- Stan Bush – The Touch
- Hugo Montenegro – MacArthur Park
- Beck – Where It’s At
That should do it.
That should do it.
My fellow neighbors and lessees of [name redacted],
The time has come for a change. For far too long now, this apartment complex has committed heinous crimes against us, and possibly all of humanity itself. This list of atrocities includes a failure to maintain facilities properly, a lack of communication about the appropriate length of time to keep Christmas lights stapled to your porch, and overall general cleanliness.
But today, dear citizens of this burg, there exists a greater cause for concern: the goddamn parking gate.
Surely my brothers and sisters of village enjoy the freshly-pickled fruits of a gated community. It helps keep solicitors, unwanted pizza deliverymen-and-women, and the riff-raff from outside bodied politic firmly behind a three-inch steel gate. And for that I am thankful.
Renters of this land are aware of the safety the gate provides. It is not unlike a warm blanket of protection; be it from savage thieves or guys just trying to carpool with their girlfriends. Lest we forget there is also most-certainly a level of wild animal/vermin-protection as well.
What say, then, if this magical safety device was to be harmed? Let’s say a driver hypothetically… “rammed it” with their car? Leaving the scene with the gate in a state of unrepairability, by said driver.
This anonymous driver may have been listening to Metallica’s Enter Sandman and might have thought or assumed the gate was already ajar before speeding to exit the complex, as the driver might have been late to work and knew that traffic would be heavy (remember, this is all hypothetical).
Should it then be the duty of this person to have to relinquish the funds necessary to pay the costly repairs of restoring the gate back to working order? Should we, the people of [redacted] be so quick to rush and condemn this poor sole of a crime that he only admitted to committing based on viewing a security cam video of the whole thing the morning after?
Can we not be a civilized society? Can we learn to live with one-another? Can we find it in our hearts to forgive? Can we take a collection because he/she does not have $1500 just laying around to give to a guy with a mallet to bang out the metal so that the gate looks better again?
Can we forgive? Can we shop around and maybe find a better estimate? Maybe take in a collection by fining residents who their dogs poop outside the dog walk? And also forgive.
Sincerely, The Concerned Residents of [redacted]
Please stop talking about actors in TV advertisements. Not a week goes by without a co-worker saying something along the lines of: “You reminded me of this commercial – you know the one…” Or maybe the old chestnut, “I saw this ad last night, and I think it reminds me of you…” Stop it.
Now, I don’t watch TV, and I have not for years. That in no way makes me a particularly better person, but consider this: I don’t understand how 30 seconds of non-entertainment filler could make such an impression on someone that you know, really know, in real life?
Okay, I concede that you may look like someone in a commercial, but let’s face it: in this circumstance, THEY look like YOU, and not the other way around.*
Commercials are dull, just dull. They’re traditionally there to sell you something (of course, nowadays they seem like entertaining filler). My point is: don’t pay attention to them. That’s just what they want. Just tune it out.. your episode of Everybody Loves Raymond will be back in two minutes.
Just fill your time with something beneficial to the advancement of society. Or do a crossword puzzle. Perhaps you can take a moment to discuss (alone or aloud) what was really going on with the major plot points. Or what about your own needs? Maybe it’s time to open a window or throw on that afghan?
My point, which I still hold out hope I have not lost sight of, dear reader, is that in this modern, hectic, cuss-word-filled life, entertainment is important. And I get that. Commercials help pay for that, but by no means should we pay attention to them, nor should we compare co-workers to the guy in that insurance commercial. Because I don’t even know what your’re going on about when you do. Good day, sir.
Ow. There’s something in my shoe. Wait, let me wiggle my feet around inside the shoe first and – nope, something’s there.
Something has lodged itself beside my insoles. Perhaps it’s a stone. Or a splinter of wood, or a bit of glass.
What if it cuts my foot? I would have no way of knowing. I could be infecting myself, putting myself at risk for illness as I stand here in my own discomfort. Alright, Painter, keep it together.
Maybe it’s not bad. Maybe I like it. Perchance it feels good. Scratching some unknown itch I didn’t know I had until the object started scathing my sock. No. That’s dumb.
Am I in a good spot to stop and check my shoe? Maybe flip it over and give it a few taps on the back to dislodge my mystery matter? Yes, I will.
But there’s no time now. I must live with my knickknack firmly in place. I must solider on.
No, f that noise. I’m going in. I will leave no stone unturned (figuratively, because I wouldn’t leave stones in my hightops). I will hunt you. I will track you down to the end of the Earth (I’m talking, of course, to the distressing object). I will find you, and I will take you out. Of my shoe.
Let me just flip this… yes. I think I found the culprit. This little bit of shale shall do me no more harm. I will live a free man again, feeling like I have a whole new foot. It will feel so good. Back on the ol’ foot it goes.
Until… no. Not again. It’s back, egads… the phantom pain has returned. Now it’s in an altogether new spot.
May this invader be in my sock? What if it’s some sort of foot fungus or tape worm. Could I be infected? Do I have to loose this foot before this uncomfortableness spreads like a cancer, to the rest of my body?
Let me take off my sock.
Ah yes, it’s another stone. It has wiggled it’s way inside my sock, my inner-most layer of my hooves. It was the last defense against outside forces of foreign matter, but it failed. Upon closer inspection, I appear to have a hole in my sock. This won’t do.
I’ve only had these socks for a fortnight, and worn and washed them once before. My foot relief is only matched by my disappointment for the socks I’m sporting.
Never again. Never again.