Dictated by completely unnecessary necessity, I drove to the nearby Trader Joe’s. The intended outcome was to acquire sparkling water, some butternut squash zig-zags, and a piece of fruit, thereby stimulating the economy by another $6.73. What I walked away with, however, was a fleeting regret for ever having had a vasectomy.
Desperate for a vasectomy, but afraid of letting needles get close to his hoo-hah and ding-a-lings, Clarence opted for the vasectomy via the ear canal procedure.
When anyone meets me for the first time, they see that my build is slight, my hair looks like a Brylcreem ad, my glasses are older than me, and I’m probably humming a song that their grandparents might hear and go, “That song was popular when I was a kid. That’s before your time, isn’t it? Wait, are you Dorian Gray?” In short, I am not someone whose finger is on the pulse of hip culture. Of course, the reason for that is because hip culture filed a restraining order against me, and I’m now unable to get that close to it. It has absolutely nothing to do with my being a huge square. Nope.
So, when someone says to me “You look like Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters” or “You look like the older version of George McFly in Back To The Future”, I know what they mean. What they’re really saying is, “You are clearly the most effortlessly cool person I’ve ever met. Tell me how to be better. Tell me how to be more you-ish and less me-ish.”
As Carl Rathburn soon learned, being Mike Calahan-like is more than just wearing glasses. It’s also developing a weaker chin and shaving your chest with a dull razor.
Living in a modern world is not necessarily a difficult or insurmountable task. Oh sure, for folks like myself, life is simply a series of easily-achieved goals and back-to-back successes that follow one another like an endless line of Dominos. Does that mean the rest of you can’t try? Of course not. Whether you’re entertaining guests in the walk-in closet your landlord advertised as a studio apartment or home alone because everyone you called is “busy with a, uh, thing,” being an adult in the modern world is easy. It can also make for a better you. And isn’t a better you better than the not-better you that you can be better than?
So, for all of you average Joe’s and Josephine’s, I have compiled a few helpful observations on life in the modern world.
The Joe and Josephine Society that gathered at JoJo’s Pharmacy in Joeville listen to an introduction by their newest member Gary Garrison.
At Idylwild Elementary, 204 was the only classroom that had its own bathroom. Believe me when I say that this was a pretty big deal. Students in other classes were forced to walk to the community bathrooms on either side of the school. Like suckers. Public restroom-using suckers. On rainy days, we lucky kids of 204 weren’t forced to don our winter coats just because we had an extra glass of milk with breakfast. Instead, we could get up and be back in our seat minutes later, ignoring whatever was being taught. It was like having access to an employees only bathroom at the grocery store or being able to use the bathroom that was attached to your grandparents’ room. It felt so fancy! With the exception of being able to drive or vote or even read at an appropriate age level, most of us felt that we were pretty much adults.
It was in the middle of his lesson on leaks when Warren learned of his own susceptibility to the power of suggestion.
However, after a number* of emails asking why I was not posting, how I was and other friendly reaching-out’s, I decided to return and try to engage what is undoubtedly a dedicated readership waiting with bated breath for me to speak directly to their souls via the written word.
After six days of observation, doctors at St. Agnes of Moorehead chalked up Doris as having an acute case of “stummy ache”. What doctors didn’t realize was that Doris was having withdrawal symptoms resulting from not having a B.L.O.G fix in what felt like years. Also, she was addicted to morphine.
I am aware that much has changed with many of my readers, some good and some bad. Continue reading →
Instead of driving west into Utah, then up to Idaho, we drove north to Montana in a spontaneous change of plans wholly inspired by a coloring book, Bucky Thompson and the Redskins. As my dad now saw it, we were somehow bound to honor the unspecified deeds of a few or maybe several unnamed individuals of vague and generalized historical significance. When asked where we were driving or to whom we were supposed to feel indebted, my dad would only answer with, “You’ll see,” and a smile that anticipated what was no doubt going to be a big payoff.
Minutes turned into hours and hours turned into…well, more hours. Entertainment was desirable and necessary, but seemed perpetually elusive, like the face of an adult in a Charlie Brown cartoon. 20 Questions, Slug Bug and a game of I Spy that ended with my sister, Michele, hitting me (she got mad because the only things I would ‘spy’ were things inside the car. “Stop picking ‘headrest’. Idiot.”) Eventually, we took to humming the theme songs of television shows.
On some highways, even starting a game of Slug Bug can take several hours
By the time my dad and I started in on what my sister termed to be the ‘kajillionth stupid’ rendition in a row of the Bonanza theme, my dad suddenly announced, “Here we are!”