Friday, April 25, 2003

Five-thousand-thirty dollars into his shopping spree, Mr. Pepero finally conceded that melancholy had won over his madness. His eyes, one blue and the other a curious blaze of yellow, fixed upon the fantastic spectacle of trucks crawling slowly out of the parking lot. Jamming his right hand into the inner pocket of his cashmere sportcoat, he gave his checkbook a reassuring pat. The day, indeed, started out as a slow one and transformed into a productive one. He had simply wanted new undergarments, but he had also wanted to infuse his shopping experience with a little excitement by slumming it at Reffenpfeffer’s Rags, a delightful watering hole for the upwardly mobile.

He was Old Money, or so he thought, and when this Old Money stepped into the store, his tall, gaunt frame recoiled in excitement and his eyes widened in a blue-yellow frenzy. The fixtures of the store! They would add substantively to his collection.

“Fixtures qua Bourgeoisie Clothier of the New Millennium–I should make a mental note of that,” he muttered to himself.

Educated at Oxford and ever mindful of the fortune bequeathed to him by his Italian ancestors, Mr. Pepero gained much in riches, but lost a commensurate amount in sanity. As a god among people, he took it upon himself to scour the world for store fixtures to add to his burgeoning Museum of Modern Decadence. Everyone–the poor, the middle class, the average, the somewhat exceptional–deserved the privilege to enjoy his insightful social commentary. And who on earth, he thought, could possibly miss the delicious melancholy of a building filled with things, yet seemingly not filled with things? It was a twist worthy of his literary studies at Oxford and of past English masters.

“Jonson would have been proud,” he whispered to himself.

It was a chore herding all of the shoppers out the store (it always was), but his checkbook crafted the most persuasive arguments and convinced both manager and customers to leave the store promptly. Then, a quick call on the wireless rallied all of his movers and they promptly stripped the store bare of fixtures, leaving eerie piles of clothes on the floor as they tore through the store.

As the last truck straggled onto the highway, Mr. Pepero pulled his coat tighter around himself to fight off the chill autumn wind. He squinted at the dropping sun and turned a yellow gaze onto his expensive watch, after which he squinted thoughtfully and decided on a place to dine. In a flash of blue, he decided to conclude the day with even more slumming.

“Chez Shanghai it is!” he declared as he walked briskly to his Rolls.

Thursday, April 24, 2003

I’ve got to admit, gentle reader, that it’s tough taking only one course. Do you know what happened to my motivation to do, oh, just about anything school-related? It decided to protest, you see, by laying itself down on I-80 during rush hour.

And oh, wait! My motivation to dispense wisdom just wandered onto I-80 as well. Kiss-kiss, dear reader, and have a good night.

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

Back in freshman year, Tim, Janet, and I invented the Olfactory Game while riding the El. Indeed, what can one do but manufacture diversions while standing in a hotbed of weary commuters and spunky panhandlers? Social inequality went out the window for an afternoon, gentle reader, and everyone–Hispanic, Asian, Black, Caucasian, rich, and poor–became a contestant in this game.

The rules of the game are as follows:

1. Everyone, you included, starts out at zero.

2. Give yourself a hearty whiff. If you smell, subtract one from your total. If you don’t smell, then hooray for you! You’re hygienic.

3. Now we arrive at the heart of the game. Sniff your neighbors and subtract points when needed. Contestants sporting cologne or, God forbid, deodorant will only add to your point total.

When does this game end? Are fellow El-ers even aware that they’re participating in the game? I’m not entirely sure, dear reader, but I will flesh out the rules for you tonight. Let’s assign the initial self-whiff plus/minus three points. Your fellow citizens will either add or subtract one point from your point total. Here’s the innovative part: If you bring along a canister of air freshener and help smellfenders out, then you can add FIVE WHOLE POINTS for each person you tag. The first person to reach or exceed fifty points WINS. A message to people who accuse public transportation of being boring: Take that, people who accuse public transportation of being boring!