I'm putting more work into this crib than my last. Statistically speaking, I figure it's a safe bet... How many times can a guy's home get blown up? I mean... assuming he's not an Avenger or an X-Man?
- Joe Kelly, "Our Second Most Confusing Issue Yet... After Issue #6 (We Would've Said #9, But That Was Just BAD, Not Confusing)" or "Mouthful of Malice, Head Full of Cheese"
"Guess Who's Back, Back Again..."
My many and layered apologies to the one or two individuals out there who actually read my modest little weblog and were disappointed by my month-long sabbatical of sorts.
Rest assured: I have returned, and you will soon get your regular flow of my meandering thoughts on subjects as wide-ranging, relevent and hip as the latest issue of Ultimate Spider-Man, the new season of Ed, and my dateless Friday nights...
Starting now:
"A Longwinded Comic Book Analogy Revisited"
Remember when I said I felt like my life was about to begin a new storyline with a new writer?
Well I've read the first issue of this new run, and I'm confused and maybe a little disappointed.
Here's hoping it's one of those things with a huge payoff a few months down the line.
"The Last Temptation of Parking Cone Clark"
When I originally signed on to work at Worlds of Fun, I'd agreed to come in some weekends to pull parking lot duty. In the middle of my last week of full time work, however -- on a day I hadn't been scheduled for, but agreed to come in and help out (but certainly not without repeating the imfamous mantra I'm not even supposed to be here today!) -- I realized that I had no desire to ever set foot on that godforsaken festival of shit again.
So I submitted a change of contract request -- which will probably cost me my $150 bonus, but I consider money well lost -- and terminated my services with Cedarfair Amusements Incorporated.
End of story, right? Of course not.
The day I was moving out, I got a call from my supervisor asking me if I could come into work. I said, "I can't," which was completely true because I'd turned in my badge and gun (read "ID card and ugly orange hat") the day before.
I thought someone would have told him.
Then this weekend, I get a call from my mom telling me that somebody called the house to tell me that I was working this weekend.
I don't think that these people understand: If I ever go back to Worlds of Fun, I'll be bringing matches and kerosene.
"A Room of One's Own"
The Barrio still needs some work. It'll be another week or so before I get the place into suitable shape, and probably a month or so before I get Brent ready for public viewing.
(That'll teach him not to read this.)
My walls remain bare, and there's an unsightly stack of comic book boxes where I'm really planning on putting an armchair (not that I have an armchair... though I have a strong inclination to steal one out of Apartment 105. Don't ask me why.)
That and Wal-Mart won't sell Christmas lights 'til November, to my great disappointment.
"Joe Kelly Day"
You have no idea how pleased I was to find that Mizzou finally recognized Joe Kelly's birthday as a holiday worth suspending classes for.
Monday's Kelly celebration was a lovely affair. Both Danielle and Kate stopped by The Barrio, where Brent and I enjoyed, like ten hours of 24. It was awesome.
The truth of the matter is that I haven't read a comic book since I moved in here. I keep buying them... I just don't read them.
I think something's wrong with me.
"The Heart, Osborn..."
I used to have my heart broken -- frequently -- as a matter of course. I threw it in danger with a freedom both wreckless and wonderful without given it a thought. And as a consequence, most of the girls I've pursued had their fair share of cracks at it, each breaking it at least twice.
(Six or seven times in one case.)
My point is that I'm no stranger to heart break. In many ways, it's been my greatest asset and my dearest friend. And yet I have the strangest notion that my heart will never be broken again.
I'm not sure if it's been hardened, or if it's simply become too small and fragile and precious for me to risk sharing in my heart of hearts, but I no longer think any harm will ever fall upon it again.
And for some reason, that makes me kind of sad.
NEXT:
All kids out of the pool...
- Joe Kelly, "Our Second Most Confusing Issue Yet... After Issue #6 (We Would've Said #9, But That Was Just BAD, Not Confusing)" or "Mouthful of Malice, Head Full of Cheese"
"Guess Who's Back, Back Again..."
My many and layered apologies to the one or two individuals out there who actually read my modest little weblog and were disappointed by my month-long sabbatical of sorts.
Rest assured: I have returned, and you will soon get your regular flow of my meandering thoughts on subjects as wide-ranging, relevent and hip as the latest issue of Ultimate Spider-Man, the new season of Ed, and my dateless Friday nights...
Starting now:
"A Longwinded Comic Book Analogy Revisited"
Remember when I said I felt like my life was about to begin a new storyline with a new writer?
Well I've read the first issue of this new run, and I'm confused and maybe a little disappointed.
Here's hoping it's one of those things with a huge payoff a few months down the line.
"The Last Temptation of Parking Cone Clark"
When I originally signed on to work at Worlds of Fun, I'd agreed to come in some weekends to pull parking lot duty. In the middle of my last week of full time work, however -- on a day I hadn't been scheduled for, but agreed to come in and help out (but certainly not without repeating the imfamous mantra I'm not even supposed to be here today!) -- I realized that I had no desire to ever set foot on that godforsaken festival of shit again.
So I submitted a change of contract request -- which will probably cost me my $150 bonus, but I consider money well lost -- and terminated my services with Cedarfair Amusements Incorporated.
End of story, right? Of course not.
The day I was moving out, I got a call from my supervisor asking me if I could come into work. I said, "I can't," which was completely true because I'd turned in my badge and gun (read "ID card and ugly orange hat") the day before.
I thought someone would have told him.
Then this weekend, I get a call from my mom telling me that somebody called the house to tell me that I was working this weekend.
I don't think that these people understand: If I ever go back to Worlds of Fun, I'll be bringing matches and kerosene.
"A Room of One's Own"
The Barrio still needs some work. It'll be another week or so before I get the place into suitable shape, and probably a month or so before I get Brent ready for public viewing.
(That'll teach him not to read this.)
My walls remain bare, and there's an unsightly stack of comic book boxes where I'm really planning on putting an armchair (not that I have an armchair... though I have a strong inclination to steal one out of Apartment 105. Don't ask me why.)
That and Wal-Mart won't sell Christmas lights 'til November, to my great disappointment.
"Joe Kelly Day"
You have no idea how pleased I was to find that Mizzou finally recognized Joe Kelly's birthday as a holiday worth suspending classes for.
Monday's Kelly celebration was a lovely affair. Both Danielle and Kate stopped by The Barrio, where Brent and I enjoyed, like ten hours of 24. It was awesome.
The truth of the matter is that I haven't read a comic book since I moved in here. I keep buying them... I just don't read them.
I think something's wrong with me.
"The Heart, Osborn..."
I used to have my heart broken -- frequently -- as a matter of course. I threw it in danger with a freedom both wreckless and wonderful without given it a thought. And as a consequence, most of the girls I've pursued had their fair share of cracks at it, each breaking it at least twice.
(Six or seven times in one case.)
My point is that I'm no stranger to heart break. In many ways, it's been my greatest asset and my dearest friend. And yet I have the strangest notion that my heart will never be broken again.
I'm not sure if it's been hardened, or if it's simply become too small and fragile and precious for me to risk sharing in my heart of hearts, but I no longer think any harm will ever fall upon it again.
And for some reason, that makes me kind of sad.
NEXT:
All kids out of the pool...
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