Look. I'm by no means an ideal citizen and certainly not one to be listened to for very long or really at all. I also will be writing things about stuff which really I don't know much about. But I got urges. We all do. You're gonna hear about them. That being said, I'd like to talk with all y'all about why I like newspapers. When I first started reading them, I found them cumbersome. I can lose pages often. Trying to get to page A 4 or G 9 took some time. Sometimes I spilled barbecue sauce on them. But with practice, I developed some skills in maneuvering each wispy page of the Boston Globe or the New York Times . I enjoyed taking the news on the T . It would make my journeys to Cambridge or Downtown Crossing feel worthwhile and I would exit the subterranean layer of Boston's transit system a little wiser then which I entered. The paper was big and I had somewhat of a fort that I could reside in which made me feel safe in some Freudian way. What
We're all Born for Things This was a brief conversational interlude that went on at Franklin Park as I was trying out my bare-foot jogging. This event weaves through some of the main ideas of this entry. "Doesn't that hurt running bare-foot?" "Yes m'am." "Why are you doing it than?" "I've heard it's good for my feet if I do it enough..." "Do you really think you'll be conscientious enough to keep this up, you don't seem like the type of individual that would." "You're probably right m'am." "I don't know why you're running that way than. It's silly if you ask me and you probably need some direction in your life." "Thank you mam." "You look a little foolish you realize and you're also going at the same pace as me because you're in so much pain and I'm just walking." "Thank you M'am, I just misplaced my sh