(From August 30, 2007)
As some of you may remember, I was inadvertently involved in the Mark Foley scandal last year. In the course of trying to interview the Florida Representative over the phone-- on what I considered to be substantive policy issues-- I was subjected to all manner of lascivious insinuations via instant messaging.
Well, now I find myself in the middle-- or the periphery, really --of the Larry Craig debacle. Two months ago, Senator Craig was charged with lewd conduct resulting from a "misunderstanding" that occurred in a men's room in the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport. (He plead guilty to a lesser charge of disorderly conduct.)
What didn't make it into the police report was that prior to soliciting an undercover police officer, I had the misfortune of sharing the stall next to the distinguished gentleman from Idaho.
What follows is my best recollection of the incident:
At 1213 hours, I entered handicapped accessible stall in the restroom adjacent to the WORLD CLUBS on Concourse "C" (I find the bathroom nearest the WORLD CLUBS is often the cleanest in any given airport. And the handicapped stall, the roomiest.)
At 1214 hours I opened a copy of US MAGAZINE I had purchased at the newsstand and began reading a story about former "007" Pierce Brosnan's fondness for dog breeding and his favorite places to dine in Tuscany. Needless to say, I was quite enthralled and oblivious to much that was going on around me.
At 1215 hours I noticed a single shoe tapping rhythmically on MY SIDE of the stall. It was a well-shined Johnson & Murphy Emery Kiltie tasseled loafer in black calfskin. "Well, somebody's a real dandy!" I remember thinking. Then I thought, "Well, YOU'RE the one who properly identified the shoe, fruit-loop. What does that make YOU?"
The tapping continued, and I asked the person, "Are you trying to get my attention, or do you just have a song in your heart?"
The person then remarked, "Are you a bad boy? Are you a nasty, bad, naughty boy?"
"Do I know you, sir?" I asked.
"I don't know, do you ever watch C-SPAN?"
"I try not to." I replied.
"Why don't you come over here and see."
It was at this point that I heard another voice, "Airport Police. Please exit the stall, sir."
Recriminations and denials were exchanged. I tried to remain aloof and unnoticed until I heard Senator Craig say, "What do you think of THAT?"
At this point I thought he had whipped it out, and I'll admit to a certain amount of curiosity. After all, I've seen prick senators before, but never a senator's prick. I peeked blithely through the crack in the stall door. It turns out what he was showing-off was not his pride, but rather a business card identifying himself and his esteemed office. The undercover cop then discreetly extracted him from the restroom.
Oh well, another brush with infamy deftly evaded.
I casually went back to my reading.
Did you know Rosie O'Donnell likes pets more than she likes people?
BDS
Monday, April 21, 2008
THE FOLLOWING THINGS ARE TRUE
(From August 25, 2007)
2) I have exactly as much chest hair as I want. No more, no less.
3) The best thing about playing music is the people you meet along the way. I got to see the kids in LADYFINGER and THE RED-EYED LEGENDS tonight and was very much reminded of this.
4) I like the new DOCTOR WHO and I don't care who knows it.
5) I have a truly astounding number of friends who I don't ever call. I just don't call people. I'm probably more fond of you than you've ever imagined.
6) I have-- or had --spiders in the cab of my pick-up truck. Apparently they can crawl in through the vents. I think they're all gone. I hope so, because if a spider falls down the back of my shirt while I'm driving there will be an accident. A serious accident.
7) Some people receive compliments all the time. I don't. But I have gotten two very odd ones in the last three days. I left my building through the back door on Wednesday night because I had to throw out some trash. There was a gaunt, shirtless white guy smoking a cigarette and carrying a rake passing through the alley who remarked, "Hey man, you look good. I'm serious for real, man. You do."
Then this afternoon a woman who works in at The Children's Theatre Company (adjacent to the museum) said, "Hey, you're a "toe-walker."
"What?" I answered.
"You walk on your toes. Very bouncy. It's nice."
(I could have done without both of those alleged compliments.)
8) I have an early 1970's SANSUI receiver, and fuck if it doesn't sound good.
9) FALCON CREST made my ears ring tonight. They're ringing still. Well done, boys.
10) I can't wait to play baseball tomorrow.
11) I have been wrangled into playing (cough, sputter) softball on Thursday nights. I am horribly ashamed of it. All the guys on the team are real great people. How could I say no? But softball is so very wrong.
12) I really like ARCHERS OF LOAF.
13) Thirteen is a "Baker's Dozen."
I don't know why that is. So my father's real father died when he was pretty young. His step-dad owned a bakery in Hershey, PA. He told me once that he had to get up at 4:00 in the morning to work there before he went off to school. I guess no matter what, the family were never allowed to eat fresh baked goods. They always had to wait until things were about to be thrown-out to have them. So he would wake-up early to make doughnuts and the like but he was never allowed to enjoy a "fresh" one. Not once. Not ever. Fucking people. Fucking Germans.
14) I am criminally sentimental. And it will be my undoing.
Good night
I MET NICK PUNTO!
(From August 20, 2007)
So I was at the Blockbuster Video on Hennepin and this dude walks in with his two young sons. And hey, it's Twins third baseman Nick Punto! |
AND JUST LIKE THAT, MY WORLD CAME CRASHING DOWN UPON ME
(From August 17, 2007)
My heart fell like a stone to the pit of my stomach.
Just over a year from now I had planned on making my move. In early September of 2008 the Republican National Convention comes to town. Being a scion of the most prominent Republican family in America, her attendance was assured. And given her penchant for partying, it was likely she would be out and about among our town's "unwashed" ("Hey," I thought "that's ME!")
Sure, I would have to separate her form her Secret Service escort, but having managed that it was only a matter of squiring her back to my bachelor pad for the wooing to take it's course.
Awaiting us at my apartment would be a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and an eight ball of coke. I even purchased a used copy of The Boston Pops performing John Phillip Sousa's "The Stars and Stripes Forever" to play on the phonograph. (Do YOU know what sort of tunes get a young Republican girl hot? Because I sure don't!)
I also intended to remove all the books from my apartment, lest she peg me as a "pointy-headed intellectual."
But all of this planning and hoping was for nothing. Jenna is to be wed to Henry Hager, son of Virginia's Republican Party Chairman. He is tall and handsome, with thick, dark hair and fine features.
In short, he outclasses me in every way that would matter to Jenna --and her family.
So friends, I soldier on alone. Bowed but unbroken.
Anyone care to drink scotch and do a big pile of blow?
Yours with a heavy heart,
Brian
My heart fell like a stone to the pit of my stomach.
Just over a year from now I had planned on making my move. In early September of 2008 the Republican National Convention comes to town. Being a scion of the most prominent Republican family in America, her attendance was assured. And given her penchant for partying, it was likely she would be out and about among our town's "unwashed" ("Hey," I thought "that's ME!")
Sure, I would have to separate her form her Secret Service escort, but having managed that it was only a matter of squiring her back to my bachelor pad for the wooing to take it's course.
