Get Chased Across Some Rooftops Day!
When you wake up this morning, you'll walk out of the bedroom and you'll see the woman who brought you home last night hanging up her telephone. You'll ask her what's for breakfast, and the smile that bursts out on her face will give you pause. Nothing about your time with her has suggested that she was capable of smiling before her fifth drink's inside of her. She'll turn over the newspaper on her kitchen table, and then she'll get up and offer to whip up some eggs. As you'd expect, she'll open her refrigerator door on a whole lot of empty white nothing, and you'll flip the newspaper again and see your big stupid face blaring from the cover. You'll hear sirens approaching.
Once you get your pants on and out into the hallway, cursing yourself for going weak in a bar and letting someone take you home, you'll peer over the banister and spy the flat hats of policemen making their way upstairs. The only way to go for you is up.
And out onto the rooftop where you'll have a full block to be chased from roof to roof. The upraised barriers of the roofs will serve as hurdles and some of the policemen will tumble in the chase, but the most agile, and especially the plain-clothes detectives, will continue closing in. The horizon at the end of the rooftops will get closer and closer almost as fast as the cops behind you narrowing your lead. At the end of the block, you'll have one of three choices:
One: You can jump. Perhaps onto a lower roof or through a series of canopies, each breaking your fall a little bit more until it's safe for you to land in a bin a lettuce.
Two: You can stop and turn around, promising that if the cops come any closer you'll leap to your death on the street below and they'll never know who you were working with. They'll put their guns away, but you'll be shot immediately after. Everyone will spy a man with a rifle on the rooftop of a building across an intersection running into the entranceway of that building, forcing the cops to double back and try to beat him to the street.
Three: You can grab onto a rope ladder lowered from a descending helicopter. A gunman will lay down some covering fire to drop the cops to the rooftop while the chopper carries you away to the mountainside lair of whomever you're working for.
I'd choose three, so that this thing can prove to be far bigger than anyone might have guessed. It's always better when things are far bigger than anyone might have guessed.
Happy Get Chased Across Some Rooftops Day!
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Sheriff Wallace Will Be The Last To Say Goodbye Day
Sheriff Wallace Will Be The Last To Say Goodbye Day!
The State Line will be five miles behind you when Wallace's flashing lights start to pop in your rear view. You'll pull over with a sharp brake and a veer onto the shoulder. Wallace follows in stride, though it's certain he noted the aggression.
"Lotta boxes back there. Can you see out the back with your trunk half open like that?" Sheriff Wallace will ask.
"Saw you didn't I?" you'll say.
Sheriff Wallace will tap his fingers on the rubber frame of your rolled-down window.
"Shirley's a handful," he'll say.
"Just like her Daddy?"
Sheriff Wallace will stop tapping his fingers.
"Whyn't you step out of the car?" he'll say.
"Was I speeding officer?"
"No," he'll say. "No you wasn't." He'll take some steps from the window and turn his back to you, waiting, staring down the empty road back home. You'll get out of the car and face him.
"You knew this was coming," you'll say.
"I knew," Sheriff Wallace will say.
"You know there's no chance you're gonna turn me around," you'll say.
He'll breathe deep, almost like his chest is tight. "Yeah," he'll say. "Yeah, I know she sent you on your way a long time ago."
You and Sheriff Wallace will look off in different directions at all the fields of nothing stretching out from the highway.
"I tried to raise my daughter strong, but I ended up raising her mean," Sheriff Wallace will say. "She know you're gone."
"She might know by now," you'll say. "I left a letter on the kitchen countertop. If Wilbur didn't eat it while he was waiting for his kibble, she might know by now."
Sheriff Wallace will nod. "Then you best be getting on before she comes looking for ya," he'll say. "I'll go back and see to her."
You'll hold out your hand for Sheriff Wallace to shake. It was good having him in your life. You'll be glad he pulled you over to say goodbye. He's meaner than his daughter and based on rumors, he might just as well have pulled you over to shoot you in the face as to say goodbye to his son-in-law. But—
"I always liked you," he'll say. "I always thought my daughter finally was thinking when she got you to propose to her."
You'll let go of Sheriff Wallace's hand and climb back into your car. He'll climb back into his and turn it around to go and calm his daughter down. You'll drive north and he'll drive south.
Happy Sheriff Wallace Will Be The Last To Say Goodbye Day!
The State Line will be five miles behind you when Wallace's flashing lights start to pop in your rear view. You'll pull over with a sharp brake and a veer onto the shoulder. Wallace follows in stride, though it's certain he noted the aggression.
"Lotta boxes back there. Can you see out the back with your trunk half open like that?" Sheriff Wallace will ask.
"Saw you didn't I?" you'll say.
Sheriff Wallace will tap his fingers on the rubber frame of your rolled-down window.
"Shirley's a handful," he'll say.
"Just like her Daddy?"
Sheriff Wallace will stop tapping his fingers.
"Whyn't you step out of the car?" he'll say.
"Was I speeding officer?"
"No," he'll say. "No you wasn't." He'll take some steps from the window and turn his back to you, waiting, staring down the empty road back home. You'll get out of the car and face him.
"You knew this was coming," you'll say.
"I knew," Sheriff Wallace will say.
"You know there's no chance you're gonna turn me around," you'll say.
He'll breathe deep, almost like his chest is tight. "Yeah," he'll say. "Yeah, I know she sent you on your way a long time ago."
You and Sheriff Wallace will look off in different directions at all the fields of nothing stretching out from the highway.
"I tried to raise my daughter strong, but I ended up raising her mean," Sheriff Wallace will say. "She know you're gone."
"She might know by now," you'll say. "I left a letter on the kitchen countertop. If Wilbur didn't eat it while he was waiting for his kibble, she might know by now."
Sheriff Wallace will nod. "Then you best be getting on before she comes looking for ya," he'll say. "I'll go back and see to her."
You'll hold out your hand for Sheriff Wallace to shake. It was good having him in your life. You'll be glad he pulled you over to say goodbye. He's meaner than his daughter and based on rumors, he might just as well have pulled you over to shoot you in the face as to say goodbye to his son-in-law. But—
"I always liked you," he'll say. "I always thought my daughter finally was thinking when she got you to propose to her."
You'll let go of Sheriff Wallace's hand and climb back into your car. He'll climb back into his and turn it around to go and calm his daughter down. You'll drive north and he'll drive south.
Happy Sheriff Wallace Will Be The Last To Say Goodbye Day!
Friday, November 04, 2005
Get Poisoned Day
Get Poisoned Day!
In order to get poisoned, you have to be the kind of guy that no one is going to just gun down on the street. People who might get poisoned are rarely killed in a chance mugging gone awry. And they also don't fall down and hit their heads on stuff.
People get poisoned when every single minute that they are alive is another minute of sorrow brought down upon the heads of thousands if not millions of people who love and live only to help their children struggle to survive in a world that offers nothing but poverty and random disappearances. To get poisoned, you have to lead. And you have to lead poorly, employing only fear to keep hold of your reign. You have to attain a level of such grave ignominy that even your most trusted of minions, the only members of your inner circle that you can still trust to bring you your food, can no longer deny that you must be removed from your throne.
Act swiftly and do the world wrong. You force your henchmen to taste your food, so they must be willing to knowingly ingest the poison root, but maintain composure long enough for you to believe that the dish is untainted. You will sup from the plate, and then you will watch your former friend and confidant fall to the ground and spew a small puddle of dark foam from his mouth. You'll see your friend go where you are soon to follow, and then you'll know: You just got poisoned.
