Just thoughts about anything and nothing
I have DSL, but my internet connection has been constipated, pages load in bits and pieces, with lots of grunting and groaning. Ok, the grunts and groans are from me, but that is because I am really frustrated with the fercockteh connection.
Is it just me or did Cheney/Edwards come across as a much more intelligent, more interesting debate.
Someone told me that you would never know real love until I had my heart broken. I told them that they would never understand real pain until they had their legs broken. No really, I did. I even offered to do the work for free, but they didn’t understand me.
Speaking of that, back in the days when my heart was ripped out of my chest, stomped on, passed around as an ashtray and then folded, bent, stapled and airmailed to China for safekeeping I had a couple of issues with people.
They were the men/women who knew more than I did because they had already survived having their heart broken. I didn’t fault them for that, but it pissed me off to hear them tell me how one day it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I had grown so accustomed to the pain that I didn’t want to give it up, it was a badge of courage and a connection to the past that had left me behind.
But like everything else the darkness passed, the sky turned gray and even eventually resumed a lovely shade of blue. If you are from cleveland, Buffalo or Detroit you need to know that blue is the normal color of the sky. If you see blue and ask G-d what you did wrong, you have been living in the wrong place.
My Dodgers got hammered and then for good measure the Angels lost. This sets the stage for my teams to add to the drama. The St. Louis Cardinals just don’t have it. Not that it matters, but why would you want to be a Cardinal when you could be the Pope. Why not the St. Louis Popes? You’d get a cool hat, your own paramilitary and the Pope mobile.
The Red Sox should just call it a day. Until they formally apologize to the Babe they are never going to win and will consistently have their hearts broken. It is cruel and unusual punishment to be a fan of the Red Sox, Cubs, Brewers and the Braves.
One day I want to be the topic of “The Rest of the story” By Paul Harvey. All I ask is that it is for something cool.
I don’t want 15 minutes of fame. While I like the attention, 15 minutes really isn’t enough time to accomplish anything. It is too long to sit around doing nothing, I would be bored, but it is not enough time to watch a movie, do the dishes, wash the car or make a good sandwich.
Yes, I need more than 15 minutes to make a sandwich. Five minutes to consider getting up to make it, 5 minutes to ask my wife to make it for me, five minutes to realize that she is serious when she says that I have to make it myself and another five minutes to get up and do it.
But I only need three minutes to eat it.
If a train leaves Boston at 8 PM and another leaves Toronto at 6 PM who cares. Sorry, Algebra fears resurfaced. It has been 19 years since I last took the class and the flashbacks come and go. If you approach me with a sliderule you better be prepared for my reaction, those memories sometimes make me act erraticly.
When I write I can hear my voice inside my head speaking the words that I type. Fortunately it is my own voice I hear and no one else’s. If you want your own seat on the subway try talking to yourself, it is really effective.