“I was pissed on by a leopard…it was going ape-shit, playing with, and I’m not shitting you, a 30 pound log. Tossing the thing 20 feet in the air and then jumping up and attacking it before it hit the ground. It runs up to the side of the cage and sprays my pants with leopard piss. I have a picture of the whole thing; mid piss. The picture actually shows the leopard piss half-way to my leg.”—Oskey
Step back and take a look from when you were a child.
On the news this morning, they said that the air in Minneapolis has been dangerous to breathe for the last couple of days. Apparently, our current weather is trapping all of the pollution in our local atmosphere, down to street level where we all suck it in and out of our lungs, 24 hours a day.
I’m a smoker. I breathe harmful air into my lungs everyday regardless of the ‘weather.’ Yet, in the last few days I’ve noticed my throat getting scratchy. I didn’t know about the pollution warning until today, but I have to wonder if I’m one of the many citizens complaining about a sore throat caused by this shit.
Over the last few years there have been a number of warnings like this in Minneapolis/St. Paul. They are always mentioned on the news, but never given that much attention. No one ever really stops to contemplate exactly how screwed up it is that our air is dangerous.
We’ve poisoned our air. Think about that. Think about how perverted that is. It’s akin to pissing all over your bedsheets and then laying in them for the rest of your life, albeit not as wet. Air is the one thing we all need, and once you poison it, it’s the one thing none of us can escape.
Remember when you were a child in school, and you read about enviromental concerns for the first time? I remember thinking that if we had identified the problem, someone, somewhere would take care of it. There had to be someone working on it; there had to be someone saving the world and cleaning up our mess, right?
No one is, and I don’t think anyone can. Sure, there are people, who, if given the chance, would put those types of initiatives in place. But unfortunately, we’ve decided not to put those people in charge. Why? Because we don’t really place any value on it. What we value are material goods, and the status quo. We want to know that our cars will still work, our paychecks will still come through, and if we get depressed, we can go buy a new pair of jeans.
We would rather breathe smoke than put down our cash.
So, needless to say, my car got fucking towed when I was in NYC this weekend.
The morning that I left Minneapolis, I heard reports of a major snow storm coming on Saturday, so I had my good friend/coworker that I car pool with take care of my car. I called her last night (Sunday) to make sure she had moved it as I was informed the city had declared a snow emergency.
She said she had spent an hour outside my place cleaning off the car, warming it up, getting stuck, getting unstuck, etc. I felt pretty bad about asking her to do this for me by that point.
Of course, she just moved to the cities, and if you’re not familiar with Minneapolis’ snow emergency parking scheme, it’s goddamn confusing. I should have thought about this a little more before asking someone from out of town to take care of my car. So, she moved the car to the right side of the street, but it was the wrong street, and my car was towed. Obviously.
MEANWHILE, I had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn in NYC to catch a ride with Ryan to JFK. Ass crack = 5AM. And what time did my dumb ass go to bed? I have no idea. The only thing I remember is waking up, packing my shit, getting into a smelly car with a cabby that pumped Mexican talk radio into my ears at full bass/volume the entire way through Brooklyn. Fuck me.
Eventually, we get to the airport. The Sun Country desk wasn’t open yet, so I got to hang out in a phone booth for a bit while Ryan navigated the NorthWest Counter. After half an hour, Ryan hadn’t moved an inch and I was still in a staring contest with the eastern European bitch at the Sun Country counter, who was making damn sure she didn’t open up the desk until 7:50 sharp. Starting at 7:30, I didn’t break eye contact with her. I was the only person in line. Very ackward.
I got my boarding pass, and Ryan still hadn’t moved an inch. About 20 minutes later, we went through the terminal, grabbed some coffee, had a quick chat, and Ryan left. I, on the other hand, had what would turn out to be 3 1/2 hours of waiting before I got on the plane. I bought “The World Without Us” and read 100 pages. That’s impressive because I was more hungover than you’re mom the night she woke up naked in a gutter in Vegas.
The flight was ok, save for the smelly mother-fucker sitting next to me. I had the window seat, he was in the middle, and no one had the aisle. He never moved over. WHAT THE FUCK!
The one saving grace of my day came when my mom met me at the airport. She was flying to Phoenix. She bought me coffee. Mom rules.
Next. Light rail to downtown. 6F to uptown. Notice the car is gone. Spend the next 2 hours figuring shit out. Get a wonderful call from Jordan Micko who was coming through town.
JORDAN MICKO RULES!!!!!!!!!! Dude gave me a ride to the impound lot, and waited for the 2 and 1/2 hours it took to get my car. The first hour was spent outside with 300 other poor bastards that got their shit towed as well. Jordan, I owe you one.
The guy behind us in line was pissed because the girl he slept with the night before took his car in the morning before he woke up and got it towed. He hadn’t heard from her since. I should say, he was more angry about not being able to be out “making money” instead of paying the impound lot. Dude had some drugs to move.
There are no bathrooms at the impound lot. Nothing. So, that coffee that my mom bought me was a curse toward the 2nd hour. I pissed for 51 seconds when I got home. Oskey and Micko timed it.
$138 for the tow. I would tell you how much the ticket was on top of that, but they lost my ticket, so I have to track that down at the court house. Full service shit over there I’m tellin’ ya.
After you wait to pay, you wait for a bus ride to your parking lot. The Minneapolis impound lot is FUCKING HUGE. I had no idea. Seriously, go on Google Earth. Look at that shit. HUGE.
I drove home and posted this. Beer in hand. I’m going to Brandi’s now. I need a back rub.