And now for the beginning of the first really fun part of this year’s efforts: Surviving in a really warm room with a computer I can’t turn off, until things cool down again some time around midnight. (The second really fun part? The stretch between 1am and 6am…)

Ah well. I knew it was going to be this way and I agreed to do the ‘thon anyway. This just goes to show that yes, I’m a big ol’ masochist at heart. Making the best of it, I am.

I’m rather proud of that bit below, even if it is lighter in wordcount than my usual artsy vignettes. Then again, how many words can a guy crank out in twenty minutes or so and still get a semi-coherent scene out of it? Besides, I’m still getting a kick out of coming up with “Puck’s perverted pickle.” (Does it help for the reader to know that David’s last name is Oberon? Probably.) Yes, I’m a weirdo.

I’ve picked my next album review, so now begins the task of assembling audio bits in Cool Edit. I’m sticking with more of that lesser-known-artist stuff… you’ll find out who, in another hour or so.

Second breakfast, this morning, consisted of a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli. I had to give serious thought to actually buying the stuff, considering past experience, but I’m glad I did. It hit the spot rather nicely.

I’ve got the place to myself, today, at least for a while. Not that this is much of a boon considering that I’m generally glued to my desk for the next twenty hours, but hey, I won’t turn down peace and quiet either. (Not, mind you, that my roomie or his progeny are horrible to have around!)

Now that I’ve cranked out a music review, I’m going to take a stab at some creative writing for the next posting. Wish me luck, kids.

Maybe I’m not the only one who’s like this.

I go through phases, when it comes to food I like. (I suppose this is true of music as well. Hmm.) For instance, a few years ago I ate toaster waffles (“leggo my eggo!”) for breakfast each and every day. I eventually tired of them, and even found them distasteful.

A few weeks ago I discovered a box of ‘em in the freezer, and the roomie said “go ahead, if you want ‘em.” Why, sure, I thought.

Now? I’m craving the damned things again. Luckily there were two left when I checked a few minutes ago. Yum.

(Okay, bonus points to anyone who can tell me where this entry’s title came from without Googling for it. Heh.)

On Monday I thought, “It figures that I didn’t bring my music player and ended up suffering the bleatings of some loudmouthed jerk on the bus.”

Today I’m thinking, “It figures that I left my backpack at home and ended up receiving a box full of nifty stuff from Dawn and having my name drawn in the raffle at the end of the company BBQ.”

From Dawn: A touching (and amusing) card, tea, cocoa mix, a box of chocolate biscotti, some cookies and a grey Totoro t-shirt (yay!). From work: Two caps (one for the country station, the other for beer-and-sports… oh well), two grey t-shirts (with Sierra Mist logos), and a denim jacket (delightfully unadorned).

I don’t mind when the universe conspires to cheer me up out of a dark-souled funk. I don’t mind a bit. I will, however, enjoy the irony with a jaunty smirk on my face.

I knew I should’ve grabbed the Neuros on my way out the door, but I thought (stupidly enough) that I wasn’t really in the mood for music, and it might be nice to soak in the ambient noises of a downtown Monday morning.

Oh, sure, it was nice enough… until I boarded the other bus, the one that drops me off near work. The only comfortably available seat was on the back bench, right behind some loudmouthed yo-yo who was trying, and continued trying, to impress the skanky ditz seated across the aisle. Gee, I can’t imagine why nobody else wanted that bit of prime real estate. Not that it mattered where one sat, ‘cause everyone on the bus was privy to every word of the conversation. To hear this guy tell it, he’s the gods’ own gift to humanity in general and womankind in particular. And it’s not like anyone on the bus could avoid hearing him tell it, unless they happened to be in possession of (for instance) a personal stereo device… like my abandoned Neuros.

Mind you, the tramp wasn’t much better. She just didn’t get as much air time, ‘cause the obnoxious doofus in front of me could not shut up for more than a minute at a time.

The potentially-amusing part is that neither of them was actually listening to the other. The guy would go on about how (for instance) he was “so proud” of the way he dumped some girl who cheated on him, then the girl would relate some small anecdote from her life, then the guy went back to talking about himself some more, and so on. I heard lots of talking and almost no communicating. I’d have been genuinely amused had I not been so incredibly annoyed.

I spent the entire third of an hour on that bus wishing I possessed fantastical powers so I could pull a Darth Vader on that jerkwad. Seriously.

*PK grip on the throat* “Hey, kid. If you want to impress her that badly, why don’t you go sit next to her and carry on a conversation at polite sound levels?”

“[garbled noises sounding rather like disparaging commentary on my parentage]”

“I don’t think you have a very firm…” *squeeze* “…grasp…” *harder squeeze* “…on the situation. Are you absolutely certain that you won’t reconsider my generous offer? That would be the offer to let you live as long as you shut your trap, by the way. Do you think you can do that?”

*vigorous nodding, face turning various colors*

“I’m glad we understand one another.” *release* *looking around* “Anyone else?”

See what I mean? I’d be the tyrant of public transit. Of course, if I had that kind of power, would I be riding the bus in the first place? Perhaps not…

It’s another Saturday over at the kids’ place while Wendi does her DJ thing. But let me tell you about my morning. I did something I don’t often do: I went shopping for clothes.

Normally I end up buying one or two or three of one particular article of clothing. Say, I’ll pick up a couple of shirts one month, and a few months later a pack of socks. Oh, no, not today. Today’s tally looks like this:

• Two pair of jeans (not both in black, shockingly enough) (and this time I tried them on first)
• Three of one style of T-shirt (in varying colors, thankyouverymuch)
• One really comfy (and thus pricier) additional T-shirt
• One polo-style shirt (again: really comfy)
• One T-shirt with text on the front (I couldn’t resist a shirt that reads: “This product has been approved by people who wear clothes.”)
• A pack containing six pair of black athletic-style socks (because the dress socks just do not last long enough to be worth it)

Excessive? Perhaps. I’m certainly not what anyone would consider to be a clotheshorse, but I do like wearing clean clothes that aren’t in an obvious state of self-destruction. Call me weird if you must. But at least you can’t call me dingy.