THAT'S IT THAT'S FUCKING IT

My stomach hurts from trying not to laugh out loud. There are tears rolling down my face. That's it. I will never ever ever ever do anything as good as this.

OH MAN I HAVE ART HORN'S EMAIL ADDRESS OH MAN

What follows is completely, 100% true:

This summer, I was hired as an intern for Hartford Magazine. Today, as part of my internship, I was assigned to work at the 4th Annual Women's Fair at the new Connecticut Expo Center. The event was almost completely uneventful, besides the opportunity to see horrible goblin "women" scream at the appearance of a soap star. One literally had a single tooth on her top layer of gums.

Early that morning, however, I saw local former Channel 30 weatherman Art Horn (who was never within less than three feet of any woman at any time). I was simply amused at first, he has a high class hair dye job that should be seen in person. But then, later that afternoon, he returned to the Hartford Magazine booth.

"Hi, Art Horn," he said, offering his hand to the intern I was working with. "Hartford Magazine, huh?"

"Yeah." He pulled out his wallet. He pulled out a card with his face on it. "Maybe Hartford Magazine wants to write about Art Horn."

MAYBE HARTFORD MAGAZINE WANTS TO WRITE ABOUT ART HORN

I struggled to not laugh. And then, so we would be sure to contact him, he wrote his email address on the back of the card. I immediately copied it down so I could use it for myself. I will give it to you, the loyal reader as well, but I don't want to blow my cover just yet. I'm going to wait a couple of months so he doesn't have any idea what's hit him. Plus I need a really good idea, too.

The Shoes Notes

This was written without looking back at what I'd written before and I can only assume it reads that way. As a result, characters probably change, motifs may appear and disappear, and the like.

This is based on a story I wrote in creative writing and is based on a real dispute between two elderly couples. Someone involved wrote a letter to Ann Landers or something.

