Just Another Sunday

Rough on the esteeem. Anonymous and glanced over all day. There was a record set for conversations interupted by others who didn't care whatsoever that I was there. When there was a task, though; then I was popular.

Not What I Had in Mind

The exam for composition class had a twist. It wasn't about writing, ironically. The professor thought it was a good idea to make a point about the importance of listening. He read a passage about a 19th century ball held in a northern city to celebrate the completion of a common green. The exam, it turns out, was to recreated the type of dancing described in the essay. Not what I had in mind when I paid tuition.


Knowing that the city can clear one's head, I sought out the proverbial nice cup of tea. There was a Starbucks right there so I took a shot. In line, I sorted the unfamiliar lurce in my wallet. Somehow, inexplicably, this was interpreted as an offer to pay for the items being purchased by the person ahead of me. There were terse words and everyone was frowning at me.

This was not how I imagined living as a student in London. Not at all.

The Morning Meeting

The first thing I realized is that I'd been fortunate, so far, to avoid the worst type of person in a corporate environment; the person with the One Job. Different from the multi-taskers and multiple hat-wearers I'm used to, this is the person who's job is the equivalent of planning an annual New Year's Eve party.

The second thing I realized is how insufferable these people can be on January 2nd.

Me and My Shadow

Washing Off the McMurray Dirt

It's a very fine dirt, coming, quite unintentionally, in both infield and outfield tints. It makes feature film-quality dust clouds as well as the fabled Fuller's Earth. Ever step, every bounce, every bat dropped on the way to first adds to the hazy orange fog. McMurray Dirt is like river silt, but I don't now how it might have made its way from the river.

The season wrapped up tonight in the hot July sun. We lost to one of those bar teams that often seem to string together enough hits to get it done. Always tough to lose in front of the women folk. Now, after the handshakes and the cans of beer, it's time to wash of the last twelve games.

It's still steamy after sundown and that makes it as a tough choice to go hotter or cooler in the shower. The cool water feels better and revives, but the hotter water opens more pores and releases that dusty dirt. No matter how much action you saw, the dirt got you.

It's necessary to take extra time in the shower. It's really all gotta come off. Leave to soap on a bit longer, enjoy that one more beer brought into the shower and finally rinse the whole thing away, inside and out.

Contentment in the Modern World

There was a time that man strove for his crops to grow. To cross the plains. To get out of that foxhole in France.

Man has sought to end war. To cure disease. To raise himself up.

Today, my profound sense of accomplishment and relief comes from successfully navigating the convoluded, non-intuitive menu structure of the Denon 2807 and getting the kitchen speakers activeted in time to do the dishes.

And to sound awesome for the mrs. in time for Rattle & Hum.

Blind Spot

You have to enter this with a certain type of disdain. That's one of the keys for surviving this episode, an episode that will play and replay for as long as you are who you are. It's a shame that the situation beats you back into considering survival first. That really crushes a lot of the fun. Fun was the reason you got into this in the first place, right?

So presume the worst initially, for it will help you arrive intact. Anything that allows you to presume anything other than the worst turns down the flame but won't ever make it cool to the touch.

When I Came Around the Corner . . .

. . . Bob Dylan was feeding the elephant.

Cool, Overcast, Rain Likely

Even though it was the weekend, I stayed indoors for the most part.

The Lost Art of Burrito Wrapping

All praise due for the tortilla artist. To be able to take all that good stuff and contain it in such a thin membrane is an undervalued artistic talent. To hold the burrito in one hand, allowing you to mouse with the other, and not have it fall apart or leak down you arm - that, my friend, is living.