New Jersey, What an Inconvenience!
Seriously, I might as well live in Alaska. Asking friends to come over to my house is like asking them to charter a boat to the North Sea.
"Do you guys want to come over to my place tomorrow night?"
"Do we have to rent waders?"
No. Living in New Jersey is not as bad as it sounds. Every area of New Jersey is different and the area I'm in isn't necessarily that close to the city, though it is a nice area. Because of that fact, getting to and from my house to the city can make for a chore sometimes.
As an example of this, I expound the following story: Last Saturday night, May 26, was an odd day in itself as a whole, and I guess it was only fitting that it came to the close that it did. First of all, that morning was the morning the bee flew in my shower. At work, two things happened. A fellow employee, and the one guy who I had really gotten to know in my month's time of working there, was fired. That was really a downer. Then my Brazilian good luck bracelet got torn off when I was moving a box.
My Brazilian good luck bracelet was a fabric bracelet that was tied around my wrist with three knots when I was leaving Brazil two summers ago. The three knots represent three wishes made while tying them. After tying the bracelet on my wrist, I was supposed to let the bracelet fall off naturally, as a sign that my wishes had come true. After nearly two years of soaking up sweat and showers, that ratty old thing was coming looser and looser everyday and was so ready to be worn out and disintegrate right off my wrist, and then it had to be so violently severed by the MAN and his cardboard boxes.
It was another disappointment in an already disappointing day. After work, however, things turned up as I was able to meet with some friends who I had not seen in a while. After a late dinner, it was time to turn in, and I left the restaurant just in time to catch the last bus to my house.
Or did I?!
Well, I did, and then I got to the bus terminal and the appropriate place where I usually go to wait in line for my bus when, lo and behold!, a different bus should appear in my bus' place. The bus I usually take is the DeCamp #44, which leaves at 11:30pm and drives past my apartment building approximately half an hour after that. In the bus lane, however, there should appear a New Jersey Transit bus with the route #163. Obviously this was not my bus, and my bus was no where to be found. If I were to get on this alternate bus, it likely would transport me to some alternate universe (as if New Jersey wasn't enough of one to begin with) where I would not have any way of getting home, I would not know where I was, and I would not have my trusty subway system to get me as far away as I would care to be.
So after walking around aimlessly for a while, I come to the decision to take the New Jersey Transit #190 bus, which goes close enough to my house that I can walk 1.2 miles or call for a taxi. Getting in line for the 12:00am bus, I found there were a lot more people in front of me in line than could possibly fit on this bus, so I was forced to wait for the next bus at 12:30.
While waiting for it, I formed something of a bond with those people, joined together in frustration of the New Jersey Transit system and in the observance and quiet mockery of a definitively crazy Latino man who went on wild tangents cursing in both Spanish and English directed apparently at the buses.
After 12:30am, the next bus arrived, late. It took about fifteen minutes for us all just to board. Packed to the gills, I stood in the aisle, shoulder to shoulder with more New Jerseyites, and more still were left stranded at the bus terminal, sentenced to wait for the next bus which left from a different gate, four floors down. The ride was very uncomfortable, as I don't even really have to say, and no matter how s l o w l y you read this, you will not be able to realize the agony I've come to endure on these late-night journeys home.
For even though I was exceedingly tired, now hungry from not eating at dinner thinking I would eat when I got home, and overall worn out from being on my feet all day at work and then walking around New York City afterwards, what awaited me once I got off that bus was not a warm meal, a cushy bed, a beautiful woman, or some combination of all three, but a 1.2 mile walk to my third-floor apartment, where in short order I could attain at least two out of the three if I wanted.
The stop I get off of is after riding past Giants Stadium, after riding through the petty town of Secaucus, at the corner of the highway overpass and a main street of town. Caddy-corner to the bus stop is a 24-hour 7-11, which I proceeded to patronize. Oh, thank heaven, it seemed to be calling me. I ride past it everyday, but rarely get the opportunity to try one of the variations of coffee they are constantly advertising.
Now's my chance!
I figured I could use a boost for what I hoped would be the last leg of my journey. So, I proceeded to make my own hazelnut-flavored iced coffee, including a healthy portion of cream and sugar (by that, of course, I mean unhealthy). I paid more for less ounces of coffee that I had to assemble myself than I would have at Dunkin' Donuts. Oh, well.
"You're paying for the convenience," I thought to myself.