Awaiting us at my apartment would be a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and an eight ball of coke. I even purchased a used copy of The Boston Pops performing John Phillip Sousa's "The Stars and Stripes Forever" to play on the phonograph. (Do YOU know what sort of tunes get a young Republican girl hot? Because I sure don't!)
I also intended to remove all the books from my apartment, lest she peg me as a "pointy-headed intellectual."
But all of this planning and hoping was for nothing. Jenna is to be wed to Henry Hager, son of Virginia's Republican Party Chairman. He is tall and handsome, with thick, dark hair and fine features.
In short, he outclasses me in every way that would matter to Jenna --and her family.
So friends, I soldier on alone. Bowed but unbroken.
Anyone care to drink scotch and do a big pile of blow?
Yours with a heavy heart,
Brian
FUN AT THE STORE
(From August 13, 2007)
-Sleeping pills, bleach, rubber gloves, hacksaw
-16-pack of condoms, pink stuffed teddy bear, Easy-Bake-Oven
-Marie Claire Magazine, 16 oz. bottle of Johnson's baby oil, scented candle
-Bag of "snack size" Snickers bars, pack of Singer sewing needles (late October only)
-Wooden Ruler, 8-pound dumbbell, two foot length of chain
-Gas can, 3-pack of dish towels, anniversary card
-Depilatory cream, Summer's Eve feminine deodorant spray, heart-shaped box of chocolates (only funny if you're a guy-- on second thought, funny either way.)
C'mon, have some fun! After all, it's only money.
SORRY IF I'M PISSING ON THE "CHURCH" PARADE
(From July 26, 2007)
Here are my two cents: THE CHURCH WAS A FUCKING DEATH-TRAP.
Perhaps we should all be glad that it closed it's doors before something really bad happened there.
NOTE:
--When fuses/breakers are constantly being blown or tripped it does not mean, "they're bringing the rock too hard." It means the buildings electrical system is being operated beyond it's capacity. This can end badly. It can end in fires. It can end in a musician getting the shit so significantly shocked out of him that he can barely stand. I have personally experienced both. Amusing for 19-year-old art students? Perhaps. No fun for those electrocuted or aflame.
--When the lights go out on 200 drunken kids-- aside from the casual grope that leads to lifelong romance --nothing good came come of it. It can lead to stupid panic. It can lead to persons too slight of frame or incapacitated to properly protect themselves from being trampled. I've seen this, too.
-- There were two ways out of that place and neither one was adequate to accommodate the number of people in there, should something have gone horribly wrong.
I honestly believe that everyone who wants "The Church" kept around as an impromptu venue for bands has nothing but the best of intentions. But if they truly do care about the local music community, that should extend to the well-being of the people invited through it's doors.
So I say support saving, "The Church." But consider making your support contingent on those persons responsible for the place making it safe for the purposes they put it to. Otherwise, it's probably better as a hospital parking lot. Honestly. Nostalgia does not trump good sense. When it does, well... fuck.
BDS
Thursday, June 28, 2007
ASK MR. SHUEY NO. 8: EVEN PUNKERS GET OLD
Mr. Shuey,
When I was a young man I tried to fight against racism, homophobia and all manner of intolerance, holding many banners high. But in my golden years I don't confront people like I should. My question is, "How can I get as angry as I was when I was twenty?"
And yes, I have bricks nearby.
Sean,
Minneapolis
Sean,
Why would you want to be as angry as you were when you were twenty? Why would anyone? You are taking what I consider to be the one true pleasure that comes from growing older and turning it on its head. So you're not as, "in your face" as you used to be. So what? Most people's faces are best viewed from a distance anyway.
Believe me, I know where you're coming from. When I was a younger man I also held many banners high. The one I held highest read: "I am an insufferable 20-year-old prick who thinks he knows everything and is almost unbearable to be around! I can't hold my liquor, will argue and fight at the slightest provocation and should properly be placed over someone's knee and spanked!" (It was a big banner.)
I think my convictions began to wane when I was beaten-up by the local white power skinheads, then beaten up a week later by a black guy who accused me of knowing the skinheads who had just beaten me up. "Yeah I know them," I told the guy as he pounded on me, "they beat the shit out of me last week!"
It was at that point I decided to leave the banner waving to persons with smaller brains and thicker skulls.
There's nothing wrong with mellowing a bit as one ages. Especially since things don't seem to heal quite as fast as they used to. So leave acting like a kid to the kids.
And those bricks you've got handy? Use them to build a nice backyard BBQ. Throw on some steaks, crack open a beer and breathe-in the glorious summer air. If you still feel the need to do your part, invite all the neighbors over-- male and female, gay and straight, black, white, yellow and red. If they can't get along at a backyard beer bash, then something tells me all the banner-waving in the world will be of little good.
Best of Luck,
Mr. Shuey
"DEAR RICH PRICK"
So if you're anything like me, the sight of sixty thousand dollar sports cars in the modest surroundings of your neighborhood always feels gaudy and kind of insulting. And in the summertime the owner's "devil-may-care" rich guy insouciance causes them to casually leave the top down. It's like they're daring me to fuck with them! In the spirit of civility I have composed a note to leave that adequately expresses my frustration. Feel free to print it out and use it in situations as you see fit. You may replace my name with your own, or leave it as is. It's your choice.
Dear Rich Prick,
If you insist on shamelessly flaunting your wealth by parking your over-priced convertible sports car in a neighborhood where its cost exceeds the average annual family income by tens of thousands of dollars please have the good sense to CLOSE THE TOP. You have no idea how tempting it is to decorate your hand-tooled leather interior with cigarette butts, beer cans, dog shit, used rubbers and all manner of other unseemly articles. In fact, in the time it took me to carefully place this note on your passenger seat I could have just as easily covered it with a layer of Minwax varnish from the can that's been under my sink since I moved into my apartment. The tenant before me just left it there. Do you honestly believe I've got any thing that needs varnishing? Did he? Because I'm telling you pal, I don't! How thrilled would your date be if she came out of the restaurant and sat on a big puddle of varnish?
So just close your roof next time. Or better yet, stay the fuck out of my neighborhood. I'm trying to be a nice, law-abiding citizen, and people like you make it really hard.
Sincerely,
Brian David Shuey
SHORT FICTION AND A SHOW
(From June 7, 2007)
"So what are you going to do?"
"About what?"
"About HIM?"
"Him who?"
"Him WHO! 'Him' the kid you've got chained to the radiator!"
"Oh. Nothing."
"NOTHING!"
"Nothing for now. I gave him a bunch of these. He'll be out for hours."
"And what happens when he wakes up?"
"By then I'll be long gone. There's a show I want to see at THE HEXAGON tonight."
"The Hexagon? I've never heard of it."
"It's in Minneapolis."
"MINNEAPOLIS! How the hell do you plan to get all the way out there?"
"I'll take the chopper."
"The chopper! But MARINE ONE is mine!"
"It's only yours when I say it's yours."
"Oh, I get it. You're going to make ME deal with this one. Again."
