is to organize one's thoughts.

A handy tool for this purpose is the Stephen Colbert "On Notice Board" Generator.

My own, which retains one element from the original:

I have a very pointy, rather singular winter hat that I wear quite frequently. I adore it and have thus tended to it lovingly for years now, ever dreading the day when it will wear out or be irreparably harmed. So far, fortunately, it has proven quite hearty.

There is one problem, though: the false assumptions others make upon seeing me in my hat. "Cute hat!", they seem to say, "You must want me to accost you!" Not the case, I can assure you. To clear up this confusion, I am issuing a formal public declaration of my true thoughts as I wend my way through packs of left-walkers, sudden-stoppers, and other violators of the pedestrian code:

Yes, I am wearing a cute hat.

That does not mean I am your fucking friend.

Get out of my way.

Pardon the self-aggrandizement, but really, if I don't aggrandize me, who will?

I got my hair chopped off last week, which prompted a conversation with my sister about how tricky it can be in New York to get a decent haircut without getting robbed. I can't afford to spend $100 to get my hair cut. On the other hand, I noted:

"No one can afford a $5 haircut."

I'll be here all week.

This one's for the CS rep, not the complainant:

If you can't tell the customer's sex by the name on the email, don't guess. I already know that whatever is in the body of your message is likely to piss me off. Why compound it by fucking up in the salutation?

If you saw my On Notice Board, you know that walking on the right is very important to me. There're a lot of pedestrians in this city, dammit, and it's only gonna work if we all adopt some basic guidelines:

1. Walk on the right
2. Pull over if you have to stop (don't just stop dead)
3. Walk at whatever speed you want, but make sure you leave a lane so I can pass you in your zombie stagger.
4. No spitting! I don't care why you think you need to! NO SPITTING!

As you can imagine, my fervent belief in these rudiments of urban civilization leads to a great deal of frustration as I walk along 23rd St. each workday. And as you may have noticed, I have what some might call a stubborn streak.

Each morning, these combine in what I call the Enforcement Challenge.

It's fairly simple: I walk the one avenue block from 6th to 5th, beginning as far to the right as possible. I then count how many times I come face-to-face with an offending left-walking dirtbag, and how many times I succeed in making said dirtbag cede the sidewalk to me and move. over. already. (Naturally, other right walkers, the disabled, or people entering/exiting buildings do not enter into this equation.)

On a good day, I'll go 2 for 3. Maybe 3 for 3. But today! Today I was challenged as never before--5 direct confrontations!

AND I WON ALL FIVE.

Mars, b!%&hes!

I forgot the fifth rule!

5. Smokers-only rule. Note: this isn't about actual cigarette smoke. It's outside and I don't care. My issue is this: That thing in your hand? IS A STICK ON FIRE. Could you not swing it around as you walk along, completely oblivious of the crush of people around you? Christ on a crutch.