Damien Galeone

“So, if she go to party, she will there be have a good time,” Student A has begun sweating from the effort of forming this conditional sentence.

“OK, good job,” I am writing in my oops-book. “So, which conditional is that?”

Student A says, “First one.”

“Right and what time period does it refer to?”

About thirty seconds later, Student A says, “The First conditional is for future actions dependent on the result of another future action or event, where there is a reasonable possibility of the conditions for the action being satisfied.”

“Wow, great. So, how about the second conditional?”

Student B chimes in, “The contrary-to-fact present conditional, often referred to as the second conditional is used to refer to a current state or event that is known to be false or improbable.”

I am amazed, especially since Student B has recently used the term charkekeyal instead of table. “Yes, wow, that was…wow, remarkably well stated.” I gather myself and look around the room. “Third conditional?”

When Student C uses the word protasis and the phrase subject-verb inversion, I smell that something is afoot. Well that, and every single person in the room, except for me, is staring into their desks.

I approach Student A and peer onto his desk where he is scanning a website called Englishgrammar.com on what is called a “Smartphone.”

“Mystery solved,” I say. Detective Colombo, I am not.

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When I place my cart on the register, the woman looks into it to see that the contents are all the same. “How many,” she asks.

“Ten,” I say.

“OK, ten bags of popcorn. Are you having a party?”

“Would you go to a party where there was only popcorn?” I ask.

“No, I would not.” She beeps through the popcorn and I stuff the bags into my backpack.

There are so many things people do when they are having trouble being creative, writing or even coming up with an idea for work. They eat blueberries, drink red wine, watch a movie, eat peanut brittle or go swimming. Others go jogging, smoke hash or play squash. A thousand people have poetically summed up the struggles of writing when the words are being stubborn. I can simply add this – it sucks gopher ass.

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Case Study

This is a case study on (cleverly disguised) subject X and his acute struggle with jetlag. The symptoms, analysis, diagnosis, and prognosis are based on Wikipedia’s (genuflect) jetlag page.

Symptoms

According to Wikipedia, symptoms of jetlag include headache, fatigue, irregular sleep patterns, insomnia, disorientation, grogginess, irritability, mild depression, constipation and, just for fun, diarrhea.

X starts his day at 2:17 a.m., having woken to a headache that would put down Hunter S Thompson. In one hand X is holding a sandwich and in the other, a mobile phone. There is an indecipherable half-written message on the phone and the ingredients of the sandwich have spilled onto his lap. After unsuccessfully trying to rebuild his sandwich or fall back to sleep, X goes to the shower and weeps when he sees that he is showering wearing a sock.

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Scenario: In order to repay readers for following my blog and to celebrate reaching 10,000 views, I decided to let you folks choose ten shots for me to do in one night. In a moment both exhilarating and terrifying, you did choose ten shots with joyful abandon. Thus, I had to go through with this. I am a genius.

Setting: The Horne (see Leonard Says Buy My Book)

Characters: Me, Christopher Galeone, Julia Galeone, Dan and Gabby Luongo, others, Tracy the bartender and thirty soon-to-be-annoyed bar patrons.

Modus Operandi: I compiled the list of ten and added a last-minute eleventh shot, just for luck. We did each one shot for 1,000 views. For this reason, we added an eleventh for the views over 10,000.

What follows is the rundown of the evening via each shot.

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The short-legged, Northeastern Galeone has a peculiar feeding ritual in mid-December. Today, we’re braving its wrath to visit its habitat for a close-up look at this unique natural ritual.

The first part of the ritual is reconnaissance. That is, in his turn, each Galeone male comes by with a fabricated task meant to survey the cuisine and his competition.

“I’ve been sent here to get a bottle opener,” says one middle-aged male. He begins to scan the room in search of the culinary information he desires.

“You’re holding the bottle opener,” says one of the cooking Galeones.

After a few more moments he says “yes.” Then places it on the table and leaves the room.

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” Hey Mabel!” The voice that ricochets through departure lounge Z21 is a peculiar loud one. Every set of eyes has turned toward the source of the clatter. 

Except, evidently, for Mabel.

“Mabel! Where are my cigarettes?”

Everyone now waits with an expectant ear to learn about the whereabouts of the man’s tobacco. A moment later, from the other side of the lounge, the answer comes in a loud, whining moan that plaints something about fanny packs and very personal medical creams.

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Or…in Academic Terms

The overall quiddity (sic) or, thusly, goal, as it were, to be stated, clearly and indelibly, of this exploratory blog post (ad hoc, academic text) on the issue, thereof and henceforth, at present, of the quality, or lack of henceforth, of these texts, and a further (inquisitive) discussion upon whether or not, one relatively intelligent human being (aka: Homo sapiens and in some, although minimal cases, Neanderthal and more minimally, Erectus), can, without guided expertise, focus on that and in and of itself, the material per se that the imbibed is in hope of attaining the information here and of other sources that he, or she, if so be the case, can attain.

And why that sucks.

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We are in one of Prague’s many Christmas markets and it’s something like a European Norman Rockwell painting. The markets are made up of several wooden huts offering various manufactured items, handmade wares and homemade food and drinks. In one place you can buy a bong, a homemade candle, a roasted pork knee and top it off with a svařak (hot spiced wine).

After stuffing our faces with hot wine and hotdogs, we step over to the entertainment center. This center consists of a kiddy swimming pool filled with carp and the entertainment consists of a large man lifting a carp from the pool, gingerly laying it on a table and beating it to death before filleting it.

I’m guessing that Norman Rockwell would have left out all the bludgeoning, decapitating and eviscerating.

In any case, Veselé Vánoce and Merry Christmas!

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The Chili is bubbling away on the pot like a witch’s cauldron. I am sitting at the table, sipping a Gambrinus while eating an appetizer of sausages with Sauerkraut.

My stomach sends forth a rumble from its very pit and I smile like an evil genius. I seal the deal by opening the soy dip and crackers and filling up a bowl with chili.

After I eat and drink to absolute capacity, it is ready for action. I feel another angry lurch in my intestinal system and leave my flat. I hit the button to the lift.

See, it all started today at 7 a.m.

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