Man it is such as crazy to have the dreams that I have sometimes when I dream. The other night I watched the Superbowl, er, sorry, “big game,” but it was played by cats. Cats wearing adorable little leather football helmets. And omg last night Australia was in the wrong place. It was sort of between Africa and India. And that is not where Australia really goes, but I flew over it on my way to India. Hello, hello Australia! You might not want to sit in the front of the vehickle, as we will be heading down this steep track, and it is made of rickety wooden rails. Also I dream (a’lot) about confusing the gas pedal and the brake pedal. Peddle. Petal.
Internet, you had best stop reading things you find in the computer. They make no sense! Only look for pictures of Lindsay Lohan appearing skeletal. Dear New York Times Ombudsman: I have a good article for you to make. It is called “Blogs Suck; Go Outside.” But you will probably just run another article about how knitting is great, and people like to buy real estate. If you need a list of other things to cover, heah I am.
Never have I been so glad to live in a time where I can just “dial up” the computer and find out that a woman might not like the haircut she has received. And maybe she got her period on her birthday. Them’s the breaks. Brakes. And this guy, maybe this guy he had thoughts about Star Wars. I bet he did, that guy. Someone else has a dog. That’s good, we need more of that. I like dogs. “Blogs” should be written only from the perspective of housepets. My cat says “I am so gay 4 these new brewer’s yeast and garlic treats ugly no-tail mommy got me.” Tale.
Like most of you I was watching The Game last night. And since I live in Boston, medicine this entailed shrieking and touchdown breakdancing. After spraying our living room with champagne (typically, sovaldi sale I caught it in the face), tadalafil we took to the streets for the scheduled RIOT. It was tame compared to the last time, but we had fun trying to make the crowd chant “Morrissey” and “Equine Internet Porn”. So pardon me if I am, umm, hoarse today.
Oh the laughs just never stop. Especially when the fire department hosed us.
In other news, there is a hot new band in your midst. We are Glamazon, Gdget, and Chickie Baby. We are Le Chevron. And our new single, Electrolyte, will be available as soon as we have made enough shrimp skewers for the release party.
Yes, I have a new thing to bitch about. You must all be thrilled. But no one’s making you read this, bucko.
I don’t mind the length of the train ride to and from Lowell at all. I enjoy spacing out and staring at the industrial squalor out the window. Funny, there are no NICE houses along train tracks. Why is that?
But getting the train home in the evening is a bit of an ordeal, because it pits the regular “we don’t run enough trains because we are capricious and terrible” MBTA against the German precision of the Commuter Rail, which is apparently run by another concern that contracts with the MBTA. And they are fined when they are late. I missed a 5:45 train by 2 minutes last night, and that was with a mad dash from the Green Line. I think I hurdled over a twin stroller and kicked a seeing eye dog on my way, but my only reward was the painful squeezing of my still-recovering lungs and the sight of a train pulling away.
Now you’d think allowing 35 minutes to travel 5 stops would be more than enough time to get me to North Station from Arlington street, but not when there are sports fans involved. It aroused my ire still further to see that the same people who insisted on jamming in the doors at each stop so the train could not proceed were even too early to be let into the Fleet Center proper. The escalators weren’t even unlocked, but it was so important to be first in line for an event for which they hold ticketed seats that they could not cede their spot on the subway to someone who might be trying to just go home.
So I sat on a bench in the cold for an hour, under the monitor that details which train is at which track. It became a bit demoralizing because people would rush in and start swearing in my direction when they realized they were too late. Women tend to say “Jeez” or “Dammit!” but men really cut to the chase with “Shit” or “Fuck!”
Oh well. I am all for self-interest, except where it violates my self-interest. I try to remember “other people have lives too,” but surely their lives are not as shiny and valuable as mine! Then again, I don’t mind having the excuse to leave work any earlier. Today: 4:30, unless Alex goes ballistic as promised.
I like to bowl even though I am not very good at it. What other sport encourages you to drink beer and knock things over? The Disco Bowl in Kreuzberg is where its at! My team was horsing around and bowling a strictly average game over tall glasses of Schultheiss. In the next lane was a man called Crocodile, with one good and one malformed arm. Crocodile was bowling alone, and he held the ball up with his stump, throwing one strike after another, spinning the ball from left to right. Shazzam!
My shoes were brand new, red and blue. Very Sharp. I would have pinched them but I don’t do that anymore (though I did knick this photo from art frahm). I set a sterling example to be sure.