It’s About Time

30 08 2009

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

26 08 2009

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

24 08 2009

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!

22 08 2009

Zombos





Eviction Notices

18 08 2009

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

18 08 2009

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

16 08 2009

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.