"Quit being such a pussy. Just put him with the others under the bowling alley."
"But the bowling alley is right under the press room! What if they smell something?"
"That's what the bags of quick lime are for. Jesus, do I have to do all the thinking around here?"
"Just how many Indo-whatevers do you have buried down there now?"
"They're not Indonesians, they're Filipinos. God, you're a dumb son of a bitch!"
"Why do you always have to run me down, I was only..."
"Look, THE CHAMBERMAIDS, DIE ELECTRIC!, PRIVATE DANCER and PROLLY are playing at THE HEXAGON tonight and I don't plan on missing it!"
"And just where do you fix on putting the chopper down?"
"I did one of those GOOLGE EARTH searches. There's a bank parking lot right across the street. If we leave early enough it should be empty and we can land there."
"But I was gonna watch "Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader" tonight. Last week I nearly beat the little bastards!"
"Have Laura tape it. Right now you need to roll up your sleeves and get to digging."
"Aw, man..."
"Look, the pilot said we'd be flying into headwinds the whole way out. I do not have time to fuck around with you right now."
"Alright."
"Good, it's settled then. I have to go get my MINOR THREAT t-shirt out of the dryer."
"You know something, Dick. You sure are one crazy, boy-raping, megalomaniacal nut-job!"
"Yeah, that may be true, but I've got GREAT taste in music."
"If you say so."
(Brian David Shuey--6.7.07)
TONIGHT THURSDAY JUNE 7 AT THE HEXAGON BAR (2600 27th Ave S MPLS)
THE CHAMBERMAIDS
DIE ELECTRIC!
PRIVATE DANCER
PROLLY
FREE!!!
ASK MR. SHUEY NO. 7: "METAL MOUTH"
(From May 30, 2007)
Dear Mr. Shuey,Are adult braces just for total assholes?
I need to know A.S.A.P.
Dana,
St. Paul
Dana,
Adult braces are in no way "just for total assholes." However, the following things are:
The band, MY MORNING JACKET
"Tom's of Maine" toothpaste
The sort of "braces" that skinheads wear
In-Dash car DVD players
Warrantless wiretaps
Outdoor smoking laws
TV Guide
This is not to say that braces aren't a serious decision. Especially since "adult" implies that your parents won't be paying for them.
In almost all cases orthodontics are considered cosmetic, and are not covered by standard dental insurance. Unless your teeth are so misaligned that their primary function (chewing food) is impaired, you'll likely have to pay for them out of your own pocket.
According to The Academy of General Dentistry, the cost of adult braces is anywhere from $4,000 to $9,000. Also, adults need to wear braces for a longer period of time (18 months to three years) than adolescents.
You have three choices when it comes to braces, traditional metal ones, clear ceramic and Invisalign. ™
The clear ceramic sort are often referred to as, "less noticeable." In my experience they always make people look like they have an enormous buildup of plaque on their teeth. On closer inspection one will realize that they are in fact "clear" braces, but by then you have kind of lost your taste for lunch.
Invisalign ™ braces are, according to their literature, "invisible." But my guess is they are the ones in the $9000 range.
I say if you're going to do it, go with the metal ones. They're the least expensive option, and this will show people that your vanity is tempered with a certain amount of prudence.
More than your choice to get braces, what most concerns me is your need to make a decision, "A.S.A.P"
The only cause for such urgency I could come up with is that you are dating an impossibly dull orthodontist-- as opposed the charming and dynamic sort! --and were hoping to take advantage of his skills before dumping him. This would be a mistake, as braces require periodic tightening and adjusting, and those subsequent visits couldn't help but be incredibly awkward.
Best of Luck,
Mr. Shuey
Just for fun, here are some photos of REALLY BAD TEETH:
http://www.strangepersons.com/images/content/101457.jpg
http://www.thegrid.org.uk/learning/science/ks1-2/resources/examples/livingthings/teeth/badteeth.jpg
http://www.mikesjournal.com/October%202006/Bad%20Teeth%201.jpg
Ask Mr. Shuey No. 6: "All About Balls"
(From May 24, 2007)
 | Dear Mr. Shuey, |
Ask Mr. Shuey No. 5: "Diet Dilemma"
(From May 7, 2007)
Dear Mr. Shuey,
How can I get myself to eat healthier? I don't really like vegetables or fruits. I like burgers and fried chicken. Eating this type of garbage all the time makes me feel like a disgusting slob. Sometimes I force-feed myself good food on principal, but it doesn't make me hate it any less.
Please Help.
Thanks,
Andy
Minneapolis
Well Andy, I'm sorry to say that short of getting married to a health-nut there is little hope for you. But I'll do what I can.
I too am guilty of having a poor diet. For me it's too much frozen pizza and pasta. I often force myself to buy fruits and vegetables, but other than the occasional apple or some snow peas in my stir-fry, most of the time these items end-up turning to compost in my crisper.
We are BACHELORS, my friend. This is how we were meant to eat.
Here are a few suggestions that may help, but I should point out that even with my renowned good sense and almost super-human will power I have failed to see much improvement in my own diet. So honestly, what are your chances?
TRY TO EAT IN: For whatever reason, dietician's say that homemade shitty food is less shitty than restaurant shitty food. How much less shitty? (I'm guessing only a little less shitty.) The reason for this is simple: fat and salt are relatively CHEAP and make food TASTE GOOD. So to keep you coming back the restaurants pile it on. And why not? They will never have to visit you in the hospital or attend your funeral. (Which is a shame, because a sympathy card from Colonel Sanders would be a hell of a thing to see!)
DATE A REALLY ATTRACTIVE GIRL: I don't know how far this will go to improving your diet, I just think that as bachelors we should all be dating really attractive girls. Couldn't hurt.
DESIGNATE ONE DAY A WEEK AS "HEALTHFUL FOOD DAY": Take Monday, for instance, and make that the day of the week that you eat a healthy, balanced diet. Or failing that, just don't eat anything at all on Monday.
TRY A LITTLE AVERSION THERAPY: Here are some links to sites that have images of coronary artery disease, blocked colons, and the like:
http://www.cs.nsw.gov.au/concord/Departs/gastro/boweldisease/Crohn.html
http://www.heart-health-for-life.com/cholesterol-and-heart-disease.html
http://blogs.kansascity.com/photos/uncategorized/larryking1.jpg
http://navigator.medschool.pitt.edu/Introduction%20to%20GI%20Imaging3EDIT_files/image016.jpg
Print them out and tape them to your refrigerator and any cupboards that contain food. The image of a blocked colon may just convince you NOT to reach for the NASCAR-APPROVED Southern Family Size sleeve of frozen hamburger patties I am certain sits waiting for you in your freezer (next to the Ore-Ida French Fries.)
For added incentive, I included a picture of well-known heart patient and talk show host Larry King. In searching for gross heart disease images his portrait was easily the most stomach-turning picture available.
And for any of you out there that want to stop eating all together, do a Google Image Search for "Skin Diseases." Tape those pictures on your fridge and I guarantee you'll never eat anything again, healthy or otherwise.
