#OccupyParentsHouse enters its second week unabated. Local police are unsure what to do about the sudden proliferation of unwashed clothing and dishes strewn about the Greene family guest room. The house is too small to use tear gas, and while the mess is unsightly the lone occupier has made no moves to suggest any kind of drum circle or chanting is on the horizon.
I pulled out my high school yearbook from senior year the other day, thinking what people wrote to me in 1997 might make a good blog entry, but all my classmates more or less said the same thing: “Hey Jim, you’re a weird but cool guy, have a good life, K.I.T.” My friend Greg Rivera went on a semi-rant about Mr. T in his signature, but that should be no surprise to those familiar with Greggo and his well-documented obsession.
“The legacy of Mr. T will live on,” Greg wrote. “Death to all who choose to defile his time with statements like ‘Oh yeah, that black guy with the gold chains on “The A-Team.”‘ No, he’s more than that, you know that and that’s why you’re cool.”
Remind me later to tell you folks about Memorial Day Weekend 2005 when I helped Greg transport a minivan full of homemade Mr. T dolls from this neighborhood in Florida to the Lower East Side. We got the shipment to NYC on time without killing each other, but we also didn’t speak for two years after the fact. I like to consider that my “lost” weekend.
I think today’s the day I’m going to hit some of those world famous Central Florida thrift shops in search of unheralded treasure/cheap Christmas gifts. I don’t care if you didn’t ask for a Jeff Gordon shirt, Mom, you’re getting one, so just deal. It’s gonna be a very NASCAR t-shirt Christmas up in this bitch, so hold on to your butts!
In other news, I gotta stop eating chocolate-covered pretzels for breakfast. I can hear my heart whining like a horny Louie Anderson.