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!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
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
Thursday, January 11, 2007
NO MORE FUCKING TEA!
So it's been two weeks and I still haven't gotten my voice back yet. I went to the doctor again today and he put me on the Z-Pac and two different kinds of corticosteroids (methylprednisolone pills and a Flovent inhaler.)
So we'll see what Big Pharma can do with this thing.
I appreciate everyone's concern for my health and especially the innovative and wholly original home remedies that have been suggested to me time and time again:
"Have you tried hot tea with honey and lemon?"
What, you mean like hot Echinacea tea with honey and lemon? Hot peppermint tea with honey and lemon? Hot black, green, orange purple and vermillion tea with honey and lemon? Tea of every creed from sea to shining sea by the gulp and by the gallon?
Yes, I have tried hot tea with honey and lemon.
"Have you tried gargling?"
Like with salt water? Like 12 times a day for two weeks until you have exhausted an entire one pound ten ounce canister of nature's finest NaCl and-- like a sailor adrift --are so deranged from the exercise that you are convinced you can see up the yellow dress of the girl on the Morton's Salt label?
Yes, I have tried gargling.
"Have you tried throat drops?"
You mean Hall's? Robitussin? Ricola? Every imaginable variety by the bag and by the bushel until there is a callus on the back of your tongue from where the little fuckers come to rest? Until you never want to SEE another throat drop again?
Yes, I have tried throat drops.
"A humidifier?"
Yes, It's been running 24/7 for days now.
"Lots of fluids?"
Yes! Yes! Yes! Gallons!
What I'm saying is I would have tried the ejaculate of an Andean llama by now if I thought it would work. (I checked with the Chilean consulate, they say it doesn't.)
So hopefully I will have this thing licked soon, but if you see me in the next few days and my voice is still shot, please, please, PLEASE do not suggest I try hot tea with honey and lemon. In
fact, don't suggest anything. Just punch me in the mouth. I haven't tried that yet.
Your (silent) partner,
Brian David Shuey
So we'll see what Big Pharma can do with this thing.
I appreciate everyone's concern for my health and especially the innovative and wholly original home remedies that have been suggested to me time and time again:
"Have you tried hot tea with honey and lemon?"
What, you mean like hot Echinacea tea with honey and lemon? Hot peppermint tea with honey and lemon? Hot black, green, orange purple and vermillion tea with honey and lemon? Tea of every creed from sea to shining sea by the gulp and by the gallon?
Yes, I have tried hot tea with honey and lemon.
"Have you tried gargling?"
Like with salt water? Like 12 times a day for two weeks until you have exhausted an entire one pound ten ounce canister of nature's finest NaCl and-- like a sailor adrift --are so deranged from the exercise that you are convinced you can see up the yellow dress of the girl on the Morton's Salt label?
Yes, I have tried gargling.
"Have you tried throat drops?"
You mean Hall's? Robitussin? Ricola? Every imaginable variety by the bag and by the bushel until there is a callus on the back of your tongue from where the little fuckers come to rest? Until you never want to SEE another throat drop again?
Yes, I have tried throat drops.
"A humidifier?"
Yes, It's been running 24/7 for days now.
"Lots of fluids?"
Yes! Yes! Yes! Gallons!
What I'm saying is I would have tried the ejaculate of an Andean llama by now if I thought it would work. (I checked with the Chilean consulate, they say it doesn't.)
So hopefully I will have this thing licked soon, but if you see me in the next few days and my voice is still shot, please, please, PLEASE do not suggest I try hot tea with honey and lemon. In
fact, don't suggest anything. Just punch me in the mouth. I haven't tried that yet.
Your (silent) partner,
Brian David Shuey
Friday, January 05, 2007
2006 RECAP ACTION
Here's a recap of some of the many achievements, honors and awards I garnered in 2006, neatly broken down by month:
JANUARY- I came out of the gate punching-- literally. On January 11 in Tijuana I felled Super-middleweight champ Mikkel Kessler by knockout in the 10th round. But despite the promises of promoter "Gordo" Don Reyes, the bout was not WBA sanctioned and the title continues to elude me. Also, the purse of 10,000 pesos wasn't nearly as lucrative as it sounded. (About $926) I used the money to buy a 1000-ct. bottle of 10 mg Valium tablets. They turned out to be chiclets. I had to hitchhike home. I hate Mexico.
FEBRUARY- Ah, the month of love! Received gushing Valentines from the following persons of repute: Kirsten Dunst, Halle Berry, Kate Beckinsale, Kate Winslet, Kate Blanchett (That's right! The trifecta of British "Kates.") Also, Gwyneth Paltrow, Claire Danes, Michael Richards and Zooey Deschanel. Which reminds me, I have yet to write any of them back.
MARCH- Nothing ever happens to me in March.
APRIL- I was named American League Pitcher of the Month. 3W-1L /1.83 ERA/44 SO. What can I say, I was in the zone.
MAY- Crowned "King of Tulips" at the Orange City, Iowa Tulip Festival. Stripped of the crown while learning the hard way that the "King of Tulips" does not automatically have prerogative to deflower the "Queen of Tulips." Especially when she is the underage daughter of an Iowa State Trooper.
JUNE- Mistakenly received the "Apple Pie Award" for meritorious service from The Million Moms March Committee of Omaha, NE. I did not inform them of their error and in the spirit of irony used the $500 honorarium to purchase a used .38 snub-nosed revolver from out of some guy's trunk
JULY- mensis horribilis! That's a dead tongue, son! --and it does not mean I experienced a difficult menstrual period-- but rather that I endured a terrible month. ALWAYS CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN BEFORE ADJUSTING OR DISCONTINUING YOUR MEDICATION. Trust me on this one. My diminished condition prevented me from traveling to the Gettysburg National Military Park on the 143rd anniversary of the historic battle to receive my honors as, "Civil War Re-Enactor of the Year." Apparently my portrayal of General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard is nonpareil.
AUGUST- Awarded "The Golden Twelve Pack" for my efforts in promoting "Canned Beer Month."
SEPTEMBER- Named "Employee of the Month" at the Red Lobster in Wayzata, MN. (Let's face it, not ALL secret lives are exciting ones.)
OCTOBER- Won the Mann Booker Prize for my touching memoir, "Scarf" about being a Pakistani immigrant girl coming of age in 1970’s London.
NOVEMBER- I finally won my first Latin Grammy in the category, "Cancion del Ano" (Song of the Year.) It was for my hit single, "Mi amor es mi corazón y amor para su corazón, bebé." Catchy title, no?
DECEMBER- On December 6th I was awarded the Nobel Prize in chemistry for creating sugar-free methamphetamine. I consider it the crowning achievement in an admittedly exceptional year.
Happy New Year!
BDS
JANUARY- I came out of the gate punching-- literally. On January 11 in Tijuana I felled Super-middleweight champ Mikkel Kessler by knockout in the 10th round. But despite the promises of promoter "Gordo" Don Reyes, the bout was not WBA sanctioned and the title continues to elude me. Also, the purse of 10,000 pesos wasn't nearly as lucrative as it sounded. (About $926) I used the money to buy a 1000-ct. bottle of 10 mg Valium tablets. They turned out to be chiclets. I had to hitchhike home. I hate Mexico.
