Because I'm shallow

Two developments. First off, I'm sunburned. I went for my second session at the tanning place. I decided to get some color, ostensibly because I'm hoping to get somewhere warm in the next six weeks or so. But also because I don't like myself fishbelly white.

Secondly, I found a place to scream. Readers may remember that a few weeks ago I fought back the impulse to stand at the corner of Eighth Avenue and Thirty Fifth Street, throw my head back, and scream. The other day, I was driving through the Holland Tunnel, and I thought, "Huh. Here I am. In the Tunnel. Windows up. Alone in the car..." And I screamed. Long and loud. All through the Tunnel. At the other side of the Tunnel, I started singing along with the song I was playing, and my voice was gravelly. "Well that's kind of cool. Not only to I get to relieve a little stress with screaming, but I get a nice phone sex voice, too." So since making that connection, I've been screaming a lot when I'm in the car alone. Not so much for the stress relief, but for the phone sex voice.

Yeah. That's me. The tan-in-the-can guy with the phone sex voice.

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