Camp with Me, Only Separately

Good is the news and the news is good (as they say in the Philistines), I've got Friday off. That's right, all it took was a ball gag and three tubes of astroglide, and Joe Friday was crowing like a rooster. I- yeeeeeeeich- Uhm, yeah. So the camping is on.

It shall be a grand old time, where I shall commune with nature, and be blacklisted as a communist agitator, never to work in Hollywood again. I shall fish, and bird... and ferret. I shall canoe... and I shall car. I shall stand at the edge of the great woods, look in, and say: "I think something died in there. Yuck."

And just so you can win (or lose) your office betting pool over how I got the time off, thanks to Nootles not being here yet I mustered up the extreme courage (while I did mustard my sandwich) to call Bagel at home, to interrupt his vacationary reverie and to have him, after near seconds of deliberation, say unto me, pass on the immortal words that shall be carved in a goblet of pure gold to stand watch over the mantle place for future generations to come: "Yeah, sure."

It was a grueling battle, a hard-won victory that shall not be taken lightly, that shall stand for generations as a pure golden example of human potential in the face of unthinkable adversity, of personal triumph against sterilizing odds, and as my alibi for why I couldn't have possibly caused that blueberry stain on the rug. On a totally unrelated side note, blueberry cheesecake is very good.

So to you gentle reader, I implore you to take this brave step with me, to, in fact, rise to your highest potential and throw mortal fear to the wind, requesting, with great hubris, Friday off as well. It's done wonders for my confidence, and my complexion, and has given me a whole new outlook on life. Realizing this, I say why not have a day where we all leave the shackles of employment behind us, fling our undershorts to the wind, and all go camping. Not all together, mind you, because I share my lite beer with no one, but we should each camp individually in our own local campitoriums, and revel in the outdoorsiness of it all. I know in my various bones that we'll all have a new lease on life once we've secured our freedom for this coming Friday. It shall be a towering beacon of courage in this squalid, meek little world. And it is my sincere hope that, once you've fought the good fight, once you've slew the demons of ignorance with the short-sword of courtesy, once you've plumbed the darkest depths of the human soul and soared to it's loftiest peaks, that you, too shall hear these noble words intoned: "Yeah, sure."

I leave you to your task. Godspeed.

Welcome to the Machine
What's shakin', Kevin Bacon? Things are okay here. I'm still adjusting to living in New York and especially working at the commune. It's a perplexing place. I’ve been here a few weeks already and so far the only person who's spoken to me is... (3/4/02)