FEBRUARY- Ah, the month of love! Received gushing Valentines from the following persons of repute: Kirsten Dunst, Halle Berry, Kate Beckinsale, Kate Winslet, Kate Blanchett (That's right! The trifecta of British "Kates.") Also, Gwyneth Paltrow, Claire Danes, Michael Richards and Zooey Deschanel. Which reminds me, I have yet to write any of them back.
MARCH- Nothing ever happens to me in March.
APRIL- I was named American League Pitcher of the Month. 3W-1L /1.83 ERA/44 SO. What can I say, I was in the zone.
MAY- Crowned "King of Tulips" at the Orange City, Iowa Tulip Festival. Stripped of the crown while learning the hard way that the "King of Tulips" does not automatically have prerogative to deflower the "Queen of Tulips." Especially when she is the underage daughter of an Iowa State Trooper.
JUNE- Mistakenly received the "Apple Pie Award" for meritorious service from The Million Moms March Committee of Omaha, NE. I did not inform them of their error and in the spirit of irony used the $500 honorarium to purchase a used .38 snub-nosed revolver from out of some guy's trunk
JULY- mensis horribilis! That's a dead tongue, son! --and it does not mean I experienced a difficult menstrual period-- but rather that I endured a terrible month. ALWAYS CONSULT YOUR PHYSICIAN BEFORE ADJUSTING OR DISCONTINUING YOUR MEDICATION. Trust me on this one. My diminished condition prevented me from traveling to the Gettysburg National Military Park on the 143rd anniversary of the historic battle to receive my honors as, "Civil War Re-Enactor of the Year." Apparently my portrayal of General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard is nonpareil.
AUGUST- Awarded "The Golden Twelve Pack" for my efforts in promoting "Canned Beer Month."
SEPTEMBER- Named "Employee of the Month" at the Red Lobster in Wayzata, MN. (Let's face it, not ALL secret lives are exciting ones.)
OCTOBER- Won the Mann Booker Prize for my touching memoir, "Scarf" about being a Pakistani immigrant girl coming of age in 1970’s London.
NOVEMBER- I finally won my first Latin Grammy in the category, "Cancion del Ano" (Song of the Year.) It was for my hit single, "Mi amor es mi corazón y amor para su corazón, bebé." Catchy title, no?
DECEMBER- On December 6th I was awarded the Nobel Prize in chemistry for creating sugar-free methamphetamine. I consider it the crowning achievement in an admittedly exceptional year.
Happy New Year!
BDS
Thursday, December 14, 2006
MY SURE-FIRE MIRACLE CURE FOR THE COMMON COLD
The common cold-- Group: IV ((+) ssRNA) Family: Picornaviridae. Genus: Rhinovirus.
Scourge of man.
Until now a truly effective treatment has eluded modern medical science. Until now…
I offer the following miracle cure free of charge for the betterment of humankind:
-Lock your door.
-Dim the lights.
-Take four (4) Sudafed.
-Take 800 mg of your favorite analgesic.
-Drink screwdrivers until you have exhausted your supply of orange juice.
-Switch to gin and tonic
-Drink gin and tonic until you have exhausted your supply of tonic water.
-Drink whatever that last beer in the back of the refrigerator is. Do not attempt to figure out how it got there.
-Brew a strong cup of Echinacea tea. Add one ounce of Scotch whiskey. Drink as fast as possible. (This will burn going down.)
-Put on some music. Something slightly bizarre. Brian Eno, CAN, Captain Beefheart, maybe King Crimson. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT play the Velvet Underground. If you do all will be for naught.
-Get into bed. You should be naked save only for a ski cap. Preferably a vintage 1970’s NFL one (One of the “tough” teams: Steelers, Packers, Raiders… a Dolphins or Saints hat will not cut it.)
You will be shaking and sweating profusely by now. This is good. The cold is trying to flee your body in the hope of inhabiting the nearest sane person. Open a window or door a crack to allow the cold to transpose itself to the next unsuspecting passerby.
-You are now cured. Enjoy a restful night’s sleep.
Yours in good health,
Brian David Shuey
Note: You may experience vomiting and abdominal cramping the following morning. This is perfectly normal.
Scourge of man.
Until now a truly effective treatment has eluded modern medical science. Until now…
I offer the following miracle cure free of charge for the betterment of humankind:
-Lock your door.
-Dim the lights.
-Take four (4) Sudafed.
-Take 800 mg of your favorite analgesic.
-Drink screwdrivers until you have exhausted your supply of orange juice.
-Switch to gin and tonic
-Drink gin and tonic until you have exhausted your supply of tonic water.
-Drink whatever that last beer in the back of the refrigerator is. Do not attempt to figure out how it got there.
-Brew a strong cup of Echinacea tea. Add one ounce of Scotch whiskey. Drink as fast as possible. (This will burn going down.)
-Put on some music. Something slightly bizarre. Brian Eno, CAN, Captain Beefheart, maybe King Crimson. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT play the Velvet Underground. If you do all will be for naught.
-Get into bed. You should be naked save only for a ski cap. Preferably a vintage 1970’s NFL one (One of the “tough” teams: Steelers, Packers, Raiders… a Dolphins or Saints hat will not cut it.)
You will be shaking and sweating profusely by now. This is good. The cold is trying to flee your body in the hope of inhabiting the nearest sane person. Open a window or door a crack to allow the cold to transpose itself to the next unsuspecting passerby.
-You are now cured. Enjoy a restful night’s sleep.
Yours in good health,
Brian David Shuey
Note: You may experience vomiting and abdominal cramping the following morning. This is perfectly normal.
Friday, December 01, 2006
BRIAN SHUEY STREET TEAM: WINTER UPDATE
Dear B.S.S.T Members,
I suppose the polite thing to do would be to pretend I was pleased with your performance. And not, as the case will be, call some of you on the carpet publicly. But the fact is this may be the sorriest excuse for a street team ever assembled.
I have some bad news for the following members:
Chris L. from PHOENIX, AZ: I have recently been in contact with the City of Phoenix Chamber of Commerce. Not a soul I spoke to recognized my name. You have had three months now to spread the word about me in that sun-baked hell hole you call home and yet the city fathers still have no idea who I am. MEMBERSHIP: TERMINATED
Steve P. from HARRISBURG, PA: It's Harrisburg, Steve! I GREW UP THERE! Yet, a Lexus-Nexus search of central Pennsylvania publications found no mention of me in the last six months. However that other Brian Shuey-- "renowned" Sprint Car racer and presumed cousin-fucking hillbilly-- received twelve notices. I SHALL NOT PLAY SECOND FIDDLE to some Skoal-chomping dirt track circling Carbona-huffing car monkey! MEMBERSHIP: TERMINATED
Susan R. from MEMPHIS, TN: Susan, the pictures you sent helped your cause a great deal. I was particularly keen on the one of you roller-skating in pigtails with the giant lollypop. That said, I am going to need to see some actual work product from you if I am to continue to keep you on the team. MEMBERSHIP: UNDER REVIEW
Anthony K. from BILLINGS, MT: The news that the local Kiwanis Club is considering erecting a statue of me to honor my many good works is the one bright spot in this otherwise dismal clusterfuck of incompetence. However, I must remind you that the $25 check towards your membership fee has bounced... again. Please attend to this promptly. MEMBERSHIP: SUSPENDED PENDING APPROPRIATE REMUNERATIONS
I will spare the rest of you the embarrassment reserved for those listed above. Suffice it to say, you're all on notice. And by the way, I'm still cleaning my own toilet. Unacceptable!
