Total Eclipse of the Spleen

With only five days left until the "Eclipse of the Century," Holden continues to wonder if he should make the trip up to Idaho to witness it. Is it worth it? Is it worth driving 16 hours to witness an event that will take roughly 2 minutes, an event that will also happen here on a SLIGHTLY LESS grand scale, seeing as how the sun will only be about 70-80% eclipsed here compared to 100% in Idaho? Should he do it? Will he do it? Does it even matter? Does anyone actually care what Holden will do?

I sit here, transfixed, upon my computer screen, and ponder upon the great mysteries of the universe, such as... why did Mrs. Hafen, a substitute teacher in my 2nd grade class, write my name down on the blackboard "naughty" list when I did absolutely nothing to deserve it? Nothing. Nothing at all. Did not even say a word. Or the great mystery of why I have to change so many poopy diapers at work, when this responsibility is clearly not mine. Or the great mystery of what those last two blogs mean. What, you thought there was some sort of super secret hidden meaning? No. There's not. I was seriously just writing down crap that popped in my head. That's all it is. "Crap That Popped In My Head." That's the name of my next album. Which I guess would be my first album. What were we discussing? Oh. Mysteries. How about the mystery of whether or not I really danced with Shari Richey at an after-school dance in 9th grade? I don't think I danced with her. Pretty sure I didn't. Although I told people I did, because I thought that would make me look cool. Right? Isn't that what made you cool in junior high? Then I formed a false memory, wherein I actually did dance with her. For the longest time, I thought I actually had danced with her. Then I read my journal, where I wrote about it after the dance, and the truth was revealed. But was it really the truth? Does it even matter? Does anyone actually care if Holden did or didn't dance with Shari Richey? And if he didn't, why did he pick Shari Richey as the person that he "danced" with? Why not, say, Sammi Parr? Huh? WHY NOT?

Would you like to hear about any other mysteries? There are plenty, for sure. Here's another one. Or two. Or three. Or a billion. Whatever happened to my bike that disappeared in 3rd grade? Who has it? Where is it? Whatever happened to my wedding ring that disappeared two months ago? Whatever happened to my toy rifle I received for my birthday when I turned 4? Whatever happened to my family's copy of the video game "Super Mario All-Stars?" or the video game "Super Mario 3?" How come every kid I hung out with in elementary school is now gay? Am I gay? Why does everybody on online comment threads think that their opinion is going to change the world in some way? Why does everybody on online comment threads think that somebody cares about their opinion? How come we can land a man on the moon but we can't land a man on the moon, plant a large explosive device, and then explode the device so that the moon's orbit is shifted downward so that the eclipse actually happens in, say, southern Utah instead of Idaho? And you know what, that wouldn't even work, because we'd have to make the sun move down too. So don't even think about exploding things on the moon unless you've got a plan to explode things on the sun as well. Why does our favorite music spark emotion in us? Why do I cough up a lung when I stick a Q-Tip in my right ear? Why is the lemonade served at kids lemonade stands always the worst? Is it actually the worst? Or is it actually the best, and I'm the worst? "The worst at what?" you ask. At tasting lemonade, of course.

Now go take a potty break. And remember these wise words from an old man, long dead and covered with maggots - "Maggots. Aren't they great?"

They sure are, old man!