About a year ago my wife and I were enjoying an impromptu picnic of deli sandwiches while watching the evening walkers stroll by in Central Park. Nothing particularly spectacular passed by our bench as we quietly consumed our dinner and enjoyed the mild weather. Every so often a dog would give us a curious glance to see if there was any chance of getting a treat. As veterans of urban picnicking we knew this was all part of the ritual. That is until a canine, of a breed I don't remember, took a dump one foot from my shoe.
In a fit of apartment cleaning on a rainy Saturday, I posted an ad on Craig's List to sell my 1993 not-ridden-since-the-2002-bus-strike bike that was taking up valuable space in the kitchen. I got a few bites, but no takers. I re-posted the ad this morning and got five replies in one hour. Not surprisingly, people browse the internet looking for used bikes during the work day lull from 2-3pm.
What came up with the idea that actively practicing sports is good for you? Your body? Your mind? About two years ago, I tore my left ankle tendon while playing basketball. My back is broken as a result of weight lifting. My left knee detaches from my body from time to time, resting from the experience of being a part of me I guess. Twisted fingers, and a collection of other injuries are the result of "being healthy." The latest one is by far the best/worst example that makes my point.
We are currently in the midst of a Tornado Warning in middle Tennessee. Tornados have become commonplace during this time of year. As real as the threat is, I always have to laugh at the people they round up to interview for the local news outlets.
This is a story that never took place.
The pelican was flying almost touching the sea when it saw it. It was an orange fish, static, pensive, gone. Climbed up high in the sky and flew downwards to swallow it but it couldn't. The fish was interesting enough to turn on the pelican's curiosity alarms. It stopped and slowly begun to float on the salty water. The fish noticed the pelican. It smiled, it was the most beautiful creature it had seen, pretty close to a deity, a myth it heard once.
I’ve been running into problems with people selling things on Ebay. Every time I bid on something and win, the seller always sends it a month later or not at all. I eventually get my money back but it is so infuriating.
I'm not very well traveled. As a matter of fact, I rarely go further than 75 miles from the small town where I grew up. Last week I boarded an airplane for only the seventh time in my life. My 21 month old daughter Brook and I were headed to Orlando to meet up with my wife and visit family. It was the first time I had flown since September 11, and I was not fully prepared for the experience.
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.
My father once said to me, “If everyone liked you, something would be wrong with you.” Very few people liked my father, and I often wondered if he'd embraced this otherwise random bit of wisdom to justify his own miserable social position in the neighbourhood and at his place of work.
A few weeks back, I returned to our Queens apartment with my wife and visiting Mom to discover that an anonymous critter had dug out the middle impatiens from our modest window box. As we replanted what we could my Mom suggested, "Put a plastic fork in there to keep the squirrels from digging." Well, you can see how well that has worked. But this was hardly the first time my Mom had ventured into battle with these nut hiding, birdfeeder pillaging fiends.
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.
Thursday's front page article in the New York Times supplement, Marketplace titled "But Can You Handle the Olive Pits?" reveals that "the lack of formal dining knowledge seems especially acute in Generation Y - generally considered anyone born after 1980." The story went on to say that colleges were solving this problem by holding dining etiquette classes for their students in an effort to give them an edge during interviews and business meetings that occur over lunch.
Well, this past weekend and for the rest of the week I am peeling like there's no tomorrow (I have no idea what I mean by that statement it just seemed to make sense when I typed it).
Every year I go to the beach and every year I get badly sunburned. This year is no different, picture taken 6/12/05.
My brother, an otherwise adventurous person, has not traveled beyond the Chicago city limits in over ten years. He chooses to stay at home because, as he says, everyone is an asshole, assholes are everywhere, and there is no point is making a special trip to visit them in their own environment. In 1995, after a weekend trip to Wisconsin, he decided that it would probably be best to remain indefinitely at home and deal only with known quantities of assholes.
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 decided to take my indoor kitty for a shoulder-ride out into the carport (kitty liked shoulder-rides, and had been known to leap onto my vertical chest if I didn't go straight to her and pick her up). Older neighbor (now deceased) noticed and came over to pet Cheaumea (said kit's name). We chatted for a few moments, then he returned to what he was doing (blowing leaves or edging the sidewalk or something).
Every morning I swap the contents of my pockets from yesterday's pair of pants to today's. A wallet, keys, coins, cash and receipts are all normal items that get the switcheroo. This past Saturday morning while my in-laws were in town visiting, I also found 3 golf balls.
Last week was probably the worst week I've had at work. Friday came and all I was looking forward to was getting the hell out of there and getting home. I ride my bike to and from work everyday. I usually ride my bike on the sidewalk because in Newark, NJ there is no room to ride on the street. Cars are usually parked on the streets and sometimes double parked so it makes it hard for moving cars to get by when there is a bicyclist sharing an already narrow road. As I'm heading home and come upon another new block, I notice a guy on a ladder wearing a walkman washing his storefront sign with a hose. He's selling potted plants on one side and he's got the hose all over the sidewalk. So I slow down because I see potential for an accident.
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.
My dreams in the past eight years have been easily forgettable. They are usually based on some sort of anxiety at work. But lately, I���ve been having some vividly strange dreams.
Launches in new window. Flash plug-in is required.
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.