I got a pair of those KEEN shoes that Bob posted about.
I just realized my feet have never been happier.

I got to call in sick because I had an emergency cracked wisdom tooth removal yesterday. >CRACK!< YANK! Ow!

It was popcorn's fault.

Unfortunately, I have so many pre-wedding projects to do, I won't be able to goof off all day. Well, I guess I'm goofing off now.

5 different people have advised me not to drink with a straw. Ok, ok...

I'm moving into an apartment on the 3rd floor of an ancient 3-storey house that's chopped up into 3 suites (1 per floor; I'm on the 2nd), painting my bedroom "Kelp" green and unsure if this "Kelp" green is going to be too dark or too puke-like to be satisfactory during Edmonton's long, dark, dark (dark), cold winter, when a drunk middle-aged man knocks on the exterior door of my bedroom (an outside door to a large deck/wooden fire escape opens out of my wee bedroom). He has a canvas cowboy hat on and, while certainly drunk, is likely permafried/retarded. I come to understand (?) that he and his friends have spent a lot of time in the dilapidated (ie, should be condemned) 2 wall (3rd and 4th walls all but gone) garage in the back during the summer and he wants my landlord's phone # to see if he can clear out the collected detritus from the space and move in 'proper.'

This "garage" is akin to a cattle shelter at this point. It's a wind block and nothing more. Look up "Edmonton" in your atlas if you need to, but it's cold here -- arctic cold -- 7 months of the year. Buddy's fucked up.

[Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, I'm thinking, I'm happy to have someone squatting in my landlord's garage on one hand, but a little concerned for my property and my girlfriend's safety when she visits on the other.]

I take drunk homeless guy downstairs and outside (through and then out of my apartment, it's a complicated layout to explain) and my landlord, a gay Korean piano teacher and serious aesthete, is entertaining a guest out the front on his Faux-Victorian patio furniture while Bach fugues blast from inside his hideous Baroque/Rococo apartment. My landlord is instantly and deeply unsettled by the intrusion, stuttering, stumbling over his words, and shooting pathetic looks to his guest.

It's about a quarter to nine in the evening and the sun is waning. Edmonton is well north and the leaves have begun to turn on the four-storey Elm trees which line the residential boulevard. It's a beautiful evening: crisp; the light, perfect.

I don't really care about anyone in front of me (the drunk squatter, my landlord, his guest), but instead think of my girlfriend who is in another city shooting a movie with a bunch of Hollywood mucketymucks.
And, while painting, I've just run off a copy of Adorno and Horkheimer's essay/chapter "The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception" b/c it's good place to start-- a theoretical ground zero of sorts -- in terms of articulating my reservations about her "career path."

I hate and love everything.

I want to kill, revolt, rejoice, do nothing. It's a beautiful evening and I don't know what do with it other than touch up some of the cutting I've done around the door frames of my bedroom.

While walking home, the surrounding pulse from the cicadas matched my steps.




Edit: content too personal.

kerble wrote:

Last week, while stuck in traffic, I had a man in a pick up truck roll down his window and offer me some pornographic magazines.

Lucky. That stuff never happens to me.

that damned fly wrote: p.p.s.-i work at a church. i'm the sexton.

Setting- english cemetary.......

Woman: Do you dig Graves?

Neil: Yeah, they're alright.

Champion Rabbit wrote:

... a busker who I often encounter on my journey to work who's version of 'Stairway to Heaven' is genuinely the worst music that I have ever heard..

I think I would be more inclined to flip him some cash based on how WRONG he was playing 'Stairway To Heaven'.

on my way to work today, I drove past a grown woman, standing at the bus stop sucking her thumb.

Best thread on the board in a while.

GhostFace wrote:on my way to work today, I drove past a grown woman, standing at the bus stop sucking her thumb.

I have recently moved into my girlfriend's house. It is a nice place, but only an end-unit townhouse in a cookie-cutter development. So kind of on the small side, and with absolutely no fucking room whatsoever for storage save for two cubby-holes cut under the stairways. My stuff, it is everywhere. I have been in the process of putting it away as best I can, but there is only so much room because my girlfriend is taking her time getting rid of all the stuff she keeps saying she can get rid of in order to make room for my things. Tonight, we re-engaged in the process.

Several hours were spent sorting through the crap carelessly thrown into the back of her office closet, finally creating a large space to put things into. Then we opened the cubby downstairs and pulled all the Christmas decorations out of it, and began to put them into the space in the office closet. Because my girlfriend has apparently never played Tetris, the space is now once again full.

The storage space downstairs will next be filled up by the $250 worth of ceramic tile we bought with the intention of having heated tile installed in the kitchen, only to have our "contractor" fuck up all over the place and stop returning our calls until my girlfriend told him we no longer required his services. So now we have this tile sitting in the living room, under a desk, uselessly. Neither of us feel competent enough to tile the floor ourselves and we have no leads on anyone else who could do so. So the tiles are going into the storage space.

All this work, and all we've done is create some space under a desk.

I want to shoot myself in the face.