Your Fearless Leader,
Brian David Shuey
I suppose the polite thing to do would be to pretend I was pleased with your performance. And not, as the case will be, call some of you on the carpet publicly. But the fact is this may be the sorriest excuse for a street team ever assembled.
I have some bad news for the following members:
Chris L. from PHOENIX, AZ: I have recently been in contact with the City of Phoenix Chamber of Commerce. Not a soul I spoke to recognized my name. You have had three months now to spread the word about me in that sun-baked hell hole you call home and yet the city fathers still have no idea who I am. MEMBERSHIP: TERMINATED
Steve P. from HARRISBURG, PA: It's Harrisburg, Steve! I GREW UP THERE! Yet, a Lexus-Nexus search of central Pennsylvania publications found no mention of me in the last six months. However that other Brian Shuey-- "renowned" Sprint Car racer and presumed cousin-fucking hillbilly-- received twelve notices. I SHALL NOT PLAY SECOND FIDDLE to some Skoal-chomping dirt track circling Carbona-huffing car monkey! MEMBERSHIP: TERMINATED
Susan R. from MEMPHIS, TN: Susan, the pictures you sent helped your cause a great deal. I was particularly keen on the one of you roller-skating in pigtails with the giant lollypop. That said, I am going to need to see some actual work product from you if I am to continue to keep you on the team. MEMBERSHIP: UNDER REVIEW
Anthony K. from BILLINGS, MT: The news that the local Kiwanis Club is considering erecting a statue of me to honor my many good works is the one bright spot in this otherwise dismal clusterfuck of incompetence. However, I must remind you that the $25 check towards your membership fee has bounced... again. Please attend to this promptly. MEMBERSHIP: SUSPENDED PENDING APPROPRIATE REMUNERATIONS
I will spare the rest of you the embarrassment reserved for those listed above. Suffice it to say, you're all on notice. And by the way, I'm still cleaning my own toilet. Unacceptable!
Your Fearless Leader,
Brian David Shuey
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
33 THINGS ABOUT MYSELF AND THE WORLD AROUND ME
Today is my thirty-third birthday. In honor of that, here are, “33 Things About Myself and The Word Around Me!” by Brian David Shuey. Enjoy.
-”Scrubbing Bubbles” really do. Everything else in this life is a lie.
-As long as you are relatively healthy there is no point in regretting anything. If you had made different choices you might be so overwhelmingly satisfied with your life that you’ll stroll blissfully into the street and completely miss the #4 Bus that is headed straight for you. Think about it.
-I sometimes think going deaf wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it meant never having to overhear another stultifying dull conversation.
-You can write a screenplay about undead samurai racecar drivers who like to solve complex mathematical problems in their spare time, but don’t expect anyone to want to make a movie out of it.
-If you find yourself at a party and you absolutely have to fart, go stand next to the fattest person in the room. Everyone will assume they did it.
-The Clash selling Jaguars? Ramones selling phones? Both were hard to take, but to see The Muppets whoring themselves out for Pizza Hut was more than I could bear.
-Mechanical pencils are bullshit and should be thrown away.
-Take the Kerry-Edwards stickers off your cars. You backed a bum horse. You don't have to be proud of it.
-On a similar note, I was briefly connected with "Patty Wetterling for Congress.” The day after she lost the election I dropped her like a stone. I don't associate with losers.
-It is a well-known fact that I walk much faster than the average person. Sometimes when I am passing people on crutches, in wheelchairs or those who are otherwise infirm I secretly fear that they think I am "showing off." As a result I tend to slow my pace. I don't think this really benefits either party. Still, I can't help doing it.
-Don’t loan me books. I’m real hard on them.
-There are maybe a dozen people in the world at any given time who are doing worthwhile “installation art.” The rest of you hacks need to knock it off already.
- I miss cassette tapes. I really miss TDK-SA90s and Maxell XLIIS 90's. You could beat the shit out of those Maxell’s and they would always play. No one can convince me that any recording could sound better than an LP dubbed at a slightly elevated recording level and played back on a well-maintained mid-1980's Alpine car tape deck. At least I've never heard music sound better. (Note: Dolby NR is for sissies.)
-When an individual employs the phrase, "We'll see you later." It makes me think the that person is mentally unbalanced.
-Chicks love T-Rex.
-It’s clear I don‘t know much about British “sport” when I read a headline like, “Uncapped Joyce Wins Ashes Call-up.” What could that possibly mean?
-I once had a friend confess to me that he was taking “hip-hop” dance lessons. We are not friends anymore.
-I am very active in the M.W.C.O.T.A.P.O. community. In fact, I am its only member since I have never shared with anyone the true meaning of the acronym. But trust me, we’re a very kinky crowd.
-I was born at the following map coordinates: 40.240ºN by 76.920ºW. To this day nothing green will grow there and children whisper as they pass.
-Despite conventional wisdom on the subject I do in fact have one tattoo. It is on the bottom of my right foot and it records the results of two track and field events (long jump/ 100-yard dash) I participated in at the Linglestown Elementary School May Fair in the spring of 1981: I placed FIRST in both. I fear this will go down as the most successful day of my life. At least in terms of “ribbons won.”
-I’ve been told on more than one occasion I have excellent taste in women’s jewelry. I don’t know what to make of that.
-To all prostitutes in the Whittier neighborhood: Please continue to use the front stoop of my building to ply your trade. I plan on using your activities as leverage should my landlord try to increase the rent.
-I have a PlayStation II-- but only one video game for it. It’s a game where you kill Nazis. I enjoy it immensely.
-I have two African violets. One is named, “Jeeves,” the other I call “Wooster” or “Bertie.” Of all the uncool things about me this may be the uncoolest
-It’s time to reevaluate the word, “cool.” I recently overheard an elderly lady in a sweater with a gigantic owl embroidered on its front remark to her companion, “That sure was cool!” To which the second lady—of similar vintage and equally questionable taste in fashion replied, “You betcha’ it was cool!” I have no idea to what they were referring, but if whatever it was was cool then “cool” just ain’t cool anymore.
-The mere act of walking into an office supply store fills me with the overwhelming desire to start my own business. Luckily, the feeling fades quickly.
-To all recent immigrants to the United States: Welcome! I’m excited to have you here and I hope things go well for you. I ask only one favor, please try to remember that there is no haggling in America! Sears is not a suq. Marshall’s is not a Mercado. That laundry soap is $6.99 and no amount of gesticulating on your part is ever going to change that. The people behind you in line have other stuff to do today. Again, welcome and good luck.
