no zip code

Of course, since I can’t find any information about this “Cottrell”, Virginia place, it doesn’t have a zip code. Another dead end.

Being a fan of Jack Finney, I am open to the idea of something weird happening for no apparent reason, at no apparent place/time in space.

SO

I have sent a letter to “Resident/Occupant” of “Main Street” in “Cottrell, Virginia”, omitting the zip code (since there really isn’t one). I used two “Forever” stamps on it, because I have no idea how far the envelope has to travel if in fact something weird happens and it actually is delivered somewhere in the missing/unknown town.

Now I wait…

the junk store

I went to this junk store the other day and found an old, used golf ball.

I know, there are countless books and stories written that have “something found in a store” as the first or major plot driver. Therefore, it can be assumed that I am making this all up. But I am not. This is really happening to me…

I collect used golf balls. Why? Because nobody else (much) does and so I can still afford to collect them as the price has not been artificially inflated (yet).

This particular golf ball is in very good condition — it looks like it just came out of the sleeve. There is a logo on the ball and underneath the logo it reads, “Cottrell Mini Golf.”

I looked it up on Wikipedia. I found a page about a small town in Virginia named Cottrell and how they are famous for their mini golf course. It was an interesting read, I remember. The problem is I didn’t copy or write anything down and the details of what I read have been wiped from my mind like yesterday’s passwords.

The page is no longer on Wikipedia, leaving me with the golf ball and many questions.

in the beginning

Sometimes when I start a blog (and there have been many times), I tend to pontificate on what I am going to do, and when, and how, and what, and so on… Boring shit which doesn’t matter at all since I would invariably move or neglect or ignore or delete the blog within a short span of time.

In any case, nobody ever visited or read it except for spammers.

So, I guess I was writing something in the hopes that somebody would read it, which never happened. I spent all my time trying to perfect something that would never be read.

So, I quit writing.

Now, I am writing again. Scratching an itch by creating some words. Like I try to be an artist by coloring black and white line art with colored pencils. To exercise my brain and my creative process.

Not to be published. Not to be famous. Just because I want to.

Therefore, nothing to see here — move along — this isn’t the blog you are looking for…

Ike