Dogslife likes A heap of trouble with the law. Who knows where I'll be tomorrow night? Maybe dead. Maybe GAY.
I’m private
Bonus paid out today. Rather than piss it away gradually over several months of meagre extravagance I purged my urge to splurge (and rhyme) all on the way home.
Witness:
Witness:
- One perfect pair of shoes
- One perfect pair of headphones
- One perfect album
- And the best, cheapest, gyro in the city, right around the corner from home
Everything was so on sale it was ridiculous. It just felt like spending money. Which was the point.
Now if you'll excuse me I have some buyer's remorse to catch up on before I return to my miserly ways.
These must be the grandchildren of those who mocked Darwin for saying "we're related to monkeys." Pity their poor families, as they pass on in perpetuity a truncated getthepoint gene and possibly also the toostupidtocomprehenditanyway gene, which apparently is dominant and also enhances fertility.
Wait a sec. What are the odds of there actually being bloodlines from one mob to the other? And if they've survived this long, or longer (did their great great great great great great grandpappys lock Galileo away?), could it be that nature selects for this type of stupidity? If there is a god behind all this, is this the joke? That the staircase leading up the tower of Babel is a double-helix of nucleotides that will never let us reach the heavens?
Wait a sec. What are the odds of there actually being bloodlines from one mob to the other? And if they've survived this long, or longer (did their great great great great great great grandpappys lock Galileo away?), could it be that nature selects for this type of stupidity? If there is a god behind all this, is this the joke? That the staircase leading up the tower of Babel is a double-helix of nucleotides that will never let us reach the heavens?
42 degrees* with the humidex.
Windows open. Fans on. A/C dormant.
Hey, summer.
Bring it.
*New Delhi was about the same today.
UPDATE:
Summer brought it, and has kept bringing it. The humidex is now 39 and our resolve, faced with the threat of a sleepless night, has cracked. Our faith is now in that courageous little grey box humming in the window.
Windows open. Fans on. A/C dormant.
Hey, summer.
Bring it.
*New Delhi was about the same today.
UPDATE:
Summer brought it, and has kept bringing it. The humidex is now 39 and our resolve, faced with the threat of a sleepless night, has cracked. Our faith is now in that courageous little grey box humming in the window.
Nearing the end of The First Forty-Nine, wondering if I want to go on past "Fathers and Sons" to the rest. They sat on the shelf long enough since being flirted with briefly as an undergrad so I started pecking somewhere around my birthday in response to a gut feeling that told me I was nearing have arrived at long since passed the end of the part of my life even the most generous person would call "youth" and that tales of Nick Adams and his generation can't be properly enjoyed after this point if they're read for the first time.
That feeling has left my gut and been replaced by a new feeling.
The worst writer to be influenced by Hemingway's spare, stoic writing was Ernest Hemingway.
That feeling has left my gut and been replaced by a new feeling.
The worst writer to be influenced by Hemingway's spare, stoic writing was Ernest Hemingway.
This afternoon at work: a short, genial chat about money, and why I'll soon see a big wad of it just for being the special snowflake that I am.
Not much else to write about.
Chickie's having a bath. Might see what's going on there.
Not much else to write about.
Chickie's having a bath. Might see what's going on there.
Yesterday, my mom gave me the final season of Six Feet Under for my birthday.
On Wednesday I started reading True History of the Kelly Gang.
This Wednesday I'm going to see the author of that book, who is also as close to a hero as I have now that I'm too old to have heroes, read from his new novel.
My dog continues to enjoy my company, and I hers.
My girl's stint of 12-hour days has come to a close.
In other words, I'd rather not be on the internet.
On Wednesday I started reading True History of the Kelly Gang.
This Wednesday I'm going to see the author of that book, who is also as close to a hero as I have now that I'm too old to have heroes, read from his new novel.
My dog continues to enjoy my company, and I hers.
My girl's stint of 12-hour days has come to a close.
In other words, I'd rather not be on the internet.
If a dog breaks a mirror is the consequent 7 years of bad luck measured in dog years? Seems unfair if it isn't. Break a mirror as a puppy and you're fucked for life.
Dalmatians. The official breed of dipshits who make decade-long committments based on the sage counsel of Disney.
Which brings us to this.
On the one hand I want the greyhaired owners of the dog who did this to suddenly become housebound and be found half-eaten by the wretched beast weeks from now when the weather gets warm.
But the practical side of me wants them to feel effused with the wine of youth in these spring weeks and stroll arm in arm with their demented cur on a long leash through dog parks filled with thousand-dollar purebreds owned by stock brokers and lawyers out with their children. If these asshats couldn't learn accountability in the half-century they've milled about on this rock then maybe they can learn suffering, and maybe that can visit them in the form of coupon hoarding and catfood dinners for the rest of their golden years.
Or I could just shove them into traffic if I pass them on the sidewalk.
Which brings us to this.
On the one hand I want the greyhaired owners of the dog who did this to suddenly become housebound and be found half-eaten by the wretched beast weeks from now when the weather gets warm.
But the practical side of me wants them to feel effused with the wine of youth in these spring weeks and stroll arm in arm with their demented cur on a long leash through dog parks filled with thousand-dollar purebreds owned by stock brokers and lawyers out with their children. If these asshats couldn't learn accountability in the half-century they've milled about on this rock then maybe they can learn suffering, and maybe that can visit them in the form of coupon hoarding and catfood dinners for the rest of their golden years.
Or I could just shove them into traffic if I pass them on the sidewalk.
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