We went walking; there were three or four of us and a dog. It was common to take that dog out for a run in the summer. He would run out ahead and we would maintain a steady pace. We lived in a suburb that abutted farm land and acres of undeveloped land between the farms. We took advantage of all the space. No one was around to report our gunfire. No one screamed at you to get off their property. It was a very good place to be 13.

How are we supposed to conduct ourselves when it comes to acquaintances? I have learned some valuable lessons in my time when it comes to dealing with people I hardly know. Like when and how to say hello and goodbye and what small talk is. Some other lessons follow.

1. I am not as funny as I would like to think I am

2. I probably shouldn't do it

3. A lot of people don't think baby wipes are all that funny.

It was all in one pot together, stewing in his brain as the years passed. His unavoidable death had a smell and taste to it. He hated the smell and taste until he came to realize that he had control, though not absolute, over it.

I have been misunderstood. My sense of humor must be such a rare species as that there are no others like it. My world stands alone. There is a Venus-like shroud permitting none to see or understand fully. I can point to many moments in my life for evidence of this theory. One such experience I call the Ames Iowa Skinny Briefs.

TOOL is a band of the heavy variety. I once knew a guy who played some TOOL for me. The guy was very into x-treme everything: snowboarding, moto-cross, mountain biking, bong hits, the whole thing. And TOOL. The guy loved TOOL. So I heard the heavy heavy guitars and bass and drums and voice before I saw them at Lollapalooza '93 when they came into St. Paul.

The sun was a big red bull, not a big red ball, in the stifling summer air of my third floor apartment. This is a drinking story, so stop if you have heard it before.