7.03.04- Visiting the pet store can always brighten your day. The people are so vibrant and friendly that it makes you want to pitch a tent and roast some marshmallows right between the ferret and the parrot cages. Tonight's experience was no different.
   Seeing there was only one person on line with her kid, carrying the fifty pound bag of Happy Feathers Wild Bird Seed to the counter wouldn't be a problem. I couldn't have been more mistaken.
   In front of me, there was a woman previously mentioned writing a check who apparently thought it festive to relate every detail to anyone listening about how much she despised crickets. Of course, her son that was bouncing around like a basketball and had a peculiar smell of old sneakers orbiting around him directly opposed her view.
   Pausing for several minutes at a time to reinforce meaningless points to support her defense against her son and the cashier that I'll call Chatty, who also couldn't understand how anybody could not like crickets, Sneaker Mom would occasionally glance at the person next to her on line that was holding a fifty pound bag of birdseed which happened to be yours truly.
   Getting the distinct feeling Sneaker Mom thought I took some kind of extraordinary delight in this conversation, I realized how misguided some people really are. If she actually took the time to mentally focus on the one she kept glancing at, perhaps she would've realized that his shoulder was slowly starting to break.
   As my shoulder slowly developed a permanent slouch that I'll now have for the rest of my life, it became a reality that it was impossible to balance the bag of birdseed any longer, Fortunately, Sneaker Mom and her kid decided that there was only so much that a small group of people could possibly dissect a cricket conversation. Sneaker Mom and the kid with the not so funny smell left.
   After all this, Chatty the cashier, full of energy only a seventeen year old girl at the very beginning of summer vacation could possibly have, decided to start a conversation with me. Here's how it went:

Chatty: [bubbly] "Do you enjoy [inaudible] sir?"
Me: [straining past the loud, thumping disco music] "Excuse me?"
Chatty: [louder, but still bubbly] "Do you enjoy Happy Feathers birdseed sir?"
Me: [expressionless] "No."
Chatty: [surprised] "You don't?!"
Me: [expressionless] "No."
Chatty: [still recoiling from meeting someone that doesn't enjoy birdseed] "Here's your change sir!"
Me: [expressionless] "Thank you."
Chatty: [obviously upset] "You have yourself A GREAT NIGHT SIR!"
Me: [expressionless] "Thank you."

   I love going to the pet store almost as much as I love going to the gas station. I can't wait for my next visit to the gas station so I can tell the cashier there how much I enjoy putting Hexxon gasoline in my car.

7.03.04- [reflection] Looking back to the other night, I had the pleasure of meeting someone involved in astrology. The young lady seemed knowledgeable enough in the subject to be almost convincing. She informed me that people under my zodiac sign are "charming liars".
   Even though I don't believe in astrology at all, it's still somewhat unnerving and also offensive to know that other people actually believe these stereotypical classifications in regard to others, and completely discount other factors such as upbringing, religious convictions, moral teachings and the role these factors play in personality development. I would've liked to invite the zodiac girl to go with me sometime to see for herself what I'm really like in person, instead of relying on stars that don't think, can't talk, can't be told the truth or lied to, and certainly don't know jack about what people believe, think or do. I know right where I would've taken her too. Chatty the cashier at the pet store could attest to just how charmless and brutally honest people under my zodiac sign can be.

7.04.04- [flashback] Once, back in the beginning of my career as a tonsorial artist, a man who was in my chair wanted to see my license before I could finish the haircut. When he saw that it was an apprentice license, he freaked out. After he fought savagely with the hair cloth trying to remove it, he demanded that the owner of the shop finish the haircut, who also happened to be the master barber whose supervision I was training under.
   After this guy was finally satisfied with the "repair" haircut the owner did, he scolded the owner for allowing an apprentice to cut HIS hair. The owner, being the obsequious sychophant that he usually was, apologized profusely and promised never to allow such a thing like that to happen again.
   It was about two years later, while still apprenticing in the same shop, this very same man got in my chair again. This time he told me the horrifying story of how the no good owner of the shop once had an apprentice cut his hair. I called the owner over to my chair and asked him if it was true that he had allowed an apprentice to cut the gentleman's hair. As the owner gave me a perplexed stare, knowing full well that I was still an apprentice, I said, "Shame on you! Barber bad!"

That barber still hates me to this day.

7.05.04- The smartest thing ever done, in my opinion, was to turn railways into paved bike and pedestian routes. Twenty minutes a day spent on one of these trails can do much for the average person, if done with any regularity.
   While roller blading today, I thought it best to cover an ever increasing danger that is materializing on these paths, as more and more people discover the health values associated with them. As with anything health related, there are certain things to always keep in mind.
   Bike routes are often occupied by groups of individuals that walk side by side on these trails, rather than single file. As a roller blader, this poses a seriously high risk. Individuals on roller blades cannot make sudden stops. The braking system requires a good twenty feet or so to stop.
   So, if you are one of those usually heavy individuals that likes to share the walkway with only those in your small group, I'm here to warn you that you are not only a menace to others, but to yourselves as well. I'm also giving you fair warning that I recently visited Rick's Sporting Goods and purchased a very large air horn used by operators of seafaring vessels such as yachts.
   Show a little sense when walking off those pounds please. I'd hate to be the one responsible for your subsequent heart failure due to you and your friends' selfish hogging of the entire path.

7.06.04- Grandpa Munster showed up again today. He had an unusually large amount of hair growing out of his nose.
   Today's question was, "How was your fourth?" My answer was, "The same as the third and the fifth."

7.06.04- There was an individual who just came in that I'll call Mr. Capone who compared me to someone he "knew in prison". He then said that I needed to slow down, and how things are slower in there. He then said that I "would never make it on the inside".
   After a few minutes of hearing himself talk, Mr. Capone told how he settles problems. He doesn't go to the cops. If he has a problem with someone, he handles it himself and then denies it later. I was wondering how he would handle the problem of maybe, let's say, getting a high school education?
   Mr. Capone then told a story of how a man "on the inside" was cutting the hair in his own nose with a pair of scissors when one of Capone's "friends" jokingly pushed the scissors up the other inmate's nose. Cackling hysterically, he then asked me if I knew what he meant. I said, "Yeah sure, I know what you mean...", while looking at him in the mirror, holding the scissors pointed directly into his right ear to show complete understanding and listening capability on my part.
   Mr. Capone concluded this enlightening encounter by directing me to have a happy day with the advice to slow down. Then he left actually feeling, I'm sure, that he somehow contributed to society in a quite helpful way.
   Watching Mr. Capone drive away, and thinking that the important thing in life is making it on the outside so we won't have to worry about making it on the inside, I chalked this encounter up as a sign of the times by simply realizing that another psychiatric center must have closed it's doors, thanks to the clever and resourceful budgeting of another small, northeastern town.