-I have never understood why loose-leaf chewing tobacco is offered for sale at convenience stores in major metropolitan areas. It’s the city. Who’s buying this stuff?
-Why is it the first thing some dolt says when they spill something on me is, “I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.” As if anyone has t-shirts and jeans dry cleaned. Just to throw them I’m going to start demanding $2 in quarters for the coin-op. Clumsy fuckers.
- Anything NOT written in black ink will be considered invalid.
-Why does the weather take ten minutes? Does anyone really need to be told for the one millionth time what happens when a warm, moist air mass meets a dry, cool air mass along a frontal boundary? I don’t need another primer in meteorology. Just tell me if it’s going to rain, man.
-I am fairly certain I have peed in every natural body of water I have ever swam in.
-This is #33. I’m going to have a beer now, okay?
-”Scrubbing Bubbles” really do. Everything else in this life is a lie.
-As long as you are relatively healthy there is no point in regretting anything. If you had made different choices you might be so overwhelmingly satisfied with your life that you’ll stroll blissfully into the street and completely miss the #4 Bus that is headed straight for you. Think about it.
-I sometimes think going deaf wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it meant never having to overhear another stultifying dull conversation.
-You can write a screenplay about undead samurai racecar drivers who like to solve complex mathematical problems in their spare time, but don’t expect anyone to want to make a movie out of it.
-If you find yourself at a party and you absolutely have to fart, go stand next to the fattest person in the room. Everyone will assume they did it.
-The Clash selling Jaguars? Ramones selling phones? Both were hard to take, but to see The Muppets whoring themselves out for Pizza Hut was more than I could bear.
-Mechanical pencils are bullshit and should be thrown away.
-Take the Kerry-Edwards stickers off your cars. You backed a bum horse. You don't have to be proud of it.
-On a similar note, I was briefly connected with "Patty Wetterling for Congress.” The day after she lost the election I dropped her like a stone. I don't associate with losers.
-It is a well-known fact that I walk much faster than the average person. Sometimes when I am passing people on crutches, in wheelchairs or those who are otherwise infirm I secretly fear that they think I am "showing off." As a result I tend to slow my pace. I don't think this really benefits either party. Still, I can't help doing it.
-Don’t loan me books. I’m real hard on them.
-There are maybe a dozen people in the world at any given time who are doing worthwhile “installation art.” The rest of you hacks need to knock it off already.
- I miss cassette tapes. I really miss TDK-SA90s and Maxell XLIIS 90's. You could beat the shit out of those Maxell’s and they would always play. No one can convince me that any recording could sound better than an LP dubbed at a slightly elevated recording level and played back on a well-maintained mid-1980's Alpine car tape deck. At least I've never heard music sound better. (Note: Dolby NR is for sissies.)
-When an individual employs the phrase, "We'll see you later." It makes me think the that person is mentally unbalanced.
-Chicks love T-Rex.
-It’s clear I don‘t know much about British “sport” when I read a headline like, “Uncapped Joyce Wins Ashes Call-up.” What could that possibly mean?
-I once had a friend confess to me that he was taking “hip-hop” dance lessons. We are not friends anymore.
-I am very active in the M.W.C.O.T.A.P.O. community. In fact, I am its only member since I have never shared with anyone the true meaning of the acronym. But trust me, we’re a very kinky crowd.
-I was born at the following map coordinates: 40.240ºN by 76.920ºW. To this day nothing green will grow there and children whisper as they pass.
-Despite conventional wisdom on the subject I do in fact have one tattoo. It is on the bottom of my right foot and it records the results of two track and field events (long jump/ 100-yard dash) I participated in at the Linglestown Elementary School May Fair in the spring of 1981: I placed FIRST in both. I fear this will go down as the most successful day of my life. At least in terms of “ribbons won.”
-I’ve been told on more than one occasion I have excellent taste in women’s jewelry. I don’t know what to make of that.
-To all prostitutes in the Whittier neighborhood: Please continue to use the front stoop of my building to ply your trade. I plan on using your activities as leverage should my landlord try to increase the rent.
-I have a PlayStation II-- but only one video game for it. It’s a game where you kill Nazis. I enjoy it immensely.
-I have two African violets. One is named, “Jeeves,” the other I call “Wooster” or “Bertie.” Of all the uncool things about me this may be the uncoolest
-It’s time to reevaluate the word, “cool.” I recently overheard an elderly lady in a sweater with a gigantic owl embroidered on its front remark to her companion, “That sure was cool!” To which the second lady—of similar vintage and equally questionable taste in fashion replied, “You betcha’ it was cool!” I have no idea to what they were referring, but if whatever it was was cool then “cool” just ain’t cool anymore.
-The mere act of walking into an office supply store fills me with the overwhelming desire to start my own business. Luckily, the feeling fades quickly.
-To all recent immigrants to the United States: Welcome! I’m excited to have you here and I hope things go well for you. I ask only one favor, please try to remember that there is no haggling in America! Sears is not a suq. Marshall’s is not a Mercado. That laundry soap is $6.99 and no amount of gesticulating on your part is ever going to change that. The people behind you in line have other stuff to do today. Again, welcome and good luck.
-I have never understood why loose-leaf chewing tobacco is offered for sale at convenience stores in major metropolitan areas. It’s the city. Who’s buying this stuff?
-Why is it the first thing some dolt says when they spill something on me is, “I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.” As if anyone has t-shirts and jeans dry cleaned. Just to throw them I’m going to start demanding $2 in quarters for the coin-op. Clumsy fuckers.
- Anything NOT written in black ink will be considered invalid.
-Why does the weather take ten minutes? Does anyone really need to be told for the one millionth time what happens when a warm, moist air mass meets a dry, cool air mass along a frontal boundary? I don’t need another primer in meteorology. Just tell me if it’s going to rain, man.
-I am fairly certain I have peed in every natural body of water I have ever swam in.
-This is #33. I’m going to have a beer now, okay?
Friday, October 20, 2006
"A FOOL FOR CHRIST" MY INTERVIEW WITH MICHELE BACHMANN
What follows is a transcript of a telephone interview I conducted with Minnesota State Representative Michele Bachmann, Republican candidate for the U.S. Congress.
BDS: Good afternoon Representative Bachmann, I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me.
MB: GRENN TOOOLK BREEG! NEEEEE! POOT TAMAHK!
BDS: I'm sorry, Mrs. Bachmann. I think there may be a problem with our connection...
MB: BLLEECHK! OOGLE! BLEECK DOOF!
BDS: Mrs. Bachmann?
(muffled noises, a male voice takes over)
MV: I apologize, Mr. Shuey. The Candidate is speaking in tongues again.
BDS: Does she do this often?
MV: Only when Our Lord and Savior is communicating through her.
BDS: Wait, that was Jesus? I thought it was Klingon.
MV: They're actually quite similar.
BDS: So, for the uninitiated, what was it Jesus was saying?
MV: He was just reaffirming his endorsement for Representative Bachmann's candidacy.
