This is the iconic American image of taxi driving: back-room deals and tough-as-nails New Yorkers who work late hours ferrying strangers. According to Terry Gibson, a taxi driver in Colorado Springs, this image is fairly accurate.
Before you visit your local hot springs, it’s common sense to find out whether or not it’s “clothing optional.” It’s also common sense not to visit local hot springs that put advertisements in downtown bathrooms.
It is Thursday night on the University of Southern California campus. My friend Caroline, a member of Kappa Alpha Theta, accompanies me down Greek Row, telling me what the strange symbols mean as I point to each house like a toddler at a new playground. I can’t tell you much about the rest of the night except that I jumped into a grocery cart filled with ice at a frat house.
I am sitting with a rare specimen on a Saturday afternoon—Coll Junior Tompson (CJ), a first-year Las Vegas native. We are perusing the Buzzfeed list “28 Signs You Grew Up in Las Vegas,” which CJ claims he’s never read. After a few halfhearted chuckles at jokes about rain in the Mojave Desert and stripper schools, we stop scrolling at #20:
20. You were taught all the words to “Home Means Nevada” in elementary school and could probably recite the whole thing right now.
For now, I treat death the same way as Woody Allen’s nervous-wreck-of-a character in Manhattan: slightly aloof with a touch of dark humor. In one classic scene, Isaac (Allen) stands next to a skeleton in a classroom, describing its life as one of the “beautiful people dancing and playing tennis.” He follows this with a healthy dose of fear: “It’s very important to have some kind of personal integrity. I’ll be hanging in a classroom one day. And I wanna make sure when I thin out that I’m…well thought of.”
Heat rises. That must be why everyone looks up in a crowded subway, but in vain, trying to escape the inescapable.
Eric Stevens, magician, author and speaker introduced himself and said he was on his way to Los Angeles to visit The Magic Castle—a private clubhouse for magicians. He promptly delved into a card trick that seemed impossible. (As Stevens later explained, “If it were impossible, I couldn’t do it.”)
It is my family’s second day in Siem Reap, Cambodia. We are four pasty foreign intruders, standing before a bridge that will lead us to Terabithia, or perhaps to glimpse the faded footprints of Angelina Jolie’s stunt double from “Lara Croft: Tomb Raider.”
There’s a poem by Philip Larkin I’d like to share with you (he wrote it back when people still read poems, so you might have heard of it). It sounds the battle cry for those of us who suffer from “daddy issues:”
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you…