May 2008

May 31, 2008
I like to iron. I enjoy ironing. I'm an ironer.

Now, before you go all laffy-laffy, ivy-league-style chortling, understand that I also concuss. I have concussed a man. I am a concussor.

So. There.

But the lil Sunbeam in our room is making me reconsider the adoration I've afforded my Black n' Decker back at home. This Sunbeam has just the right balance of heat n' steam and doesn't suffer from the ailment that plagues so many consumer-grade, readily-available pressing products - after a good amount of steam-heavy use, they drip watery, watery drabs onto the object o' the ironing.

I mean omg wtf is that?

It's like the pleatin' pressin' equivalent of a novelty dribble glass. The more you try an' iron up the spill, the more the goddamn things leak onto your precious Dockers like so many incontinent quadriplegics. Makes me scream, "Is the Dalai Lama gonna have to choke a bitch?" and burst into flames.

May 20, 2008
I think there are times in your life when you just have to hear some Jackson Browne. And I don't know, you know, that you have to beat yourself up about it, or anything.

You know, when he sings

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
Looking back at the years gone by like so many summer fields

I think I get that.

I think my childhood ended when I realized we all get a finite number of summers to call our own. In fact, I don't think; I know. That was childhood's end right there.

When I was 9, life meant biding time until summer vacation started again. Like it was always there; summer was merely veiled, behind a curtain, ready to return to as soon as I was allowed. School stood in the way from time to time. Then, back to summer. Not revelatory, I'm sure. Not likely to illicit a gasp. I mean, I'm sure this beats a lot of stories, in terms of negative psychic weight. It's not like childhood flashed me a toothy grin and then turned and walked away when Father O'Connor gave me more than five Hail Mary's in the confessional. But still, gaining the understanding that life was more than just speedbumps on the way to summer vacation... And, furthermore, that we've got but a handful of summer vacations to play with... Well, I guess that bummed me out. And I guess I'm still sorting this out. And, by "this," I pretty much mean "everything."

Which would be fine if I were eighteen.

How have you been? Ok? Good, good.