I guess that 20 cents goes a long way after all. It keeps the store open all night, which definitely helped me out. I don't know if I could have made it without completely wigging out had I not been able to purchase that iced coffee. It was quite good, too. I nursed it for about half of my journey.
It was now 1:15am. This walk takes about 45 minutes. Having made this 1.2 mile trek several times before in the dark, I was now a seasoned veteran, and had timed it accurately. The walk goes along the same bus route that normally takes me to and from Manhattan, but of course, what takes only about ten minutes by motor vehicle gets stretched out to a challenging monathlon by foot. (I made that word up. It means the same thing a triathlon does, only with one sport.)
I had my iPod, at least, and I decided that while I could listen to some stand-up comedy that would help cheer me up, I had better listen to something more depressing so I stay in my bad mood and stay inspired to write about it when I get home. So I put on some Bee Gees, who, aside from their disco hits, played a number of very sad love songs which I just adore.
Being so familiar with the stretch of road I was embarking on, I've probably come to memorize every business that passes me by. Let's see. There is the Shell gas station, which starts or caps off the route, depending on which direction you're going. There is a liquor store, and Italian restaurant, and a sushi place all on that block, then there is Qween Bee laundromat, and a bicycle shop. Not too far after that is SCORE! gas station. If I turn right there, I am led to my grocery store and several other businesses such as Blockbuster Video and Staples.
But I continue going straight, where I pass on the right a small cemetery, and on the left the Kingsland NJ Transit Train Station, right next to which is a deli that features a very creepy picture of some Italian chef, who I suppose is the owner, blown up in the window.
Continuing on the walk, and not losing any focus, I pass the Subway, Carvel Ice Cream, and Bergen [County, NJ] Dragon, the aptly-named Chinese restaurant. Next to that is the Regal Beagle, a bar that has been unoccupied and for sale ever since I've known about it. There is an elementary school, a Mexican-food delivery place confusingly-named Bagel Stop, and a liquor store.
If I turn right here, it leads me to my liquor store and TJMaxx, where two X's mean twice the bargains! Straight ahead, however, is where I must travel. A Chase bank lies ahead of me on the right.
Wendy's is coming up! If they are open, I'm totally prepared to pull a walk-through in the drive-thru lane. I don't own a car, they have to serve me! What kind of an excuse is not owning a car?!?! I'm saving my money to eat at Wendy's, obviously! Not drive around! But it's not open, so this sequence of dialogue I have planned out in my head doesn't actually take place.
I tread on. I'm just about finished with my Hazelnut iced coffee, which was the best part of my then-morning, aside from the very relaxing and uninterrupted sleep I did partake of once I actually got home.
But I digress, I think I missed some businesses back there. Most importantly, the pet-grooming salon, whose pink neon sign sends a very eerie vibe my way when walking past, not to mention the Lyndhurst taxi company, who I would normally call in order to avoid this trek, but at the moment I do not feel like giving them $12 for such an easy task. There goes the Mazur's bakery, which has some of the most elaborate and delicious-looking cakes I've ever been tempted to eat sitting on display in their window.
Now I've been carrying this empty beverage container for a while. No wonder this town is riddled with litter. There is not a trash can within sight. Finally I come to one as I pass by an Exxon station and Pulse nightclub, which is right next to another Italian restaurant. Crossing this intersection, there is another Italian restaurant, the one that didn't hire me, right next to the construction firm that didn't hire me.
On my right side, I pass by a deli and a Scuba shop, which has a TV screen in the window for all the land-dwellers to see the wonders of the underwater world, and how much better you could explore it if you had some of the products they sold at this shop.
Another thing I found while walking this way was that a lot of these businesses left lights on in the offices overnight. Insurance offices, tax offices, and other various businesses leave one light on, just one. Did somebody really forget to turn these lights off in all of these businesses, or is this some kind of weird strategy to advertise? There's nobody there! Turn off the light!
Passing by the 24-hour emergency vet clinic, I entertain a fantasy that involves me faking some kind of pet emergency in order to initiate a conversation that would somehow lead to an elaborate porn-film-like sexual fantasy with the female veterinarians inside. That fades away quickly as I realize I am feeling a burning down below, between my legs. You know the one I mean. Chafing! That's right, after hours of sweating and walking around in more heat and sweating some more, the insides of my legs have developed a very uncomfortable tenderness that is only exacerbated by more and more walking. I'm sure you skinny people don't know what I'm talking about, but my fellow brothers and sisters who are a little thick in the thighs can surely relate to what I am referring to. Anyway, this unfortunate bodily phenomenon forces me to walk with a little more straddle in my step than normal and allows me to disregard any kind of sexual connotation I may or may not have thought of along my journey.
