Tuesday, July 24, 2012


I just realized that I don't give a hoot anymore.

I just realized that saying "I don't give a hoot anymore" sounds gay.

I just realized that sounding "gay" is all right, especially when I am all alone in my room.

I just realized that "sounding gay" while being "all alone in my room" is gay.

I just realized that my obsessing over sounding gay, or where I sound like it, is pointless.

I just realized that observing my pointless observances is pointless, so I give up.

I just realized that by giving up I am only giving in to apathy.

I just realized that the only way to overcome apathy is to take a stronger stance on my positions.

I just realized that I don't give a shit anymore.

Monday, July 16, 2012


When I was in the first grade, the class had a small aquarium full of guppies.  At the end of the school year our teacher let us take some home.  I remember being thrilled to have my own pets, not shared pets like our two dogs.  My mother got a small aquarium from somewhere. It couldn't have been new because of ongoing financial issues from my dad being in and out of work. I digress and digest: it's called multitasking, folks. So we got a glass box, full of water and colorful rocks, to throw live animals in. Yep, my Lite Brite didn't stand a chance.

I was no good at cleaning the tank and dealing with the dead, but I was sure as hell good at feeding the damn things.  For some reason, these fish started leaping out of the tank. It scared the Jesus out of me.  Bejesus was still safely inside, awaiting for that encounter in third grade with the hobos in Woodland Park. I know my brother and sisters were getting fed up with taking care of my pets; eventually, the responsibility of taking care of these fish on my own would be unavoidable. 

So one day I come home from my friend's house to see a couple of fish flopping around on the floor. I tried real hard to get them into the net, but I couldn't. I tried grabbing them with my hands, but something about the struggle and the fish moving around made me lose my shit entirely. I ran into my room screaming and didn't come out until my mother got home. So, dead fish on the floor and me having emotional problems, my mom took care of the dead fish and then "suggested" that the older kids have fish as pets.  

To this day I still have to fight not "losing my shit" when having to handle live fish. I don't care to touch dead fish, either. I do it when I absolutely have to, but I usually let someone else handle them.  I think I can live with that.

Sunday, July 08, 2012

Short stuff

I'm keeping it brief tonight. If I kept it boxers, that would be silly. I found my way back into the mountains again. I am enjoying that. Waterfalls are now my thing, so the mines and ruins are off to the side for now. This evening's hike had me wondering what dogs could tell me, if they could talk, about my crotch. Pretty much all of the people with dogs on the trail had to pull their pooches off of smelling my nads. As far as I can tell, they're just plain nuts.

I've been doing more work at a storage unit that my family shares. The goal is to get people their stuff, throwaway a bunch of crap, and get the hell out of there by the end of July. I found a couple of boxes of my old hobbies, mainly radio controlled cars. I was the first kid in my neighborhood to get into building these things. When the other kids got into it, I ended up helping them build theirs and repairing them. Anyway, I decided to see if any of this old stuff was worth anything. Most of it isn't worth much more than fun memories, but there are some items that could fetch some nice dough.

One of the items is an old scale model, radio-controlled truck that was mostly metal and engineered unusually well. I bought this truck second hand from a hobby shop back when I was doing a paper route in seventh grade. It was old then, but it had a certain charm about it. I was going to buy a new car to have as a project, but I bought this truck instead. I never could find the parts that I needed, back then, to fix it up, so I boxed it and forgot about it. I grew out of that hobby as I got my license. Now, I am revisiting that time in my life.

This truck turned out to be a "holy grail" of scale model radio controlled cars. So I've begun sourcing the parts I need on Ebay (something the thirteen-year-old me never could have dreamed of). This little Toyota truck is going to get fixed up and then sold. It will have a new home of some man that wants to capture a part of his childhood in amber. It isn't my thing anymore. I believe that it was my job to obtain it, be the caretaker, and now the restorer of it. The joy I will get is finding ways to spend the money from selling it.

Is that all? Yeah, for now. Toodles!