Happy Get Poisoned Day!
In order to get poisoned, you have to be the kind of guy that no one is going to just gun down on the street. People who might get poisoned are rarely killed in a chance mugging gone awry. And they also don't fall down and hit their heads on stuff.
People get poisoned when every single minute that they are alive is another minute of sorrow brought down upon the heads of thousands if not millions of people who love and live only to help their children struggle to survive in a world that offers nothing but poverty and random disappearances. To get poisoned, you have to lead. And you have to lead poorly, employing only fear to keep hold of your reign. You have to attain a level of such grave ignominy that even your most trusted of minions, the only members of your inner circle that you can still trust to bring you your food, can no longer deny that you must be removed from your throne.
Act swiftly and do the world wrong. You force your henchmen to taste your food, so they must be willing to knowingly ingest the poison root, but maintain composure long enough for you to believe that the dish is untainted. You will sup from the plate, and then you will watch your former friend and confidant fall to the ground and spew a small puddle of dark foam from his mouth. You'll see your friend go where you are soon to follow, and then you'll know: You just got poisoned.
Happy Get Poisoned Day!
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Caramel Paul Day
Caramel Paul Day!
Caramel Paul is this big fat kid who loves caramel and you. Today, Caramel Paul is going to offer you some caramel.
"No one's been nice to me at this school because everyone thinks I killed my Mom and Dad," you'll say.
Caramel Paul will watch you eat the caramel he gave you and it will make him hungry for some caramel. So he'll sit down next to you and eat some caramel.
"I didn't, you know," you'll say. "They killed themselves. I woke up and they were in their bed with their wrists cut. Kids don't grasp specifics though I guess."
Caramel Paul will unwrap some more caramel and eat it. He won't offer you any more.
"I miss them still. They were so unhappy and I know they're at peace now, but I wish they hadn't gone away."
Caramel Paul will get up and walk away.
"Where are you going?" you'll ask.
Caramel Paul will say, "I'm out of caramel. I usually don't run out, but I gave you some. Now I have to go get some more."
You'll say bye. Caramel Paul will start to run to get to the store that sells his caramel. Today, he will have discovered that he loves you slightly less than he loves caramel.
Happy Caramel Paul Day!
Caramel Paul is this big fat kid who loves caramel and you. Today, Caramel Paul is going to offer you some caramel.
"No one's been nice to me at this school because everyone thinks I killed my Mom and Dad," you'll say.
Caramel Paul will watch you eat the caramel he gave you and it will make him hungry for some caramel. So he'll sit down next to you and eat some caramel.
"I didn't, you know," you'll say. "They killed themselves. I woke up and they were in their bed with their wrists cut. Kids don't grasp specifics though I guess."
Caramel Paul will unwrap some more caramel and eat it. He won't offer you any more.
"I miss them still. They were so unhappy and I know they're at peace now, but I wish they hadn't gone away."
Caramel Paul will get up and walk away.
"Where are you going?" you'll ask.
Caramel Paul will say, "I'm out of caramel. I usually don't run out, but I gave you some. Now I have to go get some more."
You'll say bye. Caramel Paul will start to run to get to the store that sells his caramel. Today, he will have discovered that he loves you slightly less than he loves caramel.
Happy Caramel Paul Day!
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
The Face Of Funk Day
The Face Of Funk Day!
Today, yours is the Face of Funk. When they last met in Ontario, Canada in June of 2005, it was decreed by the Congress of Funk that today the Face of Funk would be that of a white, mustachioed male, with the beginnings of a double chin, and with one strange growth near the left ear that looks like two and a half warts but is just some fatty deposits. The growth, the Congress of Funk decided, should be the sort of growth that is not noticeable in the individual's day-to-day activities, but is usually discovered by lovers after approximately three intimate visitations, while the individual is sleeping and the lover is still awake because he or she can't sleep in strange beds for the first few nights of intimate visitations. The lover will usually stare at the growth, fearing cancer, or worse, warts, and will maybe touch the growth just barely so as not to wake up the individual. And the lover will wonder if she can do better then the bearer of today's Face of Funk.
Today is the first day in your life when keeping that mustache has proven to be a good idea, because as the bearer of the Face of Funk, you will be given a 2006 season pass to any Six Flags park in the country. Now if you'll excuse us, we have to get to a funeral. A Congresswoman of Funk OD'd on freebase last week. Very sad.
Happy The Face Of Funk Day!
Today, yours is the Face of Funk. When they last met in Ontario, Canada in June of 2005, it was decreed by the Congress of Funk that today the Face of Funk would be that of a white, mustachioed male, with the beginnings of a double chin, and with one strange growth near the left ear that looks like two and a half warts but is just some fatty deposits. The growth, the Congress of Funk decided, should be the sort of growth that is not noticeable in the individual's day-to-day activities, but is usually discovered by lovers after approximately three intimate visitations, while the individual is sleeping and the lover is still awake because he or she can't sleep in strange beds for the first few nights of intimate visitations. The lover will usually stare at the growth, fearing cancer, or worse, warts, and will maybe touch the growth just barely so as not to wake up the individual. And the lover will wonder if she can do better then the bearer of today's Face of Funk.
Today is the first day in your life when keeping that mustache has proven to be a good idea, because as the bearer of the Face of Funk, you will be given a 2006 season pass to any Six Flags park in the country. Now if you'll excuse us, we have to get to a funeral. A Congresswoman of Funk OD'd on freebase last week. Very sad.
Happy The Face Of Funk Day!
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
You're The Dirtiest Day
You're The Dirtiest Day!
You and your younger brother have missed each other terribly ever since his company moved him to Portland. To make sure not to lose touch, you decided to engage in one of the contests you and he used to love to have when you were kids.
"No showering! Let's see who can go the longest!" you challenged.
"You're going down big brother," he giggled.
Today, your little brother is going to call and let you know that you've won. His new supervisor warned him that if he goes one more day without showering, he will be let go.
"Face!" you'll shout. "You are weak! Sad and weak!"
"I have a family," your brother will respond. "My daughter has a nervous condition. I need my insurance."
"I AM TRIUMPHANT!!!" you'll bellow into the phone. Then you'll carry the phone to the stereo and you'll hold it up to a speaker while a Smashmouth song blasts from it.
When you lift the phone back to your ear, you'll hear your little brother sobbing. Make fun of him. Grab the violin and start to play a sad dirge. The nice thing about not having showered for so long is that things like cell phones will stick to your ear without you having to hold on to them.
When you've fully relished your win, tell your brother in all sincerity that you miss him like you'd miss your own right arm and that you can't wait to see him at Christmas.
"I gotta go get cleaned up," say.
"Goodbye big brother," your brother will say.
"Goodbye little brother."
Now go into the bathroom and scrub at yourself with something made of wire. You're a little too late and you've developed a skin condition. See somebody.
Happy You're The Dirtiest Day!
You and your younger brother have missed each other terribly ever since his company moved him to Portland. To make sure not to lose touch, you decided to engage in one of the contests you and he used to love to have when you were kids.
"No showering! Let's see who can go the longest!" you challenged.
"You're going down big brother," he giggled.
Today, your little brother is going to call and let you know that you've won. His new supervisor warned him that if he goes one more day without showering, he will be let go.
"Face!" you'll shout. "You are weak! Sad and weak!"
"I have a family," your brother will respond. "My daughter has a nervous condition. I need my insurance."
