A catalog of the stuff in my apartment
Somehow I have come to a point in my life where I own no comfortable underpants. Every time I reach for a fresh pair—i.e., every morning—I think, Ugh, you again. I suspect this accounts for my negative outlook and frequent bouts of irritability. I wear boxer briefs, which is typical of me. I never could […]
The dermatologist I went to as a teenager used to call me “Moose.” He had an avuncular manner and always wore a visor with two inset magnifying eyepieces so that he could get a good look at his patients’ hideously clogged pores. I think “Moose” was supposed to set me at ease or maybe make […]
To tell you the truth, I don’t really mind the oniony smell of human sweat. I mean, I wouldn’t buy a Yankee Candle in that flavor or anything. But B.O. doesn’t spark the level of disgust in me that it seems to set off in others. I take this as proof of my high regard […]
My father taught me to shave by handing me a Norelco. That was the extent of his instruction. I rubbed the buzzing thing over my face until the fuzz was gone, and thus was I initiated into a timeless rite of manhood. I don’t know how electric razors work, but it feels like they yank […]
Indirect Objects 