You know you're becoming like your dad (MY dad, at least) when you feel energized by finding a rubber strap. Sometimes I see them on the road and consider stopping to pick them up. Actually, I fantasize about opening the car door and snatching them off the concrete as I pass over—an act that would be not only sanctioned but necessary in the mindscape of Hollywood, but that would lead to real-world consequences somewhere between scraped knuckles and fatal crash, accompanied by at least one blast of angry honking.You know you're not becoming like your dad when you photograph the rubber strap you found and admire it as potential typography.
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