"I AM TRIUMPHANT!!!" you'll bellow into the phone. Then you'll carry the phone to the stereo and you'll hold it up to a speaker while a Smashmouth song blasts from it.
When you lift the phone back to your ear, you'll hear your little brother sobbing. Make fun of him. Grab the violin and start to play a sad dirge. The nice thing about not having showered for so long is that things like cell phones will stick to your ear without you having to hold on to them.
When you've fully relished your win, tell your brother in all sincerity that you miss him like you'd miss your own right arm and that you can't wait to see him at Christmas.
"I gotta go get cleaned up," say.
"Goodbye big brother," your brother will say.
"Goodbye little brother."
Now go into the bathroom and scrub at yourself with something made of wire. You're a little too late and you've developed a skin condition. See somebody.
Happy You're The Dirtiest Day!
Monday, October 31, 2005
Walter Isn't Sick Anymore Day
Walter Isn't Sick Anymore Day!
He's back at work today, thirty pounds lighter. But completely free of the mysterious respiratory illness that sent him to what many assumed to be his deathbed.
Walter's going to trot into the office like a little boy at Christmas, excited to see how you all decorated his cube and brimming to tell you about his near-death adventure.
The first woman he'll come in contact with is Marisol, the records administrator. He'll grab her in his arms and tell her how happy he is to see her face. She'll look up into his eyes and start screaming. When he sets her free from his embrace, Marisol will back away slowly, pointing at him and reciting prayers in Spanish. Then she'll make the sign of the cross and flee.
Walter will stay there at the door, trying to figure out what just happened. Then he'll shout out, "Hey everybody! I'm back!"
Slowly, the heads will rise above their cubicle walls, all eyes bugged wide with terror.
"Hey guys, man I sure am glad to see all of you again. What'd I miss?"
Their arms will rise and all fingers will point in Walter's direction. They'll start howling like demons until you are forced to hustle Walter into a conference room.
"We don't have much time," tell him. "They mourned you."
"But I didn't die," Walter will argue.
"You were sick for so long, the productivity came to a halt as we waited for word of your condition. As department manager, I decided it would be best that we all mourn you as if you were already gone."
They'll be pounding at the door to the conference room.
"So, they're under the impression that I'm…"
"Undead," tell him. "A zombie. Yes. Some of these people have been on this floor for thirty years. They only believe what they read in the body of a company memo."
The pounding will be growing louder. You can hear the wood around the door hinges begin to crack.
"You have to get out of here," say. "Climb up into the drop ceiling."
Both of you will get up on the table and knock a pane of the drop ceiling from its frame. The door will crack louder in the doorframe. Walter will be up in the frame, his legs dangling. Once, twice, a third crash and the door is off its hinges. Walter will hold his hand down to you and you'll grab it and be lifted up into the drop ceiling. In your memo to the floor, you made Walter dead. Now that he's walking, they assume that you brought him back to life. They believe you must both be destroyed before a race of walking dead is unleashed on the populace. The war between the army of the living and the army of the mistaken-for-undead has begun.
Happy Walter Isn't Sick Anymore Day!
He's back at work today, thirty pounds lighter. But completely free of the mysterious respiratory illness that sent him to what many assumed to be his deathbed.
Walter's going to trot into the office like a little boy at Christmas, excited to see how you all decorated his cube and brimming to tell you about his near-death adventure.
The first woman he'll come in contact with is Marisol, the records administrator. He'll grab her in his arms and tell her how happy he is to see her face. She'll look up into his eyes and start screaming. When he sets her free from his embrace, Marisol will back away slowly, pointing at him and reciting prayers in Spanish. Then she'll make the sign of the cross and flee.
Walter will stay there at the door, trying to figure out what just happened. Then he'll shout out, "Hey everybody! I'm back!"
Slowly, the heads will rise above their cubicle walls, all eyes bugged wide with terror.
"Hey guys, man I sure am glad to see all of you again. What'd I miss?"
Their arms will rise and all fingers will point in Walter's direction. They'll start howling like demons until you are forced to hustle Walter into a conference room.
"We don't have much time," tell him. "They mourned you."
"But I didn't die," Walter will argue.
"You were sick for so long, the productivity came to a halt as we waited for word of your condition. As department manager, I decided it would be best that we all mourn you as if you were already gone."
They'll be pounding at the door to the conference room.
"So, they're under the impression that I'm…"
"Undead," tell him. "A zombie. Yes. Some of these people have been on this floor for thirty years. They only believe what they read in the body of a company memo."
The pounding will be growing louder. You can hear the wood around the door hinges begin to crack.
"You have to get out of here," say. "Climb up into the drop ceiling."
Both of you will get up on the table and knock a pane of the drop ceiling from its frame. The door will crack louder in the doorframe. Walter will be up in the frame, his legs dangling. Once, twice, a third crash and the door is off its hinges. Walter will hold his hand down to you and you'll grab it and be lifted up into the drop ceiling. In your memo to the floor, you made Walter dead. Now that he's walking, they assume that you brought him back to life. They believe you must both be destroyed before a race of walking dead is unleashed on the populace. The war between the army of the living and the army of the mistaken-for-undead has begun.
Happy Walter Isn't Sick Anymore Day!
Sunday, October 30, 2005
On Your Sailboat, Tell Each Other The Truth Day!
Point the boat at the horizon, bring her by your side and say, "That's where we're headed. Where we've been headed since we first looked into each other's eyes. To the end."
She'll kiss you. Hold her shoulders in your right arm.
Say, "I been fuckin' dudes. For about twenty or so years now. Fridays before I come home from work, I stop off at this bar where you can meet a dude you don't know and fuck him in the walk-in freezer. The bar charges 20 bucks for fifteen minutes."
She'll ask, "Does the 20 include a drink?"
Nod. "A well drink or domestic tap beer, yes."
She'll say, "Good deal. I understand."
Kiss the top of her head.
"I'm an agent for the Tri-Lateral Commission assigned to monitor your movements ever since your alien abduction in 1959," she'll say.
"Alien abduction?" you'll ask.
"Those doctors were agents," she'll say. "The hospital was privately run by the commission and we built it solely to house and examine abductees. When you woke up and they told you you'd been food poisoned and had fallen into a near-coma for four days, they lied. You had been returned to the earth not eleven hours prior. The dreams you remember were real."
Keep holding her.
"Why tell me all this?" ask her.
"This sunset is just so beautiful," she'll say. She'll look up at you. "Monitoring your movements these 35 years has been the most wonderful assignment."
"I hope I didn't disappoint," say.
"Far from it," she'll say. "Even after all these years, you never cease to amaze me. I can't stop talking about you to my husband."
"You're already married?" ask.
"Actually," she'll say. "I married you first, but that wasn't a real ceremony. I met my real husband twelve years ago when you and I went to Portugal on our anniversary."
Just think about it all for a second. Then ask:
"So you're cool with the dudes?"
She'll kiss your cheek and say, "Live your life. Mankind only has two years and four months left. We at the commission have a saying. 'There's not gonna be a tomorrow, what with the construction of the heat ray being ahead of schedule. So let's get the partying done tonight.'"
Happy On Your Sailboat, Tell Each Other The Truth Day!
Point the boat at the horizon, bring her by your side and say, "That's where we're headed. Where we've been headed since we first looked into each other's eyes. To the end."
She'll kiss you. Hold her shoulders in your right arm.