Best of luck!
(Keep those questions coming, kids!)
Thursday, May 03, 2007
ASK MR. SHUEY No.4: NAILBITER
Dear Mr. Shuey,
I've tried just about everything to quit biting my fingernails, to no avail. Sometimes I bite the cuticles to the point that they bleed and scab...it's gross and I want to stop. Please help. P.S. Please do not suggest any kind of exercise regimen. Thank you,
Sarah,
Minneapolis
Sarah,
First of all, I appreciate your use of, "please" and "thank you." Your parents have done well by you. If we can eliminate your nail biting you will easily be the nearest thing to a proper young woman that this town has ever produced. (And you'll be a veritable Queen Victoria by south Minneapolis standards!)
On to your problem. I don't imagine you are biting your nails because you are hungry. And outside of this city's West Bank neighborhood, scabby cuticles are not considered a fashion or political statement. My guess is that we have a compulsion brought on by an overabundance of nervous energy. We must therefore eliminate, block or redirect this energy.
Here a few suggestions:
JUST FUCKING RELAX ALREADY!: Seriously, quit being such a twitchy spazz all the time! (Did that do it? Yeah, I didn't think it would.)
As a twitchy spazz myself, I know that nothing makes me more anxious than being TOLD to relax. Even with medication, meditation, hypnosis or the like this is who you are. Eliminating the nervousness is outside our poor powers.
TRY WEARING GLOVES: I've seen this recommended for children with nail biting problems. I can only imagine how popular a kid is with his classmates when he is forced to wear gloves year round indoors and out. Why not just give him a sweatshirt to wear with "LEPER" written on it. Adults should leave children the hell alone sometimes.
Should you choose this route your grown-up friends, acquaintances and co-workers will likely --but not necessarily-- be a bit more sensitive. To deflect potential snickering about the gloves you may try telling them, "I wear these gloves because I disfigured my hands while pulling a baby from a burning building."
This will engender so much respect from people that they wouldn't dream of saying anything unkind about your gloves.
Conversely, you could choose to tell people you burned your hands throwing a baby INTO a burning building. In which case I guarantee no one will say shit about you ever again!
TAKE UP SMOKING: If you haven't already done so I highly recommend smoking cigarettes. (And you thought I was going to suggest an exercise regimen?) The problem with this is that you can't smoke ALL THE TIME. (Believe me, I've tried.) And absent the comforting presence of a cigarette you are bound to go right back to your nails.
OVER-THE-COUNTER REMEDIES: Orly makes a product called, "No-Bite" which it describes as, "a bitter flavored nail biting deterrent." You can get it online for $7.00. I have also read that similar products are "available in most corner pharmacies." (Although not, I suppose, in those pharmacies located in the middle of the block.)
And finally, MR. SHUEY'S PATENTED CURE FOR CHRONIC ONYCHOPHAGIA: This is a real whiz-banger! Every morning before you go about your day, dip the tips of your fingers in botulism toxin. (How you get it from the cosmetic surgeon is your business.)
Make sure you pin a note on your person that reads, "Sarah, remember how this morning you dipped your fingers in botulism toxin? Well, keep them the hell out of your mouth or you will get sick and die!"
If that doesn't do the trick, I don't know what will.
Best of luck!
I've tried just about everything to quit biting my fingernails, to no avail. Sometimes I bite the cuticles to the point that they bleed and scab...it's gross and I want to stop. Please help. P.S. Please do not suggest any kind of exercise regimen. Thank you,
Sarah,
Minneapolis
Sarah,
First of all, I appreciate your use of, "please" and "thank you." Your parents have done well by you. If we can eliminate your nail biting you will easily be the nearest thing to a proper young woman that this town has ever produced. (And you'll be a veritable Queen Victoria by south Minneapolis standards!)
On to your problem. I don't imagine you are biting your nails because you are hungry. And outside of this city's West Bank neighborhood, scabby cuticles are not considered a fashion or political statement. My guess is that we have a compulsion brought on by an overabundance of nervous energy. We must therefore eliminate, block or redirect this energy.
Here a few suggestions:
JUST FUCKING RELAX ALREADY!: Seriously, quit being such a twitchy spazz all the time! (Did that do it? Yeah, I didn't think it would.)
As a twitchy spazz myself, I know that nothing makes me more anxious than being TOLD to relax. Even with medication, meditation, hypnosis or the like this is who you are. Eliminating the nervousness is outside our poor powers.
TRY WEARING GLOVES: I've seen this recommended for children with nail biting problems. I can only imagine how popular a kid is with his classmates when he is forced to wear gloves year round indoors and out. Why not just give him a sweatshirt to wear with "LEPER" written on it. Adults should leave children the hell alone sometimes.
Should you choose this route your grown-up friends, acquaintances and co-workers will likely --but not necessarily-- be a bit more sensitive. To deflect potential snickering about the gloves you may try telling them, "I wear these gloves because I disfigured my hands while pulling a baby from a burning building."
This will engender so much respect from people that they wouldn't dream of saying anything unkind about your gloves.
Conversely, you could choose to tell people you burned your hands throwing a baby INTO a burning building. In which case I guarantee no one will say shit about you ever again!
TAKE UP SMOKING: If you haven't already done so I highly recommend smoking cigarettes. (And you thought I was going to suggest an exercise regimen?) The problem with this is that you can't smoke ALL THE TIME. (Believe me, I've tried.) And absent the comforting presence of a cigarette you are bound to go right back to your nails.
OVER-THE-COUNTER REMEDIES: Orly makes a product called, "No-Bite" which it describes as, "a bitter flavored nail biting deterrent." You can get it online for $7.00. I have also read that similar products are "available in most corner pharmacies." (Although not, I suppose, in those pharmacies located in the middle of the block.)
And finally, MR. SHUEY'S PATENTED CURE FOR CHRONIC ONYCHOPHAGIA: This is a real whiz-banger! Every morning before you go about your day, dip the tips of your fingers in botulism toxin. (How you get it from the cosmetic surgeon is your business.)
Make sure you pin a note on your person that reads, "Sarah, remember how this morning you dipped your fingers in botulism toxin? Well, keep them the hell out of your mouth or you will get sick and die!"
If that doesn't do the trick, I don't know what will.
Best of luck!
Friday, April 20, 2007
EVERGREEN RESTAURANT FORTUNE COOKIES
From April 15, 2007
Living on Nicollet and 25th I have many choices for Asian take-out. My favorite is the Taiwanese place, "Evergreen" Their chicken and cashews is the best around. But the prognostications in their fortune cookies are always well off the mark.
Here is what it foretold:
"There are many paths up the mountain, but the view is the same."
