E-mail: Brian7Morris "at" hotmail.com Archives March 2002 April 2002 May 2002 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 current Blogs Mandapants farkleberries Uranium City Records The C.M. Sienko Foundation Storyteller Musings Solotarian Views Lynne Wiora Tek Poker News Blog Some Biscuits Evil Eye Emporium Niggling Doubts Pressure Release Sara as Mommy runswithscissors Defective Yeti Afternoon Delight trancejen The Terrarium Bird Nird Slipperily Tofu Hut Stereo Gum Links Fixed Gear Gallery Get Crafty This is Grand Featherproof Books Gapers Block Chicago Bird Watching	No one must know my terrible secret... House of Noh! Saturday, February 21, 2004 Do you remember how in the very first Conan movie, after the young Conan was captured by that band of warriors who pillaged his village and stole his father’s sword, how Conan was marched across the mountains with other captured children and forced to push that huge grain mill or whatever around in a circle through his entire adolescence and until all the other children had died but Conan was all like totally built and grown up and prepared to be trained in combat and fight in gladiator matches? That’s what I like to pretend is happening to me when I’m going through revolving doors, even though many revolving doors in this city seem to be disappointingly easy to operate, and, quite frankly, the exercise hasn’t been bulking me up too much. But from now on I’ll have to be more careful about touching the insides of revolving doors, because just today I discovered that some have spittle inside of them. Don’t worry, I didn’t get any spittle on me (I think), rather, I witnessed an act of spitting. On my way into work today, just as I was approaching the doorway area of the building I work in and I rounded a pillar, I saw a guy who was walking past the doors vigorously hack up a loogey and hawk it into a set of revolving doors. It was actually a pretty classy move. And he pulled it off with a casual but elegant air. I was so impressed that I’ve resolved to do more spitting into revolving doors. I don’t think the Saturday morning spitter saw me until he turned back to face the direction he was walking in, just after he committed his vile deed. He realized that I had seen what he had done as soon as he faced in my direction, but his already angry face just hardened. I had to smile and give him a thumbs up sign, of course, because even though he stole my revolving door innocence from me, such an antiestablishment gesture is laudable. But I could tell by the bitter look on his face that he was too angry to appreciate my kudos. But now I’m left wondering. To inspire such a spitting, what malicious act had been perpetrated upon this man beyond those revolving doors? And is there an act such as that, fated to be perpetrated upon me? Brian 2:25 PM

E-mail: Brian7Morris "at" hotmail.com

Blogs

Mandapants
farkleberries
Uranium City Records
The C.M. Sienko Foundation
Storyteller Musings
Solotarian Views
Lynne Wiora
Tek
Poker News Blog
Some Biscuits
Evil Eye Emporium
Niggling Doubts
Pressure Release
Sara as Mommy
runswithscissors
Defective Yeti
Afternoon Delight
trancejen
The Terrarium
Bird Nird
Slipperily
Tofu Hut
Stereo Gum

House of Noh!

Saturday, February 21, 2004

Do you remember how in the very first Conan movie, after the young Conan was captured by that band of warriors who pillaged his village and stole his father’s sword, how Conan was marched across the mountains with other captured children and forced to push that huge grain mill or whatever around in a circle through his entire adolescence and until all the other children had died but Conan was all like totally built and grown up and prepared to be trained in combat and fight in gladiator matches? That’s what I like to pretend is happening to me when I’m going through revolving doors, even though many revolving doors in this city seem to be disappointingly easy to operate, and, quite frankly, the exercise hasn’t been bulking me up too much. But from now on I’ll have to be more careful about touching the insides of revolving doors, because just today I discovered that some have spittle inside of them. Don’t worry, I didn’t get any spittle on me (I think), rather, I witnessed an act of spitting. On my way into work today, just as I was approaching the doorway area of the building I work in and I rounded a pillar, I saw a guy who was walking past the doors vigorously hack up a loogey and hawk it into a set of revolving doors. It was actually a pretty classy move. And he pulled it off with a casual but elegant air. I was so impressed that I’ve resolved to do more spitting into revolving doors. I don’t think the Saturday morning spitter saw me until he turned back to face the direction he was walking in, just after he committed his vile deed. He realized that I had seen what he had done as soon as he faced in my direction, but his already angry face just hardened. I had to smile and give him a thumbs up sign, of course, because even though he stole my revolving door innocence from me, such an antiestablishment gesture is laudable. But I could tell by the bitter look on his face that he was too angry to appreciate my kudos. But now I’m left wondering. To inspire such a spitting, what malicious act had been perpetrated upon this man beyond those revolving doors? And is there an act such as that, fated to be perpetrated upon me?

Brian 2:25 PM

<< chicago blogs >>

Archives

Blogs

Links

No one must know my terrible secret...

House of Noh!

Saturday, February 21, 2004