Say, "I been fuckin' dudes. For about twenty or so years now. Fridays before I come home from work, I stop off at this bar where you can meet a dude you don't know and fuck him in the walk-in freezer. The bar charges 20 bucks for fifteen minutes."
She'll ask, "Does the 20 include a drink?"
Nod. "A well drink or domestic tap beer, yes."
She'll say, "Good deal. I understand."
Kiss the top of her head.
"I'm an agent for the Tri-Lateral Commission assigned to monitor your movements ever since your alien abduction in 1959," she'll say.
"Alien abduction?" you'll ask.
"Those doctors were agents," she'll say. "The hospital was privately run by the commission and we built it solely to house and examine abductees. When you woke up and they told you you'd been food poisoned and had fallen into a near-coma for four days, they lied. You had been returned to the earth not eleven hours prior. The dreams you remember were real."
Keep holding her.
"Why tell me all this?" ask her.
"This sunset is just so beautiful," she'll say. She'll look up at you. "Monitoring your movements these 35 years has been the most wonderful assignment."
"I hope I didn't disappoint," say.
"Far from it," she'll say. "Even after all these years, you never cease to amaze me. I can't stop talking about you to my husband."
"You're already married?" ask.
"Actually," she'll say. "I married you first, but that wasn't a real ceremony. I met my real husband twelve years ago when you and I went to Portugal on our anniversary."
Just think about it all for a second. Then ask:
"So you're cool with the dudes?"
She'll kiss your cheek and say, "Live your life. Mankind only has two years and four months left. We at the commission have a saying. 'There's not gonna be a tomorrow, what with the construction of the heat ray being ahead of schedule. So let's get the partying done tonight.'"
Happy On Your Sailboat, Tell Each Other The Truth Day!
Saturday, October 29, 2005
The Sk8r Boy Who Can Help You Day
The Sk8r Boy Who Can Help You Day!
The wise sk8r boy, Seth, the sk8r boy who is just a year and four months older, and a whole five inches taller than the rest of the sk8r boys, is the sk8r boy who can help you.
Seth sits on the wall more than he skates. He's not the best. His height is a disadvantage. But the rest of the sk8r boys look as if they're skating for him. When they come to stop on the lip, they look to Seth, trying not to beam. Seth usually sits next to his girlfriend, Mad. And the two of them are flanked by pairs and fours of sk8er boys at a time. They send their conversations back and forth past Seth, inviting him to comment whenever he wishes. Seth's going to college. Everyone knows that. Probably to study English or History. Everyone knows.
Seth is the sk8r boy who can help you.
"Hi Seth," say.
Seth will say, "Hey [YOUR NAME]." Seth remembers everyone's name.
"I have a problem," tell him.
Seth will look to his right and left and the sk8r boys flanking him will drop to their boards and disappear in the noise of a grind.
Sit by Seth's side and talk to him while he looks straight ahead.
Say to Seth, "Me and Patty are having trouble. She wants to break up because I'm spending too much time by my Mom's deathbed."
"What's your Mom dying of?" Seth will ask you.
Say, "Skin cancer. The doctor says it's spreading too fast."
Seth will reach into his bag, digging underneath sweatsocks and CDs and a sandwich and old tattered paperback novels and he'll pull out a vial of brown liquid.
"Give this to your Mom," he'll say. "A tea spoon every day. She should get better within about six weeks. Then you and Patty can spend more time together."
"Wow," say. "This'll cure my Mom's cancer?"
Seth still won't look at you when he nods yes. "I only hope it's not too late to keep you and Patty from breaking up."
Say, "Thanks Seth."
Seth will nod again. The sk8r boys will continue grinding away at the concrete. Mad will return to Seth's side with two bottles of Snapple. Say hi to Mad, then head over to your Mom's hospital. Remember, Seth is the sk8r boy who can help you.
Happy The Sk8r Boy Who Can Help You Day!
The wise sk8r boy, Seth, the sk8r boy who is just a year and four months older, and a whole five inches taller than the rest of the sk8r boys, is the sk8r boy who can help you.
Seth sits on the wall more than he skates. He's not the best. His height is a disadvantage. But the rest of the sk8r boys look as if they're skating for him. When they come to stop on the lip, they look to Seth, trying not to beam. Seth usually sits next to his girlfriend, Mad. And the two of them are flanked by pairs and fours of sk8er boys at a time. They send their conversations back and forth past Seth, inviting him to comment whenever he wishes. Seth's going to college. Everyone knows that. Probably to study English or History. Everyone knows.
Seth is the sk8r boy who can help you.
"Hi Seth," say.
Seth will say, "Hey [YOUR NAME]." Seth remembers everyone's name.
"I have a problem," tell him.
Seth will look to his right and left and the sk8r boys flanking him will drop to their boards and disappear in the noise of a grind.
Sit by Seth's side and talk to him while he looks straight ahead.
Say to Seth, "Me and Patty are having trouble. She wants to break up because I'm spending too much time by my Mom's deathbed."
"What's your Mom dying of?" Seth will ask you.
Say, "Skin cancer. The doctor says it's spreading too fast."
Seth will reach into his bag, digging underneath sweatsocks and CDs and a sandwich and old tattered paperback novels and he'll pull out a vial of brown liquid.
"Give this to your Mom," he'll say. "A tea spoon every day. She should get better within about six weeks. Then you and Patty can spend more time together."
"Wow," say. "This'll cure my Mom's cancer?"
Seth still won't look at you when he nods yes. "I only hope it's not too late to keep you and Patty from breaking up."
Say, "Thanks Seth."
Seth will nod again. The sk8r boys will continue grinding away at the concrete. Mad will return to Seth's side with two bottles of Snapple. Say hi to Mad, then head over to your Mom's hospital. Remember, Seth is the sk8r boy who can help you.
Happy The Sk8r Boy Who Can Help You Day!
Friday, October 28, 2005
Discover One Of Life's Little Truths Day
Discover One Of Life's Little Truths Day!
Today you're going to find that when someone decides to walk away, no matter how hard you cry or how loud you scream for them to stay, they keep on walking away. You might figure this out in one of several ways. Maybe it'll be that your boyfriend of three years will shake you awake to see that he's wearing his coat and holding a small suitcase in one hand and his Vornado fan in the other. Or you could be a refugee from a war-torn land when the UN Peacekeepers who have been keeping armies away from your camp just start packing up and climbing into the back of their trucks. Or maybe you'll be at the Cheesecake Factory later today intending to spend your last seventeen dollars on something delicious. So you'll order the Fat Pig's Big Fat Plate of Chicken and Potatoes and the waitress will start to walk away and as you watch her take your order to the kitchen you realize you've made a horrible mistake and the last meal that you can ever foresee being able to afford is going to be just another disappointment. You'll pound on the table and make your waterglass tumble to the floor and you'll scream until your lungs bleed all about how much harder life has been for you than it has been for others. But the waitress at the Cheesecake Factory is just like an army of UN Peacekeepers or a boyfriend who's decided there's something better waiting for him somewhere. Once they decide to go, they're gone.
Happy Discover One Of Life's Little Truths Day!
