Pax Vobiscum

It was a cloudy morning in the city of roses. A dense fog, a heavy fog, that obscured the bridges downriver, and the tops of the construction cranes. The brilliant red of the trees on the waterfront was beginning to wane and somebody on main st had gone a little nuts with the christmas lights. The people were wrapped in scarves and coats and hurried about the streets. I was on my way to class, not so interested in the lecture as in having a warm place to sit and some power for my laptop. With the sweet cinnamon flavor of Chi still lingering in my mouth I exited the bus and entered the square. I like to run up steps, and jump down them, and over curbs and walls and generally misuse architecture. There is an open square between the bus stop and the class room that is covered in bricks. No grass, no trees, just brick, a fountain thingy and the street car tracks. There is one defined path that goes through the middle but I never use it. I jumped over the big blocks of bricks that are supposed to be sat on, I guess. I don’t really know what they are there for if not to generally obstruct the way. So I said to them, “Plllllllbbbbbbbbbbb! I can just jump over you, so there.” When I got to the building I ran up the stairs and plopped down in my seat in the back next to the wall outlet surrounded by my trouble-makers in arms prepared to learn from, ignore, and harangue the guest lecturer at various intervals. And thus I began my day, out of breath from running up stairs and climbing over bricks and my head full of fog and squares.

But I decided that is why I like square plates: because they are not the norm. They are, in a metaphorical sense, the big blocks I jump over on my way to school. They are the Linux I use instead of Windows, the AMD instead of Intel, the Cross-country skiing instead of downhill, the tea instead of coffee, pepsi instead of coke, mustard instead of mayo. They enbody all that is wierd and contrary in me. They are…

Credit for the pizza idea goes to Hollye and the Papa Murphy’s ad that looked oh so yummy. Credit for my contrary nature goes to my entire family tree. And credit for the inspiration of this purely nonsensical post (most particularly it’s title) goes to none other than a man by the name of Sir Walter Scott.