Fortunately, I am almost home.
I am now passing by businesses that I could consider to be within walking distance from my apartment, although, as proven by this exercise, all the aforementioned businesses are within walking distance when necessary. The dry cleaners, the lousy gym that I went to once, unsatisfied, the CVS/pharmacy, the old Midas service center, which was falling apart and cleverly read "-ice experts" above the garage door, now being demolished, the Walgreens, Post Office, Jim Dandy's place for ribs and homemade ice cream, Greek restaurant, bagel place, Italian restaurant, YMCA day care center, doctor's office, apartment complex, and the big giant cemetery are all signs that I am very near to my destination. I just have to pass by a few florists, a few monument builders, a few hair salons, the North Arlington pub, Sammy's bagels and deli, the Almost Reality or Cutting Edge or In My Room All Day Playing Computer Games Comic Book Store (I forgot the name of it), the J.W. Deli, North Arlington Public High School, the Dunkin' Donuts that unfortunately did hire me, Victoria's Pizza, and then I casually walk to my front door.
The time is 2:04 am. It took roughly the time I predicted it would, at which I am pleased. Now it is time for bed and a day free from burden tomorrow.
Or was it?!?!
For the most part it was, but to add insult to injury, the good mood that was to be about me Sunday was stifled by the incident at Church. I still go to Church every so often. I go when I can and when I feel like it, which is not every Sunday, but is more often than not. When I go to Church, it is usually because I haven't gone in a while, and I feel like while God is keeping me alive and safe, I really owe him something for that. This is just my opinion, by the way.
If I was at home and I missed a week of Church, I would be condemned to hell, whereas at Beloit College, by going to Church once a month I was dubbed some kind of religious zealot. I can't please anybody. Anyway, when I go to Church, I really have to have a sound mind and body for it. Needless to say, every Sunday this is not always the case, as Saturday night is often the night before. So when I am ready to go to Church, I am ready to go, get my worship on, and get out of there. I want to sing a few hymns, pray a few prayers, think about people who need help, atone for my sins, grab the body of Christ, pay my respects, and get on with my life.
It seems, however, that when I go any more, God's always sticking it to me for not going the past few weeks, and therefore the Mass is just a bit longer than usual because of that. Sometimes, it's a Baptism. Every once in a while a First Communion. This time, though, it was the grandpappy of them all. This time it was a freshly-ordained priest who was saying the Mass. He was just ordained the night before, probably while I was not eating dinner. He was from the area, saying his very first Mass at the Church he grew up in, and the Parish, and the family, and the school. It was very sentimental...for him. For me, it was just annoying.
It was bad enough that New Jersey made me wait three extra hours for me to get home last night. I wake up to find out God is punishing me, too?
The worst part about it was they had the Knights of Columbus there parading up and down the aisles as if they were serving some importance. Now, I can deal with all the Catholic Church ritual and the blessings and the singing and the Latin, but when you bring in costumed men bearing swords that are supposed to resemble Spanish explorers from the fifteenth century walking around like they own the place, that's when I get perturbed. This normally tolerable one-hour procedure was begrudgingly dragged out to one hour and thirty-eight mind-numbing minutes.
How does one explain to his wife or significant other that he is a Knight of Columbus, anyhow? I want to know how that conversation goes.
"Uh...honey? I can't come to dinner tonight. I have to dress up as a fifteenth-century crewman and walk around in a ceremony."
"You have to what?"
"It's for Jesus. I have to carry a sword."
"You have to carry a sword and dress up in a costume for Jesus? Ok. I understand. If I'm not here when you get back, don't come looking for me, it just means that I think you're insane and I'm moving back with my mother. Don't get scurvy."
You can't bring fingernail clippers into an airport but you can bring a sword into Church? That's logic. I especially have a problem with seeing old costumed men carrying swords around Church and not seeing a sword fight. That is the least they could do. As long as they are in there with the costumes and the swords, they might as well stage a battle. They already have their audience. They're even paying by donation. Heck, they might even donate a little more if they saw a sword fight. I know I would. Oops, but I forgot my wallet. Oh, well. I probably don't have any cash anyway. I spent it all last night on unnecessary bus tickets. Thanks, New Jersey.
