It’s About Time

I’m going to play soccer, I think.  I deserve some competition.

Soccer, in case you haven’t heard of it, is this game:

*picture unavailable because the internet is dumb.  Just imagine it.

Attercop

I am lazy and selfish.

Thankfully, I can usually make myself forget this with some sunflower seeds and a good book.  Is reading selfish?  I often look forward to getting home from work so that I can isolate myself in a corner of The Coffee Shop or the park, reading about dead people.

I guess I should be dedicating more of my time to helping others.

Our church has an Awana program that I think I am going to be helping in this year; I know it is only one night a week, but hopefully it will be a bit of a conscience alleviation for me, as I am apparently becoming prone to alienating people I care about by not making the effort to spend time with them.  Of course, if you can catch me at a good time with a random phone call, I will say yes to almost anything.  I gave up making excuses like twenty girlfriends ago; lying is just too easy to be fun, and too horrible for my heart to endure.  Yes, Corey, I will go eat five hot dogs and hamburgers to watch an ANA/DET match.  Yes, I will randomly drive over to school at 10:30 just to steal a sign.  Yes, I will play soccer even though I would really like to take a nap.

Oh, that’s right, I am incapable of napping.  Except at work.  I am getting dangerously close to old man territory — falling asleep in my chair at work.

I hope that type of thing doesn’t stay on your re-sume!

Anyway, I turned down golfing tomorrow afternoon for the sake of another buddy.  Let’s just hope I get enough work done so that I don’t feel guilty around both of them.

None of what I just wrote makes much sense to me…I can’t imagine having to figure it out if you’re someone else (which you are).

Alliwan

The soothing bars of electric guitars

Shred my solemnity

While rhythmic drops of coffee pots

Subdue my animosity

Almond shards pervade my pages;

Adams would not be pleased

So hard to slake the

* * * *

And that is where WordPress refreshed, and lost the next 12 lines.  I can’t remember them perfectly, so forget it.

Stupid technology.

Zombos!

Eviction Notices

I just saw Topol’s Fiddler on the Roof tonight at South Coast Plaza, courtesy of Randall J.  Yes, that Topol, from the movie.

It really started getting interesting when I saw similarities between the evictions in this play and District 9.

Sleep now, and dream of this:

Daylight Comes Too Easily

There’s a cheese crepe place right across the street that hasn’t opened yet.  It will inevitably close within six months of doing so, but I simply cannot wait for it to open.  I will go over there every Monday and Wednesday morning, order a tasty crepe, and scarf it down while reading history to start my day.  Morning just isn’t the time for fiction, you know?

* * *

I’m going to see Fiddler on the Roof for the first time tonight.  I’ve never even seen the movie, but Randall and I are going to see the play (with the same guy playing the main guy).  It will be fun, because theater is fun.  Trust me, I’m kind of an expert in it.

Patrick Kane Beats Up Taxi Drivers for $0.20

Really, he does.

—

I’m on the cusp of big changes.  I’ll have to start writing a lot in the next month, but if things pan out (Lord willing) I could be entering a stage of great responsibility and great experience.

I would love to be in charge of something this big; it appears I will have that chance by September 11th.  I’ve waited, patiently and not, for over a year.  I’ve groaned, cried, complained and despaired over anything like this ever coming to fruition.

And while it hasn’t yet happened, and much could still change, I pray that I will be up to the task that now sits before me.

Pardon the pretentious dust, but I’m excited.  I even chose to drink an Americano this afternoon despite the rather unpleasantly evocative nature of the prospect; it was as bitter as I was (expecting it) to be.  But, like I could probably stand to do more often, I used my “treat receipt” (name courtesy of the cute/overly helpful barista) to engorge myself with a Frappuccino.  White mocha with caramel (the first and only way I have drunk something as repulsively delicious as a Starbucks Frappuccino) is now coursing through my veins, and I can’t imagine a better way to prepare myself for Sunday afternoon hockey.  Bring it on, boys.

Neptune’s Reverie

And from the waters emerges the Sea King

Rivers run with blood of those who cannot speak their mind

And oceans foam with skeletons of those we left behind

The rocks are crashing silently and moaning for their keeper

But he has left for fairer shores and tide pools even deeper

Caring for the living sea will kill the man who tries

Should woman dare to deign to care no one shall hear her cries

The living casket overflowing begs mankind to fill it

And ever pulling, stretching, reeling, begs him not to kill it

The life on land cannot compare to what resides beneath

What rules the deep and commands it rests inside Neptune’s sheath

No trident now or magic wand the Sea King reaches for,

But his canticles of melancholy sift the water’s floor

What permeates the currents here and keeps the land afloat?

None other than master of the earth’s eternal moat.

- – -

)( I saw District 9 on Thursday.  Go see it, tell me what you think.  It’s heavy on the gore, so be forewarned.

)( Jlo and I hit up everything from In-N-Out to the BEACH this weekend.  I even volunteered to go.  And I got tarred and sunburned for my generosity.  It’s air conditioned-buildings for my weekends from now on.

Lyrically Superior

These Frail Hands

Brave Saint Saturn

“Antimeridian”

Written by Reese Roper

In this broken place where I was born
It seems there is no peace,
And the very soil that we walk upon
Is filled with tears that never cease,
And you can trace the scars of hopelessness
Like sweat upon the backs
Of all the outcast downtrodden,
Water slipped through cracks

Hold on,
Hold tight

And I am overwhelmed with grief,
to see such suffering,
For those who lack the voice to speak
For those of us left stuttering

May this not prevail,
Dear Lord, your love will never fail

And these frail hands,
They tremble as they pen perhaps their last
And these weak words,
Can never say what cannot be surpassed

When the concrete of the world
Becomes too cumbersome to lift,
And the cataracts of fear and doubt
Cloak truth beyond what we can sift
And darkness, darkness bleeds its way,
When crippling anguish clouds our sight,
The ghosts of dusk have bared their teeth,
Set their claws to bring the night

Hold on,
Hold tight

Darkness can’t perceive the light,
though lightlessness has chilled us numb,
And though its wings may cloud the skies,
The dark shall never overcome

Light of the world,
Your love, has never failed

And these frail hands,
They tremble as they pen perhaps their last
And these weak words,
Can never say what cannot be surpassed

I need your love,
And most of all I want to feel your peace,
I need your love,
Let everything that you are not decrease,

(Your love,
Your mercy,
Your light unending.
Your hope,
Your peace,
Your strength my heart is mending.)

(Daylight,
Save me)

Man to Man

After a rousing weekend of paintball, steak, steak and birthdays, this is from my friends Matt and Kayla said Saturday.

“Women stand face to face with one another; men stand shoulder to shoulder.”

So, basically, stop hugging me, people.  I have a select few friends that I feel close enough with to hug them; in fact, those occasions are pretty rare themselves.

In other words, this quote is my new and improved way of telling people not to touch me.