BDS: So Jesus is firmly in your camp?
MV: And where else would he be? With Wetterling?
BDS: Well, it's just that I've never really heard of him taking sides before.
MV: Oh, He does. And by the way, when you write "Him," it is properly capitalized.
BDS: Hold on, how did you know I didn't?
MV: Let's just say I know your type.
BDS: Fair enough. So you've got Jesus. Any other big names on board?
MV: Bigger names than Jesus?
BDS: Well, it's just that I've heard Patty Wetterling has Jessica Lange and Sam Shepard behind
her. Maybe Josh Hartnett, too.
MV: They're lightweights! Jesus had the biggest movie in the world two years ago.
BDS: Yeah, two years ago. You know what they say in Hollywood, "What have you done for me lately?"
MV: She's got the First Lady.
BDS: Ha! Laura Bush doesn't put asses in seats. Everyone knows that. I saw her at a Border's Books one time. You could hear crickets.
MV: Listen, the Candidate is confident that The Lord's backing will be enough.
BDS: And how exactly did Mrs. Bachmann secure the Lord's endorsement?
MV: The Candidate and her family joined hands, fasted and prayed for three days.
BDS: So, it was like Martin Luther King kind of thing?
MV: No, he was a Southern Baptist. The candidate and her family attend a very different sort of church.
BDS: Oh, that's right. So, what exactly does a "wealthy suburban mega-church fast" entail?
MV: (long pause)
BDS: Sir?
MV: Mostly imported bottled water and bread from the bakery at Byerly's.
BDS: Wow! It's a miracle they even survived!
MV: I assure you, adjusted for the Bachmann's level of income and ethnic background, it can be quite a transcendental experience of one's faith.
BDS: I'm sure it can! I skipped breakfast one time and had a vision of St. Bernadine of Siena telling me I should be Governor of West Virginia!
MV: Now you're just being smug. It's the arrogance of the godless liberal elite like you that the people of Minnesota will send Representative Bachmann to Washington to combat.
BDS: Elite? I had to crawl over a drunken prostitute just to get into my apartment building this morning. Mrs. Bachmann is a rich-as-shit tax attorney. She lives in a huge house in Stillwater. And suddenly I'm elite? How, precisely does that work?
MV: Wait a moment. You mean to say you're poor?
BDS: Well, I'm not exactly...
MV: Listen, the Candidate doesn't waste time on people who can't even find their own bootstraps. Call back when you've made something of yourself. (click)
BDS: Hello? Hello?
BDS: Good afternoon Representative Bachmann, I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me.
MB: GRENN TOOOLK BREEG! NEEEEE! POOT TAMAHK!
BDS: I'm sorry, Mrs. Bachmann. I think there may be a problem with our connection...
MB: BLLEECHK! OOGLE! BLEECK DOOF!
BDS: Mrs. Bachmann?
(muffled noises, a male voice takes over)
MV: I apologize, Mr. Shuey. The Candidate is speaking in tongues again.
BDS: Does she do this often?
MV: Only when Our Lord and Savior is communicating through her.
BDS: Wait, that was Jesus? I thought it was Klingon.
MV: They're actually quite similar.
BDS: So, for the uninitiated, what was it Jesus was saying?
MV: He was just reaffirming his endorsement for Representative Bachmann's candidacy.
BDS: So Jesus is firmly in your camp?
MV: And where else would he be? With Wetterling?
BDS: Well, it's just that I've never really heard of him taking sides before.
MV: Oh, He does. And by the way, when you write "Him," it is properly capitalized.
BDS: Hold on, how did you know I didn't?
MV: Let's just say I know your type.
BDS: Fair enough. So you've got Jesus. Any other big names on board?
MV: Bigger names than Jesus?
BDS: Well, it's just that I've heard Patty Wetterling has Jessica Lange and Sam Shepard behind
her. Maybe Josh Hartnett, too.
MV: They're lightweights! Jesus had the biggest movie in the world two years ago.
BDS: Yeah, two years ago. You know what they say in Hollywood, "What have you done for me lately?"
MV: She's got the First Lady.
BDS: Ha! Laura Bush doesn't put asses in seats. Everyone knows that. I saw her at a Border's Books one time. You could hear crickets.
MV: Listen, the Candidate is confident that The Lord's backing will be enough.
BDS: And how exactly did Mrs. Bachmann secure the Lord's endorsement?
MV: The Candidate and her family joined hands, fasted and prayed for three days.
BDS: So, it was like Martin Luther King kind of thing?
MV: No, he was a Southern Baptist. The candidate and her family attend a very different sort of church.
BDS: Oh, that's right. So, what exactly does a "wealthy suburban mega-church fast" entail?
MV: (long pause)
BDS: Sir?
MV: Mostly imported bottled water and bread from the bakery at Byerly's.
BDS: Wow! It's a miracle they even survived!
MV: I assure you, adjusted for the Bachmann's level of income and ethnic background, it can be quite a transcendental experience of one's faith.
BDS: I'm sure it can! I skipped breakfast one time and had a vision of St. Bernadine of Siena telling me I should be Governor of West Virginia!
MV: Now you're just being smug. It's the arrogance of the godless liberal elite like you that the people of Minnesota will send Representative Bachmann to Washington to combat.
BDS: Elite? I had to crawl over a drunken prostitute just to get into my apartment building this morning. Mrs. Bachmann is a rich-as-shit tax attorney. She lives in a huge house in Stillwater. And suddenly I'm elite? How, precisely does that work?
MV: Wait a moment. You mean to say you're poor?
BDS: Well, I'm not exactly...
MV: Listen, the Candidate doesn't waste time on people who can't even find their own bootstraps. Call back when you've made something of yourself. (click)
BDS: Hello? Hello?
Friday, October 06, 2006
MY i.m. EXCHANGE WITH REP. MARK FOLEY
What follows is an instant message discussion I had over the internet with an individual claiming to be Rep. Mark Foley of Florida. As the text will clearly demonstrate, this person was obviously an imposter. BDS
Maf54 (7:37:27 PM): how my favorite young stud doing
Shu22 (7:38:01 PM) Good, I guess. I certainly don't FEEL young. I'm a little sore. I was playing racquetball today.
Maf54 (7:39:32 PM): you need a massage
Shu22: (7:41:03 PM) Actually, that might be just the thing.
Maf54 (7:47:11 PM): good so your getting horny
Shu22: (7:48:16PM) Umm... not really. But one time I did have a sort of embarrassing moment at the masseuse. Luckily I didn't have to turn over right away!
Maf54 (7:55:02 PM): completely naked?
Shu22: (7:55:32 PM) I was wearing a towel.
Maf54 (7:55:51 PM): cute butt bouncing in the air
Shu22: (7:58:09 PM) No, I was pretty much flat on my stomach the whole time. So anyway, what's Florida like this time of year?
Maf54 (8:00:53 PM): i like steamroom
Shu22: (8:01:11 PM) Yeah, I suppose it is pretty hot down there.
