Hopping M@D!!1!

I did some "temp work" at Edward Hopper's childhood home last week.

The whole thing was a little adventurous. The model coordinator for this group saw me at Venus DeMilo's "temp work" try outs several weeks ago and called me up about posing for an afternoon and evening class. I agreed and waited for him to give me the address.

He replied by saying I needed to take the A train all the way up to a hundred and zillionth street and he'd be waiting for me in his beat-up blue Chevy to transport me out of Supercity and to a secluded little forest town twenty minutes away.

I know what you're thinking.

Hell no.

Oh, HELL no.

I will admit that the same thought DID cross my mind. But remember, when I was a kid living in Alaska, I once prayed to God to make my life a big adventure. An AWFULLY big adventure. And so far He hasn't let me down. I've toured the country in holocaust dramas for children, worked on the 42nd Floor, rode the skycoaster at Six Flags, and moved to Supercity X. If that's not high adventure, I don't know what is.

So seeing as how God has decided to let adventure come a-banging on my door whenever I least expect it, I figure, if God is spending all this time cooking up wild and wooly things for me to experience, who am I to say no to them?

After all, the guy sounded legit. He had a website, an answering machine set up specifically for the group... I knew what I would do. I'd be smart. I'd flash my Blockberry whenever I got a chance. That way he'd know he was dealing with a person WHO WOULD BE MISSED.

I emerged from underground on one hundred and zillionth street, fully prepared to suddenly catch a cold or develop a migraine should my Jeffrey Dahmer appear and give me the creeps.

While the guy DID have a moustache, I reasoned very quickly that lots of nice people have creepy moustaches. Just because he had one didn't mean he was a psycho rapist. What kind of society do we live in if we can't accept rides from moustachioed strangers without worrying that they're going to gut us and stick our body parts in refrigerators?? I ask you! What kind of society??

We crossed the bridge and left Supercity X. I made polite conversation. I told him about how my mom bought me a Blockberry so she'd always know where I was. Just in case I ever ran into any trouble.

We hit the woods.

"Hey," he said suddenly, "we have a few minutes before we need to be at the class. Let me show you something."

Before I could say, "I'd rather not," he steered the quivering car off the road and onto a dirt path leading straight into a secluded thicket of trees and brambles.

"Well," I thought, "I guess this is it. What a way to go. Dear God, please give me peace as my captor plunges his knife into my naiive bosom and eats my foot."

"Look over there," said my psycho killer. I obeyed, knowing my obedience might soften his heart or at least cause him to let his guard down.

"Gee...it looks like an abandoned barn or factory," I said, heart palpitating.

"That's the world's first diet pill factory. They were little sponges that expanded in your stomach when you swallowed them."

"Oh," I said.

And that's the end of the story.

Well, there's the whole doing temp work in Edward Hopper's childhood home thing, but that's not nearly as interesting as almost being killed by a psycho art teacher...who was neither a psycho nor a killer.

Yes, my life has been one long adventure.