Today you're going to find that when someone decides to walk away, no matter how hard you cry or how loud you scream for them to stay, they keep on walking away. You might figure this out in one of several ways. Maybe it'll be that your boyfriend of three years will shake you awake to see that he's wearing his coat and holding a small suitcase in one hand and his Vornado fan in the other. Or you could be a refugee from a war-torn land when the UN Peacekeepers who have been keeping armies away from your camp just start packing up and climbing into the back of their trucks. Or maybe you'll be at the Cheesecake Factory later today intending to spend your last seventeen dollars on something delicious. So you'll order the Fat Pig's Big Fat Plate of Chicken and Potatoes and the waitress will start to walk away and as you watch her take your order to the kitchen you realize you've made a horrible mistake and the last meal that you can ever foresee being able to afford is going to be just another disappointment. You'll pound on the table and make your waterglass tumble to the floor and you'll scream until your lungs bleed all about how much harder life has been for you than it has been for others. But the waitress at the Cheesecake Factory is just like an army of UN Peacekeepers or a boyfriend who's decided there's something better waiting for him somewhere. Once they decide to go, they're gone.
Happy Discover One Of Life's Little Truths Day!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
You Just Stole A Truck Full Of Cigarettes Day
You Just Stole A Truck Full Of Cigarettes Day!
You're shrugging your shoulders as if to say, "Now what?!"
First thing you're gonna have to do is find a fence to move the goods. There's a fence outside of Miami named Corky (not retarded) Colon. He can move anything from dolls full of cocaine to assault rifles full of cocaine. He's also very handsome and you're going to sleep with him. He'll pay you three grand and you'll head back up North, but you won't even make it to Georgia before you notice something you haven't felt in quite a while.
Longing.
The memory of Corky's touch will be with you there in the car (Corky gave you a car to get back up North. It's full of Cocaine). You won't be able to get very far before you pull over into the parking lot of a Denny's and make a phone call.
"I was hoping…" Corky will say.
"Can I come back."
"Let my assistant, Joanie (not retarded) Masso meet you there. She'll drive the car the rest of the way and you'll drive her car back to me. The car you are driving is full of cocaine and if it does not arrive in New York tomorrow there will be a civil war in Colombia by the end of the week."
"I'll wait for Joanie," say. "Tell her not to obey any speed limits."
"I never thought I could feel this way again," Corky will say. "I thought I existed just to move things that are full of cocaine and the occasional truck full of cigarettes. Now I know I exist to hold you in my arms."
"Send Joanie," say. Then hang up and moon about the parking lot like a farting puppy you're so in love.
Happy You Just Stole A Truck Full Of Cigarettes Day!
You're shrugging your shoulders as if to say, "Now what?!"
First thing you're gonna have to do is find a fence to move the goods. There's a fence outside of Miami named Corky (not retarded) Colon. He can move anything from dolls full of cocaine to assault rifles full of cocaine. He's also very handsome and you're going to sleep with him. He'll pay you three grand and you'll head back up North, but you won't even make it to Georgia before you notice something you haven't felt in quite a while.
Longing.
The memory of Corky's touch will be with you there in the car (Corky gave you a car to get back up North. It's full of Cocaine). You won't be able to get very far before you pull over into the parking lot of a Denny's and make a phone call.
"I was hoping…" Corky will say.
"Can I come back."
"Let my assistant, Joanie (not retarded) Masso meet you there. She'll drive the car the rest of the way and you'll drive her car back to me. The car you are driving is full of cocaine and if it does not arrive in New York tomorrow there will be a civil war in Colombia by the end of the week."
"I'll wait for Joanie," say. "Tell her not to obey any speed limits."
"I never thought I could feel this way again," Corky will say. "I thought I existed just to move things that are full of cocaine and the occasional truck full of cigarettes. Now I know I exist to hold you in my arms."
"Send Joanie," say. Then hang up and moon about the parking lot like a farting puppy you're so in love.
Happy You Just Stole A Truck Full Of Cigarettes Day!
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Your Daddy Is A Truck Driver Day
Your Daddy Is A Truck Driver Day!
He's on the phone and your mother is telling him that you're pregnant. She's trying to get him to convince you not to abort.
"Your father wants to speak to you," your mother is shouting. "He's in Tulsa so hurry up."
You take the phone and say Daddy.
"Heard you was in trouble," your Daddy says.
You say yup. You say that you're going to take care of it.
"You know that's a sin right," he says. "You know it's wrong."
You say yup.
"As long as you know," he says. "I wish I could be there for you."
Tell him you know that he has to be out on the road so that you and your mother can eat.
"Still, I wish I could be there with you," he says.
Tell him you wish he could too.
Say, "Thank you Daddy."
He'll say, "Take care of your Mom. I'll be home right after Thanksgiving."
You say yes Daddy and you tell him that you love him. When you hang up you tell your mother that you're going to get an abortion and that you want her to drive you.
"Get a friend to drive you," she says. "I can't have my car in that parking lot."
You ask your Mom whether she ever got one and she says yes.
"It was the right thing to do, but I wish I could go back and not do it."
You ask your Mom if it was your Daddy's baby and she says of course.
Ask her if she's glad she didn't abort you.
She'll say, "Some days more than others." You'll laugh and laugh.
Happy Your Daddy Is A Truck Driver Day!
He's on the phone and your mother is telling him that you're pregnant. She's trying to get him to convince you not to abort.
"Your father wants to speak to you," your mother is shouting. "He's in Tulsa so hurry up."
You take the phone and say Daddy.
"Heard you was in trouble," your Daddy says.
You say yup. You say that you're going to take care of it.
"You know that's a sin right," he says. "You know it's wrong."
You say yup.
"As long as you know," he says. "I wish I could be there for you."
Tell him you know that he has to be out on the road so that you and your mother can eat.
"Still, I wish I could be there with you," he says.
Tell him you wish he could too.
Say, "Thank you Daddy."
He'll say, "Take care of your Mom. I'll be home right after Thanksgiving."
You say yes Daddy and you tell him that you love him. When you hang up you tell your mother that you're going to get an abortion and that you want her to drive you.
"Get a friend to drive you," she says. "I can't have my car in that parking lot."
You ask your Mom whether she ever got one and she says yes.
"It was the right thing to do, but I wish I could go back and not do it."
You ask your Mom if it was your Daddy's baby and she says of course.
Ask her if she's glad she didn't abort you.
She'll say, "Some days more than others." You'll laugh and laugh.
Happy Your Daddy Is A Truck Driver Day!
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Make Everybody Pay Day
Make Everybody Pay Day!
Vengeful? Great! Cause today's the day you make everybody pay for what they've done. Start with the street gang that killed your mother as part of their initiation. Make them pay by locking them in a house and then setting the house on fire.
After that, wait next to the car that's parked in your favorite parking space until the driver comes back out. Lock the driver in a house and set the house on fire.
Next, go to the school where your roommate is substitute teaching and tell him that you're upset with him because he finished your orange juice. Don't lock your roommate in a house and set it on fire, because aside from the juice drinking thing, he's a pretty good roommate. Instead, take your roommate out to the school's parking lot, and then lock the doors to the school and set it on fire. Your roommate loves kids and it will break his heart to watch all those kids burn to death all because he was too inconsiderate to go out and buy his own juice.
Finally, go home and get Muffins, the kitten that refuses to love you, and take her for a drive. Find a long stretch of road leading up to a sharp turn underneath an overpass, and take off yours and Muffins' seatbelts. Tell Muffins that if she refuses to love you, you're going to drive the car into the wall of the overpass and kill the both of you. Muffins might call your bluff, in which case you'll die. But if she doesn't, you'll have yourself a kitten that loves you. What's better than that?
Happy Make Everybody Pay Day!
Vengeful? Great! Cause today's the day you make everybody pay for what they've done. Start with the street gang that killed your mother as part of their initiation. Make them pay by locking them in a house and then setting the house on fire.