Maf54 (8:01:21 PM): i am hard as a rock..so tell me when your reaches rock
Shu22 (8:04:24 PM) When my what "reaches rock?" I'm not really following you. I must say, for a Congressman you seem to have, at best, a tenuous grasp on the English language. Are all members of the House of Representatives so loose with their grammar?
Maf54 (8:08:31 PM): get a ruler and measure it for me
Shu22: (8:09:14 PM) Measure what? The distance it would take me to "reach rock?"
Maf54 (8:10:40 PM): take it out
Shu22 (8:10:54 PM): Take WHAT out, the rock? I'm telling you I don't have any rocks with me. You're making no sense at all. I thought we were going to discuss healthcare reform.
Maf54 (8:11:06 PM): ok
Shu22 (8:14:02 PM): Fine. So, would you say the Republican-led Congress has made any progress on reforming a healthcare system that 72 percent of Americans say is broken?
Maf54 (8:14:37 PM): i like steamroom
Shu22: (8:22:17 PM) You know what? I don't think you're Rep. Mark Foley (R-FL) at all. I think you're just some weird Internet pervert. This discussion is over!
Maf54 (8:47:11 PM): good so your getting horny
Maf54 (7:37:27 PM): how my favorite young stud doing
Shu22 (7:38:01 PM) Good, I guess. I certainly don't FEEL young. I'm a little sore. I was playing racquetball today.
Maf54 (7:39:32 PM): you need a massage
Shu22: (7:41:03 PM) Actually, that might be just the thing.
Maf54 (7:47:11 PM): good so your getting horny
Shu22: (7:48:16PM) Umm... not really. But one time I did have a sort of embarrassing moment at the masseuse. Luckily I didn't have to turn over right away!
Maf54 (7:55:02 PM): completely naked?
Shu22: (7:55:32 PM) I was wearing a towel.
Maf54 (7:55:51 PM): cute butt bouncing in the air
Shu22: (7:58:09 PM) No, I was pretty much flat on my stomach the whole time. So anyway, what's Florida like this time of year?
Maf54 (8:00:53 PM): i like steamroom
Shu22: (8:01:11 PM) Yeah, I suppose it is pretty hot down there.
Maf54 (8:01:21 PM): i am hard as a rock..so tell me when your reaches rock
Shu22 (8:04:24 PM) When my what "reaches rock?" I'm not really following you. I must say, for a Congressman you seem to have, at best, a tenuous grasp on the English language. Are all members of the House of Representatives so loose with their grammar?
Maf54 (8:08:31 PM): get a ruler and measure it for me
Shu22: (8:09:14 PM) Measure what? The distance it would take me to "reach rock?"
Maf54 (8:10:40 PM): take it out
Shu22 (8:10:54 PM): Take WHAT out, the rock? I'm telling you I don't have any rocks with me. You're making no sense at all. I thought we were going to discuss healthcare reform.
Maf54 (8:11:06 PM): ok
Shu22 (8:14:02 PM): Fine. So, would you say the Republican-led Congress has made any progress on reforming a healthcare system that 72 percent of Americans say is broken?
Maf54 (8:14:37 PM): i like steamroom
Shu22: (8:22:17 PM) You know what? I don't think you're Rep. Mark Foley (R-FL) at all. I think you're just some weird Internet pervert. This discussion is over!
Maf54 (8:47:11 PM): good so your getting horny
Friday, September 29, 2006
A TERRIBLE SECRET REVEALED! : THE POD WOMEN OF TARGET CORPORATION
Anyone who has been in downtown Minneapolis on a weekday during lunchtime (or at Happy Hour) has seen them. Their ubiquity is remarkable, but even more conspicuous is their homogeneity. The same hair, clothes and mannerisms. I had always thought it a result of a prevailing corporate culture. The reality is much more disturbing.
My source deep inside The Target Corporation (I’ll call him “Spot”—to protect his identity) revealed to me the REAL reason these women share such uncanny similarities.
Here is what I have learned from him so far:
-Fully 90 % of female employees at The Target Corporation are genetic clones grown in pods at a secret facility in Apple Valley. They are designated as “Target Pod Unit-Female” (Base Models 1-4.) They have a lifespan of only 10 years. (Those tracked for middle management—Models #MM242 and #MM248 have 15 and 20-year life-spans, respectively.)
-The original genetic material from which all TPU-Fs are spawned comes from one source, Beth Aarsvold Olson. She was the “Princess Kay of the Milky Way” butter sculpture winner from the 1977 Minnesota State Fair. How it was she came to be “Eve” to an army of corporate clones is cloudy, but it has something to do with a sordid and short-lived connection to a scientist in the animal husbandry division of Cargill in the early 1980’s.
-While Target essentially “owns” all TPU-Fs, not paying them a regular salary would obviously attract attention, “The Eye” (as “Spot” derisively refers to Target) arranges direct deposits into each pod’s bank account. Through a series of shell companies, Target secretly owns the following downtown Minneapolis drinking and dining establishments: “Brit’s,” “Cosmos,” “The Local” and “Solera.” The recent popularity of The Cosmopolitan and the chocolate martini is no accident. A predisposition for these drinks is genetically programmed into all TPU-Fs. Thus, at $8 a pop Target is able to recapture most of the money it pays out to its clones.
-The predominant hair color used on TPU-Fs (known internally simply as “Target Blond 11”) is available commercially through the L’Oreal Company as #8.2 Champagne Chili (Medium Iridescent Blonde.) Profits from the patent on this popular color are funneled back into the pod research and development program.
-The Target ID badges TPU-Fs wear on lanyards are in fact tracking and control devices. They are never removed, simply tucked away under their blouses.
-Like many women today, TPU-Fs often employ over the counter teeth bleaching products (or pay dentists in Target’s health plan for expensive procedures.) Unbeknownst to the pods, left alone their teeth will actually whiten themselves automatically through a complex process of osmosis originally pioneered by chemists at the Miss America Labs in Atlantic City, NJ. (The chemical process itself is closely guarded, but sources indicate a time-released sodium hypochlorite (NaOCl) compound is imbedded in the dentin.)
The method by which TPU-F’s are eventually “retired” involves the sanitary napkin dispensers in Target office buildings and the details are so horribly unpleasant that decorum prevents me from revealing them.
This is all the information I have at this point. Recent attempts to contact “Spot” have proved fruitless, and I have begun to fear the worst.
Your intrepid investigator,
Brian David Shuey
My source deep inside The Target Corporation (I’ll call him “Spot”—to protect his identity) revealed to me the REAL reason these women share such uncanny similarities.
Here is what I have learned from him so far:
-Fully 90 % of female employees at The Target Corporation are genetic clones grown in pods at a secret facility in Apple Valley. They are designated as “Target Pod Unit-Female” (Base Models 1-4.) They have a lifespan of only 10 years. (Those tracked for middle management—Models #MM242 and #MM248 have 15 and 20-year life-spans, respectively.)
-The original genetic material from which all TPU-Fs are spawned comes from one source, Beth Aarsvold Olson. She was the “Princess Kay of the Milky Way” butter sculpture winner from the 1977 Minnesota State Fair. How it was she came to be “Eve” to an army of corporate clones is cloudy, but it has something to do with a sordid and short-lived connection to a scientist in the animal husbandry division of Cargill in the early 1980’s.
