We here at Mini Gauge love a good prank. We’re seriously bummed about the proliferation of caller ID because we can no longer telephone our editor at 4 a.m. and tell him we’re a leader of a right-wing conservative group planning a “Tea Party” in his backyard.
Late on July 1, I was folding clothes at the Laundromat when my mom called, and I complained that there were no stories that night. It was quiet. Too quiet. I sat on top of a folding table, my feet dangling, when Mom and I got on the topic of kids. I told Mom that I wanted to adopt a little boy. “If I had a girl, I might send her back,” I joked.
People tell me they like my bus stories. Well, I've got a million of 'em, and you're about to get another one. On July 3, the afternoon before the holiday, I was going to meet a friend downtown for drinks. Busing it, I waited for the 64 on Werk Road, allowing myself plenty of time to get there by 3 p.m. We were meeting at the Public Library downtown, where I could kill a little time before meeting my buddy.
Kanye West is a weird (if incredibly talented) fella. Not Michael-Jackson-weird, but strange nonetheless. So it wasn’t a monumental shock to read that the rapper has picked up a little side gig — at chintzy clothing company The Gap.
People from the Midwest already know how liberal Californians are — we hear all about their medical marijuana and interracial relationships on the news. But San Francisco is about to take it to the next level this fall with the strictest recycling rules this side of the Atlantic.
Somehow, I felt like I needed to pay my last respects, so I went to Bob’s funeral last Wednesday in Price Hill. I can’t exactly remember how we met, probably through a friend of a friend, but it was in the early 1990s. Throughout the years, we always stayed in touch, but I would often ask myself why.
In response to Joe Wessels’ “A Park Grows at Fernald” (issue of May 13), Fernald has been an albatross hanging on the neck of the Greater Cincinnati area over the years. It’s great to read about all of the proactive steps being taken with the former uranium processing plant and see it become a beacon of hope for a greener future.
It was mid-afternoon, and before going through a backlog of e-mails I decided to go to my real mail box and check my real mail. This is usually a somber experience. What fun is it to look through bills, advertisements and junk? This time, though, something got my attention. A blue envelope was in the stack of mail, and my address was handwritten on it.
Slater is a man that by his own admission has been in servitude to Rock & Roll for his entire life. He carries dual citizenship and was originally born in Canada on an island that he claims has since disappeared.