Today, as I read what very well may be one of the most absurb _NYT_ articles to date (utterly eclipsing the scary horse sculpture story and the sillyBritish vocab piece)–whichaddressedthenew subculture of so-called"command-chair Trekkies" who "[get] their Kirk on" byengineering sophisticated versions of Captain Kirk’s command module–I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of badasshallucinogens are being purveyed at/near the _Times_ building on 8th ave. (I wasn’t aware that you could finddecent drugs near Times Square, but, as per this article,apparently you can.)
My favorite line of the article:
" ‘The closet command-chair Trekkies have come out of the closet,’ said Keith Marshall, 45, an unemployed phlebotomist, emergency medical technician, corrections officer and firefighter whose uncompleted chair, currently sitting in his brother’s garage, is slated for his own living room in Bonney Lake, Wash."
Seriously, WTF is a phlebotomist (sounds like a professional phlegm-remover, no?) and why does this dude have like 20 (alleged) jobs but, at the same,is unemployed?