Here are a few things I’d bring up in conversation if we had time to hang out together nursing beers or if I got around to phoning you.
Radiolab has led me to a huge musical crush on Zoe Keating. She’s a classically trained cellist who hung out with lots of rockers and electronic freaks and picked up some of their tools and mojo and put them to exceptional use.
Here’s a link to the radiolab interview:
Moving on to our second imaginary pint. This week on trash pickup Tuesday, the collection truck vomited out a slurry of waste for about 30 yards right in front of our house. 2 days later and it still reeks. A neighbor speculated about calling the city and I took his initiative and ran with it. I called public works and got transferred to sanitation. Sanitation guy chuckled at me and drawled, “Yup. We call that hopper juice!”
I asked him if he could send out a juice-cleaner truck and he promised he’d send the request to his supervisor who’d forward a request to the sweeper division. I was impressed that he knew Highland St. was only one block long. I haven’t been impressed with the response. I should have just gone to my back fence and bothered Cecil who’s on the city council. Looks like the good Lord’s gonna have to clean this one up, if he’s willing.
Third Pint. First sip. Have you used a debit card at McDonalds lately? That transaction is over before it’s begun. Swipe, receipt spits out, they’re handing you some fries. They may have gotten into the debit race late but they are hands down kicking transactional ass. At Lowes I have to swipe the card 3 times, then hand it to the aged cashier, then list off the last 4 digits. Meanwhile Micky-D’s has served another 2 million happy campers.
Third Sip. Sorry if this is starting to sound like a lame comedy routine. It’s not as fun without the actual beer. Let’s soldier on. This morning Ada left the downstairs toilet seat up and I, horror of horrors, sat on the cold rim. Surprisingly, I did not fall into the bowl- and I have a really skinny tail end. What’s all the fuss about? If anything, I’m a little disgusted by what I may have sat on, but if the seat was up it means Ada was vigilantly cleaning a toilet that rarely gets used, anyway.
If we kept the seat up all the time we’d have to keep the rim pristine out of the shame of seeing anything lingering. I can’t do it, though. Primarily because momma taught me otherwise. Secondarily because Heather told me that when you flush a class IV storm system of filthy nano-particles lifts into the air so I always put the seat down first.
Sip. Tool time. You can now see me doozering away at work with a bulky clear plastic case attached to my belt. It’s my new waterproof ipod case. This is the culmination of years of evolution in Y world, where naked men dwell and interact before or after exercising. I usually keep my head down in the locker room, avoiding the extremists and the peace makers and the flirts, and head straight for the pool after a quick shower.
At first I tediously counted laps. Then I just tried to swim for a set amount of time on the Casio w-59 wristwatch. Now I’m on a musical clock, swimming until the playlist ends. So far the perfect swim team song is U2’s “numb.” The experience is further enhanced by the prosthetic flippers I wear for faster speeds and a better workout. There are still plenty of bugs in the system. The waterproof earbuds keep falling out or shifting. Also I’m noticing all kinds of wet sloshing sounds that previously went unnoticed. That’s just the price we cyborgs have to pay.
Gotta go swim with Zoe’s cello now. Thoroughly enjoyed our one sided conversation!