-While Target essentially “owns” all TPU-Fs, not paying them a regular salary would obviously attract attention, “The Eye” (as “Spot” derisively refers to Target) arranges direct deposits into each pod’s bank account. Through a series of shell companies, Target secretly owns the following downtown Minneapolis drinking and dining establishments: “Brit’s,” “Cosmos,” “The Local” and “Solera.” The recent popularity of The Cosmopolitan and the chocolate martini is no accident. A predisposition for these drinks is genetically programmed into all TPU-Fs. Thus, at $8 a pop Target is able to recapture most of the money it pays out to its clones.
-The predominant hair color used on TPU-Fs (known internally simply as “Target Blond 11”) is available commercially through the L’Oreal Company as #8.2 Champagne Chili (Medium Iridescent Blonde.) Profits from the patent on this popular color are funneled back into the pod research and development program.
-The Target ID badges TPU-Fs wear on lanyards are in fact tracking and control devices. They are never removed, simply tucked away under their blouses.
-Like many women today, TPU-Fs often employ over the counter teeth bleaching products (or pay dentists in Target’s health plan for expensive procedures.) Unbeknownst to the pods, left alone their teeth will actually whiten themselves automatically through a complex process of osmosis originally pioneered by chemists at the Miss America Labs in Atlantic City, NJ. (The chemical process itself is closely guarded, but sources indicate a time-released sodium hypochlorite (NaOCl) compound is imbedded in the dentin.)
The method by which TPU-F’s are eventually “retired” involves the sanitary napkin dispensers in Target office buildings and the details are so horribly unpleasant that decorum prevents me from revealing them.
This is all the information I have at this point. Recent attempts to contact “Spot” have proved fruitless, and I have begun to fear the worst.
Your intrepid investigator,
Brian David Shuey
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
I LOVE LIVING IN THE CITY
To the Occupant(s) of Apartment #____,
As best as I can tell, you were pounding on your ceiling (or, as I have come to call it, "my floor") last night. As this is a very limited way in which to communicate, I can only make assumptions about your point. Given the timing of your little outbursts my best guess is that you could hear the floorboards creaking under my feet. They will do that! If you have concerns about the quality of the flooring in this building I would suggest you take it up with the management.
This is my apartment. I live in it. I am not throwing wild parties. I am not operating a 24-hour roller disco. I am not practicing close-order drill in full pack and combat boots. But I repeat: I LIVE IN IT. As I am not invalided or prone in any way to be sedentary I will tend to move about from time to time. In fact, if need (or whim) be I will move about ALL THE TIME. Any time. Night or Day. Once again, MY PLACE. While I have not examined my lease recently (I have lived here quite contentedly and in good standing with both my neighbors and the management for nearly three years...YOU?) I am almost certain WALKING is not listed as a prohibited activity.
Make no mistake, I am not about to engage in some passive-aggressive pissing match with you. You live in an apartment building in the city. If this style of living does not suit you, that is not my concern. I (and many people I know) have dealt with the likes of you before. I suggest you adjust your expectations to match the reality of your situation. Or move. I understand the Boundary Waters in Northern Minnesota offer nearly unmatched solitude. Consider it.
Consider this as well. I have done nothing out of line and you are not going to shame or intimidate me into believing I have. So don't waste your time.
Here neighbor, is the meat of the matter: It is my name that appears on the lease for Apartment #19. And more the point, my name on the rent checks. Should you decide to pay the rent on this apartment perhaps we can reach an agreement on the time and manner in in which I move about in it. Until then, you may pound on your own ceiling until you break your broom or injure yourself. I honestly don't care.
Sincerely,
Brian Shuey
Apt. #19
As best as I can tell, you were pounding on your ceiling (or, as I have come to call it, "my floor") last night. As this is a very limited way in which to communicate, I can only make assumptions about your point. Given the timing of your little outbursts my best guess is that you could hear the floorboards creaking under my feet. They will do that! If you have concerns about the quality of the flooring in this building I would suggest you take it up with the management.
This is my apartment. I live in it. I am not throwing wild parties. I am not operating a 24-hour roller disco. I am not practicing close-order drill in full pack and combat boots. But I repeat: I LIVE IN IT. As I am not invalided or prone in any way to be sedentary I will tend to move about from time to time. In fact, if need (or whim) be I will move about ALL THE TIME. Any time. Night or Day. Once again, MY PLACE. While I have not examined my lease recently (I have lived here quite contentedly and in good standing with both my neighbors and the management for nearly three years...YOU?) I am almost certain WALKING is not listed as a prohibited activity.
Make no mistake, I am not about to engage in some passive-aggressive pissing match with you. You live in an apartment building in the city. If this style of living does not suit you, that is not my concern. I (and many people I know) have dealt with the likes of you before. I suggest you adjust your expectations to match the reality of your situation. Or move. I understand the Boundary Waters in Northern Minnesota offer nearly unmatched solitude. Consider it.
Consider this as well. I have done nothing out of line and you are not going to shame or intimidate me into believing I have. So don't waste your time.
Here neighbor, is the meat of the matter: It is my name that appears on the lease for Apartment #19. And more the point, my name on the rent checks. Should you decide to pay the rent on this apartment perhaps we can reach an agreement on the time and manner in in which I move about in it. Until then, you may pound on your own ceiling until you break your broom or injure yourself. I honestly don't care.
Sincerely,
Brian Shuey
Apt. #19
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
WHAT I WANTED TO SAY (AND WHAT I SAID)
So he says: "Now THIS is more like it!" raising his hands to the sky.
What I WANTED to say: "Jesus fucking Christ you fucking CRETIN! Enough about the goddamn weather! Every day for five years I've been coming out here to catch a quick smoke and a bit of peace and quiet and you're always fast on my heels wanted to have a chat. And always the weather! Nothing but the goddamn weather! What's with you, anyway? Haven't you noticed that for four and a half of these five years I have employed every conceivable strategy-- both subtle and overt --to communicate to you that I do not wish to discuss the weather? That I do not, in fact, wish to discuss ANYTHING! That I would merely like to take a brief respite from work for a cigarette and a moment of quiet reflection. And anyway, you're just talking AT me. You don't even notice if I respond. I could be a fucking TREE for all you care. When I'm not here you probably DO talk to the trees, don't you? You probably say things like, 'Well fellas, looks like you're gonna get a free watering today!' Or, 'Getting cold. Guess you'll be losing those leaves soon.' Well sir, I am not a tree! I am a human man! And I demand that you respect the sanctity of my individual human mind and not clutter it up with your inane and pointless meteorological observations! Damn you, sir! Damn you!"
What I said: "Sure is! Much nicer than yesterday."
