Take ThePirate's advice. Deal with the big issues now.
When time makes decisions for you, it's time to pick out the satin for the interior of your coffin.
Needless to say, I've got a collection of coffins. Which interior will it be, in the end? I guess time will make the decision for me. Either that, or I will try to pull a fast one on time and get myself hacked to pieces, so I can be buried in all of them. Multiple open caskets funeral for one. Yikes.
It would be a healthy, stoic excercise to go coffin-shopping for oneself, once in a while. For those of you partial to the cremation process, I dont know what you could pick out. Urns? Ash trays? Oceans?
After running in the snow with the dogs for about an hour last night, my friend and I stumbled into a bagel place on sixth ave and 8th street. It's probably notorious. It should be.
It's about 1 am, and there are crazy people at every table. Some are in groups, being crazy together, gossiping about how "so and so" has just lost their mind and the cops were over there sedating her. Then there are the mildly tweaked folk who laminate their newspapers with cream cheese. Then there's the isolated cat people.
i.e.:
As I head towards the door to leave, a woman in her 40s, well-dressed, nurse-like demeanor, holding a cup of coffee in both hands, looks up, straight into my eyes, and says: "Miaow." Her tone is deadly serious and stern.
So I say "Miaow" back, right? My tone is coy and playful.
She immediately puts the cup down and drops her head onto the table, in an ostrich reflex.
I leave. As I'm untying the dogs, I see her through the window, talking and gesticulating wildly.
My friend comes out a little later. "Wow," she says. "You just missed it. There's this woman in there and she just went off, at the top of her voice, arguing with some imaginary person."
Me? I think to myself. I mean, I'm hoping it was me. I know it's wrong, but I'd like to think I just became some lunatic's fantasy adversary.
I don't know about you guys, but it's one thing to exist in your own fantastical madness -- it's another thing entirely to exist in someone else's.
My ego is warped like a skanky NY pretzel.
When time makes decisions for you, it's time to pick out the satin for the interior of your coffin.
Needless to say, I've got a collection of coffins. Which interior will it be, in the end? I guess time will make the decision for me. Either that, or I will try to pull a fast one on time and get myself hacked to pieces, so I can be buried in all of them. Multiple open caskets funeral for one. Yikes.
It would be a healthy, stoic excercise to go coffin-shopping for oneself, once in a while. For those of you partial to the cremation process, I dont know what you could pick out. Urns? Ash trays? Oceans?
After running in the snow with the dogs for about an hour last night, my friend and I stumbled into a bagel place on sixth ave and 8th street. It's probably notorious. It should be.
It's about 1 am, and there are crazy people at every table. Some are in groups, being crazy together, gossiping about how "so and so" has just lost their mind and the cops were over there sedating her. Then there are the mildly tweaked folk who laminate their newspapers with cream cheese. Then there's the isolated cat people.
i.e.:
As I head towards the door to leave, a woman in her 40s, well-dressed, nurse-like demeanor, holding a cup of coffee in both hands, looks up, straight into my eyes, and says: "Miaow." Her tone is deadly serious and stern.
So I say "Miaow" back, right? My tone is coy and playful.
She immediately puts the cup down and drops her head onto the table, in an ostrich reflex.
I leave. As I'm untying the dogs, I see her through the window, talking and gesticulating wildly.
My friend comes out a little later. "Wow," she says. "You just missed it. There's this woman in there and she just went off, at the top of her voice, arguing with some imaginary person."
Me? I think to myself. I mean, I'm hoping it was me. I know it's wrong, but I'd like to think I just became some lunatic's fantasy adversary.
I don't know about you guys, but it's one thing to exist in your own fantastical madness -- it's another thing entirely to exist in someone else's.
My ego is warped like a skanky NY pretzel.
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
artrob:
Iz, would you indulge me and come take a short survey?
obd:
I love it. You speak to someone in their own language and they go nuts. Now that says something about about New York.