Can someone please explain Cinemax’s fascination with James Belushi? Saturday, they ran “About Last Night…” and “The Principal.” Two movies with The Belush are no coincidence, people. There’s really no excuse for this kind of irresponsible programming.

By the way, and I’m hardly complaining here, but Demi Moore sure was naked a lot in “About Last Night…” It was like ten straight minutes. Do you think David Mamet would have still written the play had he known James Belushi would act in the movie version? It’s things like this that keep me up at night.

Anyway, on to today’s entry.

Have you ever experienced a miracle? I’m not talking about waking up on a Sunday morning refreshed from an evening of consuming enough alcohol to poison a moose without the slightest hint of a hangover. (Although that is pretty cool when it happens)

I’m talking about the weird stuff. The burning bushes; the parting seas; real old time Bible miracles.

Last night I was sitting in a restaurant having dinner, when it began to thunderstorm. It was only around 7-ish so it was still pretty light out. I was seated in the middle of the restaurant and stared out the window as the rain came teeming down from dark clouds.

Shit.

I was finishing up my meal; luckily the check had not been delivered, but I could only kill about ten minutes more before I’d have to get soaked while sprinting to my car.

I looked around for my waitress, an early thirties woman, with a not-so-bad body who was currently moving around towards the kitchen. The service was pretty good so I was figuring on tipping twenty-five percent, when I noticed the oddest thing.

The windows on the other side of the restaurant were clear. I turned my head 180°. Rainy. Dark. Thundering.

Another 180°. Bright. Sunny. Shit, birds were probably chirping.

I lost all train of thought while tilting my head left and right trying to comprehend how the weather, a thunderstorm at least a few dozen miles in size, could coincidentally terminate on one half of a restaurant. I must have looked like a goddamn fool.

But sure as Hell, a few minutes later and more and more people were beginning to notice this odd occurrence.

So my waitress delivers the check, half-heartedly. She wants to thank me for being such a conscientious customer and not ruining her station or making her run back and forth to the kitchen, having her bring me multiple items of food or condiments, or refills, but her attention has also drifted toward the window.

I paid my check and walked outside.

There was a group of about seven people just standing outside by the exit, paralyzed by the storm/anti-storm effect in the sky. I was one of them.

It seemed as if a straight line tore through the sky: storm on one side, no storm on the other. A straight fucking line. Now, I know this can’t happen because of the curvature of the Earth, and blah blah blah. But if you assumed a straight line of sight from my eyeball to the horizon? Straight motherfucking dividing line between storm and no storm.

Now I have no reason to believe that this was akin to the burning bush, with God speaking to some profit at a gas station down the road, but I’ll tell you this: It freaked the bejeezus out of me.

Here’s another for the “why I hate people” file:

Yesterday, my boss was traveling back from Maine and stopped up at our corporate headquarters in northern New Jersey for a meeting, before coming back down to Delaware.

I had an project approval package that needed to go out in the mail and required his signature. I just wanted to ask him if he preferred I faxed it, or mailed it off without his signature, so I called corporate headquarters.

Five minutes pass.

Click.

Our receptionist called the head of the company and found out that Jim hadn’t arrived yet. Me? I couldn’t get past the receptionist. That’s right. I have zero pull.

And yet another story (wasn’t yesterday busy?)

I walked into the corner Wawa to buy a sandwich for lunch and saw two gorgeous women walking around inside. No, I said gorgeous. Your mental image is still too ugly. Think Elle MacPherson and Nikki Taylor lost in Delaware stopping at a Wawa. That’s right – supermodel hot.

So I see that one of them, let’s say Elle, for the sake of argument, at the touchpad ordering device that is now probably standard in all Wawa convenience stores, having issues.

I walk up and start using the one next to her, not so much trying to hit on her, but to show her how to use it without making her look stupid, and ordering my lunch at the same time.

“Thanks,” she side-whispers to me.

“No problem,” I smile back.

That’s when Nikki, who had wandered over, said, “Oh! So that’s how you work it,” in a voice at least an octave lower than mine.

It was as if she was channeling Barry White.

I got my sandwich and got the Hell out of there.

READ THESE JOURNALS Uncle Bob SaraH

All content is copyright © Jeff Marks 2003. All Rights Reserved.
Clix Me!
Best viewed at 800x600 screen res, IE 5.5+. Diaryland