Illinoir

7. A photo of someone you love. Phil Martin & me at Morseland 11/2/10

Another tough one to figure — what with photos of my best friend(s) and family coming up. Certainly Phil falls into those categories as well, and people in those categories crossover too. But, hell, decisions had to be made, so Phil makes it in. How could I not love him? Driving out to Golf Mill on Saturday mornings, through the gray of Chicago winter and the morass of teenaged minds; chopping wood; getting lemonade on the nose. So much history.

Realized I haven’t updated the word count here lately: 15,517.

Today’s excerpt is based on an actual conversation about an actual website:

Shutting the door of the cutting room behind me, I found myself mere feet away from the cubicle. A trip that should take five minutes at the most, it had taken me nearly a half hour to traverse the building. I couldn’t believe I’d finally made it. I rested for a moment against the cubicle wall, listening to the bickering coming from within.
Paul’s voice: “It’s fake, Therese. It’s not real.”
Therese: “How do you know that?”
“Because, Therese, I looked it up on Snopes.com and it said it’s not real. Also, because I saw the same email 2 years ago. Also, because nobody would actually publish a real how-to website on how to make a bonsai kitten.”
I could hear Kate say something, but because she spoke so quietly and in a monotone, I couldn’t make out any of the words. I was surprised that either Paul or Therese could understand her, but apparently Paul heard her perfectly because he replied directly. “Kate, there is no valid reason to censor the website. Anybody who is stupid enough to believe the website is real — no offense to either of you, of course — has bigger issues. And anybody who’s insane enough to try it probably already has a freezer full of body parts.”
“Ewww, gross,” said Therese.
“I’m just saying,” Paul replied.
Therese scoffed. “‘Just saying,’” she mimicked. “You’re just saying that you think it’s okay for someone to post instructions on how to abuse kittens on the web.”
“There are much worse things out there, Therese! And we shouldn’t be looking to censor the web, especially not a site that’s so obviously a joke! The site’s owner can’t and shouldn’t be held responsible for what people do after they look at the site. You can’t blame Ozzy Osbourne for suicides, Dexter for murders, or Grand Theft Auto for carjackers. If people are fucked up, they’re fucked up. End of story.”
“You sound just like Arthur,” Therese said. I smiled. It was true. He did.
“Well, there are worse people to sound like,” Paul said. “Where is that dude, anyway?”
If I’d needed a cue, that was it. I love making a good entrance. I stepped around the corner. “Have no fear, my friends. I’m right here.”
“Heeey, Art,” Paul said. We high-fived.
Therese and Kate, who had both been facing the center of the cubicle, turned their chairs back towards their desks.
“Ladies,” I said, walking to my desk. “Nice to see you again.”
I fell into my chair, exhausted from running the obstacle course that was the Cola Industries building.
“Hey Art,” Paul said, “don’t get too comfortable.”
I sighed. I just wanted to sit at my desk, maybe waste some bandwidth out of spite. “Why not?” I asked.
“Time for lunch.”
Immediately rejuvenated, I jumped from my chair. “Cool. Let’s grab Jimmy.”