"Do you guys want to come over to my place tomorrow night?"
"Do we have to rent waders?"
No. Living in New Jersey is not as bad as it sounds. Every area of New Jersey is different and the area I'm in isn't necessarily that close to the city, though it is a nice area. Because of that fact, getting to and from my house to the city can make for a chore sometimes.
As an example of this, I expound the following story: Last Saturday night, May 26, was an odd day in itself as a whole, and I guess it was only fitting that it came to the close that it did. First of all, that morning was the morning the bee flew in my shower. At work, two things happened. A fellow employee, and the one guy who I had really gotten to know in my month's time of working there, was fired. That was really a downer. Then my Brazilian good luck bracelet got torn off when I was moving a box.
My Brazilian good luck bracelet was a fabric bracelet that was tied around my wrist with three knots when I was leaving Brazil two summers ago. The three knots represent three wishes made while tying them. After tying the bracelet on my wrist, I was supposed to let the bracelet fall off naturally, as a sign that my wishes had come true. After nearly two years of soaking up sweat and showers, that ratty old thing was coming looser and looser everyday and was so ready to be worn out and disintegrate right off my wrist, and then it had to be so violently severed by the MAN and his cardboard boxes.
It was another disappointment in an already disappointing day. After work, however, things turned up as I was able to meet with some friends who I had not seen in a while. After a late dinner, it was time to turn in, and I left the restaurant just in time to catch the last bus to my house.
Or did I?!
Well, I did, and then I got to the bus terminal and the appropriate place where I usually go to wait in line for my bus when, lo and behold!, a different bus should appear in my bus' place. The bus I usually take is the DeCamp #44, which leaves at 11:30pm and drives past my apartment building approximately half an hour after that. In the bus lane, however, there should appear a New Jersey Transit bus with the route #163. Obviously this was not my bus, and my bus was no where to be found. If I were to get on this alternate bus, it likely would transport me to some alternate universe (as if New Jersey wasn't enough of one to begin with) where I would not have any way of getting home, I would not know where I was, and I would not have my trusty subway system to get me as far away as I would care to be.
So after walking around aimlessly for a while, I come to the decision to take the New Jersey Transit #190 bus, which goes close enough to my house that I can walk 1.2 miles or call for a taxi. Getting in line for the 12:00am bus, I found there were a lot more people in front of me in line than could possibly fit on this bus, so I was forced to wait for the next bus at 12:30.
While waiting for it, I formed something of a bond with those people, joined together in frustration of the New Jersey Transit system and in the observance and quiet mockery of a definitively crazy Latino man who went on wild tangents cursing in both Spanish and English directed apparently at the buses.
After 12:30am, the next bus arrived, late. It took about fifteen minutes for us all just to board. Packed to the gills, I stood in the aisle, shoulder to shoulder with more New Jerseyites, and more still were left stranded at the bus terminal, sentenced to wait for the next bus which left from a different gate, four floors down. The ride was very uncomfortable, as I don't even really have to say, and no matter how s l o w l y you read this, you will not be able to realize the agony I've come to endure on these late-night journeys home.
For even though I was exceedingly tired, now hungry from not eating at dinner thinking I would eat when I got home, and overall worn out from being on my feet all day at work and then walking around New York City afterwards, what awaited me once I got off that bus was not a warm meal, a cushy bed, a beautiful woman, or some combination of all three, but a 1.2 mile walk to my third-floor apartment, where in short order I could attain at least two out of the three if I wanted.
The stop I get off of is after riding past Giants Stadium, after riding through the petty town of Secaucus, at the corner of the highway overpass and a main street of town. Caddy-corner to the bus stop is a 24-hour 7-11, which I proceeded to patronize. Oh, thank heaven, it seemed to be calling me. I ride past it everyday, but rarely get the opportunity to try one of the variations of coffee they are constantly advertising.
Now's my chance!
I figured I could use a boost for what I hoped would be the last leg of my journey. So, I proceeded to make my own hazelnut-flavored iced coffee, including a healthy portion of cream and sugar (by that, of course, I mean unhealthy). I paid more for less ounces of coffee that I had to assemble myself than I would have at Dunkin' Donuts. Oh, well.
"You're paying for the convenience," I thought to myself.
I guess that 20 cents goes a long way after all. It keeps the store open all night, which definitely helped me out. I don't know if I could have made it without completely wigging out had I not been able to purchase that iced coffee. It was quite good, too. I nursed it for about half of my journey.