After that, wait next to the car that's parked in your favorite parking space until the driver comes back out. Lock the driver in a house and set the house on fire.
Next, go to the school where your roommate is substitute teaching and tell him that you're upset with him because he finished your orange juice. Don't lock your roommate in a house and set it on fire, because aside from the juice drinking thing, he's a pretty good roommate. Instead, take your roommate out to the school's parking lot, and then lock the doors to the school and set it on fire. Your roommate loves kids and it will break his heart to watch all those kids burn to death all because he was too inconsiderate to go out and buy his own juice.
Finally, go home and get Muffins, the kitten that refuses to love you, and take her for a drive. Find a long stretch of road leading up to a sharp turn underneath an overpass, and take off yours and Muffins' seatbelts. Tell Muffins that if she refuses to love you, you're going to drive the car into the wall of the overpass and kill the both of you. Muffins might call your bluff, in which case you'll die. But if she doesn't, you'll have yourself a kitten that loves you. What's better than that?
Happy Make Everybody Pay Day!
Monday, October 24, 2005
Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Assassins Day
Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Assassins Day!
Tell them that killing for money should be considered a "plan B."
Your kids will stop torturing the squirrel that they captured and ask you what it was that you really wanted to do if you didn't always want to be an assassin.
"I wanted to be President of the United States," tell them.
Your kids will laugh so hard that the squirrel will bite through its restraints and escape into the wild.
"I'm serious," tell them. "And I could have been President if I hadn't wasted so much time screwing around. You could too."
Your kids will laugh even harder at this. "No we can't," they'll say. "You brought us into this country illegally." This is the truth.
"I was speaking metaphorically," tell them. "You can be anything you want to be. Except for stuff that's prohibited by law."
One of your kids will say, "Killing for money is prohibited by law."
"That's right," tell them. "And yet I kill for money! See, anything is possible!"
Your kids will shake their heads and turn their backs on you. You'll watch them take the cat they captured out of its box and prepare it for torture. Then you'll go upstairs and pray to your dead father (they used to call him "Vito The Gun" because he never went a day without firing his gun at somebody's face) for guidance.
Happy Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Assassins Day!
Tell them that killing for money should be considered a "plan B."
Your kids will stop torturing the squirrel that they captured and ask you what it was that you really wanted to do if you didn't always want to be an assassin.
"I wanted to be President of the United States," tell them.
Your kids will laugh so hard that the squirrel will bite through its restraints and escape into the wild.
"I'm serious," tell them. "And I could have been President if I hadn't wasted so much time screwing around. You could too."
Your kids will laugh even harder at this. "No we can't," they'll say. "You brought us into this country illegally." This is the truth.
"I was speaking metaphorically," tell them. "You can be anything you want to be. Except for stuff that's prohibited by law."
One of your kids will say, "Killing for money is prohibited by law."
"That's right," tell them. "And yet I kill for money! See, anything is possible!"
Your kids will shake their heads and turn their backs on you. You'll watch them take the cat they captured out of its box and prepare it for torture. Then you'll go upstairs and pray to your dead father (they used to call him "Vito The Gun" because he never went a day without firing his gun at somebody's face) for guidance.
Happy Don't Let Your Kids Grow Up To Be Assassins Day!
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Stop Giving Your Boyfriend Money To Fund The Design Of His Robot Day
Stop Giving Your Boyfriend Money To Fund The Design Of His Robot Day!
It's nice that you believe in your man. You have dreams of one day being revered for having stood by him even when the rest of the scientific community called him "a fraud" and "worse than retarded" and "just a guy who delivers beds for Scheinberg Sealy Serta." But he's determined that he has a grasp on AI and with enough funding and enough time, he will build the world's first advanced-functioning robot that will finally break down the wall between sophisticated computational programming and artificial intelligence. You don't know what gives him such strong conviction, but by-gum you're his lady and you're gonna stand by him.
You really shouldn't. You're a smart, attractive woman with the beginning of a good career in your grasp, and, well, not to sing along with the chorus, but he's just a guy who delivers beds for Scheinberg Sealy Serta. Doesn't it ever occur to you that maybe someone with a background in something like Robotics or Science or even College might have a shot at beating him to the big breakthrough in AI. There's this place called "M.I.T" where they do the kind of thing your boyfriend wants to do, and they do it really well. As far as I know, no one there has a concentration in mattress delivery in their Curriculum Vitae.
No one's saying break up with him. But last week you gave him $400 for "the little red light bulbs" he needed to build robot eyes. Today he's going to ask you for $400 more, claiming that he lost the $400 you gave him last week. "I think I dropped it in the park or maybe at the movie theater when I went to see 'Doom.' 'Doom' ruled." Just don't give it to him. You don't have to fight about it. Just say that you're out of money right now because your boss is docking your pay for smoking pot on the job. It happens to him all the time, so he'll buy it. And make sure to take all the cash out of your pocketbook and hide it, because in addition to the money he asks you to give him he also sometimes just roots through your pocketbook for twenties.
Happy Stop Giving Your Boyfriend Money To Fund The Design Of His Robot Day!
It's nice that you believe in your man. You have dreams of one day being revered for having stood by him even when the rest of the scientific community called him "a fraud" and "worse than retarded" and "just a guy who delivers beds for Scheinberg Sealy Serta." But he's determined that he has a grasp on AI and with enough funding and enough time, he will build the world's first advanced-functioning robot that will finally break down the wall between sophisticated computational programming and artificial intelligence. You don't know what gives him such strong conviction, but by-gum you're his lady and you're gonna stand by him.
You really shouldn't. You're a smart, attractive woman with the beginning of a good career in your grasp, and, well, not to sing along with the chorus, but he's just a guy who delivers beds for Scheinberg Sealy Serta. Doesn't it ever occur to you that maybe someone with a background in something like Robotics or Science or even College might have a shot at beating him to the big breakthrough in AI. There's this place called "M.I.T" where they do the kind of thing your boyfriend wants to do, and they do it really well. As far as I know, no one there has a concentration in mattress delivery in their Curriculum Vitae.
No one's saying break up with him. But last week you gave him $400 for "the little red light bulbs" he needed to build robot eyes. Today he's going to ask you for $400 more, claiming that he lost the $400 you gave him last week. "I think I dropped it in the park or maybe at the movie theater when I went to see 'Doom.' 'Doom' ruled." Just don't give it to him. You don't have to fight about it. Just say that you're out of money right now because your boss is docking your pay for smoking pot on the job. It happens to him all the time, so he'll buy it. And make sure to take all the cash out of your pocketbook and hide it, because in addition to the money he asks you to give him he also sometimes just roots through your pocketbook for twenties.
Happy Stop Giving Your Boyfriend Money To Fund The Design Of His Robot Day!
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Roll Around On The Street In The Rain With Somebody Day
Roll Around On The Street In The Rain With Somebody Day!
Most people think you should only roll around on the street in the rain with somebody if you really think he or she is "the one." But times have changed and this city was founded on the kind of spirit that makes someone say, "Hey, we just met in a bar, and you look like the ex I call sometimes when I'm in hotels, so lets drop!" So if you two dig each other, forget about what your mama might say.
The problem is, when it's raining, motorists have more trouble stopping their cars to keep from running over people who are rolling around in the middle of the street. So wear white.
Happy Roll Around On The Street In The Rain With Somebody Day!