This is how it should have read:
"You will get an order of chicken and cashews on Tuesday because you are too lazy to cook for yourself. Delicious though it will be, it will give you gas that smells unsettlingly like the dish itself for 16 hours afterwards. The balance of your work-week will be tedious but tolerable and the weekend will bring no real surprises. On Saturday morning you will wake up and brew coffee while listening to a Rudy Ray Moore record lent to you by your friend Srinivas. By the time side "A" is winding down you will realize that you probably should have cleaned the record before you put it on. When you flip it you will clean side "B" and when it's done there won't be a big wad of dust on the needle when you pick up the tone arm. You will make a breakfast of scrambled eggs and Bays Brand English Muffins and eat it while watching the last half of "Citizen Kane" on TCM. You will have another cup of coffee and a cigarette and then you will do all the dishes from breakfast. You will shower and dress. Dave will pick you up and you will go to the practice space to do guitar over dubs because you can do guitars at the space because all the basic tracks are already down. You will take a break for dinner at 7:30 and go to "Whitey's" for a roast beef sandwich. You will watch the TWINS kind of pound the shit out of the DEVIL RAYS on the TV set. Then you will grab more coffee at the really gay coffee shop in North East that's name references Oscar Wilde and in your five minutes there will have occasion to always remember 'Key Lime Pie and Chocolate Cake!' as being something really funny someone said. You will go back to the space to do even more guitar shit and it will occur to you that you are drinking coffee later than you ordinarily allow yourself to. You will get a bit twitchy. You will try to combat this by drinking two bottles of the SPATEN pils you bought at Surdyk's earlier in the day. Then you will remember that just this morning you were looking on the internet to see if any of the weird small towns in Germany that you had visited a decade ago were noticeably different. They didn't seem to be. But who knows, really? Strange interlude where you and Dave try-out all available keyboard instruments in the practice space to try and salvage a perplexing verse part in a song that didn't seem perplexing until just now. Hairs are getting pulled out. Time to quit. Go to the Triple Rock for last call. Doug Stanhope did his act there earlier. THE STNNING followed. See a girl who's bra seems to be doing something bra's shouldn't be able to do. Randomly end up talking to her and she's a a world class twit. Imagine that? Bar closes. Go home. Open a beer because you knew a long time ago that you had too much coffee today."
Hungry?
Fortune Cookie anyone?
The fortune reads, 'There are many paths up the mountain, but the view is the same.'"
Living on Nicollet and 25th I have many choices for Asian take-out. My favorite is the Taiwanese place, "Evergreen" Their chicken and cashews is the best around. But the prognostications in their fortune cookies are always well off the mark.
Here is what it foretold:
"There are many paths up the mountain, but the view is the same."
This is how it should have read:
"You will get an order of chicken and cashews on Tuesday because you are too lazy to cook for yourself. Delicious though it will be, it will give you gas that smells unsettlingly like the dish itself for 16 hours afterwards. The balance of your work-week will be tedious but tolerable and the weekend will bring no real surprises. On Saturday morning you will wake up and brew coffee while listening to a Rudy Ray Moore record lent to you by your friend Srinivas. By the time side "A" is winding down you will realize that you probably should have cleaned the record before you put it on. When you flip it you will clean side "B" and when it's done there won't be a big wad of dust on the needle when you pick up the tone arm. You will make a breakfast of scrambled eggs and Bays Brand English Muffins and eat it while watching the last half of "Citizen Kane" on TCM. You will have another cup of coffee and a cigarette and then you will do all the dishes from breakfast. You will shower and dress. Dave will pick you up and you will go to the practice space to do guitar over dubs because you can do guitars at the space because all the basic tracks are already down. You will take a break for dinner at 7:30 and go to "Whitey's" for a roast beef sandwich. You will watch the TWINS kind of pound the shit out of the DEVIL RAYS on the TV set. Then you will grab more coffee at the really gay coffee shop in North East that's name references Oscar Wilde and in your five minutes there will have occasion to always remember 'Key Lime Pie and Chocolate Cake!' as being something really funny someone said. You will go back to the space to do even more guitar shit and it will occur to you that you are drinking coffee later than you ordinarily allow yourself to. You will get a bit twitchy. You will try to combat this by drinking two bottles of the SPATEN pils you bought at Surdyk's earlier in the day. Then you will remember that just this morning you were looking on the internet to see if any of the weird small towns in Germany that you had visited a decade ago were noticeably different. They didn't seem to be. But who knows, really? Strange interlude where you and Dave try-out all available keyboard instruments in the practice space to try and salvage a perplexing verse part in a song that didn't seem perplexing until just now. Hairs are getting pulled out. Time to quit. Go to the Triple Rock for last call. Doug Stanhope did his act there earlier. THE STNNING followed. See a girl who's bra seems to be doing something bra's shouldn't be able to do. Randomly end up talking to her and she's a a world class twit. Imagine that? Bar closes. Go home. Open a beer because you knew a long time ago that you had too much coffee today."
Hungry?
Fortune Cookie anyone?
The fortune reads, 'There are many paths up the mountain, but the view is the same.'"
ASK MR. SHUEY #3: THE END OF THE WORLD
From April, 10 2007
Mr. Shuey,
I've been hearing a lot about global warming, but it's still fucking cold outside. Someone told me that it's going to snow this weekend. Is that complete bullshit? I also heard that Al Gore has decided to try his luck as a concert promoter. Do you think rock and roll can save the planet, or should I keep working on my escape pod?
Shanai
Minneapolis
Shanai,
This weekend ended yesterday, and I didn't see any snow. So yes, the phenomenon known as global warming is complete hokum.
Unless of course it's not.
I am not a climate scientist, but with my limited understanding of the subject it's clear that when scientists do talk about global warming they are talking about mean or average temperatures over the whole planet. (That's why they call it GLOBAL warming and not MINNEAPOLIS warming.) People who point to unusually warm days in December or the opposite in April or May to prove or disprove the theory are not really grasping the scientific principles involved and are usually just whiny jerks anyway.
Numbers being numbers, there is little debate over whether global temperatures are on the rise. The real debate is about how much of this is a result of human activity. I don't have the answer to that, but it seems reasonable to me that dumping tons and tons of pollutants into the atmosphere is bound to have SOME effect.
This is why I have chosen to do my part and drive a steam-powered automobile with a boiler that burns clean, low sulfur anthracite coal! It is fast as a horse-and-a-half and gets four miles per twenty pound sack!
(Full disclosure: The Pennsylvania Coal Association has hidden my parents in an abandoned mine shaft in Centralia and their continued care and feeding are attendant on my trumpeting the many fine qualities of clean, hard, delicious anthracite coal.)
And don't count on rock and roll to remedy the situation. Myself being the notable exception, the world of rock and roll is peopled exclusively by juvenile, mentally diseased nitwits.
Think about it, would you let these cretins stay in your apartment unattended?
I didn't think so.
And you expect them to clean-up the Earth?
The line-ups for these, "Live Earth" concerts are almost all has-beens an hacks. None of these alleged artists are cutting checks themselves, but they want you and I to pony-up outlandish sums of money to attend their crummy concerts. All the while they fly in and out on private jets, eat shrimp cocktail backstage and get to hear what swell people they are.
