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Yes, Senator, you should think twice about removing your shirt, especially since you admit that perhaps you need to shed 15 or 20 lbs. It won’t stop me from supporting you because I wasn’t going to anyway. Even with your shirt on, you lose. I do not want anyone telling me what I can do or not do with my body.
Since New Year’s arrival, residents of this building have been huffing and puffing their lives away, downstairs in our community room, determined to get in shape after a winter of pizza and Cheetos. My choice is to not join them, but instead pedal away on my exer cycle, upstairs, out of sight. Plus there’s that view to the west from my 17th-storydigs. And I don’t have to struggle with Spandex. My choice of exercise gear is a pair of Nick & Nora baggy p.j.’s.
Our annual board meeting (the meeting of the year!) was in March, and my source tells me that the main topic seemed to be the alleged mountain of dog poop lining not only our sidewalk along Prospect, but indeed, much of the walkway paralleling Prospect Avenue.
This continues to amuse me, but thankfully, I have yet to step on any, mostly because I neither run nor walk outdoors. The size of the individual piles seems like an effort to pin the poop on specific dogs, for example, if you have a 100 lb. dog, you could be fingered. Little piles don’t bring forth rage like big piles of doo-doo do.
In mid-March I sat on the panel to select the next Pfister Narrator, a gig involving blogs, two per week for six months at $1,000 per month. The panelists (including my thirdcoastdigest.com editor, Tom Strini) receive the applications well in advance and give thoughtful consideration to choosing the top six. Those six are then interviewed via video tape, and the panelists return in April for the final say. I remembered at least two applicants from a go-round six months back, but wasn’t swayed by “I’d love the job,” stuff, preferring instead to pay attention to the crafting of various works attached to their cover letters. Some of it was very impressive, but I’ve already decided to stick with my #1 choice, made in bed while eating Cheetos. This is the second time we’ve gathered in the “Mirror Room” on floor seven. As the oldster among the panelists, I usually arrive early and snatch up a few treats from the silvered tray, along with a cup of Java to ease the process. Our places at the long table covered with immaculate white are each marked with a note pad and Pfister pen so as to take notes during what usually is a two-hour discussion about the merits or not-merits of the writing samples. It seems odd that in this world of tweets, we vote with straws.
The Pfister has chosen their new Artist in Residence, a post currently occupied by Shelby Keefe, who, if you’re around the area to the west of the lobby, you surely can’t fail to notice. Soon, she’ll be replaced by a fashion-guy, textile sculptor/artist, Timmy Westbrook who will set up a loom to weave his magic made of recycled materials. He’ll weave and weave for a year, but the pay is the same, $1,000 per month.