It was now 1:15am. This walk takes about 45 minutes. Having made this 1.2 mile trek several times before in the dark, I was now a seasoned veteran, and had timed it accurately. The walk goes along the same bus route that normally takes me to and from Manhattan, but of course, what takes only about ten minutes by motor vehicle gets stretched out to a challenging monathlon by foot. (I made that word up. It means the same thing a triathlon does, only with one sport.)
I had my iPod, at least, and I decided that while I could listen to some stand-up comedy that would help cheer me up, I had better listen to something more depressing so I stay in my bad mood and stay inspired to write about it when I get home. So I put on some Bee Gees, who, aside from their disco hits, played a number of very sad love songs which I just adore.
Being so familiar with the stretch of road I was embarking on, I've probably come to memorize every business that passes me by. Let's see. There is the Shell gas station, which starts or caps off the route, depending on which direction you're going. There is a liquor store, and Italian restaurant, and a sushi place all on that block, then there is Qween Bee laundromat, and a bicycle shop. Not too far after that is SCORE! gas station. If I turn right there, I am led to my grocery store and several other businesses such as Blockbuster Video and Staples.
But I continue going straight, where I pass on the right a small cemetery, and on the left the Kingsland NJ Transit Train Station, right next to which is a deli that features a very creepy picture of some Italian chef, who I suppose is the owner, blown up in the window.
Continuing on the walk, and not losing any focus, I pass the Subway, Carvel Ice Cream, and Bergen [County, NJ] Dragon, the aptly-named Chinese restaurant. Next to that is the Regal Beagle, a bar that has been unoccupied and for sale ever since I've known about it. There is an elementary school, a Mexican-food delivery place confusingly-named Bagel Stop, and a liquor store.
If I turn right here, it leads me to my liquor store and TJMaxx, where two X's mean twice the bargains! Straight ahead, however, is where I must travel. A Chase bank lies ahead of me on the right.
Wendy's is coming up! If they are open, I'm totally prepared to pull a walk-through in the drive-thru lane. I don't own a car, they have to serve me! What kind of an excuse is not owning a car?!?! I'm saving my money to eat at Wendy's, obviously! Not drive around! But it's not open, so this sequence of dialogue I have planned out in my head doesn't actually take place.
I tread on. I'm just about finished with my Hazelnut iced coffee, which was the best part of my then-morning, aside from the very relaxing and uninterrupted sleep I did partake of once I actually got home.
But I digress, I think I missed some businesses back there. Most importantly, the pet-grooming salon, whose pink neon sign sends a very eerie vibe my way when walking past, not to mention the Lyndhurst taxi company, who I would normally call in order to avoid this trek, but at the moment I do not feel like giving them $12 for such an easy task. There goes the Mazur's bakery, which has some of the most elaborate and delicious-looking cakes I've ever been tempted to eat sitting on display in their window.
Now I've been carrying this empty beverage container for a while. No wonder this town is riddled with litter. There is not a trash can within sight. Finally I come to one as I pass by an Exxon station and Pulse nightclub, which is right next to another Italian restaurant. Crossing this intersection, there is another Italian restaurant, the one that didn't hire me, right next to the construction firm that didn't hire me.
On my right side, I pass by a deli and a Scuba shop, which has a TV screen in the window for all the land-dwellers to see the wonders of the underwater world, and how much better you could explore it if you had some of the products they sold at this shop.
Another thing I found while walking this way was that a lot of these businesses left lights on in the offices overnight. Insurance offices, tax offices, and other various businesses leave one light on, just one. Did somebody really forget to turn these lights off in all of these businesses, or is this some kind of weird strategy to advertise? There's nobody there! Turn off the light!
Passing by the 24-hour emergency vet clinic, I entertain a fantasy that involves me faking some kind of pet emergency in order to initiate a conversation that would somehow lead to an elaborate porn-film-like sexual fantasy with the female veterinarians inside. That fades away quickly as I realize I am feeling a burning down below, between my legs. You know the one I mean. Chafing! That's right, after hours of sweating and walking around in more heat and sweating some more, the insides of my legs have developed a very uncomfortable tenderness that is only exacerbated by more and more walking. I'm sure you skinny people don't know what I'm talking about, but my fellow brothers and sisters who are a little thick in the thighs can surely relate to what I am referring to. Anyway, this unfortunate bodily phenomenon forces me to walk with a little more straddle in my step than normal and allows me to disregard any kind of sexual connotation I may or may not have thought of along my journey.
