If you are a tall, pink-fleshed man with no neck, do not shave your head. You will look like a six-foot tall penis.
My downstairs neighbors have a stripper pole installed in the middle of their living room. Their first-floor living room windows face out onto the street. They also have the requisite wall o' empty liquor bottles as decor, but for some reason they have stacked said bottles in their bathroom window, on the shower shelf. I can't imagine that dragging yourself into the shower while hungover would be a very good idea in their apartment ("so... hungover... shit! Tequila is following me wherever I go!").
The downside of Minneapolis' smoking ban: now, when walking past Mortimer's, you can see inside. And man, their clientele resembles nothing so much as a police lineup of alleged sex offenders.
The online weather has a CAPITAL LETTERS HEAT ADVISORY telling me to seek shelter in an airconditioned building all weekend. I think the internet is just trying to make me feel bad for being a Luddite.
On the bus home from work last night, the woman in front of me was reading a medical textbook open to Dissecting the Neck, Illustrations I-V. No one sat next to her.
Advantage of living near the Wedge co-op: my working definition of "junk food" is Larabars (gluten/sugar free/raw), Mesquite Lime Seitan Jerky (fun for the whole vegan family!), and seawed & brown rice chips. Please pass the fiber.