Pancake City

Cause she’s a whore.

(Come on, Google ads. Show me what you got.)

My window fell a few days ago, devolving back a technological age in the process. The front grate cracked, leaving a gap where one could insert a small object, like a pair of scissors.

This is useful as now the fan won’t start on its own. I have to insert a small object in the gap, like a pair of scissors, and push a fan blade to the right to get it going. It takes about a half-dozen whacks on average to jump start the fan. It was fun the first few times. I even put a record on the pterodactyl to celebrate.

Now it’s annoying. I wish my “WeatherWorks” brand fan was in its original condition. “WhetherWorks?” is not the whimsical adventure the name implies.

I have other items and gadgets that are in the gray zone for a poor person: broke enough to frustrate, not enough to replace. The MP3 player that I need to wrap the headphone cord around the body in a certain way to get sound to play in both ears. My 1994 Toyota Corolla that rattles increasingly loud when it comes to a stop. (I noticed it right after my MP3 player started acting up).

It can be exciting to pretend that I’m in an episode of Mission Impossible where a long red light can spell the doom for my car, and perhaps the life of innocent cars around me. My workarounds for objects in disrepair make me feel manly and smart too at first. “I’m not going to let an empty black ink cartridge stop me from printing. That’s why brown is a font color in Microsoft Word.”

But when these small inconveniences grow from a few to a dozen, I find myself getting frustrated, perhaps because I view my jury-rigged surroundings as a metaphor for the frustrations in my life. I feel like a broken person who’s missing a few parts. I see my friends in careers, getting married, buying houses, pursuing their dreams, and can’t help thinking, “What’s wrong with me?”

Well, I wasn’t expecting that to come out. Oh well. It is what it is. Yabba Dabba Do. Next post: why I find Tiffany soooooooo annoying!

I hate to criticize the media for not being assumptive. In the race to report news, media outlets often gloss over details, report hearsay as fact, and broadcast unverified information rather than take the time to analyze it first.

But how do you allegedly drive a car through a street festival and injure 43 people? The only doubt is whether to call it a street festival or an open market. (I suggest using The Clown Rule).

If you missed the story, I’m referring to an incident that happened last Sunday in SE D.C. No one died, so the article was already off the front page of The Washington Post by Monday night. How many people do you have to maim nowadays to get some staying power? I find it a small miracle that no one died, but there’s little information on what people did during and after the situation to avoid casualties.

The story resurfaced briefly today. The police department stated that the driver was a single Mom, high on crack, with her 7-year-old daughter in the back seat. This item got almost as much attention as the original incident. As it should. It’s bad enough to get hit by a car, but who wants to get run over by a stereotype? That’s no way to die.

FOX News sent over a camera crew after this development. Their latest report states that when the car finally crashed, a group of Mexicans popped out of the trunk and started singing La Cucaracha (”La Cucaracha” is Spanish for “We don’t actually sing this song. It sucks.”). They released a correction soon after the initial report. They meant to say allegedly.