It's after midnight. Just got back from an outdoor showing of Office Space with a good friend of mine. Three beers and one slice of sub par pizza later, I'm sitting here thinking Goddamn it, I'm going to WRITE a damn novel and SELL that muthafuka, and I don't care a bean if it's good or not. Because I don't care, I don't, and I don't want to be typing other people's goddamn memos when I'm fifty years old.
I have just now received the most amazing, beautiful object: a cellphone. A real one, not a pay-as-you-go thing that I continually forget to re-up and thus lose my number, nor does it resemble a brick. I also have a two year contract, but oh well. I CAN SEND AND RECEIVE TEXT MSGS, how cwl is tht? My regression is nearly complete...it only requires a lolcat...
more cat pictures
My favorite local bakery, Avenue, has opened up another location within walking/biking distance of my house.
On my way to work.
Forget walking/biking, soon my yards and yards of luxurious flesh will be ferried around in an anti-gravity belt a-la the Baron Harkonnen in David Lynch's Dune while an army of pale androgynes in black plastic suits tends to my every nefarious need, which will involve crateloads of the delicious almond bear claw pastries I just sampled this morning and buckets of highly caffienated lattes.
DAMN BAKERIES! My bete noir! :shakes fist feebly, continues to munch on buttery, flakey, almond-y goodness:
You know you're nothing more than an amalgamation of biological functions and chemical reactions when the mere fact of low atmospheric pressure can put you in the dumps. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.) It'll pass, as all things do, and hopefully the clouds will burn off by the afternoon.
It's ridiculous and disgraceful how much say our limbic systems have...
And the Elder Gods come to town in August. (not so sure about this one--it has Tori Spelling in it, which will only be great if she LOOKS ON CTHULU AND LOSES ALL VESTIGES OF SANITY. Heh.)
It occurs to me that I enjoy the summertime far more now that I'm an adult than when I was a kid and had heaps of time with nothing to do except laze about and read. I used to get bored, for heaven's sake, and couldn't wait for school to start in the fall. (I got over that, eventually.) Now I live for weekends and soak up what sunshine I can, knowing I'll be spending the better part of my week indoors, in front of the computer. So what am I doing here now?!
It's soft high summer here; farmers are cutting and baling hay, the sky is heartbreaking blue, and everything smells of sweetness and life.
Oh god. I am officially a B'ham veggie dork now. I bought a pair of Teva Hurricanes, I rode my bike to work, and I grow organic food.
But ZOMFG these sandals are teh comfort!!1! I shall live in them until first frost, after which I will wear my handknit socks with them (or my Birkenstocks), and I shall bite my thumb at the corporate suits of the world. Who wear wingtips. And make far more money than I ever will
edited to add: My sandals didn't come with the hairy/cute half naked hippie guy they show on the website. FALSE ADVERTISING! Where's my hippie cute guy??
Anyway, again it occurs to me I've been spending far too much time THINKING about writing and READING other people's thoughts and opinions, and not doing enough of my own WRITING. And possibly using the CAPS KEY FAR TOO MUCH, which, like employing air quotes (also guilty) should result in swift and painful punishment.
But I digress.
I have an idea (which happens about two or three times a day and usually goes nowhere), and I'd like to get writing on it, except for the nasty little thing called real life, and so instead (whimper) I will be arguing freight charges with my boss and UPS, writing up sales tickets and labels, and generally whining my way through the day.
So if this particular idea can survive through that mess (plus raspberry picking later in the day), it might actually be worth pursuing.
Oh, and more installments of Box Full Of Smoke to come. This weekend, maybe.
...wonder what I ought to make for dinner? There's that dead chicken carcass in the fridge. I could swing by Trader Joe's and get a jar of green curry, slap it all together over rice, and Greg would never know it was leftovers. MMMmm, chicken carcass...
I love driving but I also love biking. How could I possibly combine the two?
I can't believe I'm 36. THIRTY SIX. I'm reading some chick writer's blog and she's talking how she just turned 30 and OMG suddenly superficial stuff doesn't matter anymore, like, because she's all old and stuff and so she doesn't care what other people think and JUST SHUT UP NOW. Bitch. And I still watch cartoons. Do old people watch cartoons? CARTOONS. Animated films, my butt. They're CAR-fing-TOONS, and I love them, and I will watch them until I die or they roll me up in a sweater with no sleeves and take me off to the funny farm. Which may be sooner than later, I'm thinking...
Damn. Don't knit fat yarn on extra small sock needles if you don't want crab hands. CRAB HANDS!
Do. Not. Want. Why do customers call me with unsolveable problems? No, I can't tell you why it's not the same color as the sample on your computer monitor. Maybe you need to clean your monitor. MAYBE YOU NEED A BRAIN TRANSPLANT. No, I did not just say that aloud. The customer is always right and I really care and I have oceanfront property in Arizona to sell you. From my front porch you can see the sea...dang, George Strait is cuter than hell for a cowboy.
Why do we have to work, anyway? I thought in the new millennium, we would have robot slaves. Where's my damn robot slave? I have a highly evolved chimp brain that should be freed from this mundane workaday bullshit to drift in the aether. I should be lolling about on robot-tended green lawns, under lemon trees, inventing new philosophies and music and art forms, not flattening my butt on a swivel chair under fluorescent lighting whilst my body deteriorates at a cellular level. Unless we're not the highly evolved chimps we believe ourselves to be, but instead are actually the bio-organic slaves to our technologically superior cyborg masters, whose survival depends on our daily usage of their keyboard souls. You know what Tom Waits says--anything you can think of is true, so therefore it must be so...
Greg made a super. I helped. All we need to order are more frames, since those are EXTREMELY fiddly bits, and which I've done.
We are well on our way into full-time obsession. I have grand visions of moving to the country, setting up shop, and becoming a full-time beekeeper/artist/ne'er-do-well.
wild and sorry... never ! since you did see WALL-E you might enjoy this, I just got it from a friend...http://www.space.com/php/multimedia/imagegallery/igviewer.php?imgid=5129&gid=377