last night i became a ninja.

not in that typical way, where you are hiding from some undesirables, or slinking away for your life, or slipping stinkbombs in barroom bathrooms. i was dubbed a ninja by jen something-or-other who is from rhode island. i walked onto the roof of my friend's apartment. with my friends, mind you. there was a birthday party for a woman named liz and they were hard drinking on this roof with a solid view of the chicago skyline, in a pleasant non-yuppified neighborhood. a lot of spanish signs, mexican neighbors. that sort of thing. i don't know why chicago has a lot of mexicans either.

i didn't know the people. i only had my one drink in hand; and i said hello to the birthday girl. they were conversant. and then jen came over and we talked somehow about her "guns." her "pythons." her biceps, that would be. now, whe went on to talk about how she was learning pilades-- from a tape she'd bought-- and how she was to be able to walk on her ass muscles by tape ten. perhaps that was my invention. i couldn't say. it was night on a rooftop and oftentimes, the details are forgotten.

she went on to say that by tape twenty she was going to be unstoppable. not in all seriousness. i told her she already was. after all, she snuck up on us like a ninja. then she admitted being a ninja. as, of course did i.

i heard pilades and i vaguely remember that a pixellated friend of mine was doing/ had done this mystery workout. and so we talked about it; and i berated her for breaking the ninja code # 2, admitting she was a ninja. so if you meet jen seratelli, let her know the ninja council is coming for her. not today and maybe not tomorrow, but soon enough.

that's my vacation. how's yours?