Thursday, September 9, 2010
I figured out how to get onto the roof at work and went up there one morning witih a coworker to look at the skyline. We noticed a strange airplane flying low over the city. It seemed to have only one wing. Then we realized it was carrying a large payload that looked like a missile but turned out to be a large cargo helicopter, strapped to its underbelly. When the plane released the helicopter, it hovered over the building next to ours and landed. Dozens of people streamed out of it and spread out over the other building's roof. They figured out how to get over to our roof and started crowding around us, too. They appeared to be college fraternity brothers, all wearing matching tie-dye shirts with Christian slogans. My coworker was worried they were aliens and ran for the door to the stairs. I got the nerve to ask one of them who they were. They claimed to be a service club airlifted in from the east side to protest rising heating bills for all the poor residents of the West Village. There were hundreds of them---I could see helicopters landing on other roofs nearby and letting off even more of these boys. Before I could ask them another question, the helicopter morphed into an all-terrain land vehicle and kind of climbed over onto our roof. The group leader driving the land-helicopter turned on a megaphone and instructed everyone to head inside for a pizza party. I took a different stairwell and ended up at a study party where my friends from high school had apparently been waiting over ten years for me to show up.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
A group of literary agents decided to take over a struggling elementary school and turn it into a graphic design firm. Things weren't going so well---the kids just weren't producing creative enough work to justify their mission statement of unprecedented creative innovation. And public school just don't get enough funding these days. So they decided to take me hostage and set a price on my head to fund their budget for going after new clients. Things were looking pretty grim. Turns out the government doesn't negotiate with graphic designers. But then I got a phone call from my mother, who informed me she had worked out a deal with the agent teacher designer terrorists to pay off my ransom in monthly installments, like a mortgage. My mom is the best.