************************************
Rachelle: Oh.
Rachelle: Well, I didn’t realize you felt that way about Keto Pizza Night.
Rachelle: Just a 5 out of 10, eh?
Rachelle: Oh. More like a high 4 out of 10. I see.
Rachelle: It’s been so brave of you to stoically endure like that, especially when you’re not even on the Keto diet!
Rachelle: It would be awful to have a homemade pizza created for you each week.
Rachelle: I can’t even imagine.
Rachelle: Yes, it’s true.
Rachelle: You really would do anything for your family.
Rachelle: Such courage.
Rachelle: You know what else you could do for you family?
Rachelle: No, this isn’t about getting a job.
Rachelle: I know how debilitating your allergies can be.
Rachelle: Yes, it must be like having Face Fibromyalgia!
Rachelle: Poor Pickle and his FF.
Rachelle: You should make a Facebook meme about this condition! Spread the word! Complain!
Rachelle: I’m sorry, I meant share information, not complain.
Rachelle: But look, what I’m preposing is this: Instead of me doing Keto Pizza Night for everybody each Tuesday night, maybe you could make something instead?
Rachelle: What do you mean you have to think about it?
Rachelle: No, I think you should get back to me now.
Rachelle: No.
Rachelle: No ketchup based soups.
Rachelle: Because it’s disgusting.
Rachelle: Look, all you have to do is BBQ a steak and pour some salad from a bag onto a plate.
Rachelle: I believe in you, Pickle.
Rachelle: I believe you have what it takes to become Master of Fire.
Rachelle: That’s why I married you. I knew you would one day become Master of Fire.
Rachelle: Sure, I guess it was like a prophecy.
Rachelle: Oh! I found your glasses, by the way!
Rachelle: Jones had put them, very delicately, in the middle of a stack of towels in the linen closet.
Rachelle: There is a Spiderman sticker on the left lens.
Rachelle: No, I didn’t take it off.
Rachelle: I thought it looked sweet.
Rachelle: Nothing can stop you now. You are the Master of Fire. You’ll figure out how to remove the sticker.
Rachelle: Okay, I have to go now, it’s time for my power skating/massage session with Pierre! Should be back around 7:00! xo
The other day I was in a cab heading east on Bloor Street.
It was a beautiful, sunny day in autumn, a lucky day, even, but I was preoccupied by petty grievance. The driver was a smoker, and in order to air out his car before he picked me up he’d opened all the windows. You’d think I’d appreciate this, but I couldn’t get past the heavy, permanent smell of smoke, and the open windows were just serving as conduits, breaches through which all my seasonal allergies might stream. Somewhat unkindly, I asked him to close the windows, which he did, and with that it was like a wall went up between us.
As we approached Varsity Stadium he reopened a couple of the windows I had asked him to close, but before I could protest, music thumped into the car. A marching band–glittering in red and undulating like a flag– was in the stands performing the Battle Hymn of the Republic while a football game unfolded beneath.
Somehow this ignited a million unanticipated things at once, and we drove through the music with our heads out the window, as if it was weather we thirsted for.
On the field U of T was playing Queens and the crowd sounded like a tiny ocean. The athletes, all perfect, all aimed from birth to this moment in time, stood about like gold and blue statues. And one of them was going to make the best catch of his life, something he would return to again and again over the course of his life. Somebody else was going to get injured and never be quite the same. And in that crowd another person would see a beautiful young woman smile and feel nourished. A woman in a wheelchair felt the sun, and parents from small cities and towns, drove in to see their now grown children– now so terribly missed, now just beyond their protective reach.
The driver, whom I had forgotten about for a moment, startled me by speaking.
“I am not from here, so none of this is familiar to me,” He gestured toward the football stadium. “But still, when I hear that music and see all the people, it calls me in my bones. It is a kind of nostalgia, but for what I do not know.”
