Marc
Life does not stop. -- Six Feet Under
Bismarck, North Dakota
One. Have decided that, upon making my first billion, I will found the town of Cape Madness, Massachusetts. To own property and/or a house free of charge in my town, there is only one stipulation -- you must dress, act, and talk like a pirate. Everything else will be on me. I will pick the most enthusiastic citizen of the town to become the Town "Argh"er, a job similar to that of a Town Crier. This person (male or female) will voluntarily undergo surgical procedures to replace one leg with a wooden peg, and one hand with a silver hook, and it will be this person's job to stand near the welcome sign for the town screaming, "Argh! Welcome to Cape Madness, maties!" For their services, they will be given a free, all-expenses paid (including full lifetime benefits) ride through life, so long as they reside, forever, within the limits of Cape Madness.
Two. Socks off. On the floor -- the socks, not the body. Two lights on, five lights off. Shades closed. One set of bed sheets turned down, the others tucked. Teetering on the half-and-half line, from one extreme to the next. If I walk out the door of the room and down the hallway and into the chilled night air, I will be facing a Red Lobster with an old, red neon sign. If I open the shades, I will see the same thing, though things look different from above as opposed to below. Seeing eye to eye is not the same as seeing eye to crotch, I suppose. Half-empty cup of lemonade to the right. Half-full cup of water to the left.
Three. Where the Carolinas and the South in general made me feel crowded and claustrophobic, the Dakotas give off the exact opposite feel -- open, inviting, and unintrusive. Set up binaries, the rest will follow. Low clouds, little sunlight, open plains, cattle, small towns, silos, two-lane roads. One things remains the same. People stare, no matter where we are. I have been dared to run into a crowded Casey's General Store screaming at the top of my lungs towards the locals. If I decided to do it, I will say, "What's up barbarrellas!" and then run for my life. If I decide not to, I will think about it months from now and think to myself, you should've run into that Casey's and screamed, what's up barbarrellas! It is already a shame.
Four. Have decided that I have stayed up far too late for someone that needs to be up and at work by quarter to seven tomorrow morning. Six Feet Under, the Postal Service (the band, not the government subsidized business), and Arby's are all to blame. This is the life of someone existing in places that they normally do not exist. You are put into a box for a handful of hours every night and told to make due. This is how someone makes due. Some nights are better than others. I will call my friend now. She is asleep, I am sure, but she will not mind. Sweet dreams.
Up Next: Hearts of Oak by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists; Kill the Moonlight by Spoon; and, Clarity by Jimmy Eat World.
Tomorrow: Bismarck, Jamestown, Valley City, Grand Forks, Fargo. North Dakota.
Life does not stop. -- Six Feet Under
Bismarck, North Dakota
One. Have decided that, upon making my first billion, I will found the town of Cape Madness, Massachusetts. To own property and/or a house free of charge in my town, there is only one stipulation -- you must dress, act, and talk like a pirate. Everything else will be on me. I will pick the most enthusiastic citizen of the town to become the Town "Argh"er, a job similar to that of a Town Crier. This person (male or female) will voluntarily undergo surgical procedures to replace one leg with a wooden peg, and one hand with a silver hook, and it will be this person's job to stand near the welcome sign for the town screaming, "Argh! Welcome to Cape Madness, maties!" For their services, they will be given a free, all-expenses paid (including full lifetime benefits) ride through life, so long as they reside, forever, within the limits of Cape Madness.
Two. Socks off. On the floor -- the socks, not the body. Two lights on, five lights off. Shades closed. One set of bed sheets turned down, the others tucked. Teetering on the half-and-half line, from one extreme to the next. If I walk out the door of the room and down the hallway and into the chilled night air, I will be facing a Red Lobster with an old, red neon sign. If I open the shades, I will see the same thing, though things look different from above as opposed to below. Seeing eye to eye is not the same as seeing eye to crotch, I suppose. Half-empty cup of lemonade to the right. Half-full cup of water to the left.
Three. Where the Carolinas and the South in general made me feel crowded and claustrophobic, the Dakotas give off the exact opposite feel -- open, inviting, and unintrusive. Set up binaries, the rest will follow. Low clouds, little sunlight, open plains, cattle, small towns, silos, two-lane roads. One things remains the same. People stare, no matter where we are. I have been dared to run into a crowded Casey's General Store screaming at the top of my lungs towards the locals. If I decided to do it, I will say, "What's up barbarrellas!" and then run for my life. If I decide not to, I will think about it months from now and think to myself, you should've run into that Casey's and screamed, what's up barbarrellas! It is already a shame.
Four. Have decided that I have stayed up far too late for someone that needs to be up and at work by quarter to seven tomorrow morning. Six Feet Under, the Postal Service (the band, not the government subsidized business), and Arby's are all to blame. This is the life of someone existing in places that they normally do not exist. You are put into a box for a handful of hours every night and told to make due. This is how someone makes due. Some nights are better than others. I will call my friend now. She is asleep, I am sure, but she will not mind. Sweet dreams.
Up Next: Hearts of Oak by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists; Kill the Moonlight by Spoon; and, Clarity by Jimmy Eat World.
Tomorrow: Bismarck, Jamestown, Valley City, Grand Forks, Fargo. North Dakota.
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