(Running around with arms flailing in the air) I’m a freak! I’m a freak! I’m your clown! Laugh, monkey, laugh! Exclamation point!
That was my last post on my Twitter account. It drew several public and personal responses, the most pointed of which suggested “somebody took the brown acid…”
No acid here. Not even enough beer. Just the long and almost finished work project I’ve been working on. I like a good Mental Massage on Friday, but today I’m not really surely it’s worth putting forth the effort. It’s not going to do me much good. So, rather than really going through the process of choppy-choppy, I’m going to puke on the screen for a second and be done with it.
Protocol please?–So, what’s the etiquette when one of yours friends has…some work done? Do you look and say, “Wow, looking pretty damned good! Hooo-wah!” Or do you look in other direction and pretend you don’t notice anything. Either way I feel like I’m in trouble.
The Evangelist’s Dilemma–Allowing someone to vouch for you when you don’t really believe in yourself is a lot like sending an atheist evangelist out on stage every night. It might make you some money, but it’s not going to be comfortable.
The whole penthouse/outhouse thing–I play disc golf because it gives me a way to get out of the house, be with friends, and is a challenge. It’s much the same reason regular men play real golf, except there are no greens fees, it takes a fraction of the time to play, and I don’t have to wear funny clothes. And I suck at real golf. This week I shot my first under-par round of my life. The next day I shot the worst round I’ve had in months. It makes me think about investing in some indoor golf nets to hit into, as to practice my swing for the next time I find myself on the greens, whenever that might be. Insert your own psychological analysis here.
Vanity, thy name is Van Dyke–I grew this little Van Dyke almost immediately after getting out of television. It did it for two reasons. First, because the TV rules about facial hair no longer applied to me. Second, to cover up a small scar I have on my chin. Now, as I get older, the beard is getting exceptionally gray. What’s worse? Scar or gray?
Red Dirt–I’ve spent the past two weeks almost exclusively listening to music that comes from Texas, Oklahoma, and Missouri. This is something my buddy Falstaff can appreciate. As of this writing, I think he may be the only one I know who listens to all of the same bands. That’s odd, right?
Waiting until October–Wonder why I’m not writing a damned thing about politics? In short, it takes to much mental energy to scream into the void. And trust me, it is a void. I don’t care what side you’re on, you’re wasting your damned time. Nothing matters for another couple of weeks. And even then I’m not sure anything anybody says is going to matter. What we’ve seen in the past two months is why I took a four year hiatus from the political world.
Langerado venue change–I asked my wife the other day, “Can you even remember the last time we had fun for more than two consecutive days?” It took me a couple of days, and then I remembered Langerado. That was a good time. And then Langerado announced it was changing its venue again. Now it will be at Miami’s Bicentennial Park. Meh.
I’m going to be on a plane next Friday, so no massage will be forthcoming. If you’re going to be at the Bash, I’ll see you there. If not, I wish you were.
Safe weekends, all.