TUESDAY, JULY 30, 2002 - Blight on the Urban Soundscape

Car horns serve the very unsexy function of warning other motorists of impending danger. I would think it would be unlawful to use it for any other reason. The trouble is that people use them as extensions of their mouths, and this is wrong, wrong, wrong! Few things incite more anger in me than a motorist laying on wave after wave of extended honks.

It's at this moment that I realize the extent of my cruelty. Five minutes of impunity is all I need.

TUESDAY, JULY 23, 2002 - A List

Things one may think about but should always resist the urge to do:

  • Pour yourself a cup of coffee before it's done brewing.

  • Squash a bug on the sidewalk that doesn't bite.

  • Play one more hole when the sky rumbles.

  • Lay on the horn in traffic.

  • Subscribe to the quackery of Dr. Atkins.

  • Lick the rim of despised coworker's mochachino.

  • Sass off to someone who's holding a creme pie.

  • Punch a complete stranger square in the nose.

  • Call Mr. Nelson, your junior high gym teacher who had a nervous breakdown, and ask if he's still a loser, and if he's still single.

  • Sing Ring-Around-The-Rosie in a crowed men's room at a baseball game.

  • Set up landmines in your backyard because the Rottwieler next door keeps shitting in your yard.

  • Throw your stryrofoam cups into a campfire in plain view of your tree-hugger friend.

  • Casually open your trunk, deflate your spare tire, and toss that into the fire too.

  • Stare blankly into the flames and tell him he's next if he doesn't shut the fuck up.

FRIDAY, JULY 19, 2002 - Are You Bored at Work?

Well then, here you go, Joe. It's worth a gander. I can't guarantee a chuckle, but the half laugh-snort is a sure thing.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed last Friday's interview with the lovely Claire Zulkey. She was a good sport; especially about letting my snoop around in her Web site's secret picture page. You, my friend, should be so lucky.

I'd like to do more interviews. Feedback would be nice: good or bad.

WEDNESDAY, JULY 17, 2002 - The Ralph Nader Complex

Looking at the ratty box of bandages in my bathroom mirror cabinet, I scratched me head trying to remember when I bought it. Yet all this time it's been occupying some per-ritty primo real estate. In real Boston terms, adjusting for market flucuations, and the occasional hiccup, I figure that that little box of bandages owes me roughly 500 times its original purchase price in rent.

Because I've used only one kind, the large one, there were still an assortment of completely useless ones, married to the original box from past purchases.These include the butterfly, skin tone, fabric, antibiotic, and my favorite-- the pinky-size. Oh, those clever marketers. I've been duped into believing that the variety pack of bandages is a a good choice; like its tampon or popsicle counterparts.

I'm here to build awareness that the bandage industry has pulled the wool over our collective eyes. My new consumer advocacy group seeks to introduce legislation for which only the large bandages (in every variety pack) is to become the defacto standard. The group's mission is simple: Anthing larger requires stitches. Anything smaller doesn't need a bandage, you pussy. All other bandages are bullshit.

FRIDAY, JULY 12, 2002 - An Interview with Claire Zulkey

Today features an interview with Claire Zulkey, card carrying member of the witerati. This Chicago favorite offers up tidbits on the White Sox, Elvis Costello, and the occasional spa treatment. More...

MONDAY, JULY 8, 2002 - The Montreal Trip

I spent three days at the Festival International de Jazz with four college friends, which after five years has apparently become a tradition. We walked around, ate, drank, talked about books, movies, our jobs, rehashed old stories, and lots of things few outside of this group would find interesting. The level of conversation, of course, took a noticeable dip as later, liberal libations loosened lips. Hey, alliteration.

However, the bachelor of honor - our raison d'être - could not make it. So instead of a funny story, you, dear reader, are stuck reading my pretentious use of French and meta. And that sucks.

MONDAY, JULY 1, 2002 - Riding the Dragon

Yesterday marked my first ascent of a long rock climb, at Cannon, NH. The route consisted of 8 pitches, or 8 lengths of 60 meter rope, totaling approximately 1000 feet to the summit. This was, without a doubt, the most difficult climbing I've done, taking 9 hours to complete-- 12 hours including the hike in and the descent out.

Psychologically, I was completely unprepared for such an arduous task. In fact, it was unclear if I'd finish the first pitch at all; a 120 foot ascend up a crack. However, when faced with the choice of taking a one hour "walk of shame" to the car, followed by a seven hour wait in rural New Hampshire, the choice was clear.

A lot of things go through one's mind in 30 minutes when standing on a thin ledge from 500 feet. First, that humans weren't meant to do such things. Second, you can squish a mile of cars between your thumb and index fingers. And lastly, my mind was oddly quiet.

At the summit I got the opportunity to sit quietly by myself as I waited for my teammates to make the final ascent. The only other moment of complete stillness that I recall in my life was a brief alone on the Great Wall, north of Beijing. In Chinese mythology, the mountain ranges slither back and forth like a dragon's back, stretching into a distant mist. My view was no less spectacular as the dragon's sleep set fire to the valley below.

 

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