I KNOW YOU ARE BUT WHAT AM I
Listen, you. Here:
1. I spent 20 minutes this afternoon staring at a nickel. I thought about how I once had a conversation with a history major wherein we discussed military strategy, which I am secretly fascinated with, and he told me, between puffs of a giganitc joint and loud slurps of really cheap beer, how the American forces in 1776 were fighting war in a whole new way--specifically, guerilla style, since they didn't have the numbers but they did have the knowledge of the terrain, and who the hell lines up across a field and marches forward so that 1/2 your army's dead by the time you meet at the middle anyway? Dumb British.
And I wondered this afternoon, as I looked at my nickel, if anyone currently running the train wreck that is U.S. foreign policy has thought about the fact that we started this country with guerilla warfare and now we're fighting guerrila warfare, except that now, we're the stodgy dudes lining up for a predictable battle that is simply no longer happening predictably.
2. I miss riding my bike so much it hurts.
3. When The Genius plays the music to the first daydream sequence in the Things With Knobs epic tale, I feel like I am being sacrilegious for talking over it and maybe, if he/she/it exists, god might strike me dead. To which I say, ha! Get in line behind the blood clots, "god."
4. Fall is coming, which makes me melancholy, which makes me make inappropriate jokes about death.
5. I am considering cashing out all my equity and buying as many pairs of $500 Italian leather shoes as possible and the only thing stopping me is the fact that animals would have to die just so I have swanky footwear to wear in my coffin, because you have to be dressed for those things, which is exactly why I want to be cremated. Except, not the shoes. Don't cremate the shoes.