I'm climbing up the walls...we ride tonight


Well, all good things must come to an end at some point, eh? These past four months have flown
by, a testament to the fact that we're getting "old." The value of time seems to have risen exponentially as we've aged.
It seems like just yesterday we were filming English projects about bad parenting, or French projects
about monkeys with a fetish for french bread. But, I digress.

I go back to school on Wednesday (Heat Lightning in tow), prepared for wild binge drinking and late nights
with a close personal friend of mine: Calculus. I'm heading into my junior year; yes, that's right, I'm a "special"
child so I need one more year than the rest of you. HEY...HEY! P.J.! So, as the rest of you enjoy your last year
of being assraped by your respective university and their $15,000 tuition charges (most of that goes toward
stationery), you can make yourself feel better by knowing that I've got another year of it.

My last day at Tops was last night, I think that's what prompted me to write this entry--I'm full of bittersweet
sadness over leaving my "home." I'll always remember the late nights in Aisle 9... I felt the need to write something
as some sort of conclusion to this summer.

How can we forget the Puerto Ricans hanging out their windows in Boston, happily lobbing 40's at the
defenseless, wheelchair-bound drunkards below. We learned Jeremy + alcohol + menthol cigarettes adds
up to the strange happiness that results upon soiling one's own shirt. Who knew? And I have to mention the
ham and cheese bagels.

We also learned, this summer, that the Canadians get back at us for the exchange rate by doubling
the travel time to drive to anywhere in the provinces from the States. Thus, a 3-hour day trip turns into
six hours of Combo-throwing, gas-excreting, meow guitaring, German kitty death rocking fun! Heh heh, those
damn Canadians...

The car ride notwithstanding, the Radiohead concert with Ross, Justin, Sarah, Jerri, and Mel (I think I just made up those
last two names) was amazing, well worth the trip up to Barrie. Thanks again to Sarah. I highly recommend
seeing them in concert to anyone reading, you will not be disappointed.

That's some serious smack, Moskowitz! I'll long remember the Jim Rome tourstop for O.J., the Coach's fat
ass, half of the Bills' team on a single golf cart, and for Jay Mohr's "dolphin story" (I haven't wet
my pants like that since The Revenge of the Pink Panther's opening scene!, uh, yeah...).

"Hey, just gimme some room to swing a cat in here, ok?" Ah yes, you can always count on Marlon Brando
to interject a quote to shoot us off on a tangent...did you see that Letterman where he shows the clip
of the monkeys? Let me describe it: black and white, grainy 1930's footage of a monkey in a biwing plane
flying over another monkey in a vintage Model-T (with no roof). The monkey in the plane is fiendishly
holding a bomblike object over the car (oh yes, the car and the plane travel at exactly the same speed--
it's almost like they're tied together with a wooden dowel...hey, is that a wooden dowel I see?). The monkey
begins shrieking (although there is no sound, so maybe this is wishful thinking on my part), and proceeds to drop
the bomb, sending the automobilin' monkey into hell, yeehaw!

This constipated countenance belies the dark
genius within...

Tangent over.

And lastly, the "canoe trip" to Letchworth State Park. Months of planning turned into a picnic table full of beer
cans and the faint stench of scotch and vomit. Ah well, it was fun. Although, I seem to remember driving
for three hours to the Aeromart and then getting hit by a deer--nah, I must've dreamed that. Oh yeah, who's got
those pictures??? Get me some doubles, yo!

Ah yes, one of the Jones' trademark parties. JJ+MP=stuff I thought I would only hear about in the
tabloids. Ah well, the documentation of the bewildering nights at JJ's house will serve to keep us
mindful of our roots. So, remember, Ross, Justin, Danny, Adam and company, I don't think
any of us can run for public office--those tapes qualify as a skeleton in our closets. (Gary Condit's
got nothing on us)

I've chosen to focus on the lighter moments this summer, as the rest of it (88%) was consumed by the
300-lb gorilla known as Tops Friendly Markets. (friendly, my ass, I hate those f*@in' customers, go
shove your raincheck up yo' ass, fool!) I made some money, though, I can now afford to
get a license plate cover for Heat Lightning. In all seriousness, though, Tops made me the man
I am today, and I am forever grateful (I see dead people).

This entry didn't really go anywhere, just kind of a way for me to sum up my summer at large. I hope
you are able to follow along with my schizophrenic ramblings. If you've got some spare time, drop me a line
at school, if you're lucky, I'll add you to the database and you'll receive frequent mailings on the current state
of lemur mating practices.

Good night now.