I've had nothing going on. Actually I mowed the lawn on Saturday. That felt pretty good, getting that lawn mowed. The lawnmower died halfway through and I got to exercise my mechanical skills cleaning out the air filter. It was caked with dirt. Doing things with machines makes me feel like a real man. Oh, last tuesday I vacuumed my car out. You could eat off the carpet now, in case you're on the move and don't have time to stop I guess.
I watched Anchorman and Alien vs Predator yesterday, and I've watching them again today. I'm nearly done with Anchorman. I've read three books in the last week. I'm halfway through Life, the Universe, and Everything. Again. My therapist thinks I read too many books and watch too many movies. He's got some amazing analytical skillz. Heh, actually he's good. My last therapist, years ago, told me I spend too much time immersed in fantasy. Nobody seems to be able to tell me what I should be doing instead of these things. Going out
there, I suppose, doing
stuff.
Oh, my friend Tom wants me to go to the driving range with him. I've never even held a golf club but I suppose I should go. Tom's cool. He's an east side kid, but he doesn't have the same sense of entitlement you get from his friends. A lack of humility, maybe that's what it is. Maybe it's something else, maybe it's just a certain optimism that's foreign to me. I haven't thought much about it. I do know that Tom's life long private school buddies grate my nerves. They always have opinions that they feel deserve respect, not because they are intelligent, or well thought out, but because they are
their's. One of 'em loves to talk about computers. He loves talking about them, telling other people about them, telling other people they are wrong, and he doesn't know jack shit. I'm embarresed for him, but he seems to have no shame.
I like computers. I read about them a lot, enough to know that for everything I do know there are twenty I don't. Someone should have told those kids that. Kids, for everything you do know there are ten million things you don't. It should have been on a posterboard in their kindergarten class. Tom's a good guy though. He likes to talk about cars. To tell me facts about cars. I read about cars, get my Road & Track every month. It gives me something to do at work for two hours once a month. Two hours I don't have to fill with a random library book or a crossword puzzle. He's right about five percent of the time, but I don't have the heart to tell him. It doesn't work anyway, I tried once. He just rewords what he said and says it again, apparently this makes it true.
"My car probably has a hundred and fifty horsepower. That's not bad since the STi
(Subuaru WRX STi) has one-ninety."
'Well, the STi has three hundred horsepower. Big turbo you know.'
"Well, my car is nearly as fast as an STi, it's about forty horsepower less."
Said with a tone that isn't used to dissent. At this point I got a little help from one of his friends, who agreed that an STi has a nice, easy-to-remember 300hp, to which he responded with by sulking and sighing high-windedly. His car has 120hp, it's slow as can be. It's slower then my fucking hyundai. Another thing I don't have the heart to tell him. He might sell it and buy a car that is actually fast. God forbid.
He drives like a maniac, coasting through lanes, taking over the road like the whole thing belongs to him, so he can scoot through corners five mph faster then before. Slowing down for stop signs just enough to get a look and see if any cars are waiting to go before him before stomping the pedal to the floor. I hate riding with him, but I've got my own car so I can drive myself. It's like driving is a competition for him. Shave a half-second off his 7-11 turn-around time.
Ah, listen to me complain. Tom's a good guy, generous, tolerant, and fun. So I'll go try hitting a golf ball and see if it's as fun as I've been told. Miniature golf always looks better. With mini-golf you've got all the colors, fancy drawbridges going up and down, color-coded balls and clubs. You can have a blue ball and a red club, a yellow ball and a blue club, or do things right and take an orange ball with an orange club. Then if you forget what ball you had you can just look at your club. If you're going to go mini-golfing you've got to have a few shots of whiskey first, so don't scoff when I say forget :P
I hung out with Joe this weekend. He complained about weight the whole time. He forgot his belt and his shorts were falling down. It was making him miserable. I would have thought he would be happy, it would mean he's lost weight, but, apparently, things don't work that way. He gets bigger as he goes up, so he has no hips to rest his pants on, so he needs the belt so they can pinch around him. He made a belt out of a roll of packing tape and spent the entire day playing this online game Counter Strike. This game is so incredibly boring. You run around the same place over and over and over again shooting the other guys. There's no quest or mission or goal or anything, as far as I can tell, and nothing to do except run around and shoot people. Oh, and you can talk shit about the other shooters while you play. He bought a microphone so he can talk shit. The game doesn't even have good graphics.
Well, since he doesn't have a computer I now have a microphone for mine. I don't know what I can do with it but now I've got it. Just in case, I suppose.
I think that's enough rambling for today.
-Snowden
