There was a time when humans used to improve. We improved from dragging our knuckles to walking upright. At first we were bewildered beasts without concepts of fire, tools, language, music, math, physics, opiates, etc.; now we are relative masters of those things.
The last bell of the day rang at 3:55 p.m. By 3:56, kids were pouring out of the high school on their way to the soccer field, the library, or the houses of latchkey friends. Seniors with cars hit up the mall two towns over, the band dorks mustered in the music room, and the punks snuck into the woods to get high.
I’ve been thinking lately about Louis Zamperini.
I heard about him for the first time when I was 16. He was a torch bearer in the 1998 Winter Olympics in Nagano, so NBC did a spot on him. I know I was watching with my mom in our new house in Maryland, but I don’t remember anything else besides being completely mesmerized by this unbelievable story.
A man on the screen tosses a gun to his partner. He starts to say "If we make it out of this alive..." and your brain races to finish his sentence. Is it deja vu? Are you clairvoyant? Or is the screenwriting community populated with lazy corner-cutting jerks recycling dialogue? Which do you think is most likely?
My best friend whose name is not Beatrice planned an entire ten-year high school reunion. Normally I wouldn’t give a shit about how insane that is but Beatrice insisted that I go to the reunion. I asked her, “Beatrice, are you going to all this trouble so you can tell everyone that you are an attorney?” She said no, but I knew she was lying.
My penis came out at work.
I was at a meeting, just a regular old meeting, and there it was in all its five-and-a-half inch turgid glory. One minute we are all sitting around a conference table listening to Anne prattle on about the SWOT analysis, the next minute my engorged penis was poking straight up out of my chinos.
Part of that was my fault.