Latest Article|September 3, 2020|Free
::Making Grown Men Cry Since 1992
1 min read
In early college when I had new roommates almost as often as I wrecked vehicles, I made a rule for myself: No notes. Ever. No “You ate all the berries out of my Cap’n Crunch Berries cereal” notes. No “Please sing something other than ‘Bobby McGee’ in the shower tomorrow morning” notes. No, “Sorry about the homeless dude on the porch he lives there now” notes. No, “This is a stolen, working piece of construction equipment, NOT a percussion instrument” notes. Such notes usually make a d-bag out of the note-leaver. And frivolous notes are funny as hell when other people leave them around—especially unsigned, announcing to all the world: I am hurt, I am finicky, I am passive-aggressive and I’m kind of a dillweed. In fairness, as I’ve aged, I’ve found that I will send an e-mail out about office kitchen explosions and the like. Now that I think about it, this is perhaps a move in the wrong direction.