The Shoes

Stan limped into Louie and Muriel’s house one afternoon and immediately sat down on the old brown chair in the living room that no one used right in the front of the house. He pried his shoes off quickly and leaned back, panting at the ceiling. Julie brought her antipasto into the kitchen and brought Muriel up to date on the state of her grandchildren while Louie went looking for Stan in the front of the house.
"What are you doing in here?" Louie asked, walking into the dimly lit living room. Even though the sun was still bright outside, the shades were always drawn, the lights were off, and the dark wood of the floor and surrounding cabinets absorbed any light that bled in from another room.
"I had to get off my feet, these new tennis shoes are killing me." Stan gestured towards his two sneakers. The laces had apparently been undone in the car. They were garish and gaudy with sprawling red and yellow shapes spread across the bright white leather. They looked like they had been out of style even when they were manufactured ten years earlier and some sales clerk probably made a nice commission for finally getting those things off the shelf they had sat on for years.
"Those are nice," Louie said. "Where did you get these?"
"Down at the old Army-Navy." Stan had actually bought the shoes at the sportswear store that had moved into the old Army-Navy building thirty-five years earlier. "They’re supposed to be size nine-and-a-halfs but they pinch like all hell."
"Let me see those."
_____
At dinner, the conversation immediately turned to Stan’s new uncomfortable shoes.
"They just pinch. I feel like I’m walking--help me out here, Julie."
"The shoes hurt."
"What size are those?" Louie asked.
"They’re supposed to be nine-and-a-halfs but they can’t be that big."
"I told you, the leather probably shrunk on the shelf. You should always buy a half size bigger."
"That’s why I bought new shoes. The tens you bought me were too big. I felt like a clown."
"Louie’s a nine," Muriel said. "Let him try them on to see if they’re really nines." Louie’s eyes gleamed excitedly. He had been waiting for this all night. He eagerly jogged into the living room to pick up the shoes and brought them back into the kitchen just as quickly. He slipped them on effortlessly and started walking around the room.
"Yup, they fit."
"Wow, those are sharp, Louie."
"Thank you, Julie."
"You should just take them. Stan won’t have any use for them and God help me if I have to put up with another day of his whining." Louie grinned, trying to hide his excitement. He shrugged at Stan.
"Those shoes are very sharp on you, Louie," his wife said.
"All right, take them," Stan said with a wave of his hands. Louie broke out in a grin and excitedly shook Stan’s hand.
_____
"I tell you, Muriel, I love these shoes," Louie said getting into bed.
"I know you love the shoes, Louie. That’s all you’ve been talking about all night."
"I really love the shoes though. I feel like Larry Bird in these things, I’m telling you."
"Will you take them off already? It’s time for bed already."
"I like them."
"You can’t wear shoes to bed. I just washed these sheets eight days ago."
"But I like them."
"You’ll get the sheets tangled up and hurt your ankles. And you kick me enough as it is. The last thing I need is rubber soles jabbing into my back."
"But I like them! They fit to my feet, I’m telling you they’re more comfortable than not wearing shoes at all."
"That’s it!" Muriel yelled, jumping out of bed. "I’m putting on my heels!"
_____
"I can’t believe he took the shoes," Stan said, climbing into his bed next to his wife.
"What are you talking about?" yelled Julie. "You did nothing but complain about those shoes since the second you put them on in the car after you bought them."
"I was breaking them in. They were getting better."
"They were not getting better, they were getting worse."
"Says who, Julie?"
"When we were walking up to the front porch, you started limping and said ‘Boy, Julie, these shoes are getting worse before they’re getting better.’"
"I loved those shoes. I felt like Magic Jordan in those things."
"Well so ask for them back."
"Ask for them back Julie?"
"Sure. They’re your shoes, if you want them back Louie should give them back."
"Ask for them back?"
"If I have to listen to another hour of your whining about those shoes I’m going to lose it, Stan. Ask for the shoes back."
"I think I’m going to ask for the shoes back."
_____
"What do you mean, you want the shoes back?" Louie asked. He was crestfallen. He just stood in front of the tee at the eighth hole as the group behind them grew more and more upset at the pair’s slow play.
"I want the shoes back, Louie. Those were my shoes and I was a damn fool to ever give them up."
"Well I’m sorry but you did give them up because they said they didn’t fit you." Louie shuffled uncomfortably in the sneakers in question which he had worn instead of his golf shoes because he didn’t want to take them off.
"But I want them. I was wearing them in, I was getting used to them."
"Well I’m sorry, Stan, but you should have thought of that before you gave them to me." Someone from the group behind them cursed loudly.
"It wasn’t even my idea. It was Julie’s idea. I couldn’t well say no after all that fuss."
"What fuss?"
"The whole big fuss about the shoes. I want those shoes back, Louie, and that’s all there is to it. So would you please be a friend and give me the damn shoes back?"
"Why should I give you the shoes back when you gave them to me?"
"We’ve been over this, Louie. I never wanted to give you the shoes."
"Oh, so now you never wanted to give me the shoes, is that it?"
