Last Sunday my friends and I decided to rent a movie and spend a comfortable night in. A 10PM breakfast at Ritter’s diner helped me finally beat my Saturday hangover, and I believe the same was true of my three friends, because we entered the video store with unwarranted belligerence, batting at cardboard stand-ups and spitting curse words. The phrase “horror movie” had yet to be spoken, but it was understood between the four of us that we weren’t leaving without a movie that contained some manner of vampire, zombie or chainsaw-bearing maniac.
Essay
The ghost of Carl Jung is yanking my brainstem
Berkeley, California. I pass a man in pink spandex riding a unicycle on the way to the post office. This does not alarm me, in fact I see this man quite often, and have grown to appreciate the aura of joy he gives off. One man, one unicycle, one pink spandex suit. Combined they create their own holy trinity, representative of the town that has become my home.
On Sundays
The popular American image of the “lazy Sunday” usually involves a can of beer, a television and a comfortable easy chair. I was never able to indulge in this cliché until recently, when I found an armchair recliner on the corner of Ward and Semple in the Oakland district of Pittsburgh, PA.
