A Cornucopia of Thoughts

While traipsing about Cambridge Square on an unusually mild Sunday, my roommate commented on the amount of seemingly questionable business ventures that had set up shop. There was a door store. Yes, a store that specializes in doors. Eureka! To the owner's credit it had appeared from some brief window shopping that the door store had diversified into kitchen tables and ceiling fans. Although I have to question the wisdom of this move since my first instinct when buying a kitchen table is not to look up a place called The Door Store.

There were also three shoe repair shops. I don't see many shoe repair shops, but I saw three within a quarter-mile of one another. This baffled me. I always figured the era of the cobbler was long-dead, having gone the way of the chimney sweep or the typewriter repair man. Am I in the dark here? Is a good shoe repair guy the same thing as having a good mechanic or talented accountant? Is it that common? Answer me readers!

We also spotted one tannery. Whether or not hides were actually tanned there could not be ascertained as they were closed on Sundays, but this certainly raises some of the same questions raised above.

Another store we came across was titled Bob Slate Stationer. The sign had Bob Slate's signature written above the block letter "Stationer." While a stationary store isn't that uncommon, I chuckled all day thinking about Bob Slate introducing himself to everyone as "Bob Slate, stationer." I couldn't get the image of him at a cocktail party out of my head. "Hi there, I'm Rick, Nancy's husband." "Hi Rick, name's Slate. Bob Slate...stationer."

I have consumed one jar of mayonnaise in one and a half months. I am disgusted with myself and wanted to share this fact with everyone. If I die tragically young you'll have a place to start when trying to determine cause of death.

On a similarly dark note, my friend who is in medical school felt the need to tell me after my "FU Does Not Have AIDS" post that overcoming a serious illness is indicative of someone who has AIDS. (I stated in my post that overcoming the flu was proof that I was AIDS free). Apparently I still have some leverage for landing the nickname 'Magic.'

I just finished a book on the run-up to the Iraq War that included an account of the CIA operations in Iraq in the late fall and winter of 2002/3. As part of the operation, the guy in charge had to be able to dole out large sums of money in cash and so had millions of dollars stuffed in duffel bags lying around his place. I think it was something like $37 million. In case anyone was wondering, $1 million in hundred dollar bills weighs 40 pounds and can fit into a backpack. There's no snarky comment there, I just thought that was interesting to know exactly how much $1 million was. However, one amusing tidbit was that after three months of paying the local opposition group exclusively in $100 bills, it soon came to dominate the local currency and hyperinflation set in. Apparently a cup of coffee couldn't be bought for less than $100 because nobody had any change. The CIA ended up having to smuggle in a few tons of cash in smaller bills over three truckloads. Again, there's no point here, just sharing.

One of my friends has suggested repeatedly that I incorporate pictures into the blog as a means of spicing up the delivery of its content. As a gesture that I am open to criticism and not oversensitive about people questioning my artistic decisions, I have decided to make an attempt to spice it up with some pictures.

On a totally unrelated note, I am no longer friends with that loser.

That's for you Joe.

Finally, I'll be traveling for the next 10 days or so which could mean some pretty irregular posting. Stay strong America, I'll be here.

FU