"Hey, did you see the gift our landlady sent us?"
"She sent us a gift? For what? Is it that picture of some guy that I saw?"
"I don't really know why she sent it to us. Did you see who it is?"
"It was some guy in a hat, I didn't really recog.."
"It's Mel Gibson. It's a signed autograph of Mel Gibson."
The disbelief didn't last that long because it was quickly replaced by the giddiness of the surreality of it all: our landlady, virtually out of the blue, sends us a nicely framed autographed photo of Mel Gibson. It's so delightfully random that I love just thinking about it. I like to imagine that she might be some sort of collector of autographed photos of famous people. Maybe one day she thought of us and wanted to send us a gift, and then, like some fine connoisseur selecting a delectable little tidbit from her collection, not at all one of her most prized but at the same time delightful in its own special ways, she blows off the dust and wraps it up, smiling all the while.
Despite the horror behind the idea of having Mel Gibson up on our wall, not only is this a photo of pre-anti-semitic-crazy-face Mel Gibson, but both my housemate and I have agreed that given the circumstances, this is just too completely and utterly an awesome thing to not hang on our wall.