So yes, keep working on your escape pod. And it better be a damn good one. There is but one habitable planet in this solar system, and you're on it.
Speculation about options outside of our own solar system vary, but the nearest opportunity I've read about was discovered by the HARPS spectrograph in the area of a star designated HD 69830. Some astronomers think there may be Earth-like planets in its orbit. Here's the bad part: At the speed of light it will take you 41 years to reach it.
So pack a big lunch.
Best of luck!
P.S As to Al Gore's transition from lawyer to politician to concert promoter I must say it is a demonstrable slide DOWN in the human shit-puddle. I am not sure there is a lower form of life than concert promoter, and that includes presidential candidate.
Mr. Shuey,
I've been hearing a lot about global warming, but it's still fucking cold outside. Someone told me that it's going to snow this weekend. Is that complete bullshit? I also heard that Al Gore has decided to try his luck as a concert promoter. Do you think rock and roll can save the planet, or should I keep working on my escape pod?
Shanai
Minneapolis
Shanai,
This weekend ended yesterday, and I didn't see any snow. So yes, the phenomenon known as global warming is complete hokum.
Unless of course it's not.
I am not a climate scientist, but with my limited understanding of the subject it's clear that when scientists do talk about global warming they are talking about mean or average temperatures over the whole planet. (That's why they call it GLOBAL warming and not MINNEAPOLIS warming.) People who point to unusually warm days in December or the opposite in April or May to prove or disprove the theory are not really grasping the scientific principles involved and are usually just whiny jerks anyway.
Numbers being numbers, there is little debate over whether global temperatures are on the rise. The real debate is about how much of this is a result of human activity. I don't have the answer to that, but it seems reasonable to me that dumping tons and tons of pollutants into the atmosphere is bound to have SOME effect.
This is why I have chosen to do my part and drive a steam-powered automobile with a boiler that burns clean, low sulfur anthracite coal! It is fast as a horse-and-a-half and gets four miles per twenty pound sack!
(Full disclosure: The Pennsylvania Coal Association has hidden my parents in an abandoned mine shaft in Centralia and their continued care and feeding are attendant on my trumpeting the many fine qualities of clean, hard, delicious anthracite coal.)
And don't count on rock and roll to remedy the situation. Myself being the notable exception, the world of rock and roll is peopled exclusively by juvenile, mentally diseased nitwits.
Think about it, would you let these cretins stay in your apartment unattended?
I didn't think so.
And you expect them to clean-up the Earth?
The line-ups for these, "Live Earth" concerts are almost all has-beens an hacks. None of these alleged artists are cutting checks themselves, but they want you and I to pony-up outlandish sums of money to attend their crummy concerts. All the while they fly in and out on private jets, eat shrimp cocktail backstage and get to hear what swell people they are.
So yes, keep working on your escape pod. And it better be a damn good one. There is but one habitable planet in this solar system, and you're on it.
Speculation about options outside of our own solar system vary, but the nearest opportunity I've read about was discovered by the HARPS spectrograph in the area of a star designated HD 69830. Some astronomers think there may be Earth-like planets in its orbit. Here's the bad part: At the speed of light it will take you 41 years to reach it.
So pack a big lunch.
Best of luck!
P.S As to Al Gore's transition from lawyer to politician to concert promoter I must say it is a demonstrable slide DOWN in the human shit-puddle. I am not sure there is a lower form of life than concert promoter, and that includes presidential candidate.
ASK MR. SHUEY #2: BOSNIAN FILM FUN!
From April 5, 2007
Mr. Shuey,
I recently found out about a movie on a topic that interests me a significant amount-- my war torn country. The film in question ("Grbavica: The Land of My Dreams") screened at the Walker Art Center in March and I was not able to attend the event as I was in New York at the time. The film is no longer screening anywhere and is not available for sale on DVD. This makes me frustrated. My patience has run out and I am now sad. And angry.
What can I do? Please do not recommend seeing a similar film as this will only anger me more.
Veda,
Minneapolis
Veda,
Well we don't want you sad. And given your background I suppose we really don't want you angry! So let's see if we can't solve this.
The movie in question, "Grbavica: Land of My Dreams" is by Bosnian director Jasmila Zbanic. It deals with a mother and daughter coming to terms with the lingering effects of the Yugoslav war over a decade ago. For those who may have forgotten, among manifold atrocities that took place during this war there were particularly outrageous cruelties perpetrated on Bosnian woman. To try to discuss those turbulent post-Communist years in this humble column would be overreaching, to say the least.
But let's get back to the matter at hand, which is much easier to solve than centuries of ethnic hatred.
The movie is being distributed here in America by STRAND RELEASING. They are an indie film distributor in Culver City, CA who also deal in DVDs. There email address is strand@strandreleasing.com.
I sent them an email asking if they would be handling an American DVD release, but have yet to hear back. My guess is that if they are going to put it out on DVD it won't be any time soon.
The movie IS available on DVD right now, however not in the States. British DOGWOOF PICTURES released a DVD version on March 26 of this year. I found it on http://www.amazon.co.uk/ for 11.99 (that's pounds, not dollars.) You may have encountered a problem finding it because the UK title is, "Esma's Secret."
Another problem you will encounter is that the UK version will be a REGION 2 DVD and won't play on your standard American DVD player. My friend Dave-- master of all things Mac-- assures me that the region coding will be circumvented nicely by any late model Macintosh, and you can just watch it right there on your computer.
So if you've got 23 dollars, a Macintosh, and just a little patience I think we've got this one licked.
But that seems just a bit too easy, doesn't it? After all, it was a SCREENING you missed, so I think we ought to try to get you to a screening to make up for that.
In the next month the film will be shown in Salt Lake City, Denver, Seattle, Philadelphia, Dallas, Washington, D.C. and a few other spots.
Here's my plan:
There is a Bosnia-Herzegovina consulate in Chicago. Their phone number is, (312) 951-1245. Call them up and tell them you'd like to write an article on the film for a local paper but can't get the tightwads in the accounting department to sign-off on your expense account request. (Blame American ignorance of Bosnian culture, and lay it on thick!) See if you can't get them to front you the dough for a trip to one of these fine cities, hotel and passes to the movie. Diplomats being what they are, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if they went for it.
One more thing, make sure you ask them for TWO plane tickets, because after all this research I would kind of like to see the damn thing myself!
Best of luck!
Mr. Shuey,
I recently found out about a movie on a topic that interests me a significant amount-- my war torn country. The film in question ("Grbavica: The Land of My Dreams") screened at the Walker Art Center in March and I was not able to attend the event as I was in New York at the time. The film is no longer screening anywhere and is not available for sale on DVD. This makes me frustrated. My patience has run out and I am now sad. And angry.
What can I do? Please do not recommend seeing a similar film as this will only anger me more.
Veda,
Minneapolis
Veda,
Well we don't want you sad. And given your background I suppose we really don't want you angry! So let's see if we can't solve this.
