Tickling the Closet

David told me to tickle the closet. I've been remiss.  Though others have certainly been worse (Phil), David (and Tommy–did you see that guy's last post?) has for too long been propping up (though quite skillfully) the prestigious reputation of this blog.

I'm going to do my best to bring this blog down to a level not quite so vaunted.

Last night I rode the train into Manhattan (though I hate cities, it is pretty exciting to be so close to the mecca of materialism–it's so sensually overwhelming). I was waiting for my train and noticed an object down near the tracks.

I couldn't really tell what the thing was, it almost looked like a raccoon that had at one point had the head and shoulders of a human (the head having been severed by the time the picture was taken). Kind of a miniature raccoon/human cross. Like a demonic gnome or something. 

While I was pondering this, Alban called me back (I had called him to celebrate the Arsenal win). We discussed the victory for a while, but then I told him about this decapitated creature. Just before he called, I had decided that they only way to properly investigate the animal was the descend to the tracks, but then had noticed a sign that said something along the lines of: "Don't you dare go down there."

So I relayed my dilemma to Alban. His response was good: "Get down there. I want a full report later." I should  have known enough to ignore signage warning me of the dangers of leaping down into a semi-enclosed space through which a train would soon be speeding, but I had a moment of weakness. For reviving my spirit of adventure, we have Alban to thank.

I promptly lept off the platform and snapped this shot (actually this is one of the shots I took from the platform, but I like it better than the one I took while I was closer...ironic?).

Note: don't click on the picture if you are faint of heart.

The most interesting thing I discovered while I was down with this creature was that it had been cleanly bisected. This was fascinating. Was it running ON one of the tracks when a train came by and sliced it in two? I don't know and I could never find the other half. 

The point of all this is that train stations in the United States are cleaner than they are in Great Britain.

 Note: though this is a train station in Great Britain from my time in England with Thomas, it's not a good example of what I'm talking about–this remote station was quite clean.

In Great Britain, they empty the bathroom contents onto the tracks at stations. I didn't hear that or read that anywhere; I was standing on the platform in England and spied a pile of fecal matter interlaced with toilet paper. No joke. Pretty gross.

Anyway, the real point to all of this is that we, as energetic young people (in body or at least spirit), ought to be willing to break some rules. Ignore signs at train stations that are trying to enforce your safety. Skip school to go to Hawaii, Obama's inauguration, Cancun, or the beaches of Southern California. Burn something down. Firebomb something. Fight the man (WWU administration... or ASWWU administration when they try to use student money to send themselves to a John Mayer concert). Vote third party. Reject materialism and passivity. Don't do your homework. Play Mario Kart. Kick over the mouse-wheel (not the computer kind, the rat race kind) of life instead of running on it. And most of all: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, invite the stranger in, clothe the naked, and visit the prisoner.