Number Forty-Two

A shot sounds in the distance.

I like countdowns. I like to read my friends' countdowns. I like to wake up five minutes before my alarm, step outside of my body and count down the time until the rest of me wakes up. To get to the point, I'm transforming this entire blog into a countdown (while not actually doing anything different at all).

The next 42 posts will engross themselves in the very volatile, almost religious debate of what the greatest things in the world are. I can assure you that volatility, religion, and debates will not be on the list. I cannot assure you that bird jokes will not be on the list.

Can I assure you that I will explain what a "peli" is? No, but I bet a peli-can!

Pelicans look to the right, and they don't like jokes.

I am doing this because somebody has to set the record straight once and for all. I can't do anything anymore without being delayed by people arguing over this subject.

Anecdote: Just yesterday I went to the bank to cash some money. In front of me was: 1) an academic; 2) a bank robber, and 3) an old cartoon-lady. There were only two tellers (or chip-chapperies as they are called here) working, and they were both engaged at the start of this story. When the first became available, the academic went up to him and asked for a liter of refrigerated rocks. Perplexed, the chip-chappery responded that this was a bank and that they didn't trade in such nonsense. The academic exploded, "HOW can you - an institution of economy - not keep on hand the third greatest thing in the world?!?!"

Replied the chip-chappery, "Sir, of course we do have some powdered sugar, but that's not what you asked for." And so the argument progressed until some time long after I'd gone I'm sure, leaving just one window available for service. It was four hours until I reached it, following a two hour robbery attempt and two hours of the cartoon-lady counting out pennies. Tired, slightly shot, and bogged down by pockets full of pennies (all other currency had been locked up during the robbery), I determined to never again let a resolvable debate destroy my life.

When I told my parents about my newfound mission, they applauded me for finally applying some meaning to my life. Then they laughed at me for slightly stumbling as I turned to leave the living room. Then they cooed when I recovered my balance and dusted off my jacket. Then I realized that they had never even seen me come into the room and were actually just responding to CBS's hit sitcom How I Met Your Mother. That show will not be on the list, and I am being very gracious even to grant it italics.

Could you imagine what England would be like if, instead of knighting its honorables with the titles of "Sir" and "Lady", it would allow those people to italicize their names? I'm trying to imagine all the slanty, fonty things that could happen to people in the real world, and it's totally insane. I can't think of anything. Either the world would be a better place, or it would be a worse place. It could never be the same because things are always a-changin'. Like the coat on my door. Like the wagons around the fire. Like the song in my heart.

Oh, by the way, I'm identifying the countdown of the greatest things simply by italicizing each item in bold. Which reminds me, I forgot to tell you something about the guy who was "robin" the bank. He was a bird.

And he was a heron addict.

Herons look to the left, and they eat fish.