"I’m not saying that, Louie, I’m just saying I made a mistake when I gave you the shoes and I’m trying to rectify that mistake right now by getting my shoes back." Someone from the group behind marched up to the tee and hit a drive that hooked off the fairway into the woods. He swore and stormed off after the ball. The rest of the group watched him go and took turns hitting after him.
"Well I’m sorry, but I want the shoes and you gave them to me and they fit me beautifully and I think they’re very sharp so I’m going to keep the shoes." Stan was furious.
"This isn’t over, Louie. Don’t think this is over. I’m going to get those shoes back and I’m going to wear them and you’re just going to have to learn to live with that fact."
"Over my dead body!"
"That shouldn’t be long!" The two stormed off in opposite directions, forgetting that they had taken the same car to the course.
_____
"It’s not even about the shoes, Julie," Stan insisted as he paced around the bedroom while his wife lay in bed reading a book. "I don’t even want the shoes. It’s a matter of principle."
"You’ve always had principles, Stan," Julie said in an unemotional monotone.
"That’s right, Julie. My principles are very important to me. You should know that."
"I do know that, Stan, I never said they weren’t."
"The nerve of this guy, he thinks he can just take my shoes without asking and acts like I’m not going to care. Just because I tied the laces too tight and the shoes pinched."
"I told you that kid laced those shoes up too tight. You can’t trust those kids, they’re idiots."
"I say one thing about the laces being too tight and how the tennis shoes pinched and he just takes them without asking. Where does he get the nerve?"
"I don’t know, Stan."
"I tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to go over there and I’m going to get those shoes back."
"Stan, we’re going to Sardelli’s with them tomorrow night, don’t make a scene," Julie reprimanded him sternly, looking up from her book for the first time in the conversation.
"OK," he said, quickly climbing into bed. "But after dinner, I’m getting those shoes back."
_____
"I don’t even want the shoes," Louie insisted, stamping on the bedroom floor for emphasis. "It’s not about the shoes. It’s the principle of the thing."
"What do you mean it’s not about the shoes? You wouldn’t even take them off last night."
"I don’t even like the shoes," Louie said, gesturing towards the sneakers which he had carelessly thrown in the corner as soon as he had come home from golf. "They’re pretty ugly when you really look at them.
Muriel let out an exasperated sigh. "Well then why don’t you just give the shoes back to Stan and end this thing once and for all so we can all get back to normal."
"Please, Muriel, don’t be ridiculous. Besides, I told you, this is about the principle of the thing. He can’t just buy me a pair of shoes, give them to me, and then take them back. It’s ridiculous!"
"Louie--"
"I mean how would he like it if we demanded that he give us back the toaster oven we bought for them last Christmas? He wouldn’t like it very much, I’ll tell you that much."
"Louie, can’t you see the difference? There--"
"There is no difference Muriel. No difference at all. Believe me, if it were up to me I never would have accepted those shoes in the first place, but I’m standing up for my principles now."
"Louie, this whole thing is ridiculous."
"Ridiculous, Muriel? Ridiculous?" Louie’s voice raised to a pitch and volume it rarely ever reached. Muriel just stared back at him, unmoved. Finally, Louie joined his wife under the covers.
_____
"Hello--Stan."
"Good evening, Louie." Stan and Louie greeted each other coldly and Murray moved out of the way of the door so Stan and his wife could walk in. Muriel and Julie shared a smile and rolled their eyes at their husbands.
"Julie, this shortcake is wonderful," Muriel said, taking the dish from her and bringing it into the kitchen. "You really shouldn’t have gone to such trouble."
"Yes, especially since you won’t be coming back here for dessert after dinner," Louie said loudly. Muriel jabbed her husband in the ribs and scolded him.
"That’s all right, Muriel. You husband is right this time. We do need to be leaving soon," Stan answered even louder than Louie. "In fact I don’t think we’ll be joining you at Sardelli’s this evening."
"Don’t be ridiculous, I didn’t make all that casserole for nothing," Julie said conclusively. She left the room with Muriel, leaving Louie and Stan alone. They just stared at each other for a few seconds. Louie moved one of his feet forward and inch or two. Stan looked down to see his sneakers. Louie had only put them on to show Stan--he hadn’t worn them all day because the laces had begun to pinch his feet--and he wanted to make sure the message was sent.
"I like those shoes, Louie." Stan’s speech was measured and deliberate. His pronunciation and intonation were exaggerated to the point of absurdity.
"Oh, what? These old things?" Louie’s speech became even more measured and deliberate to mirror Stan.
"Yes," Stan said, speaking as if he and Louie were engaged in a contest to see who could draw out their sentence the longest. "They’re very becoming. And they’re just my style."
"You know, I was thinking that exact thing yesterday," Louie said with great pleasure. "It’s almost the kind of thing you would have picked out for yourself."
"Give me my shoes back you rat!" Stan screamed.
"You gave me these shoes and you’ll have to pull them off my cold dead feet if you’re ever going to get them back!" At the sound of their husbands shouting, Muriel and Julie rushed back into the room.
"What’s going on here?"
"Oh quit playing so innocent, Muriel," Stan yelled, "you know exactly what’s going on here. Your rat of a husband stole my shoes without asking and he won’t give them back and you’re just standing by watching like the damn French!"
"Stan don’t you dare bring Muriel into this," Julie reprimanded.
"Thank you, Julie."
