He's smokin' his own Space Candy.
Aug. 6th, 2005 08:46 amHere I am, third day of my five day trip to San Fran. I've looked at two apartments, and we signed papers on the second, because largely, it was too good to pass up. Saturday and Sunday were supposed to be spent looking at Open Houses and the like. I've finished up, so no need to look any longer. So now I've got a strange dilemma. I can not leave early, because I have a job interview on Monday. Upside: I'm now a tourist in san Fran for the weekend. Downside: I'm no good at being a tourist.
One of the things on my list was: Obtain a Post Office box. Because of the new weirdness in the Nation, this is impossible given the short time frame, as addresses must be verified, blood test results tabulated, and etc.
I wasn't positive that I couldn't get a box, but I had a free couple of hours yesterday, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Of course, I couldn't get a box, but I did learn one thing:
The worldview of a crazy person:

It is a scientific FACT that crazy people love the post office. They can monopolize a poor clerk's time, and inconvenience twenty or thirty other people, which serve as an impromptu audience.
It is also a FACT that crazies love San Francisco.
It is finally a FACT that Haight Street is the street that crazies love the best in San Francisco.
Simple substitution tells us that the Post Office on Clayton, just off of Haight, is therefore the center of crazy in the United States.
The other place the crazies love is the bus. Riding the bus home last night, the bus's automated voice would call out the cross streets. Every time it did, a white bearded skinny old man would say "God damned TALKING BUS!"
(A small aside ... I'm in an internet cafe, two old men are talking. I thought that one just said "He's smokin his own space candy." But he actually said, "He can smoke in his own space, can't he?" (Referring to california's draconian anti-smoking policies.) They are now talking about getting viagra off of the internet (no joke.))
One of the things on my list was: Obtain a Post Office box. Because of the new weirdness in the Nation, this is impossible given the short time frame, as addresses must be verified, blood test results tabulated, and etc.
I wasn't positive that I couldn't get a box, but I had a free couple of hours yesterday, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Of course, I couldn't get a box, but I did learn one thing:
It is a scientific FACT that crazy people love the post office. They can monopolize a poor clerk's time, and inconvenience twenty or thirty other people, which serve as an impromptu audience.
It is also a FACT that crazies love San Francisco.
It is finally a FACT that Haight Street is the street that crazies love the best in San Francisco.
Simple substitution tells us that the Post Office on Clayton, just off of Haight, is therefore the center of crazy in the United States.
The other place the crazies love is the bus. Riding the bus home last night, the bus's automated voice would call out the cross streets. Every time it did, a white bearded skinny old man would say "God damned TALKING BUS!"
(A small aside ... I'm in an internet cafe, two old men are talking. I thought that one just said "He's smokin his own space candy." But he actually said, "He can smoke in his own space, can't he?" (Referring to california's draconian anti-smoking policies.) They are now talking about getting viagra off of the internet (no joke.))