Pangea Prison Blues

Dixie-bike Pyrenees aspirations quickly fractured amidst a gruesome confluence of greasy chains and femural toddler struts. So with a blue sharpie, Liz made Hippocrates proud while eternally frustrating the bamboo lobby. I'd be back for the north-eastern salty batter in a decade and a half. That's the last time I shifted gears so drastically. Two paths diverged, one back home - one into the mountains overlooking home, and when all the pieces came together under that smelly plaster, I was heading toward the dizzy height.

I took an oversized atlas and a deep interest in B727's. It was like being domestically abused with a wrench. All that carefully-plopped iconography, memorizing all those odd names, the straightforward but tedious goals. I'll never neglect Suriname. South Africa is a flourishing treasure trove. Isn't aviation a trip! The development of a passionate, secondary temperament thus began. You can keep trains and dinosaurs and cars and television, just give me a map.

Human anatomy is like a map, java.util.treemaps are actually not like maps but that was fine because by then I had already mastered the Minicomputer 2000 which operated BASIC. The instruction manual for that sucker mapped out all the commands, gave them little symbols, and I memorized them like La Paz and Sucre. I have an amazing idea, I'll type every world country and capital into a device with 0kb memory and then make it interactive. "LOOK [0]! You can ask it 'what's the capital of Canada?'" No it's not Toronto, it's Ottawa. No I don't want another piece of raw ditalini. Of course I did my homework already.

But yellow jerseys would be bestowed throughout the process, so drain the pity from your heart. I had a million jerseys. Eddie Jones was my favorite because the Lakers just have cool colors, but I was a Penny guy through and through. So was [0], she's the one who picked me up (after I dropped my bat). [0] sped over (what I thought) were the streams of Jamaica Bay as the eerily black, orange-rimmed clouds exploded all around us. We were both crying, and I was wearing a little league Orioles jersey. Black and orange.

We went to the basement as if a tornado was coming or something. Flipped on the television, red-sans-serif ticker at the bottom of every channel. Clearly TWC was where we needed to be as [1] navigated the polar Conduits on either side of the Belt. Map overload...infantile nursing flashback through the precipitation of tears. When [1] got home, the warm-colored Doppler 2000 pixels were hard-coded into my soul (and Minicomputer 2000).

Under the subungal hematoma quilt, we bravely gathered on the second floor and watched the news media flicker on and off as intense lightning jolted our veins. Obviously obsessed with the anchors' poise, with the highly-detailed maps, and with the persistent ticker outlining geography that could be seen from a window of a 727 as it let down its landing gear and rattled my house between thunder claps - a map and media-loving computer scientist cuddled with his mom.