Tuesday, January 26, 2010


Superstitious, I am not. However, I am easily scared.

I've been sick for a few days, and today it reached a point that prevents me from truly sensing pork, making it pointless to attempt a new adventure until I kick this phlegmy, congested unpleasantness.

It's a shame, because I'm on my way to New York, where I was hoping to try something new (perhaps a pork bun) before being serenaded by the madrigals of folk composer DJ Krush. With my bulging sinuses and foggy head, I hit the street, en route to the many modes of transit that get me to my brother's apartment. I was a block from my house when I noticed something flat, wet, pink, and streaked with white. I eased my rush and mouthed the word as the visual registered: 'bacon'. I looked ahead to find a four square foot patch of sidewalk strewn with the stuff. I stood there, surrounded. As if the camera was rising above me to capture the whole shot, I slowly raised my arms toward the heavens and closed my eyes. Like Dutch summoning the Predator to battle, I screamed my enemy's name.


OK, I didn't do that last arm-raising, screaming thing, but you have to admit, that's some kind of omen. I'm not one to challenge the universe.

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