Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

To date, I haven't been kicked out too many times. One time I was kicked out of the Madison YMCA but it was really a passive-aggressive sort of ousting. It was like a dip in lake lackluster. I don't know about you, but if I'm going to get my ass forcibly removed, I'd prefer more of a chuck norris roundhouse kickin' what the fuck cowboy kind of thing then a moment mostly defined by pointed glares and fingers tapping on clipboards. Another time, I got kicked out of the Bubble Lounge in TriBeCa. Unfortunately, I was not the manager's focal point, merely a somewhat less than innocent bystander unworthy of specific attention. This Bubble Lounge turmult was a take two of the first time I proved myself lousy at disorderly conduct. In the early '90s, Carrine cleaned the clock of a drunken, drink-tossing Asian shortie and Tom somehow got thrown out for getting in the middle. I couldn't even manage to get kicked out of the Girl Scouts like Nikki for "inap

It's been a weird couple months for me and medical professionals. After so recently chatting up my PCP in the dark, I am largely serene about yesterday's peculiar eye exam. My appointment started out normal enough. Dr. W asks me if I had done anything fun over the past couple months, and I reply that we had "gone hiking."  Immediately, the doctor slides back in his eye doctor stool in slackjawed disbelief. "Hiking?" He pauses, shaking his head. Unable to form the words to express the gravity of his message. Finally he manages to say, "And were you armed?" I mumble incoherently because it's tough to talk with that giant steampunk double monocle optical contraption locked up under your chin. The doctor is unconcerned about my lack of concrete response. "I want you to know that whenever I go hiking, I always carry a small Beretta which I conceal in my backpack. There are crazy people out there in forest," he says. "Read

Terrible news swept the valley recently after a Marmot was forced from his burrow by a knife-wielding Hoary Squirrel. The marmot was incensed by the unprovoked and grievous encounter. No one was physically harmed, but the resulting mental anguish left the marmot no choice but to ditch his marmot children and seek refuge in the nest of his longstanding paramour. "So many hardships afflict me," intoned the middle-aged marmot, often referred to as a martyr of biblical proportions. "If it's not rancid berries, it's some other booby trap. The other rodents have always been out to get me, that's why I need to own a lot of expensive sweatsuits and other things." When asked what he will do with his future, the marmot shrugged, a picture of indulged tranquility. "Luckily," he sniggered, looking quickly over both shoulders, "I'm kind of a trustfund baby." Responding to an inquiry into the veracity of this claim, the marmot replied s

Meeting called to order at 16:30 Thanks more than much to Fredrick for hosting our club meeting yesterday evening, and it's not just the brännvin talking when I say it was a five-star crowd at a five-star venue. For the first time, we had a quorum of norsk talare who kept busy removing the Rs from words. The Danes really need to pick up their game, as once again, Allan was our sole red and white flag waver. Luckily that flag he has is pretty big and he's got excellent wrist strength. Aside from the mountaineers attempting to summit the building next door, the risk of bodily harm was kept to a minimum throughout the evening. The same cannot be said of the little kid's birthday party on the other side of the courtyard wall which, judging from the shrieking, was a snakepit of Machiavellian antics. I can't even remember how many cute little chocolate pies and hallon cupcakes I managed to put away. All I know is I collected a sizable pile of to

I figured something out which you may already know. I fixate erratically. This problem of mine predicates a cornucopia of odd shit. For example, a couple days ago, I mentioned to Tom that right after Hurricane Irene in August, I went to our family doctor to review some routine bloodwork. The doctor’s power was out so we went into a pitch-black exam room and huddled around a Coleman camping lantern to discuss my cholesterol levels.  He was having some trouble reading my patient chart in the flickering darkness so I told him he should feel around for his little ear lamp thingie and use it like a precision reading torch. Anyway, Tom got this bushy eyebrow look about him and was all incredulous that I didn’t see fit to mention this incident earlier. I’m sure he was just retroactively worried since I could have easily tripped over the exam table and crashed to the floor tangled in a roll of crinkly exam table paper and wedged up behind the EKG machine and no one might have foun