Moon Over My Slumber

There's just something about the night sky. Screw stars...gimme the moon, and I'll be just find.

Growing up, I had an east face window in my room. The window itself was fairly small and located higher than most windows. Because of its unusual size, it never received any shades or draping. Furthermore, the only good way to situate my bed at that time was in such a way that I could look out the window while lying in bed.

There were many nights that the moon kept me up. In many ways, I felt the moon shone much more clearly than the sun ever did, despite knowing the connection between the moon's shine and the sun's glow. The moon became a good friend, a watchful eye, and the reason I could fall asleep many nights.

Since moving out of that house, I have had windows facing north, west, and south. Never again have I slept as well as I did in that one room with the moon over my bed.

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Forest Moon

The Anti-Finger

Driving to the grocer, window open, Ting Tings rockin’ over the radio.

Approaching intersection. Out of the corner of my eye, a truck appears from the left.

I hit the brakes. Truck drives through stop sign.

“What the…” emanates quite naturally from my maw as the one finger salute waves the truck by.

In all fairness, I had every right to be angry. This truck almost smashes into me at the intersection. Despite the requisite fury that should have been boiling, I was left confused. For as the truck comes tumbling by, the driver responds to my ASL profanity with an equal yet opposite reaction: He raises his hands to about chin level and displays a silent film representation of Alfred E. Newman’s “What, me worry?”

Confused? Trust me…you have seen it before.

It is the same expression every child gives when asked if they ate all the cookies.

It is the display of faux ignorance drawn into every panel of Hank Ketcham’s “Dennis the Menace”.

It is, quite honestly, a non-verbal platitude reserved for the depths of Muppet Hell.

And for some unbeknownst reason, it has become the Goofus to Gallant’s finger.

In case you are having trouble visualizing it, then imagine you were holding a plate of delicious, fresh baked cupcakes. Now, bring them up to your face so you can saver the scent. Tilt your head, and remove the plate. Add a look of stupor to your face, and you have an expression I will now refer to as “The Anti-Finger.”

Anyways, as this truck nearly crashes into me, the driver flashes me the anti-finger. And what really strikes me about it is that I have seen it before.

Zoom back about two weeks. Driving down First Avenue, returning home. As I reach the stoplight, it switches from red to green. No need to stop, I continue forward. This time zooming in from the right, another truck comes barreling down the street. Given his current velocity, I realize he isn’t going to stop, so I hit my brakes. The truck just barely misses my front bumper.

My car howls in anger as I press the horn. From his raised cab, the driver looks down to me, and with a look that says, “I have no idea what is happening,” he flashes the anti-finger.

Despite escaping these costly, near-accidents without a scratch, I still want to know when did the unwritten opposite of “F* YOU” become “SILLY ME!”

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The Anti-Finger