Thursday, March 28

Beware the ides of... March?!

I’m bad with calendars. I’ve always been. It’s just one of those skills I never took much time to perfect, and to be perfectly honest, keeping up with planners and calendars sorta goes against the grain of my private Dean Moriarty mindset. I don’t really want to know what’s going to happen next. I don’t really desire to have my life mapped out day to day.

     I want to get out and have it happen to me.

I don’t like calendars. They get in the way.

But -- they’re cheap and easy gifts to give, so I usually end up getting one or more of them every year come Christmastime.

And in a way, that’s cool - because calendars given as gifts rarely come with any sort of expectation for a heightened sense of punctuality on my part. Even if people wish I was better at remembering anniversaries or when my days off are, whenever I get a calendar as a gift it’s usually because someone remembers that I think the onion is funny, or that I like to look at women’s breasts .

Last year Kim got me this very cool calendar featuring the artwork and illustrations of Maurice Sendak, who is a favorite of mine.

I brought the thing in to work with me and hung it on one of my cubicle walls. Then, when January rolled around, I opened it up to the correct page. A little personality was injected into my cloth cell, everything was cool.

I even remembered to change the page when January ended.

Early this morning, March 28, a few days from the start of the next month, I came to the sudden realization that I had not switched my calendar over from February yet, and that I was running out of time before I would have to switch it again to April..

So I step over to the wall where the calendar is hanging, fully intending to turn the page displaying an illustration Sendak did for a Sergei Prokiev opera called The Love for Three Oranges, when I realize that the picture staring back at me is from Oliver Knussen’s Higglety Pigglety Pop!

The calendar has already been switched to March.

      who the hell’s been messing with my shit!?


Wednesday, March 27

You can call me Possum Allawishes Jenkins

It is my sincere belief that all of the so-called problems I choose to infiltrate and sabotage my own life with wouldn't slow me down half as much if I looked more like Bootsy Collins.

Tuesday, March 26

Way to go, Idaho

I’ve been weaving in and out lately, thinking a lot about writing but not actually doing any. It gets that way sometimes, I suppose. That, and the fact that the computers are being moved to another room of the house and haven’t been hooked back up yet.

Although it’s a common current with me, I’ve been really restless lately - unfocused, loose on the hinges. Sometimes that brings words flying from my fingers, othertimes it just leaves me driving in circles during twilight hours.

I keep doing these things during the day where as soon as I get involved in them I find myself thinking, "maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea after all.."

For example, I don’t really like my new screensaver that much -- but it was getting to the point where I realized that I was really wasting far too many hours trying to locate a better one…

I’m searching for something… I just don’t know what it is.

Christmas Tree

Perhaps the world isn’t that complicated after all.

Maybe simplicity is the trap.

Have you ever taken a test where the answers were "C," "C," "C," and "C"? Have you ever gone back and changed one of your answers because you believe that no real test would ever actually have four "C’s" in a row?

     i have.

Even when I knew the solutions I’d chosen were correct.


Monday, March 25

What I should have said...

    "What a coincidence. I'm Czechoslovakian too!"



Friday, March 22

Disvisible

Haven’t been here in a while… haven’t found the spark, the need, the urge...

Not that I haven’t felt, haven’t lived, haven’t hurt, haven’t missed, kissed, remembered, or forgotten.. but just that I found myself in this place where I couldn’t find the path that would lead me to believe what I wanted to say was in some way important.

     Sometimes you just want to stop in the crosswalk and scream.
     Sometimes what you really want is for everyone to just stop
     walking away.

I find myself at these fast-clicking f-stops of existence; these places where nothing seems more important than finishing the last chapters of a novel, predicting basketball tournament winners, or clawing my way up the walls of the web; hoping to find my most recent bottle with Barbara Eden inside.

And I wonder if it’s worth telling.


Tuesday, March 5

Good to Know...

Don't let a dolphin go through this car
Because it might hit you that there's a dolphin living in your car
and ask you to be taken to a nearby pool.

mad props to Grover for this.. I think


Corporate Redolence

I’m not wearing any socks today.

I don’t particularly remember how I got out the door without them, but I just sort of realized that I was sans-footies a minute ago.

I wish I could say that there was some sort of naughty or indecent subtext to all of this - Me, sitting at my desk - trying to maintain a professional demeanor whilst the cool air of early march tickles my naked ankles.. my exposed toes secretly curling.. the shivering sensation of danger, accented by the fear that my indecent secret could be exposed at any moment ...
    but I’m a guy.


Friday, March 1

He’s got you in that figure 4 thing, you’re done for now!

See, the thing about hanging out at the Parades’ house was that you could show up anytime you wanted, but you couldn’t leave until you bested either Jimmy or Tony at whatever game they were into at the time. The challenge could be anything: arm wrestling, nine-ball, ping-pong, basketball, trampoline wrestling, skateboard demolition derby...

I recall we also used to make up a lot of sports too; games like - "Let's all punch Tony in the arm," or "See if Bigbee will drink this if we tell him it’s orange juice" and of course everyone's favorite --"Keep the Captain Morgan’s away from Adam White"

But most of the time when you went to the Parades house you ended up playing that most classic of all games...

     Quarters.

I don't remember winning all that much.. but I do faintly recall one morning where I woke up in the driveway and said to someone, "How long have I been passed out here, and what did you freaks write on my back with this shoe polish?"

     Wanna play?



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