Blog by numbers: Number in the title, call to action

You wished you had done internships.

You're glad you went to college.

Spending all this money.

Sitting on the floor with a copy of 'The New Enchanted Broccoli Forest.'

4 pack of Jello.

Wasn't the best student.

Made his way in the world.

Meta-commentary not welcome.

Hologram Johnny Damon.

You're feisty.

Vegetarianism is not the only answer.

The internet has become commercialized.

A motorist honked at me for cycling.

Matte paint jobs on cars.

PDAs went out in the 90s.

Smart cars are too small.

Wheelock's Latin and accompanying story book.

written

There is too much going on right now. I can't focus on any one thing, because there are approximately a dozen things going on.

I don't remember what happened the last three years, or I remember it too well, I'm too close to it right now. The world and its habit of sneaking up on me. The decisions I will have to make soon, and whose consequences I will have to live with. The implications in our conversations, which I like. There is very little agency here, mostly just swimming with the current, hoping to make minor adjustments.

Maybe in this light, I look about four years younger than in this picture, or this mirror. Serious talks that we have had; sometimes I am proud of how serious we are capable of being. This may not be cause for celebration, eventually. Sometimes I can get deep into a subject, and forget what was bothering me. Sometimes, the light comes through, and the realization dawns that there was nothing to worry about all along. It goes dark again, but what if everything was OK, light, no sorrows?

This place is so comfortable. Will I be able to live in discomfort? Couldn't we settle down, be old together. Pen and ink, early retirement, happiness and fulfillment of all these designs and schemes.

The hard part comes next.

Every single day of my life

I feel the intoxicating allure of limitless possibility.

The future beckons.

On my way.

Scrabble words

REI -- an erroneous English form for a former Portuguese coin

CWM -- a cirque

SI -- ti

BO -- a pal

one sentence blog post

The fire in her eyes as she railed against Ernest Hemingway's misogyny and the flatness of his female characters was almost more than I could bear.

Peg

Right now,
I can barely tell if I'm sleepin' or awake.
In a little while
It'll be the morning.

You won't remember bein' lost
In the after-hours,
Take my number down
Write it on your hand
Call me in the morning.

Which of these worlds is going to find you?
Is gonna remind you what you have to do
And why do you feel that you're being lied to?
Why don't you feel like anything new?

Peg,
It's almost winter time,
Is it snowing where you are?
Wait another hour,
It'll be the morning.

-Lyrics: Saturday Looks Good to Me
Transcription: Me

Je me fous du passé

All you need:

-gas bill included in the rent

-sturdy pyrex roasting pan

-root vegetables on the cheap

Roast and eat well

She'll tell you how I suffer

Today:

-encountered ms. F. in the train station, plans to meet later, news of too many children being birthed by our high-school classmates. It would appear that at least 5 of my classmates of 2004, probably more, have already had children. What is the world coming to? To what is the world coming? snicker

-Henry Miller is an amazing writer. He says what he means, it would appear. I like that. What more can you ask? He's not afraid to be vulgar, and he has no qualms about venting his spleen about any acquaintance, friend, lover, etc. The truth is paramount, although that's only true if you believe that the narrator is perfectly honest. Obviously he's not, but it still makes for a fantastic read.

-In other news, I have a problem with believing almost everything I read. Not so much with Henry Miller, because you know from the outset that you can't trust him, but with other things, like political arguments, or most any New Yorker piece. What do we know apart from what we read? It seems like at least half the things I know I learned from reading them, therefore I believe most of what I read, because it's a way to learn things.

-Make no mistake about it, though, Miller's Tropic of Cancer is quite dirty, unapologetically so. It's about Paris, and it's full of whores, pricks, chancres, and piss. When you read it, you feel as though you have to hide what you're reading from your neighbors on the train or bus, for fear that they might catch a glimpse of a particularly filthy passage and report you to the politeness police, or the ministry of truth.

-From the Boss: Your eyes get itchy in the wee, wee hours

Sun's just a red ball risin' over them refinery towers
Radio's jammed up with gospel stations
Lost souls callin' long distance salvation
Hey, mister deejay, won'tcha hear my last prayer?
Hey, ho, rock'n'roll, deliver me from nowhere

As the time that we can share never is enough it seems to me

There's really nothing like the nihilistic pleasure of knowing that you'll be dead before climate change really gets started on ravaging the earth in life-altering ways. The temptation is great to just say "I won't be here, so good luck with all that."

For now, I'm ready to indulge that temptation. Am I wrong? Probably. But I'm also an American. I'm free to think whatever I want. And right now, I think that I'll be long gone by the time the German tourists are learning to swim in Arizona Bay.

So as the sea level rises, I urge you to not worry about it too much because, frankly, it's not your problem. We're probably talking about at least three generations before things get really drastically wicked bad. And someone else will think of a cheap, easy, nearly effortless way to stop global warming by then, right?

Right?