I have completed the first rounds of clinical trials in my scientific investigation of that ancient query of man: How long CAN you leave pizza in the fridge before it stops being "pizza," and becomes an altogether separate entity? With certainty we can postulate that immediately after the first caveman tossed the first primitive disc of dough in the air (they were actually more like ellipses or ovals back then) a second caveman approached and made that fateful inquiry: "Is that still good?" (in the tongue of our underdeveloped ancestors, the actual expression was more like a guttural "rurgh," followed by a swift punch to the face. These initial barriers in communication, coupled with poor time-keeping instrumentation and the fact that the primitive disc of dough was actually a primitive rattlesnake, all conspired to strike a blow against inductive inquiry from which the scientific community would not recover for several millennia. But now it seems the seasons have turned and the time is ripe again, and so I report my findings:
A piece of pizza left in a standard refrigerator for four days is still edible. And by "edible," I mean "not causing immediate death, vomiting, or blindness."
Let me bring you up to speed on the last little while. Let's see, I posted last on the Wednesday prior, and I did little more than wax prophetic on robots then, so I've got some territory to cover, and I'm not known for my brevity. Though, in certain parts of rural Sweden, I am known for my adroit sword work and taunting limericks, and many a young Swedish cow maid has fallen prey to my charms. Laying her down on a soft bed of straw, amidst the low moos of the cattle, I would whisper sweetly to her;
there was a young lass from Sundsvall
who each day would milk from the cow
came a man with a sword
to bed down this nord
more charming that Björn von Sydow
Of course, for you to get that limerick, you would have to have an understanding of the finer points of the Swedish parliamentary system (Björn von Sydow has been speaker of the Riksdag since 2002, and is esteemed "quite the charmer" when it comes to presenting new proposals to the floor).
Ahh, half-a-page in and still no nearer to any real information. Excellent.
On Thursday last, my parents swung in to visit me in New Haven. They've been visiting family and friends on the east coast, and they drove from Canada, through New York state and arrived at my doorstep on Thursday afternoon. After a whirlwind tour of the Yale Divinity campus, they headed went to check into their hotel, while I returned to my apartment to read. This would be indicative of an overarching dualism in our time together: the balancing of family time and reading time. That evening, we had pizza at an excellent place nearby, and I watched my mother grow more and more distressed by the squalor in which I live, try though I might to soothe her with sweet limericks;
There was a boy from the west coast
who's body would soon be a host
for virus and germ
and a sassy tapeworm
"Don't worry, mom, I've been diagnosed."
Somehow this did not seem to ease her mind. But, really, you really have to have an understanding of the finer points of the Swedish parliamentary system in order to get my limericks.
Anyway, the next day, after classes, they took me out to Ikea and Costco, and lavished on me such royal delights as:
-a table for my computer
-a garbage can
-a delicious lunch of Swedish meatballs
-bananas, bananas, bananas!
-more cutlery than is my need, but there was no choice in the matter
-a sleeping bag
-and many, many more adventures. But that… is another story.
http://www.geocities.com/tiflokhus_99/midi1.htmlWe would dine at the world renowned “Greek Olive” that evening, which was coincidentally located in the first floor of the hotel at which my parents were staying. My belly full of gyro and my heart filled with the joy that only material accumulation can bring, a slumbered on the floor of their hotel room in my new sleeping bag, for tomorrow would by an exciting, new adventure.
http://www.geocities.com/tiflokhus_99/midi1.htmlYou know I expect you to click on that link and listen to the whole song every time I put the link there. You know that, right? It’s for effect.
On Saturday, we took an early train out to… get ready for this… prepare yourself… you might want to sit down… listen to some soothing music…
http://www.geocities.com/tiflokhus_99/midi1.html… New York City! Once there, we got on top of a bus and rode all around town, taking in the sights. Fortunately, the bus was of the double-decker variety, so both getting on top of it and remaining there were relatively simple. The one danger lay in standing up while the bus was in motion, because a passing stoplight could potential decapitate a distracted gawker. I am sad to say that no one stood up into the path of one of those lights, only to have his head torn clean off by a passing stoplight, and the nearby people screamed in horror as a crimson fountain rained down on their heads and newly purchased Macy’s bags, only to realize from the sparks sputtering from the ragged neck that the person in question was a robot, and the “blood” was merely a nutritive fluid, and then they all laughed in sweet relief, but then a foreboding silence gradually passed over them, as each pondered what cruel intelligence had made such a thing and what nefarious plans it might have for humankind, because that would have made a really good story. And I had my camera phone with me.