"This is between you and me, Stan and I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my house."
"That’s fine! And we’re going to Sardelli’s so we’d better not see you there!"
"Oh we’re going to Sardelli’s whether you like it or not! And then my wife and I are going to come home and eat your wife’s shortcake!" Louie yelled as Muriel walked back into the room and handed Julie’s shortcake back to her. Stan looked at Louie for a second and ran out the door to his car as fast as he could. Julie jogged gingerly after him, yelling at him to slow down. Louie sprinted after him and got to his car first with the help of his sneakers. Muriel rolled her eyes and walked after him.
The two couples sat at opposite ends of the main dining room at Sardelli’s. Louie and Stan shot each other angry glares all night until Julie and Muriel got sick of seeing it and made their husbands switch seats.
_____
"They’re planning something, Muriel."
"Don’t be ridiculous."
"No, they’re planning something." Louie paced around his room like a nervous General anxiously awaiting his enemy’s next surprise attack.
"Louie, you’re being ridiculous."
"I’m not being ridiculous, Muriel. I’m not being ridiculous at all. You don’t know Stan like I know Stan. He’s a devious mind and he’s always thinking. He’ll come up with something. They’re planning something, I just know it."
"Well just leave Julie out of this, she doesn’t have anything to do with your childish games."
"That’s what she wants you to think, Muriel. THAT’S WHAT SHE WANTS YOU TO THINK!"
"Come to bed already."
"I’m going to turn on the security system."
_____
"We need to have a plan, Julie." Julie let out a disgusted grunt as Stan paced around the room like a nervous Commander preparing for his final assault on the fortified enemy position. "We need a plan to get these tennis shoes back."
"Look, Stan. They’re your shoes and Louie should be a good friend and give them back. But no plans. I will not stand for any plans."
"We need a plan, Julie, that’s just the way it is." Stan put his hands on his head and exhaled deeply. "OK. Fine."
"Thank you."
Stan crawled into bed, but not before discreetly setting his alarm for 11 PM.
_____
The alarm blared at 10:48 PM. Stan and Julie set all the clocks in their house between ten and fifteen minutes fast so they would never be late for anything. As a result, they were always between fifteen and twenty minutes early for everything, causing Stan to promise the first thing he was going to do when he got home was change those damn clocks.
"What is that horrible noise?"
"It’s the alarm. Get out of bed, Julie."
"What? Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night!" She turned around to see that Stan had never taken off his clothes or even his shoes. He had never even fallen asleep. "What are you doing?"
"Get out of bed. You’re my getaway driver."
"Getaway driver? Are you out of your mind?"
"Let’s go!" Stan yelled, already halfway down the hallway.
_____
The security alarm blared at 11:42 PM. Stan’s midnight assault was actually launched 18 minutes ahead of schedule. Louie bolted up in bed--he had never fallen asleep--let out a triumphant "Ah ha!", and bounded out of bed down the stairs into the front hall. Stan was standing on the welcome mat bewilderedly looking around him and the alarm screamed around him. Julie was sitting behind the wheel of their car idling in the street.
"I knew you were planning something! I’m always one step ahead of you, Stan, I’m always one step ahead," Louie strained to shout over the deafening alarm.
"Turn that thing off! Turn it off, are you crazy?" Muriel screamed, her fury evident.
"Crazy? I caught a burglar with this alarm, what’s so crazy about that."
"It’s not a burglar, it’s just Stan, now turn it off!"
"I don’t remember the code." While Louie was yelling at Muriel, Stan ran off for his car. Muriel almost hit Louie but instead pulled a screwdriver out of the drawer in the hall, unscrewed the panel of the security system, and stabbed at the innards until the sound topped.
_____
The next morning as Louie and Muriel were silently eating their breakfast, Stan walked in through the front door without knocking. Julie followed closely behind him.
"Hello. I just stopped by to tell you that this is your last chance to give me my shoes back or our friendship will be irrevocably lost forever."
"That’s fine," Louie shot back immediately.
"Let’s be sensible," Muriel said in a voice strained with the frustration of the entire ridiculous affair. "I don’t care who gets the shoes, but they’re certainly not worth losing our friendship with you two. I’m staying out of it, but whatever the two of you decide, I will not allow you to dissolve this friendship."
"I’m disappointed in you, Muriel." Everyone was shocked when Julie finally spoke, no one more so than Muriel. She put her hand to her chest and moved back in her chair with her mouth open. "They’re Stan’s shoes and Louie should give them back. And I’m tired of you playing the mediator because your husband has the shoes when you know it’s wrong." Muriel stuttered in disbelief. She suddenly seemed to decide she was going to do something and got up from the table. She walked upstairs, leaving the three others alone in the kitchen to glare at each other. She returned with the sneakers which she held with disgust by their laces. She held them up so everybody could see them. She put them in the sink, lit them on fire with a match she pulled out of her pocket, let them burn for a few seconds, and turned on the sink, extinguishing the small flame.
No one said anything. Finally, Stan walked out, emotionless. Julie followed her husband out the door, shooting disapproving glances at Muriel and her husband. Louie and Muriel said nothing until they heard the front door close. Then, Louie spoke.
"What the hell did you do that for?"

