GET BEHIND FANNY! GET BEHIND FANNY!

Do you love irony? Because I have some for you.
(I also love anarchy and not taking things seriously.)
You see, I thought Wednesday was funny because I ended up at the thrift store (again) with my arms spilling over with second-hand books, one of which was entitled, "Johnny Got His Gun." It's a novel of one of my favorite styles, anti-war and full of disillusionment, as manifested by this line from the back cover, "This was no ordinary war. This was a war to make the world safe for democracy. And if democracy was made safe, then nothing else mattered--not the millions of dead bodies, nor the thousands of ruined lives..."
But then we went to an Army/Navy surplus store. I found things there that I have been searching for for months. I kept looking around in wonder and thinking, "Woooowwww.....I totally support our armed forces." High-waisted, wide-legged jeans for $16? Yes, PLEASE! Wool socks, vintage hats, leather gloves, wool bombers? Disillusionment? I have total faith in government! Who needs a revival of Pangea when you've got a great national closet? Viva USA!
As I sat down to my dinner I thought the day had been funny enough. I was looking forward to an early evening: kicking back, putting on glasses, smoking my pipe, a glass of scotch and a good book...But somehow I found myself at a local music venue with this girl who has a shaved head and some other film buddies (in my high-waisted, wide-legged, navy issue jeans, bien-sûr).
As I was sitting there wishing my ears weren't being filled with the sounds of some kind of Jack Johnson ukulele twins, I turned to my right and saw this guy in a Led Zeppelin leather jacket.
Now normally, I'm not a big supporter of the leather jacket. Anything that smacks of "chicks dig it" and alpha anything I like to send packing to the hills.
But it was Led Zeppelin.
So I leaned over, "I like your jacket because I love Led Zeppelin. They are osm."
"Oh thanks...I like that you like Led Zeppelin."
The end, right?
No, he's in the next act. He's in a hard rock band and now that his face was lit up I could see a couple of lines around his eyes and no wonder, because he's a marine who's seen active combat in Iraq. And asked for my phone number.
If anything happens there, it would be as perplexing as me being on a dance team in high school. It's not so much like ten thousands spoons when all you need is a knife, but more like the poem mon père used to recite:

I eat my peas with honey
I've done it all my life
It makes the peas taste funny
But keeps them on my knife.


I won't shy from eating peas with a knife.