The movie in question, "Grbavica: Land of My Dreams" is by Bosnian director Jasmila Zbanic. It deals with a mother and daughter coming to terms with the lingering effects of the Yugoslav war over a decade ago. For those who may have forgotten, among manifold atrocities that took place during this war there were particularly outrageous cruelties perpetrated on Bosnian woman. To try to discuss those turbulent post-Communist years in this humble column would be overreaching, to say the least.
But let's get back to the matter at hand, which is much easier to solve than centuries of ethnic hatred.
The movie is being distributed here in America by STRAND RELEASING. They are an indie film distributor in Culver City, CA who also deal in DVDs. There email address is strand@strandreleasing.com.
I sent them an email asking if they would be handling an American DVD release, but have yet to hear back. My guess is that if they are going to put it out on DVD it won't be any time soon.
The movie IS available on DVD right now, however not in the States. British DOGWOOF PICTURES released a DVD version on March 26 of this year. I found it on http://www.amazon.co.uk/ for 11.99 (that's pounds, not dollars.) You may have encountered a problem finding it because the UK title is, "Esma's Secret."
Another problem you will encounter is that the UK version will be a REGION 2 DVD and won't play on your standard American DVD player. My friend Dave-- master of all things Mac-- assures me that the region coding will be circumvented nicely by any late model Macintosh, and you can just watch it right there on your computer.
So if you've got 23 dollars, a Macintosh, and just a little patience I think we've got this one licked.
But that seems just a bit too easy, doesn't it? After all, it was a SCREENING you missed, so I think we ought to try to get you to a screening to make up for that.
In the next month the film will be shown in Salt Lake City, Denver, Seattle, Philadelphia, Dallas, Washington, D.C. and a few other spots.
Here's my plan:
There is a Bosnia-Herzegovina consulate in Chicago. Their phone number is, (312) 951-1245. Call them up and tell them you'd like to write an article on the film for a local paper but can't get the tightwads in the accounting department to sign-off on your expense account request. (Blame American ignorance of Bosnian culture, and lay it on thick!) See if you can't get them to front you the dough for a trip to one of these fine cities, hotel and passes to the movie. Diplomats being what they are, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if they went for it.
One more thing, make sure you ask them for TWO plane tickets, because after all this research I would kind of like to see the damn thing myself!
Best of luck!
ASK MR. SHUEY #1: COFFEE CONUNDRUM
From March 21, 2007
Mr. Shuey,
I enjoy a lot of coffee in the morning on my way to work. Are other people suffering because I love coffee?
Tom R.
Minneapolis
Tom,
There are some people, certain philosophers and religious hustlers, who would argue that your VERY EXISTENCE causes other people to suffer. But I choose to be more charitable
As to your question, I would have to say that enjoying "lots" of coffee on your way to work could indeed be causing untold misery-- both at home and abroad.
The United States imports most of its Arabica coffee beans from Columbia. Columbia's top two "official" exports are petroleum and coffee. Oddly, no one ever lists cocaine, but somehow "cut flowers" are always among the top five exports--and I figure that's got to be code for something.
The labor pool and amount of land under cultivation-- while not completely static-- is, for reasons to complex to go into here, somewhat inflexible. As a result, Columbians who might otherwise be engaged in the production of coca-- and its refinement into cocaine-- are wasting their time growing all that extra coffee you "enjoy."
Why is this a problem?
Less coca production means less supply, which means higher prices, which means twitchier American coke fiends, which means more headaches for anyone who has to deal with these people. (Cops, social service workers, and anyone who has to tour manage a rock band.)
There is an upside, though. Less cocaine means less lousy DJ music, which I think we can all agree is in everyone's best interest. Also, if cocaine were cheaper and more available I might start using it myself, and I run my mouth too much as it is.
If you're really worried about the balance sheet of human misery and your impact on the level of parity in Columbian agricultural output I do have a solution.
Skip the coffee every once and awhile and lay down a fat old rail of coke on your dashboard before work. Just do me a favor and avoid my neighborhood on such mornings.
Mr. Shuey,
I enjoy a lot of coffee in the morning on my way to work. Are other people suffering because I love coffee?
Tom R.
Minneapolis
Tom,
There are some people, certain philosophers and religious hustlers, who would argue that your VERY EXISTENCE causes other people to suffer. But I choose to be more charitable
As to your question, I would have to say that enjoying "lots" of coffee on your way to work could indeed be causing untold misery-- both at home and abroad.
The United States imports most of its Arabica coffee beans from Columbia. Columbia's top two "official" exports are petroleum and coffee. Oddly, no one ever lists cocaine, but somehow "cut flowers" are always among the top five exports--and I figure that's got to be code for something.
The labor pool and amount of land under cultivation-- while not completely static-- is, for reasons to complex to go into here, somewhat inflexible. As a result, Columbians who might otherwise be engaged in the production of coca-- and its refinement into cocaine-- are wasting their time growing all that extra coffee you "enjoy."
Why is this a problem?
Less coca production means less supply, which means higher prices, which means twitchier American coke fiends, which means more headaches for anyone who has to deal with these people. (Cops, social service workers, and anyone who has to tour manage a rock band.)
There is an upside, though. Less cocaine means less lousy DJ music, which I think we can all agree is in everyone's best interest. Also, if cocaine were cheaper and more available I might start using it myself, and I run my mouth too much as it is.
If you're really worried about the balance sheet of human misery and your impact on the level of parity in Columbian agricultural output I do have a solution.
Skip the coffee every once and awhile and lay down a fat old rail of coke on your dashboard before work. Just do me a favor and avoid my neighborhood on such mornings.
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Friday, March 02, 2007
TO THE LIQUOR STORE AND BACK
I get off work. It is unusually warm. I walk to the liquor store near the corner of Nicollet and Franklin. I buy a 12-pack of Beck's. On the way home the following things occur:
Witness a 13-year-old prostitute get into a rusted out maroon Chevy Nova driven by a rusted out 50-year-old man. Think about where she is about to put her face. Makes me less inclined towards dinner. Good thing I bought beer. Shouldn't think about those things.
Three teenage girls approach. The biggest one shouts at me, "What you lookin' at, motherfucker!" Then she smiles and says, "Naw, psych. I'm just playin'!" as she gently touches my shoulder. A simple, "hello:" would have been just fine. Nice smile, though.
Somalian guy yells at a veiled woman sitting in her car. For no reason he then turns and yells at me. He goes back to yelling at the veiled woman. I think about how she probably had her clitoris mutilated in less than hygienic conditions. You'd think that would be enough bullshit for one lifetime. But no, she's got to deal with this histrionic prick yelling at her in public. Now we're importing pricks. I should be allowed to hit this guy. I really want to hit this fucking guy.
Approaching the bus stop now. People waiting for the bus spit all the time. They just do. I even catch myself doing it from time to time. Piles of people's spit have now thawed and are slowly making there way toward the curb. That's global warming for you. I must hop scotch around rivers of human sputum. I look ridiculous doing my little dance. I must also dodge dog turds and plastic pint bottles of Popov Vodka. And Minneapolis isn't even a particularly dirty city.