So we saw the sights, and then we stopped in Chinatown where my mom fell prey to the purse-pushers that line the street corners, and before you knew it, she was in a three-purse-a-day habit.
We visited Ground Zero as well. I don’t have much to say about that; I think it’s best summed up in the words of one of our tour bus guides, as we were passing the Empire State Building: “When this building was built, it was the tallest building in New York. And now, unfortunately, it is again.” Skating the edge of funny, but still kissed in tragedy.
I wish I had a link to the Neverending Story in a minor key. That would be perfect right now.
We saw other things as well, but I’m starting to get confused as to the order, so I’ll simply list the sights we saw, both on Saturday and Sunday, in no particular order:
-The Empire State Building (inside and out, top and bottom)
-Hell’s Kitchen (try the fajitas)
-The Statue of Liberty (from the Staten Island Ferry)
-Times Square (the only square so big that you can be right in the middle of it, and still ask, and rightfully so, “Where the hell are we?”)
-A host of architectural and historical structures too numerous to name but which each still leaves a softly ringing impression on the soul
-the New York city subway system (it’s all so phallic, it’s hard not to giggle)
-many other things which I’m sure were wonderful in their own way but apparently have not left a softly ringing impression on the soul
-The largest toy store in the world (and the f*ckers still looked at me like I was from Mercury when I asked if they were going to be re-releasing “Jem” any time soon)
-TGIF’s (I’m glad to see that New York holds Friday in the same religious reverence that the rest of the country does)
-trash
We were thinking of seeing a show that evening, but between the onset of exhaustion, my need to read for my classes, and a general preference to not spend $300 each on tickets for a show that is sold out for the next year, we instead retired to our luxury hotel room and watched the end of the Fugitive, and Miss Congeniality 2. My compliments to the chromosome-damaged monkey who pounded that one out; “Good job, Jojo, you managed to write a script, which, although absurd and seemingly pointless, nevertheless did possess a beginning, and middle, and an end (complete with blooper reel, the mark of any true cinematic masterpiece). Next time, let’s work on some consistent, believable characters and try to cling to the decaying corpse of the original picture a little less, okay? Does that sound good? Does that sound good to Jojo? It does? It does? Hey, who gave you that cigarette?”
“Oh, and smooth work concealing the fact that we couldn’t get Benjamin Bratt to sign on to the sequel. No, that over-the-phone break-up scene was seamless. You get a cookie.”
That may not all be totally accurate, though, so I apologize. I left in the middle of the movie take a bath, so I have no way of knowing if it really had an end. I just walked in on the credits; they could have cut Bullock off in mid-sentence for all I know, and many probably would have considered it an act of mercy.
But man, that John Pasquin can direct a blooper reel.
Anyway, I arrived by train back in New Haven at around 5:30pm last night; mom and dad took a later train in, but I had to be back earlier for choir rehearsal. Full of bravado, I decided to walk from Union station to the Divinity campus, which is only a couple of miles, and in case some of you aren’t aware of it, my legs are so powerful, I could kick through a wall. I arrived at choir rehearsal, and spent the next two hours in a state of controlled panic as I attempted to sing tenor for the first time in my life. It’s not the high notes, either; I’m just not used to reading the tenor clef. It’s an entirely different swirly, squiggly symbol, and its runes foretell pain. But I’m having fun.
Today was pretty standard: classes and reading. Mom and dad are in Rhode Island right now, at what my mom described over the phone as the “biggest mall she’s ever seen.” I inquired whether she was simply close to it, and had viewed other malls from a distance, explaining that greater proximity can create the illusion of greater size, when it’s really simply a trick of perspective, but she assured me that it’s size, was, in fact, actual.
Tomorrow we’re going out for breakfast at an excellent place nearby called “The Pantry.” But now I’ve crossed over from the past into the future, and the future, as we all know, is another story…
http://www.geocities.com/tiflokhus_99/midi1.htmlthere once was a boy named n8
who’s verbosity could be called gr8
he wrote for too long
till the clock went “bong”
and said f*ck this sh*t I’m out
*signature samurai sword sheath*
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