My work ethic could use some work

I’m lazy. Do you know how lazy I am? I spent about five minutes to think of a catchy introduction to grab the reader, thought of nothing, and just said “Screw a catchy introduction to grab the reader; I’ll just open with ‘I’m lazy.’”

This is nothing new. I’ve had this problem my whole life. Nowadays I rarely find the energy to get around to reading a book. Back in elementary school, I didn’t learn to read until I was in third grade. Before then, I always just insisted I’d get around to it. In fifth grade, I decided that sharpening pencils expended too much of my energy. If the classroom had one of those automatic pencil sharpeners, it might have been a different story (though it was still quite a walk from my desk to the cabinet with the pencil sharpener). Instead, I had to walk all the way over there and then fumble with the old hand crank model. The thing had a defective suction thing on the bottom as well which means I had to hold it in place with one hand while cranking with another and somehow holding the pencil in there however I could.

It was a chore to say the least. So one day, I simply got tired of it. I stopped getting up to sharpen pencils and made due with what I had at my desk. Namely, my mouth. I just chomped away at the ends of pencils until I exposed enough lead to ensure that I never had to leave my comfortable chair. Besides almost choking on a few shavings, there didn’t seem to be a problem for a while.

Gradually, I started to notice that I seemed to be changing. I felt like I was completely drained and I could barely keep awake during the day. My wrists and ankles swelled up like balloons and I found my joints were completely locked into place. My lungs tightened until they felt like they were each about the size of baseballs and I started coughing up gobs of black goo.

Having recently paid little attention to the health videos we had been watching while the girls were out of the room, I assumed that I was beginning to go through puberty. I anxiously awaited my growth spurt and wondered what good noticing girls would do me with my blue lips, rapidly receding hair line, and violent uncontrollable tremors. It wasn’t until I passed out on the swing set, tangled my legs in the chain, and dragged my head along the ground, swallowing about a quart of sand in the process, that a doctor diagnosed me with lead poisoning.

I think all of this traces back to my deeply-held belief that life is precious and every second we have on this earth should be lived to the fullest because we don’t know what awaits us when we die. I could be hit by a comet tomorrow and simply drop into nonexistence. I need to make the best of every moment I have. So what if I only do my homework on my way to and from classes or if I drape lunchmeat over a roll rather than struggle with a knife. I have more important things to worry about.

Laziness plagued me throughout high school as well. In tenth grade, one of my shoes began to fall apart. First, several of the little bits of leather holding the laces on the shoes fell off. Soon, my laces were stretched across my shoes in all sorts of random diagonals that did little to keep them on my feet. Soon, one of the air bubbles that was supposed to help me jump higher--essential for anyone as tall as your average bicycle--popped. This caused my right shoe to deflate on one side so I had to amble down the hall on a strange slant. Rather than decide it was time to run to the store for a new pair of shoes, I insisted they were fine. Meanwhile, the sole on my left shoe began to peel off. The deterioration continued until finally I was compelled to get a new pair after they got caught when I was trying to climb a fence and I had a chain link imprint on my face for about a week and a half.

I had another amusing anecdote involving a dog, a burning building, and a key lime pie, but…eh.

Now that he's been found safely, I can say it

That boy scout sure looks funny

CT

Connecticut's nickname is the Nutmeg State. What a sham. Obviously someone running the Constitutional Congress was really reaching when they came up with that one.

"OK, Delaware, you joined first so you can be the First State. And Rhode Island, you've got miles of beautiful Atlantic shoreline so you can be the Ocean State. And Connecticut--yeah, Connecticut--you can be the--nut--meg--state. Nutmeg State. That's good."

And then the Connecticut representative got all mad and his friend came up to him and reminded him what Connecticut was like. "Just be glad they didn't bring in the bulldozers, pave everything from New York to Boston and call us the Inter State."

Connecticut has two nicknames though. The other one is the Constitution State. Great thinking, Connecticut. Way to distinguish yourself. Name yourself after the document every single colony has to sign before they become a state. Might as well have called yourself the American State.