worthy of your support.
Here too, is a photo of my mother I received on Friday. As you can see, she’s returning home after a cataract surgery, looking very much like an elderly pirate. She also appears to be driving, which caused me to spit my coffee back into my cup. I then realized the camera reverses the image, which was a great relief, until I deduced that it was my father who was therefore behind the wheel, which caused me to spit out more coffee. Pictures can be troubling.
Yesterday morning, for instance, I took a picture of an opossum on a leash.
The opossum was tied to park bench overlooking the ocean, where a hobo was sleeping. It hissed at me as I jogged by, (the opossum, not the hobo), and caused me to leap skyward and make an uncharastically high-pitched noise. (I realize that “hobo” is no longer used to describe those who wander from place to place, with no actual address, but I’m sorry – if you’ve got an opossum on a leash, and you’re sleeping on a park bench, you’re a hobo.)
Anyway, the opossum didn’t look friendly, and its owner was asleep, so I didn’t linger. I just kept jogging and considered a world of philanthropic rock stars, autographed guitars, one-eyed mothers, ninety-year-old chauffeurs, and hobos with opossums on leashes. None of it made a lot of sense, so I just kept jogging, and wondered what tomorrow might bring.