*************************************************
From @realDonaldTrump:
Ron Glass died! Black guy on Barney Miller. Very fussy and wordy. Maybe gay. Easy to overlook. Just 71. Still in the prime of his life. Sad.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Florence Henderson died! America’s original MILF. Did I? Wouldn’t be classy to tell, but as Flo is dead– yes, many, many times. Once with Marcia, too.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Leonard Cohen died! Think it was a nut allergy. Might have to ban nuts. We’re losing too many of the good ones to them.#WarOnNuts!
From @realDonaldTrump:
I am in perfect health. No nut allergy. Can eat nuts by the handful. Shame about Crooked Hillary’s health. So very sick. Tired all the time. Crooked Hillary next to die?
From @realDonaldTrump:
Jose Fernandez died! Great, great pitcher for Miami. Un hombre sincero. Had box seats for his last start. Great service. Stunning waitresses. They love me in Florida.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Sharon Jones died! Pancreatic cancer. Nasty. I stand with the black people, who love me, love me so much, during this sad, sad time. I will fix your broken inner cities!!
From @realDonaldTrump:
Pat Harrington Jr. died! The janitor guy on One Day at a Time. Decent show. Maybe not the best. Preferred Three’s Company. Chrissy? She was a 9, for sure. Body and face.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Actress Suzanne Somers played Chrissy. Blonde and jiggly. I won’t lie to you, I had sex with her many times. So many times you wouldn’t believe.
From @realDonaldTrump:
One time we did it in the linen closet of a 5 star restaurant. She was a great piece of real estate, that lady. Outstanding. #WomenLoveMe.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Muhammad Ali died! Great showman. Brought lots of people and money into the casinos. Huge amounts. He got so shaky in the end, though. Sad.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Former Miss New Jersey Cara McCollum has died! Saw her naked more than once in the change room at the pageant. Body a solid 9. Face? Maybe a 7 on a good day. We mourn her passing.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Prince has died! He was never my thing. Straight or gay? Hard to tell. Always changing his brand. Very confusing for the consumer. Made him a bad businessman. #BuyTrumpBrandWater
From @realDonaldTrump:
David Bowie died! Had a glass eye. Was married to a Somalian supermodel. Guy was way out there. Tried to get him on Celebrity Apprentice but there were scheduling problems.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Gene Wilder died! Alzheimer’s Disease. Couldn’t remember a thing in the end. I am in perfect health. My mind is like a platinum trap. Ivy League educated. So, so very smart. #HighestPresidentialIQOfAllTime
From @realDonaldTrump:
Chyna has died! Drug overdose. I have never taken any drugs in my life. Unlike Crooked Hillary who is on HUGE amounts of meds. She’s all weak and shaky like Ali was before his death. Don’t think she has long.
From @realDonaldTrump:
Chyna was a great lady wrestler. Really tall. Kind of homely, but still able to turn a profit in porn. Gotta admire that.
Always thought Ivanka could dominate the industry if she chose.
]]>
SINUS INFECTION
Definitely won’t be going back anytime soon! I could not smell a thing for five weeks, my face hurt and my temples were so swollen that my wife started to call me Frankenstein. The green discharge from my nose was oddly fascinating, and the occasional day off work was nice, but it’s still not enough to earn a recommendation. In the end, my experience with a sinus infection was very disappointing. (Also, duration of visit WAY too long!!!)
OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER
**********The condition makes me feel VERY, VERY, VERY safe and VERY, VERY, VERY focused. I think I do some of my VERY, VERY, VERY best work in this state. The condition makes me feel VERY, VERY, VERY safe and VERY, VERY, VERY focused.**********
Recommended.
Recommended.
Recommended.
INGUINAL HERNIA
It wasn’t the most painful experience of my life, but the weird, little bulge in my groin was a freak-out, and quite frankly I didn’t like thinking about the mechanics of it at all. I mean, my intestines were poking through my abdominal wall? That’s just gross, and it really doesn’t sound right. However, when I was having surgery done a nurse was required to shave my pubic area and she had to pick up and move my penis in order to do this. I’m not a freak or anything, but it was a real porn scenario and I have to admit to kind of hoping something was going to happen, so that was kind of thrilling.
