heritage, merci oui
This week I am a PowerPoint presentation factory. Yesterday I did a valium-dance to no avail. Today give me liquor in bottomless flask, please. Where is that zen I conjured? Probably in a pocket of the coat I took off after being barreled by a list of tasks Monday morning before I even reached my office door.
The Good Doctor is about to leave the country for three weeks, and I am the creative, organizing, problem-solving, peace-keeping workhorse. So here I am finally killing my wrist with the mechanical mouse. Let us give thanks for job security and turkeys.
Back from making thankful noise in the Midwest, I am a criminal. I owe Pennsylvania $159 for driving 22 mph over the speed limit. I’d planned on demanding a nice sushi dinner from the bald trooper in exchange for my $159, but I hear that compared to what the ticket would cost in Jersey, I got a bargain. I send submissive thanks to the arbitrary authority-monster for stopping me in his state.
Still a frothing canine bite in my wallet. I believe the law should be amended to accommodate travelers who have been driving for over 10 hours. I was at about the 13-hour mark when the lights flashed behind me, initiating a budding animosity between me and the man.
Predating my life of crime, Thanksgiving in Illinois bore various sides of family, a many-sided gem which sometimes gets lost in the couch and oscillates in value depending on who’s holding and reflecting. Later, a family tipsy happened at The Bar: I had my first Jaeger bomb with my mom and my little brother who is just shy of legal drinking age, after which my dad and I kicked some ass at the pool table.
At a pre-Thanksgiving lunch with some members of my dad’s side of the family whom I barely know, one of them asked my dad: Been deer huntin’? My dad said (paraphrasing): Not lately. The last time I went, I asked myself, "Why am I in this tree?" I could be doing other things. I firmly believe everybody should ask themselves every day, "Why am I in this tree?" Wisdom in a hat.
Accompanying me on the drive was the HWJ Supa Funk 5-disc collection gifted to me by one of my roommates. One of my greatest pleasures is witnessing someone enjoying himself or herself singing and dancing while driving--how infectious! My hope is that I so pleasured many a fellow driver, dancing, pointing, and belting with all the soul I could muster as I sped by.
I don’t know karate, but I know ca-razy, you sexy thing-superfreak-brick house-macho man, I’m bad. I’m bad. Really, really bad. I am infected with these phrases and more. Billie Jean is not my lover, you see, but your love is a supernatural thing working at the car wash. Get up, get down. Anything goes here.
I got caught chair-dancing while editing a manuscript yesterday. The face of neuroscience will never lose its new red flush. Voulez-vous give thanks avec moi for this stunning opportunity?
The Good Doctor is about to leave the country for three weeks, and I am the creative, organizing, problem-solving, peace-keeping workhorse. So here I am finally killing my wrist with the mechanical mouse. Let us give thanks for job security and turkeys.
Back from making thankful noise in the Midwest, I am a criminal. I owe Pennsylvania $159 for driving 22 mph over the speed limit. I’d planned on demanding a nice sushi dinner from the bald trooper in exchange for my $159, but I hear that compared to what the ticket would cost in Jersey, I got a bargain. I send submissive thanks to the arbitrary authority-monster for stopping me in his state.
Still a frothing canine bite in my wallet. I believe the law should be amended to accommodate travelers who have been driving for over 10 hours. I was at about the 13-hour mark when the lights flashed behind me, initiating a budding animosity between me and the man.
Predating my life of crime, Thanksgiving in Illinois bore various sides of family, a many-sided gem which sometimes gets lost in the couch and oscillates in value depending on who’s holding and reflecting. Later, a family tipsy happened at The Bar: I had my first Jaeger bomb with my mom and my little brother who is just shy of legal drinking age, after which my dad and I kicked some ass at the pool table.
At a pre-Thanksgiving lunch with some members of my dad’s side of the family whom I barely know, one of them asked my dad: Been deer huntin’? My dad said (paraphrasing): Not lately. The last time I went, I asked myself, "Why am I in this tree?" I could be doing other things. I firmly believe everybody should ask themselves every day, "Why am I in this tree?" Wisdom in a hat.
Accompanying me on the drive was the HWJ Supa Funk 5-disc collection gifted to me by one of my roommates. One of my greatest pleasures is witnessing someone enjoying himself or herself singing and dancing while driving--how infectious! My hope is that I so pleasured many a fellow driver, dancing, pointing, and belting with all the soul I could muster as I sped by.
I don’t know karate, but I know ca-razy, you sexy thing-superfreak-brick house-macho man, I’m bad. I’m bad. Really, really bad. I am infected with these phrases and more. Billie Jean is not my lover, you see, but your love is a supernatural thing working at the car wash. Get up, get down. Anything goes here.
I got caught chair-dancing while editing a manuscript yesterday. The face of neuroscience will never lose its new red flush. Voulez-vous give thanks avec moi for this stunning opportunity?
3 Comments:
chair-dancing is the new superfreak. i'm wondering why it hasn't caught on.
i guess we're going to have to start a superfreak chair-dancing movement. i'll jot down some ideas for the first parade.
$159. sucks. I can't even imagine shooting pool with my dad. Nor deer-hunting with him.
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