July 29th, 2004

flavored with age


Happy birthday, mom!

I have a lot to thank you for, such as teaching me to read, helping me out when I've been in trouble, and (eventually) trusting me.

But mostly, I'm thankful you don't have a computer and never will, because that way you'll never read the horrible things I write on my website.
flavored with age

My life: the bad sitcom

So I'm walking home when this blue convertible sports job with Michigan plates piloted by some khaki-shorts-wearing cretin with a big bald spot pulls up right in front of the entrance to the BK. In other words, right in front of the path I'm walking. He proceeds to sit there idling and yakking away on a cell phone.

"Hey," I said, feeling uncharacteristically confrontational. "You wanna move your car, man? I'm walking here."

He looks up from inside his car, which is blocking not only my path but the driveway to the BK, never removing the cell phone from his ear. "Just go around," he suggests.

Going around him, rather than insisting that he moves his fucking car out of the way, seems less than an ideal solution. "Hey, a bald guy driving a convertible," I note, not going around. "That's original."

At this point, for reasons unclear to me, he leans on his horn. HOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNK.

"Wait," I say, confused. "Are you...why did you blow your horn? Do you want me to move?"

He scowls and pulls his car forward to clear the drive. What an amazing adventure.