Week ending May 5

Ken can be persuaded to do anything if you ask more than once.

Even though I might still be too fat to wear a Speedo, I did anyway. It didn’t take much convincing either, since I was looking forward to showing off my flabby, irregularly hairy legs that may, or may not have been mistaken for a dead animal in the pool.

Anonymous comments will make you paranoid.

Maintaining a public website leaves you open to the public’s criticism and virtual claws. When I received an anonymous comment that suggested my Grandparents were “especially” upset at the content of this website, I pointed a lot of fingers at people I knew would be too wimpy to leave an e-mail address or a real name. My grandparents must be lying in bed at 3:00 a.m. with their eyes open, quivering as they wonder, “What is that horrid, horrid boy going to write about next?” I’m sure they will live their nightmares the next time I write about Subway Sandwiches and the tulips at Temple Square.

Ken still attracts old people.

At a Hogi Yogi in Sugar House, an eighty-nine year old woman came over and asked, “Do you see my face? I fell into a concrete wall.” After making sure she was okay, I told her to sit down so she could tell me more about her five-year old grandchild. After some time had passed, the other old people in the restaurant became attracted to my charms and also decided to sit near me so we could all discuss North Country in a forum-like environment. I am so cool.

Sushi tastes better when you don’t pay for it.

Actually, everything tastes better when you don’t pay for it. At Happy Sumo on Sunday afternoon, Mikey suggested that only the elderly drink green tea and looked at me as though he were questioning my age. I told him I was really an android and that if he kept paying for everything I was going to get used to it.

Dirty Martini’s Rock at Kristauph’s.

Olive juice and gin will never get old. Ever. Kristauph’s on Market Street in Salt Lake City serves some mighty fine drinks. Go there. Now.

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