Sometimes, I can do nothing but stand in constant winter, trying to remember life without all of you.
- Warren Ellis, "I Hate It Here"
"It Happened Around Tenth Street"
I had two strange encounters in the city today. One subtle, one not so subtle.
After a stop at Jimmy John's, I was walking back to campus, stuffing my face with a BLT when I passed by this shop. I glanced in the window, and there was this little girl with her face pressed against the glass with the saddest look I have ever seen. It creeped me out to no end.
Hours later, Brent and I were driving back from one of our semiweekly lease signings with Hinshaw Properties, when we stopped at the intersection of Tenth and Broadway. While waiting for the light, and I saw this middle-aged woman waiting to cross the street, and I turn to Brent and said, "How weird would it be if I just rolled down the window and started screaming at that lady? You know, for no apparant reason. I bet that'd really break up her day." Brent told me that it was a stupid idea and was about to say that no one else would ever even think of doing that, when we heard this guy shouting at us to get the fuck out of his way because we were blocking the crosswalk. This guy was really pissed. We're not even talking road rage here. This was crosswalk rage.
This town is starting to freak me out.
"Get Off the Stage, Denny"
If someone could tell me at which point my life became a bloody awful one act play, I'd really appreciate it.
Last semester was pretty bad: I worked at the Columbia Public Library until my prayers were answered and they fired me. I was up every other night writing papers. I actually believed I was a "Daredevil English Major" running a FIG. I talked about Justice League of America on a date. I wanted to live on Clark Street in Pella, which was settled by the Dutch. I did all the work. 1980 was part of the 80s. While driving back from Tennessee with a belly full of White Castle and a sociopath in the backseat, I started hallucinating. My Crazed Roommate would not listen to the brilliance of The Puddle Plan. And women threw themselves at him. I thought Priest was dead.
Right now, I would kill to go back to last semester.
"Neighbors"
A few nights ago, My Crazed Roommate and I were stricken by the fear that our neighbors could hear us. The other day, I had the opportunity to ask one of them if this was true. He said it didn't happen too often, but every once in a while, he'll hear one of us shout "You're an ass!" or something like that.
Bullshit.
We do that all the friggin' time.
My real concern is that they hear me listening to the same songs over and over again. I think I listened to "Accident" nonstop for an hour straight. My "Ghost in You," "Are You Having a Good Time?" and "Mr. Blue Sky" phases couldn't have been much better.
"Crouching Panther, Hidden Wack Job"
The hardest part of being unreadable is keeping up the illusion that you are what people think. Don't ask me. I don't get it either. I should have gone to Iowa State. Or maybe Michigan.
Keep your trophies.
I don't want to play anymore.
- Warren Ellis, "I Hate It Here"
"It Happened Around Tenth Street"
I had two strange encounters in the city today. One subtle, one not so subtle.
After a stop at Jimmy John's, I was walking back to campus, stuffing my face with a BLT when I passed by this shop. I glanced in the window, and there was this little girl with her face pressed against the glass with the saddest look I have ever seen. It creeped me out to no end.
Hours later, Brent and I were driving back from one of our semiweekly lease signings with Hinshaw Properties, when we stopped at the intersection of Tenth and Broadway. While waiting for the light, and I saw this middle-aged woman waiting to cross the street, and I turn to Brent and said, "How weird would it be if I just rolled down the window and started screaming at that lady? You know, for no apparant reason. I bet that'd really break up her day." Brent told me that it was a stupid idea and was about to say that no one else would ever even think of doing that, when we heard this guy shouting at us to get the fuck out of his way because we were blocking the crosswalk. This guy was really pissed. We're not even talking road rage here. This was crosswalk rage.
This town is starting to freak me out.
"Get Off the Stage, Denny"
If someone could tell me at which point my life became a bloody awful one act play, I'd really appreciate it.
Last semester was pretty bad: I worked at the Columbia Public Library until my prayers were answered and they fired me. I was up every other night writing papers. I actually believed I was a "Daredevil English Major" running a FIG. I talked about Justice League of America on a date. I wanted to live on Clark Street in Pella, which was settled by the Dutch. I did all the work. 1980 was part of the 80s. While driving back from Tennessee with a belly full of White Castle and a sociopath in the backseat, I started hallucinating. My Crazed Roommate would not listen to the brilliance of The Puddle Plan. And women threw themselves at him. I thought Priest was dead.
Right now, I would kill to go back to last semester.
"Neighbors"
A few nights ago, My Crazed Roommate and I were stricken by the fear that our neighbors could hear us. The other day, I had the opportunity to ask one of them if this was true. He said it didn't happen too often, but every once in a while, he'll hear one of us shout "You're an ass!" or something like that.
Bullshit.
We do that all the friggin' time.
My real concern is that they hear me listening to the same songs over and over again. I think I listened to "Accident" nonstop for an hour straight. My "Ghost in You," "Are You Having a Good Time?" and "Mr. Blue Sky" phases couldn't have been much better.
"Crouching Panther, Hidden Wack Job"
The hardest part of being unreadable is keeping up the illusion that you are what people think. Don't ask me. I don't get it either. I should have gone to Iowa State. Or maybe Michigan.
Keep your trophies.
I don't want to play anymore.
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