What I WANTED to say: "Jesus fucking Christ you fucking CRETIN! Enough about the goddamn weather! Every day for five years I've been coming out here to catch a quick smoke and a bit of peace and quiet and you're always fast on my heels wanted to have a chat. And always the weather! Nothing but the goddamn weather! What's with you, anyway? Haven't you noticed that for four and a half of these five years I have employed every conceivable strategy-- both subtle and overt --to communicate to you that I do not wish to discuss the weather? That I do not, in fact, wish to discuss ANYTHING! That I would merely like to take a brief respite from work for a cigarette and a moment of quiet reflection. And anyway, you're just talking AT me. You don't even notice if I respond. I could be a fucking TREE for all you care. When I'm not here you probably DO talk to the trees, don't you? You probably say things like, 'Well fellas, looks like you're gonna get a free watering today!' Or, 'Getting cold. Guess you'll be losing those leaves soon.' Well sir, I am not a tree! I am a human man! And I demand that you respect the sanctity of my individual human mind and not clutter it up with your inane and pointless meteorological observations! Damn you, sir! Damn you!"
What I said: "Sure is! Much nicer than yesterday."
Monday, September 11, 2006
THANKS FOR NOTHING, "SO-CALLED" STREET TEAM
Well, the first event in "The Brian Shuey Street Team" calendar has come and gone and the turnout was less than spectacular. In fact, not one of you could trouble yourself to attend. I know I did not officially announce the date, but then ANTICIPATING MY NEEDS is clearly implied in the job description.
Nonetheless, "Fall House Cleaning 2006" was not a total loss. One potential recruit did wander in, no doubt enticed by the smell of fresh brownies and cherry Kool-Aid (By the way, I made enough FOR ALL OF YOU, so I guess I will be eating brownies for a while.) He had quite an appetite and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about his free "BRIAN SHUEY STREET TEAM FALL HOUSE CLEANING 2006" t-shirt, but I could not get him to do any actual work. He stole a tray of Jell-O treats while my back was turned and scampered off down the hallway.
So it fell upon me to do all the work myself. Sweeping, mopping, cleaning toilets. That's right, "Street Team," Saturday afternoon saw your fearless leader on his hands and knees scrubbing floors like a common charwoman. These are precisely the sorts of tasks you folks were assembled to unburden me of.
In addition to the cleaning, there was a great deal of sorting junk to do. I filled two contractor bags brimming with discardables and carried them three floors down to the dumpster. Again, with no one's aid. Your loss, because here are...
JUST A FEW OF THE THINGS YOU COULD HAVE HAD BUT THAT I THREW AWAY BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO SHOW UP:
-300 books of matches- all with at least one match left. Also, dozens of disposable lighters that had, at best one more "light" left in them.
-All my post-9/11 pornographic magazines. They say "everything changed" that day, including it would seem, porn. I can't say I've enjoyed the changes.
-A bunch of wrist watches. (I dislike watches immensely but often receive them as gifts.)
-A VHS tape of rock videos recorded off of MTV's "120 Minutes" in the late 1980's—including the Depeche Mode video that was playing when I lost my virginity.
-One full box of galvanized roofing nails. (It occurred to me that while I do have a roof over my head, nailing it is not my responsibility.)
-A very old computer who's hard drive contained the majority of my tortured adolescent poetry. (Including at least one work with a couplet rhyming "rain" and "pain.")
-So many rubber bands.
So yes, any or all of these goodies could have been yours, but your laziness and disregard for me prevented that.
I am currently reevaluating your individual positions on the Street Team and the Team's existence as a whole.
Brian David Shuey
Note: Groveling messages of apology will go a long way to maintaining your active status on the BSST.
Nonetheless, "Fall House Cleaning 2006" was not a total loss. One potential recruit did wander in, no doubt enticed by the smell of fresh brownies and cherry Kool-Aid (By the way, I made enough FOR ALL OF YOU, so I guess I will be eating brownies for a while.) He had quite an appetite and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about his free "BRIAN SHUEY STREET TEAM FALL HOUSE CLEANING 2006" t-shirt, but I could not get him to do any actual work. He stole a tray of Jell-O treats while my back was turned and scampered off down the hallway.
So it fell upon me to do all the work myself. Sweeping, mopping, cleaning toilets. That's right, "Street Team," Saturday afternoon saw your fearless leader on his hands and knees scrubbing floors like a common charwoman. These are precisely the sorts of tasks you folks were assembled to unburden me of.
In addition to the cleaning, there was a great deal of sorting junk to do. I filled two contractor bags brimming with discardables and carried them three floors down to the dumpster. Again, with no one's aid. Your loss, because here are...
JUST A FEW OF THE THINGS YOU COULD HAVE HAD BUT THAT I THREW AWAY BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO SHOW UP:
-300 books of matches- all with at least one match left. Also, dozens of disposable lighters that had, at best one more "light" left in them.
-All my post-9/11 pornographic magazines. They say "everything changed" that day, including it would seem, porn. I can't say I've enjoyed the changes.
-A bunch of wrist watches. (I dislike watches immensely but often receive them as gifts.)
-A VHS tape of rock videos recorded off of MTV's "120 Minutes" in the late 1980's—including the Depeche Mode video that was playing when I lost my virginity.
-One full box of galvanized roofing nails. (It occurred to me that while I do have a roof over my head, nailing it is not my responsibility.)
-A very old computer who's hard drive contained the majority of my tortured adolescent poetry. (Including at least one work with a couplet rhyming "rain" and "pain.")
-So many rubber bands.
So yes, any or all of these goodies could have been yours, but your laziness and disregard for me prevented that.
I am currently reevaluating your individual positions on the Street Team and the Team's existence as a whole.
Brian David Shuey
Note: Groveling messages of apology will go a long way to maintaining your active status on the BSST.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
I'VE WRITTEN A "SIGN-OFF" PHRASE FOR KATIE COURIC!
Apparently, Katie Couric has asked America to help her come up with a "sign-off" phrase for her nightly news casts. (It would seem CBS is suffering from a shortage of writers.)
What follows is the email I sent to "The CBS Evening News."
Greetings,
So as I understand it, Katie Couric is looking for a "sign-off" phrase a la Ed Murrow's "Good night and good luck."
Might I suggest the following:
"Thanks for sharing part of your dinner hour with me. As you scrape the un-eaten peas from your cold, neglectful husband's TV dinner tray into that flimsy, off-brand garbage bag and drag it to the curb in front of your sqalid, miserable little house remember: I make $13 million dollars a year to look pretty, smile and read the news. I'm Katie Couric. Good night, suckers!"
Too much?
Best regards,
Brian David Shuey
Minneapolis, MN
http://mrshuey.blogspot.com/
What follows is the email I sent to "The CBS Evening News."
Greetings,
So as I understand it, Katie Couric is looking for a "sign-off" phrase a la Ed Murrow's "Good night and good luck."
Might I suggest the following:
"Thanks for sharing part of your dinner hour with me. As you scrape the un-eaten peas from your cold, neglectful husband's TV dinner tray into that flimsy, off-brand garbage bag and drag it to the curb in front of your sqalid, miserable little house remember: I make $13 million dollars a year to look pretty, smile and read the news. I'm Katie Couric. Good night, suckers!"
Too much?
Best regards,
Brian David Shuey
Minneapolis, MN
http://mrshuey.blogspot.com/
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