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| Evan Williams is a senior journalism major and writes 'My Bucket of Parts' for the Daily News. His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper. |
Two words: casket and bird head.
Okay, so I can't count -- but that doesn't matter. Stranger things have happened, like this past Saturday. Someone took Rit dye and smothered brilliant blue all over the sky, while the trees were squeezing out the buds, probably so we can have leaves by the end of the week. Not that the weather was strange, however, but events can happen on a day to give it even more color than it already has.
For example, a man was standing by Emens auditorium dressed in a suit. Flat on the sidewalk, next to his feet, was a casket.
I had my camera with me, I couldn't resist, and so I took a picture. He was a nice chap and waved for his photo opportunity.
I felt like I was part of HBO's "Six Feet Under" for a quick second, when my friend told me that a body wasn't in the casket. Apparently, it had gotten out and was streaking campus.
Dead people just can't handle being stuck inside a box on a nice day.
Later that afternoon, I played kick ball with a large group of people. We all argued about the rules and couldn't figure out how to play because we'd all come from different elementary schools, hadn't played in twelve years, and wanted the rules to work out so our teams would win.
So, apparently death was still the main course for the day because while playing outfield I slid and almost ate a dead bird. Not an entire bird, though. No, apparently some feral animal had a sense of humor while eating breakfast that morning, attacked and decided the grass needed an ornament.
I almost masticated a bird head, and I have a feeling beak doesn't go down the throat too smoothly -- much like fish bones.
Hack.
To avoid smearing death all over our play clothes, getting bird eyes in our hair, or catching SARS from the decapitated abomination, I placed four twigs around the head as a marker so we could keep track of it.
That smart idea didn't last. Death has a sense of humor. Right after I framed the bird head with the sticks, my team lost sight of the head and couldn't ever find it. Those around my playing area kept tripping over themselves because they didn't want -- well, the butt of khaki pants and jeans just don't look appealing when there's a bird head stuck to your right cheek.
Death kept laughing.
It took us five minutes after the game was over to find the bird head again -- once we did, the friend that said there was no body in the casket, used two twigs like chop sticks and picked up the bird head like it was an egg roll.
It was the winning team's present.
We joined death on that last laugh.
The day continued on, and for some reason, those two events glued themselves into my head. Instead of merely remembering the sky being the color of ice-blue Kool-Aid, I have a casket and a bird head as a reminder of how nice the day was.
Can anybody say juxtaposition?
Write to Evan at emann@mr-potatohead.com
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