Get the signal. Enter the crosswalk. A blind guy in his 20's is my opposite number on the other side. I am getting across faster than he is because my eyes work and any way I just sort of walk fast to begin with. It's just as well for him because there is an abrupt little squeak of tire rubber and I look left and see a Pontiac Grand Am with Wisconsin plates heading towards me. Two fat U. of M. girls (Don't ask me how I know these things. I know these things.) are having a nice little dish session. At the last moment the driver sees me and gives me a sheepish, Midwestern "Aw, jeez. Sorry," look.
As they speed away I use my free hand to make that sort of Italian hand gesture where you swipe the top of your hand along the underside of your chin. Then I realize they probably don't even know what that means. Then I realize I don't really know what that means. Maybe I should have just given them the finger, but I kind of think the finger is getting old. They make a left into the McDonald's Drive-Thru and disappear from sight. By the way, I would have left out the part about them being fat if they hadn't nearly clipped me and a blind guy and then gone right to the McDonald's but you know what, fuck them they were fat.
Almost home. The guy who drives the Head Start bus is leaning against it having a smoke. He asks me if he can "buy" one of my beers off me. I tell him I need all of them (which I'm beginning to think I do.) It's easier than explaining that I'm not in the habit of selling beers off the street to school bus drivers. I'm an idealist.
Finally I am home. I open a beer. I love the sound the bottle cap makes when it strikes the linoleum counter top.
Dinner can wait.
Witness a 13-year-old prostitute get into a rusted out maroon Chevy Nova driven by a rusted out 50-year-old man. Think about where she is about to put her face. Makes me less inclined towards dinner. Good thing I bought beer. Shouldn't think about those things.
Three teenage girls approach. The biggest one shouts at me, "What you lookin' at, motherfucker!" Then she smiles and says, "Naw, psych. I'm just playin'!" as she gently touches my shoulder. A simple, "hello:" would have been just fine. Nice smile, though.
Somalian guy yells at a veiled woman sitting in her car. For no reason he then turns and yells at me. He goes back to yelling at the veiled woman. I think about how she probably had her clitoris mutilated in less than hygienic conditions. You'd think that would be enough bullshit for one lifetime. But no, she's got to deal with this histrionic prick yelling at her in public. Now we're importing pricks. I should be allowed to hit this guy. I really want to hit this fucking guy.
Approaching the bus stop now. People waiting for the bus spit all the time. They just do. I even catch myself doing it from time to time. Piles of people's spit have now thawed and are slowly making there way toward the curb. That's global warming for you. I must hop scotch around rivers of human sputum. I look ridiculous doing my little dance. I must also dodge dog turds and plastic pint bottles of Popov Vodka. And Minneapolis isn't even a particularly dirty city.
Get the signal. Enter the crosswalk. A blind guy in his 20's is my opposite number on the other side. I am getting across faster than he is because my eyes work and any way I just sort of walk fast to begin with. It's just as well for him because there is an abrupt little squeak of tire rubber and I look left and see a Pontiac Grand Am with Wisconsin plates heading towards me. Two fat U. of M. girls (Don't ask me how I know these things. I know these things.) are having a nice little dish session. At the last moment the driver sees me and gives me a sheepish, Midwestern "Aw, jeez. Sorry," look.
As they speed away I use my free hand to make that sort of Italian hand gesture where you swipe the top of your hand along the underside of your chin. Then I realize they probably don't even know what that means. Then I realize I don't really know what that means. Maybe I should have just given them the finger, but I kind of think the finger is getting old. They make a left into the McDonald's Drive-Thru and disappear from sight. By the way, I would have left out the part about them being fat if they hadn't nearly clipped me and a blind guy and then gone right to the McDonald's but you know what, fuck them they were fat.
Almost home. The guy who drives the Head Start bus is leaning against it having a smoke. He asks me if he can "buy" one of my beers off me. I tell him I need all of them (which I'm beginning to think I do.) It's easier than explaining that I'm not in the habit of selling beers off the street to school bus drivers. I'm an idealist.
Finally I am home. I open a beer. I love the sound the bottle cap makes when it strikes the linoleum counter top.
Dinner can wait.
MORE FUN WITH MY NEIGHBORS
There is a battle brewing in my building surrounding the basement laundry facilities and the hours people use them. In classic Minnesota form, it's playing itself out through a series of whiney, annoyingly passive/aggressive (and anonymous) notes back and forth between aggrieved party and offending party. The landlord has even chimed-in with a note of his own reminding everyone that our lease stipulates that we all be nice to each other. Now that's leadership!
I do not think it will resolve itself anytime soon. In the spirit of playfulness I typed-up the following and posted it:
To All Tenants Concerned,
As many of you know, the young people in our neighborhood often find themselves with little to do in the way of recreation. Playgrounds are in disrepair and the area parks are overrun with nefarious characters. Alleys are narrow and ill suited to stickball and marbles. I have witnessed some young people pitching pennies against the sides of the building. While this may seem harmless enough, I consider the activity to be a "gateway" to gambling.
With wholesome activities sorely lacking and in the spirit of Christian charity I have taken it upon myself to begin operating a late-night roller disco for disadvantaged youth here in the basement common area.
It would be like "Midnight Basketball"--but instead of basketball the kids would roller skate to popular music such as, "ABBA," "A Taste Of Honey," "K.C. And The Sunshine Band," "Star Sisters" and the like. There would be soda pop and treats served. I can't help but think that it will be wildly popular.
I also imagine it could be quite LOUD.
Would this be in any way an inconvenience for anyone?
If so, please respond with a note illegibly scrawled on a piece of notebook paper and taped to the window above the dryers. This seems to be the preferred method of communication in this building.
Thanks.
My note was gone the next day.
I swear, people are no fun at all.
BDS
I do not think it will resolve itself anytime soon. In the spirit of playfulness I typed-up the following and posted it:
To All Tenants Concerned,
As many of you know, the young people in our neighborhood often find themselves with little to do in the way of recreation. Playgrounds are in disrepair and the area parks are overrun with nefarious characters. Alleys are narrow and ill suited to stickball and marbles. I have witnessed some young people pitching pennies against the sides of the building. While this may seem harmless enough, I consider the activity to be a "gateway" to gambling.
With wholesome activities sorely lacking and in the spirit of Christian charity I have taken it upon myself to begin operating a late-night roller disco for disadvantaged youth here in the basement common area.
It would be like "Midnight Basketball"--but instead of basketball the kids would roller skate to popular music such as, "ABBA," "A Taste Of Honey," "K.C. And The Sunshine Band," "Star Sisters" and the like. There would be soda pop and treats served. I can't help but think that it will be wildly popular.
I also imagine it could be quite LOUD.
Would this be in any way an inconvenience for anyone?
If so, please respond with a note illegibly scrawled on a piece of notebook paper and taped to the window above the dryers. This seems to be the preferred method of communication in this building.
Thanks.
My note was gone the next day.
I swear, people are no fun at all.
BDS
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