As I child I was bored, persuasive, and suggestible. The facts of my personhood were uninspiring so I was prone to self-invention, with little regard for plausibility or consistent back story.

I once told my friend Dan that I knew how to teleport. When he demanded proof, I asked him to leave the room, crawled under my bed, wedged myself into the box spring, and held myself there for a couple of minutes. If my arms and legs had been stronger I might have spawned a lasting urban myth, but gravity eventually won out and I was revealed as a liar. The bizarre part was that in the small window of time between Dan leaving and returning, I thought I might actually crack teleportation. I knew the initial claim was groundless, but I figured the pressure of the moment might spur some profound leap in human potential. Continue reading →

I was in Salvador, in Brazil, and I needed to get to an island. I distrusted the potability of the water so I’d been dehydrated for days, and the night before I’d tried to fist fight a hotel manager for demanding my passport. This was my first real travel experience and I was coping badly. Sally assured me things would be better on the Island, a brisk two hours jaunt on a high speed catamaran. She was concerned about my motion sickness, which presented itself in all other forms of travel. I told her that I’d be fine because this was a boat, and I’d never been sick on boat…as the sea was my friend. Continue reading →

I have become middle aged. This rocket launched by puberty has reached the weightless apex of its climb, turned balletically, and is now plummeting to earth. I still have time, but there is a clear change in direction and momentum. The panic is arbitrary. I am a day older than yesterday and yesterday was fine. Today is something else. Continue reading →

The morning of I ate a hearty breakfast and 10mg of Clonazapam. I expected a dreamlike opium haze, instead I was fairly mellow with a two beer buzz. The common high and shared trauma made for a social waiting room. Everyone had ginger ales and patient wives, except one man who was alone and close to passing out. They made him lay down before he left, and I wondered if he was getting the vasectomy on spec, and hoping to use it as a selling point for future partners. Continue reading →

“You can’t have anymore wine until you shave your junk. And make sure you use the dry shave razor they gave you.”.

The wine in question was about half a bottle, enough to calm the heart but not unsteady the hand. The razor was a blue disposable number that was intended to be used dry, but not engineered in any way to make that feasible. I tried a practice swipe near my hip bone and it removed a patch of skin, while somehow leaving the hair in place.

“Fuck this, I’m getting wet and using a five blade razor that has earned my trust”

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I didn’t mean to antagonize my vasectomy nurse. The phone rang, I said “Hello” and the voice on the other side asked “Is that Allan?” Puzzling. Is what Allan? I assumed she was referring to me but the odd open had me thinking telemarketer. “Pardon me?” I said. “Is that Allan” she asked again, sounding annoyed but providing no additional information.

“I am Allan, to whom am I speaking”.

I will admit this came out a little snarky.

“This is Contentious Pam from the dick doctor (1), why didn’t you pickup your kit?”.

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