After years of hem-hawing, speculation, and crazy ideas, it has finally arrived: The Anti-Climax.
So we're gonna chuck this 17 inch monitor off my balcony Friday May 6th.
You're invited! Drop me a line for more information.
And if you want to bring something for the show, feel free to. The only stipulation is that you help with cleanup afterwards.
At some point, someone, or a group of people, decided that fresh breath should smell like mint. Why did they not choose garlic, or onion? Then we could all come back from lunch with attractive-smelling breath.
One of the more awkward years of my life: Eighth Grade.
I fell in with a group of kids, who I suspected of having the same resentment of "the system" as I did. Their in-class antics were mildly amusing, at best. Their knack for getting themselves, and me in trouble was exceptional.
I recall this one occasion...
Nick Spatty was a kid who was on the outskirts of the clique. He lived next to a senior member, and therefore, by right of geography was included. This same senior member, Paul, decided for some reason that Spatty (as he will be known for the remainder of this reminishion) should fight me. Probably because he talked about my mom and to Spatty or course, I talked about his mom. Being uncritical in 8th grade, real reasons apparantly don't matter.
This fight was hyped, and spread through the general populace of the 7th and 8th grade middle school classes of White County Junior High School (WCJHS). People I didn't know were talking to me about the inpending conflict.
As it was my practice, and I taught my fellow cliques, we stormed down the stairs in WCJHS and exited with the force that only a 14 - 15 year only can muster with the assitance of gravity and a three-flight set of stairs. The metal doors would release, fall backwards to their natural opened state, and then the door frame would unhinge momentarily to allow for more opening to occur. These impacts would have registered with the USGS had they only been listening to some place near this old overheated middle school.
But today by sheer chance, poor Spatty's face was to be on the other side. I recall the impact in slow motion. I hit the door, never having given thought to who, or what, may be on the other side. The door swung open, connecting with Spatty's nose. The door forced what blood he had in that side of his face to exit through his nose, and some in his mouth. His largely built body tilted, rolled, and summersaulted backwards. And I unwillingly continued to move forwards by sheer inertia alone.
I took his arm, and escorted him to the office where I was interrigated about the nature of the attack. I told them the truth, that I didn't see him and I walked out the door hitting him in the face with it. He confirmed my story.
The fight never happened. Spatty moved by my freshman year, to I think Australia. Paul moved to Memphis and continued his life of crime.
I found another group of friends.
I have a non-functional 17 inch monitor that I would like to throw from something quite high onto a solid (preferably granite) surface. Let's tap the well of local geographic knowledge for some potential suggestions.
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