(Not) Walking the Camino: Day 27
So I finally went to have that thing looked at. All good, and nothing a little ointment can’t take care of. 👍
(There’s a story behind this hilarious prop ointment. It’s from a Disney pilot I produced and directed, the punchline to a joke. But the executives on set suddenly wondered, Do kids know what ointment is? They agreed that kids know what hand sanitizer is, and asked me to switch the punchline. I was forced to argue back, Hand sanitizer isn’t funny; it isn’t a punchline. But they insisted, until I pulled out an actual kid and asked, Do you know what ointment is? When he said, “Duh, yes,” I felt like Woody Allen who “happened to have Marshall Mcluhan right here” in Annie Hall. The joke stayed, and I kept the prop. Maybe it actually works, and I could’ve saved 10 bucks at the pharmacy.)
Armed with hilarious actual ointment, it was off to join my free-speech comrades for a #FascistFriday protest at Disney — not to knock them twice in the same blog, but they deserve it. United in our disdain for the cowardly Kimmel-killing mouse, we marched up and down the square and rhymed “Hey Hey, Ho Ho” with the guy who had to go, while encouraging motorists to Honk if You Hate Fascism.
It was a smallish crowd compared to yesterday’s — and all the strike days from ’23 I was reminded of; but it felt important and even exhilarating. It felt good to be part of it. Even though all I did was stand around and wave my second-hand sign at passing cars and check my watch to see if it was time for lunch yet, I envisioned myself like these heroic dudes:
With that brave act under my belt, and freshly applied ointment, I headed out to a friend’s for dinner.
Pete is one of my oldest friends and while I enjoy spending time with him and his beautiful family, I was really there to see Baby Gus, who I’ve decided owes me 9 bucks. I intend to collect when they stop treating him like a goddamn baby.
We chowed on yet more Thai, and I spilled only slightly less than Gus while Pete played worse music than he did on his fake but magnificent DJ deck.
All in all, a pretty full day that started with good news about the thing on my leg and ended with more surprise birthday cake. No notes.
MEANWHILE on the Camino . . .
The ladies of Spain awakened in the town of Arzua, famous for cheese . . . and were greeted by this cheesy breakfast.
If only I could wake up in a town famous for pie.
Amanda had a mini adventure when she lost her way on the trail, and a condor dropped a dump on her. Good thing for that hat. When she bent to clean it off, her glasses fell to the ground, and she walked off without them.
(This story makes no sense to someone who’s practically blind without glasses. It’s impossible for me to “forget” my glasses and lurch out into the world like Mr. Magoo.)
She returned to find her glasses where they’d fallen and, blessed by the good fortune of condor poo, continued on to the town of O Pedrouzo, where another fancy spa hotel awaited. This last leg of the Camino is sounding like something even I could do. But there are rules:
The rules of the spa include some good universal advice, like not smoking in the hole, and the refreshing honesty that they’ll “hardly appreciate” you washing the utensils, so why bother?
I definitely want RESPECT THE NORMATIVITY on a t-shirt.
Slow clap for use of the word, gonna — but clearly, they can use some copy-editing help. My new fantasy is that Amanda stays on at an outsized salary and I join her there, after stopping in whatever town is famous for pie.
TOMORROW: 28 Days Later! I’m still here, and got some cleanin’ up to do.