Most people think you should only roll around on the street in the rain with somebody if you really think he or she is "the one." But times have changed and this city was founded on the kind of spirit that makes someone say, "Hey, we just met in a bar, and you look like the ex I call sometimes when I'm in hotels, so lets drop!" So if you two dig each other, forget about what your mama might say.
The problem is, when it's raining, motorists have more trouble stopping their cars to keep from running over people who are rolling around in the middle of the street. So wear white.
Happy Roll Around On The Street In The Rain With Somebody Day!
Friday, October 21, 2005
Watch A Man Finish His Last Cup Of Coffee And His Last Cigarette Day
Watch A Man Finish His Last Cup Of Coffee And His Last Cigarette Day!
Today, you'll be a little bit early to work, so you'll walk at a bit more leisurely of a pace. You'll look up at the buildings around you and you'll realize so much of your day just breezes by you without you noticing. The architecture of all the buildings, the signs on the storefronts, so many of them handwritten and misspelled. And all the people. Before you've even made it to work they look like they're already on a midday break, eating meals on the sidewalk and smoking cigarettes without any jackets on.
When a truck backs up into a garage, you'll be forced to stop walking and you'll look up at the building across the street. In one of the fourth floor windows you'll find a thin black man leaning on the windowsill, one of his hands hanging over the edge with a cigarette, the other inside the window lifting a coffee cup to his lips.
When the sidewalk is clear, you won't start moving again. You'll be too busy guessing at the context of that fourth floor window. You'll guess that he's in a stairwell, since even in those industrial buildings you have to head out to the stairwell to smoke anymore. You'll guess that this isn't a break for him. That he's not started his day yet and this is his first of many coffees and his last of a few cigarettes for the morning. You'll guess that he works at a job that's semi-administrative and semi-manual labor, like a mail processing center.
You'll watch the man tip the coffee cup all the way back to drain its contents, and he'll take one more drag of his cigarette, stub it out, then toss it to the middle of the street below. Then the man will climb onto the windowsill and he'll pitch himself through the window then tumble in the air to the sidewalk below. No one will scream for as much as ten seconds after he lands. The blood will start to flow out of his head after eight seconds. Only after the screaming begins and the crowd circles around him will you be aware that the man who was smoking in that window just jumped to the sidewalk to die. He didn't make a big deal about it is why you didn't notice right away.
Once you realize the man has just killed himself, you'll reevaluate the context of his moment by the window. He was on break, you'll decide. His day started as much as five hours ago. That was his last cup from thousands of gallons of coffee, and that was his last of thousands upon thousands of cigarettes. He definitely works in mail processing, and he really liked that coffee he was drinking. It was the coffee that he bought every day and that he loved. You'll wonder where he used to buy it.
Happy Watch A Man Finish His Last Cup Of Coffee And His Last Cigarette Day!
Today, you'll be a little bit early to work, so you'll walk at a bit more leisurely of a pace. You'll look up at the buildings around you and you'll realize so much of your day just breezes by you without you noticing. The architecture of all the buildings, the signs on the storefronts, so many of them handwritten and misspelled. And all the people. Before you've even made it to work they look like they're already on a midday break, eating meals on the sidewalk and smoking cigarettes without any jackets on.
When a truck backs up into a garage, you'll be forced to stop walking and you'll look up at the building across the street. In one of the fourth floor windows you'll find a thin black man leaning on the windowsill, one of his hands hanging over the edge with a cigarette, the other inside the window lifting a coffee cup to his lips.
When the sidewalk is clear, you won't start moving again. You'll be too busy guessing at the context of that fourth floor window. You'll guess that he's in a stairwell, since even in those industrial buildings you have to head out to the stairwell to smoke anymore. You'll guess that this isn't a break for him. That he's not started his day yet and this is his first of many coffees and his last of a few cigarettes for the morning. You'll guess that he works at a job that's semi-administrative and semi-manual labor, like a mail processing center.
You'll watch the man tip the coffee cup all the way back to drain its contents, and he'll take one more drag of his cigarette, stub it out, then toss it to the middle of the street below. Then the man will climb onto the windowsill and he'll pitch himself through the window then tumble in the air to the sidewalk below. No one will scream for as much as ten seconds after he lands. The blood will start to flow out of his head after eight seconds. Only after the screaming begins and the crowd circles around him will you be aware that the man who was smoking in that window just jumped to the sidewalk to die. He didn't make a big deal about it is why you didn't notice right away.
Once you realize the man has just killed himself, you'll reevaluate the context of his moment by the window. He was on break, you'll decide. His day started as much as five hours ago. That was his last cup from thousands of gallons of coffee, and that was his last of thousands upon thousands of cigarettes. He definitely works in mail processing, and he really liked that coffee he was drinking. It was the coffee that he bought every day and that he loved. You'll wonder where he used to buy it.
Happy Watch A Man Finish His Last Cup Of Coffee And His Last Cigarette Day!
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Steve Broke Up With Janet Via An Overpass Day
Steve Broke Up With Janet Via An Overpass Day!
Tonight at 5 PM, everyone's going to see it. Everyone with a 9 to 5 and a bitch of a commute is going to know. Janet's heart is going to break two miles deep in the heavy logjam leading into the Jackson St turnabout.
Spraypainted in valentine red across the expanse of the Turner Blvd overpass: "It's over Janet. I can't stay on the turnpike with you anymore. I'm hitting the expressway. Also, the sex has been pretty blech lately, am I right? Steve."
Janet won't call the house or his cell. She won't whip out her blackberry to see if there's an addendum there telling her what she can expect to find when she gets home. She'll know what is waiting for her. She'll sit in the dead-still traffic jam, staring up at her goodbye, and cataloging everything that's his, creating the vision in her head of all those negatives. In her vision, there will be blank white spots where his things used to be. Where he pulled a book off a shelf or a shirt off a hanger, white nothing so glaring the color of it hums. Her whole house will be humming when she gets there.
The easy smile on her face will be unshakable. He won't do this to her. These people are her fellow commuters. They've shared this traffic jam with her every evening for seven years now. They've stared across the lanes at her behind her wheel, wondering where she's coming from and where she's headed, what she's wearing underneath that skirt and what she's going to watch on TV tonight. They will not look over to find her crying into her hands and learn that she is the one whose relationship just ended on the side of an overpass.
She'll feel their eyes search her and her car's interior for any signs of disturbance. Like soldiers hunting down holdouts. She'll feel like they can see it, but that's silly. They know the make and model of her car and that sometimes she sings without being aware of it. They couldn't pull a Steve from so little, could they?
After some panicky breaths, she'll feel strong enough to turn her head and meet their gaze dead-on. She'll find their eyes are not on her, but are in their own laps. Their heads will shake sorrowfully from side to side. Occasionally her fellow commuters will look up at the overpass and then slap their steering wheels in anger.
They'll be with their Janet. Though they won't know which car is hers, they'll see this scrawl on the overpass as an assault on the commute and all those who take part in it day after day. "Steve," they'll say to no one in their cars. "Steve probably works from home," they'll say. "Probably trying to get an online business off the ground," they'll say. "Probably has more than enough time to come out in the middle of the afternoon and hang off the side of an overpass and spraypaint some filth that'll break the heart of his Janet."
"Janet," they'll say. "She's on her way home. She's looking forward to her home," they'll say. "She's been working where she doesn't want to be, just like me," they'll say. "And when she intended to do nothing but push ahead into whatever space she can find to just inch a little closer to home, she had to look up and find that nothing is waiting for her anymore."
