Driving home from the YMCA today, I called ahead to make a request. I requested that Tom find the clear duct tape which I had purchased for an exorbitant $7 at the ramshackle hardware store on 7th Avenue. At the time, I had harbored the mistaken notion that I would use the clear duct tape to repair a ginormous hole in the Flower House that someone, which might have been me, ripped in it during some aggressive weedwacking.
Tom inquired with more trepidation than curiosity as to what the clear duct tape was needed for. I informed him that upon my arrival at work this morning, I had pressed the button to roll up my car window. But instead of it going up, I heard a loud clunk. The noise sounded enough like Henry Rollins that I turned down my iPod and tried again with the rolling up button. The window abruptly crashed down inside my car door.
I cursed like a sailor and jammed my fingers down through the rubber flaps on the door, using all the strength in my sweaty thumb and forefinger to yank the glass back out of the door. I propped it up precariously and it actually stayed up until after work when I slammed closed my trunk and the window violently plummeted back down into the nether regions of my car door. I resigned myself to driving around like my Grandpa Frank with the window fully open and my arm dangling out.
Tom was less resigned to me driving around like my Grandpa Frank with the window fully open and my arm dangling out. He asked me where I had put the clear duct tape and I told him to look in all the places where I most likely would have put it. He has a knack for finding things I don't even remember having. Nonetheless, the clear duct tape never did turn up. So my window is taped shut with regular duct tape. My Grandpa Frank was also a great fan of your regular duct tape. Besides hemming his pants and fixing his shoes, he periodically duct taped large items to the roof of his car for transport.
So I guess I am driving around like my Grandpa Frank.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
If she calls out to you, New York City enchants you like a succubus. Her powerful allure washes over you; it envelopes you; it bewitches, tantalizes and mesmerizes you. She bleeds you of your innocence. She demands mercilessly high stakes and cold flawlessness. She requires relentless effort, expunging the complacent. And you love her even more for it.