Another up side of the hernia is that I was able to get out of doing TONS of stuff. As far as illnesses go, this one comes quite highly recommended, and depending on the doctor, you can get some excellent pain medications.
ANTHRAX
No walk in the park. STAY AWAY!!!
BURSITIS
Like the hernia, this is an excellent excuse condition. Although it sounds like it should really only effect old people, it’s something that athletes deal with the most, so it’s actually kind of cool—a “healthy sickness,” if you know what I mean. It can hurt like a bugger, but it usually doesn’t and the treatment is typically just rest, so if you want to get out of something (like walking around Ikea all Sunday) all you have to do is say that your chronic bursitis and your knee is just killing you. It’s kind of like having a handicap pass for your car.
TOURETTE’S SYNDROME
Not nearly as much fun as you might think—get something else.
]]>
The shirtless dude started off near a garbage can but soon moved into a more central position by a big, beautiful tree. It was here where he began to bullwhip the leaves off of the tree. Such a dedicated warrior! Such terrifying accuracy!! As he didn’t seem like the type who was adverse to a little bit of attention, Rachelle and I took the dog over to have a closer look. He nodded at us, and we nodded back, noticing that he was actually stunningly good looking.
Rachelle: Cool!!
Douche with the whip: (In a completely posh British accent) Would you like to try?
Rachelle: (Giggles)
Me: (Holding the twig I had been using to play fetch with Heidi and in an unfortunately thin and raspy voice) Are you a Indiana Jones or something?
Douche with the whip: I’m sorry sir, I couldn’t quite hear you.
Me: (Clearing my throat and taking a lozenge) My allergies are bothering me, I said, “Are you Indiana Jones?”
Rachelle: (Stepping forward) I’d like to try now, please!
Douche with the whip: (Smiling like Jude Law) No, I’m not, but my agent thought it would be a good idea if I learned a little bit about the whip as he has an audition for me in a new role on Game of Thrones. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to have that opportunity, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m making a display of myself out here, but you really need space to practice. (To Rachelle) Of course you can try!
Rachelle: (Jumping up and down and clapping her hands)
Me: I’m a well-known writer. I’ve been interviewed on TV.
Rachelle: Oh, that was a long time ago, Pickle! You haven’t been a columnist in years!! (To the douche) Everybody on Game of Thrones is so beautiful, I’m sure you’ll get the part!!
Douche with the whip: (Holding Rachelle around the waist and guiding her hand as she held the whip) You have to really relax your wrist and use a very free and easy motion.
Me: I think Game of Thrones is over-rated. Without the nudity nobody would even notice the show.
Rachelle: Will your character be asked to do any nudity? Oh, and I’m Rachelle (she actually tossed her hair), what’s your name?
Douche with whip: My name is William Burroughs, like the author. Apparently we’re related but I don’t know exactly how.
Me: Rachelle, Heidi’s not feeling well and needs to go home.
Rachelle: Okay Pickle, you take her, I’ll catch up later!
Recently, as I was cycling down the street on my way there, I passed a young woman walking down the sidewalk. There was a unique tenderness written into her face that had an almost holy aspect, and she seemed preoccupied, as if all of her emotions were living right there on the surface, and I immediately wanted to know what she was thinking. But as quickly as I glimpsed her, she was gone, receding into the city as I coasted by.
After stopping to do a little banking, I walked into Wellspring about 15 minutes later and saw this woman inside the building waiting for the elevator. I was startled by this coincidence and started up a conversation, one that saw me telling her that my allergies were driving me crazy. Waves of benevolence seemed to pour from her when I said this, and with a humbling compassion and sincerity, she reached out and touched my arm in sympathy. I immediately felt horrible, like some fraud whom she believed was bravely battling through cancer and all the small, secondary miseries that are so often attendant, when the truth was that I was probably the luckiest person in the building. I felt ashamed and grew mumbly, bidding her a goodbye as she stepped out of the elevator and walked into a room where a grief support group was meeting, and I realized then that what I had seen in her face earlier, was the remembering, the cherishing of love, something that still encircled her like light.
