Dog Bites and Bee Stings

Today, I wanted to write a blog about some of my favorite things, so I did some of my favorite things: I ate pizza and I drank beer. Unfortunately, when I try to do things on purpose in order to write about them, the whole thing usually turns into a dud. The pizza was good; it was less messy than I anticipated but it had cooled a bit before I ate it. The beer was warmer than I wanted. The gas station I bought it from doesn’t keep their coolers that cool. It was a fine meal. Just fine.

Afterwards, I walked five minutes down the road to a 7-11 to buy a tin of Copenhagen Mint long cut. The sidewalks were a sloppy, frozen mess so I walked in the bike lane along South Park Avenue in Blasdell, NY with my back towards traffic. It is a scary feeling walking like that and I thought about getting hit by a car and dying right then and there. I said “If I die walking to the store to buy tobacco, that would be dying doing what I love.” Can’t really complain about that one. I wondered, what would be the worst place to die? What would be the place you least wanted to be found dead by your loved ones? Dying while running out of toilet paper while using the bathroom and walking quickly into the hallway to get more would be pretty bad. Adding embarrassment to the ultimate injury of death.