Fortunately, I am almost home.
I am now passing by businesses that I could consider to be within walking distance from my apartment, although, as proven by this exercise, all the aforementioned businesses are within walking distance when necessary. The dry cleaners, the lousy gym that I went to once, unsatisfied, the CVS/pharmacy, the old Midas service center, which was falling apart and cleverly read "-ice experts" above the garage door, now being demolished, the Walgreens, Post Office, Jim Dandy's place for ribs and homemade ice cream, Greek restaurant, bagel place, Italian restaurant, YMCA day care center, doctor's office, apartment complex, and the big giant cemetery are all signs that I am very near to my destination. I just have to pass by a few florists, a few monument builders, a few hair salons, the North Arlington pub, Sammy's bagels and deli, the Almost Reality or Cutting Edge or In My Room All Day Playing Computer Games Comic Book Store (I forgot the name of it), the J.W. Deli, North Arlington Public High School, the Dunkin' Donuts that unfortunately did hire me, Victoria's Pizza, and then I casually walk to my front door.
The time is 2:04 am. It took roughly the time I predicted it would, at which I am pleased. Now it is time for bed and a day free from burden tomorrow.
Or was it?!?!
For the most part it was, but to add insult to injury, the good mood that was to be about me Sunday was stifled by the incident at Church. I still go to Church every so often. I go when I can and when I feel like it, which is not every Sunday, but is more often than not. When I go to Church, it is usually because I haven't gone in a while, and I feel like while God is keeping me alive and safe, I really owe him something for that. This is just my opinion, by the way.
If I was at home and I missed a week of Church, I would be condemned to hell, whereas at Beloit College, by going to Church once a month I was dubbed some kind of religious zealot. I can't please anybody. Anyway, when I go to Church, I really have to have a sound mind and body for it. Needless to say, every Sunday this is not always the case, as Saturday night is often the night before. So when I am ready to go to Church, I am ready to go, get my worship on, and get out of there. I want to sing a few hymns, pray a few prayers, think about people who need help, atone for my sins, grab the body of Christ, pay my respects, and get on with my life.
It seems, however, that when I go any more, God's always sticking it to me for not going the past few weeks, and therefore the Mass is just a bit longer than usual because of that. Sometimes, it's a Baptism. Every once in a while a First Communion. This time, though, it was the grandpappy of them all. This time it was a freshly-ordained priest who was saying the Mass. He was just ordained the night before, probably while I was not eating dinner. He was from the area, saying his very first Mass at the Church he grew up in, and the Parish, and the family, and the school. It was very sentimental...for him. For me, it was just annoying.
It was bad enough that New Jersey made me wait three extra hours for me to get home last night. I wake up to find out God is punishing me, too?
The worst part about it was they had the Knights of Columbus there parading up and down the aisles as if they were serving some importance. Now, I can deal with all the Catholic Church ritual and the blessings and the singing and the Latin, but when you bring in costumed men bearing swords that are supposed to resemble Spanish explorers from the fifteenth century walking around like they own the place, that's when I get perturbed. This normally tolerable one-hour procedure was begrudgingly dragged out to one hour and thirty-eight mind-numbing minutes.
How does one explain to his wife or significant other that he is a Knight of Columbus, anyhow? I want to know how that conversation goes.
"Uh...honey? I can't come to dinner tonight. I have to dress up as a fifteenth-century crewman and walk around in a ceremony."
"You have to what?"
"It's for Jesus. I have to carry a sword."
"You have to carry a sword and dress up in a costume for Jesus? Ok. I understand. If I'm not here when you get back, don't come looking for me, it just means that I think you're insane and I'm moving back with my mother. Don't get scurvy."
You can't bring fingernail clippers into an airport but you can bring a sword into Church? That's logic. I especially have a problem with seeing old costumed men carrying swords around Church and not seeing a sword fight. That is the least they could do. As long as they are in there with the costumes and the swords, they might as well stage a battle. They already have their audience. They're even paying by donation. Heck, they might even donate a little more if they saw a sword fight. I know I would. Oops, but I forgot my wallet. Oh, well. I probably don't have any cash anyway. I spent it all last night on unnecessary bus tickets. Thanks, New Jersey.
posted by Leland J. Fischer at 10:48 PM
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