Nostradamus Predicts my Next Tuesday
by Chris White, December 14, 2004
Tuesday 10 a.m.
Through lightning in the arch gold and silver melted,
My day begins with a trip to McDonald’s, most likely as a “captive” of my girlfriend as I do not enjoy McDonald’s and would not patronize it without considerable duress. But relationships are about compromise, which means you have to do things you don’t like, even if it usually gives you gas. The second captive is likely the syrup “trapped” in the pancake bun of the McGriddle sandwich, which I will consume, as “the greatest one” of the captives. The “city stretched out” is a clear reference to Northern Virginia, which will be destroyed in horrible flooding as we eat.
Tuesday 12:30 p.m.
In Lucca it will come to rain blood and milk,
Then the captivity continues, as we’re up for a day of shopping! It’s off to Urban Outfitters in Georgetown to make visible great plague, war, famine and drought by purchasing a $30 distressed ironic baseball cap which I think is moronic but she thinks is “cute.” Then it’s a short walk to Dean and Deluca to “try new things,” conveniently just far enough uphill from the raging Potomac and the orgy of watery death consuming Roslyn. While some have interpreted the “rain of blood” as a cataclysmic meteor strike, given the location, it is likely a spit take as I try to consume complementary samples of Masai herdsman cuisine and suddenly recognize that I had lent my uninsured car to a friend (Brian) in Alexandria the day before. But why dwell on lost causes? The remainder of the quatrain is maddeningly cryptic, but it’s probably a bad day to be the CEO of Dean and Deluca.
Tuesday 3:30 p.m.
The great one of the sky the cape will give,
Time for a meaningful discussion. As we flee up Wisconsin Ave. to the high ground of the National Cathedral to watch the Washington Monument (the great one of the sky) crumble into the surging torrent of oblivion, the gf will probably want to know where all this is going; this seems to happen every time there’s an all-day hang-out session or Biblical-style disaster that drowns many of our mutual friends. There should be some thinly veiled metaphors about commitment; while interpretations of my response are varied, general consensus is that I’ll pretend to be really upset about my car to avoid the issue, because we’re still young and we just don’t need to make any life-long decisions at this point. Really, can’t we just have fun for a few years and then make up our minds? Again, confusion closes out the quatrain, as either the girlfriend (the Great One) plans to bring this up again at dinner, or Wayne Gretzky (the Great One) brings his own shadowy agenda to the table.
Tuesday 7:15 p.m.
The port protests too fraudulently and false,
Flood waters subside, and a battered city picks through the bloated remains littering the downtown area; meanwhile at Ruby Tuesday further up Wisconsin (the maw opened), I overplay the car scenario. Not surprising, because it’s a 1989 Jetta and it needed a lot of work; once I start complaining about the mix tapes lost without even mentioning Brian, the jig should be up. And the terms (condition of peace) are tough: apparently it’s put-up or shut-up time, because she wants a ring, thought cubic zirconium might be OK (ice stained). Goodbye to freedom.
Or, Wayne Gretzky stabs me with an icicle.
The surface of the sun. Also, when there's a new trivia night I'll post the date here.
A nine-day journey into the heart of madness (aka California) is being posted on the travel pages. Read it before the Big One makes it obsolete!
The third Nerdcation (TM) is in the books. Feel free to recreate this journey stop for stop with your spouse, the next time you really want to strain your marriage.