New York is like wet paint. You want to reach out and touch the cool, viagra generic generic fresh stickiness, but once it’s on your fingers you don’t know what to do with it. Wipe it on your jeans? Of course, the response of a proper New Yorker would probably be to brazenly wipe it on someone else’s jeans, but I am not familiar with the proper way of things yet. I am but a grasshopper to New York’s Shaolin Master and there are many crumbling steps to my eventual enlightenment.
Of course, my mind-blowing wet paint statement makes the assumption that your brain is in some way wired up like mine. That the ‘touch, throw, jump’ gene resides in your genetic makeup. By way of explanation, this gene causes you to act in certain pre-defined ways.
1. If it’s wet, you will touch it.
2. If there is a large body of water in front of you, you will throw it. (’IT’ can be whatever you’re holding at the time, which is why I always tie my camera to myself. It stops my insurance premiums skyrocketing)
3. If it’s high above the ground …well, you don’t actually jump, but the thought about how great it would be to jump and glide right outta here on the next favorable updraft will pop into your head. Plenty of high spots in NY too.
But I’ve drifted off.
We were talking about the wet paint sport of baseball. Yes, we were. You see, the other thing people might mention in conversations about wet paint is that old saying. You know, about how some things in life are so gosh-darn riveting that they are akin to watching paint dry. With that statement in mind, let me tell you this—I went and watched my first game of American baseball. Read the rest of this entry »
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