All at once, every single one of them, alone in their cars and unbeknownst to each other, they will all say in unison, "Janet is me."
Happy Steve Broke Up With Janet Via An Overpass Day!
Tonight at 5 PM, everyone's going to see it. Everyone with a 9 to 5 and a bitch of a commute is going to know. Janet's heart is going to break two miles deep in the heavy logjam leading into the Jackson St turnabout.
Spraypainted in valentine red across the expanse of the Turner Blvd overpass: "It's over Janet. I can't stay on the turnpike with you anymore. I'm hitting the expressway. Also, the sex has been pretty blech lately, am I right? Steve."
Janet won't call the house or his cell. She won't whip out her blackberry to see if there's an addendum there telling her what she can expect to find when she gets home. She'll know what is waiting for her. She'll sit in the dead-still traffic jam, staring up at her goodbye, and cataloging everything that's his, creating the vision in her head of all those negatives. In her vision, there will be blank white spots where his things used to be. Where he pulled a book off a shelf or a shirt off a hanger, white nothing so glaring the color of it hums. Her whole house will be humming when she gets there.
The easy smile on her face will be unshakable. He won't do this to her. These people are her fellow commuters. They've shared this traffic jam with her every evening for seven years now. They've stared across the lanes at her behind her wheel, wondering where she's coming from and where she's headed, what she's wearing underneath that skirt and what she's going to watch on TV tonight. They will not look over to find her crying into her hands and learn that she is the one whose relationship just ended on the side of an overpass.
She'll feel their eyes search her and her car's interior for any signs of disturbance. Like soldiers hunting down holdouts. She'll feel like they can see it, but that's silly. They know the make and model of her car and that sometimes she sings without being aware of it. They couldn't pull a Steve from so little, could they?
After some panicky breaths, she'll feel strong enough to turn her head and meet their gaze dead-on. She'll find their eyes are not on her, but are in their own laps. Their heads will shake sorrowfully from side to side. Occasionally her fellow commuters will look up at the overpass and then slap their steering wheels in anger.
They'll be with their Janet. Though they won't know which car is hers, they'll see this scrawl on the overpass as an assault on the commute and all those who take part in it day after day. "Steve," they'll say to no one in their cars. "Steve probably works from home," they'll say. "Probably trying to get an online business off the ground," they'll say. "Probably has more than enough time to come out in the middle of the afternoon and hang off the side of an overpass and spraypaint some filth that'll break the heart of his Janet."
"Janet," they'll say. "She's on her way home. She's looking forward to her home," they'll say. "She's been working where she doesn't want to be, just like me," they'll say. "And when she intended to do nothing but push ahead into whatever space she can find to just inch a little closer to home, she had to look up and find that nothing is waiting for her anymore."
All at once, every single one of them, alone in their cars and unbeknownst to each other, they will all say in unison, "Janet is me."
Happy Steve Broke Up With Janet Via An Overpass Day!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Use A Magic Trick To Stop Someone From Crying Day
Use A Magic Trick To Stop Someone From Crying Day!
In case you don't know anybody who is presently crying, go to the emergency room or the cemetery. Don't just reach out and yank a hair from someone's nostrils. That's not the kind of crying you can stop with one of your "illusions." The crying has to come from an emotional place, like if someone just found out his daughter is dead. Or someone who has been trying to find his wife, who disappeared from a truck stop six years ago, and he's followed all of his clues to where he thought he would find her in her new home, but he ended up finding nothing but a Teddy Bear factory. That guy might feel so exhausted and frustrated that he'll drop to his knees before the Teddy Bear factory and just start bawling.
That's where you come in. Ask him if he's crying because his ears are so dirty, then pull a quarter out of his ear. He'll stop crying so that he can shake you and start shouting, "Where's Barbara?!" That's when you should pretend to pull scarves out of your nose.
Happy Use A Magic Trick To Stop Someone From Crying Day!
In case you don't know anybody who is presently crying, go to the emergency room or the cemetery. Don't just reach out and yank a hair from someone's nostrils. That's not the kind of crying you can stop with one of your "illusions." The crying has to come from an emotional place, like if someone just found out his daughter is dead. Or someone who has been trying to find his wife, who disappeared from a truck stop six years ago, and he's followed all of his clues to where he thought he would find her in her new home, but he ended up finding nothing but a Teddy Bear factory. That guy might feel so exhausted and frustrated that he'll drop to his knees before the Teddy Bear factory and just start bawling.
That's where you come in. Ask him if he's crying because his ears are so dirty, then pull a quarter out of his ear. He'll stop crying so that he can shake you and start shouting, "Where's Barbara?!" That's when you should pretend to pull scarves out of your nose.
Happy Use A Magic Trick To Stop Someone From Crying Day!
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Now You Don't Have A Date For The Dance Day
Now You Don't Have A Date For The Dance Day!
David is a killer in prison. He put a profile up on a website for men in prison looking for women to marry them either while they are in prison or when they get out. Since none of the boys in school have asked you to the upcoming Harvest Hop, and since, according to his profile, David's release date falls on that very weekend, you decided to establish a correspondence with him. You've done everything right, promising him that you are 21 years old with a gigantic ass (his profile demanded serious inquiries only). He proposed several letters ago, and you said yes. Then you told him that now that you and he are engaged, he has to take you to the Harvest Hop on the weekend that he gets out of jail. He of course asked why you are still in high school and you told him that you flunked and that you're totally 21. David said he doesn't want to go to a high school dance. When you pressured him, he reminded you that he's killed before and will kill again. Then he demanded that you steal money from your Dad and send it to him so that he can pay the Muslims not to kill him for another week.
As you seal the letter with all of your Dad's money in it today, you'll start to cry. You'll try to keep the tears from staining the envelope. You don't want David to have to worry about you while he's locked up and unable to give you comfort. But you can't help but feel distraught that another dance is going to come and go and you're not going to be able to go. Sometimes you wonder whether you rushed into things with David. You're only fifteen, after all. Isn't there more than enough time to lie to an incarcerated killer about your age and your ass size in order to get him to propose to you? Slow down, kiddo.
Happy Now You Don't Have A Date For The Dance Day!
David is a killer in prison. He put a profile up on a website for men in prison looking for women to marry them either while they are in prison or when they get out. Since none of the boys in school have asked you to the upcoming Harvest Hop, and since, according to his profile, David's release date falls on that very weekend, you decided to establish a correspondence with him. You've done everything right, promising him that you are 21 years old with a gigantic ass (his profile demanded serious inquiries only). He proposed several letters ago, and you said yes. Then you told him that now that you and he are engaged, he has to take you to the Harvest Hop on the weekend that he gets out of jail. He of course asked why you are still in high school and you told him that you flunked and that you're totally 21. David said he doesn't want to go to a high school dance. When you pressured him, he reminded you that he's killed before and will kill again. Then he demanded that you steal money from your Dad and send it to him so that he can pay the Muslims not to kill him for another week.
As you seal the letter with all of your Dad's money in it today, you'll start to cry. You'll try to keep the tears from staining the envelope. You don't want David to have to worry about you while he's locked up and unable to give you comfort. But you can't help but feel distraught that another dance is going to come and go and you're not going to be able to go. Sometimes you wonder whether you rushed into things with David. You're only fifteen, after all. Isn't there more than enough time to lie to an incarcerated killer about your age and your ass size in order to get him to propose to you? Slow down, kiddo.
Happy Now You Don't Have A Date For The Dance Day!
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