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Point/Counterpoint: Skydiving VS. Stepladder

Point/Counterpoint

              

                         Skydiving Is A Truly Exhilarating Experience

                                                                                By Alan Treacy, The Associated Press

 

   I went skydiving in the Poconos a couple of months ago, and it was the best experience of my life. To call it amazing would be a tremendous understatement. Earth, you are no friend of mine. When I’m on the ground, I feel like a bird in a cage. But when I’m up in the sky, I feel as if that cage door has been opened. Oh yes, I know why the caged bird sings. He sings because he wants to go skydiving. When I’m skydiving, I feel as if there’s nothing that I can’t do. I use the time up in the air to think about any kind of problem that I might have, and then I’m able to find a solution. I bartend at Henry Grattan’s, a bar in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, and whenever a customer is bothering me, I put on a parachute, stand on top of the bar, and jump off. It’s obviously not the same as jumping out of an airplane, but its close. In fact, some day, I plan on opening up my own business in which I serve people alcohol while skydiving. I’m not exactly sure yet as to how this will be done, but I will definitely find a way; it is my destiny. One time, after a customer at Henry Grattan’s got thrown out by the bouncers, he came back inside and tried to shoot them. I remember thinking, “It’s a shame that this guy doesn’t go skydiving. If he did, he wouldn’t be so upset.” Why? Because to skydive is to see the face of God.

 

Standing On A Stepladder Scares The Fucking Shit

                                    Out Of Me

                                                                                By Keith Malek, The Associated Press

 

   Every once in a while, a light bulb will go out in my apartment, and it is moments like this that I dread. I dread these moments because I know that I’m going to have to climb up a stepladder in order to change the light bulb. Climbing up those steps, I sweat profusely, my entire body begins to shake, and I hear the Grim Reaper knocking on my door. Friends say to me, “Oh, Keith, give me a break! You’re three feet off the ground!” I say to them, “Fuck you, intrepid warrior! Why don’t you change my light bulb then?” And I mean it. I would be willing to pay someone $100 for every time that they have to change a light bulb for me. Usually, whenever a light bulb goes out, I don’t even change it. I just sit there with a flashlight. In fact, the happiest time of my life was during the blackout a couple of years ago, because it was guaranteed that I wouldn’t have to change a light bulb. I used to work in a bar called Henry Grattan’s in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, and one time, a customer who got thrown out by the bouncers came back in with a gun and tried to shoot them. It was a very scary moment, but I remember thinking, “Hey, at least I’m not on a stepladder!”

 

 

October 12, 2005

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