Dreaming of rifle and knife work this morning. A long dream of fighting an insurgency in temperate climate forests. Odd that.
Wanting: peaches marinated in smoky ginger tea. Savoury.
It’s been too long since I was unable to clean all of the grease from my hands. 1st, some skateboarding, then some wrenching. With luck, ridiculous risk-taking behavior soon to follow thereafter -it has also been too long since I received a speeding ticket or scraped the pegs in a turn.
Chorizo and Dr Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. I call this a lazy afternoon.
The things I most want right now are a nalgene bottle of good coffee, some decent asphalt, and my skateboard. Or longboard. Tomorrow morning will be amazing.
Tonight’s craving: beer-battered catfish.
Ugh. Distinct memories of a classical philosophy course, trying to convince the TA that what worked for the good of the ecosystem was for the good of the majority of people. In retrospect, I should just have belted him in the mouth a few times. Better, more succint communications.
There are times when I consider attributing my ability to drink whiskey and remain functional to my Irish forebears. This explains not my love for the Wu-Tang Clan.
Christ on a crutch, The Last Airbender is a miserable bit of pointless maundering. And I was thinking any thing with Seagal or Van Damme would have to be worse.
I had such dreams of scavenging fuel and riding the eroding asphalt. Now it seems most likely that I face imprisonment or execution for my utter disdain for societal goals.
Depressing. It is far more likely that the close future will involve fascistic governments than anarchy. Damn it.
Ethanol: it digests incompletely in my body, and wreaks havoc with my combustion engines. Fuck you, agribusiness.
Riddle me this. If Catton’s Overshoot was published in 1982, assuming that the argument is reasonable and backed with reasonable logic and fact, why is the planet still headed into the shitter?
Bad: Hipsters; worse: hipsters with motorcycles. Worst: same hipster clown, with ironic tattoos. Bad: Baby Boomers; worse: Boomers driving ‘hybrid’ fuel vehicles emblazoned with Obama 2008 stickers, at a solid 10mph below the average speed of the surrounding traffic. Bad: Chrome-covered H-D shitwagons; worse: 30/40-somethings on chrome-covered H-D shitwagons with every ‘factory...
Skyline. The shit, I needed some science fiction.
Femullet. Tragic haircut.
Rosemary & cardamom simple syrups tomorrow. And, putting two vanilla beans into a fifth of Maker’s Mark. Mixers to be.
Craving avocados. And pickled herring, with red onions.
L-shape chins, the ever-loving heat.
I really need to find a warehouse or 3-bay garage for sale in NW Arizona, N Texas, or N New Mexico. I have been living like a cat lady among my tools and bike parts for too long.
Watching Dr Who. Rose Tyler has a nice bum.
Time to drill the uprights on my dip-rack for supinated hand position. And if my houseguest invites some insane woman for dinner, I am smacking her the first stupid comment made.
Waiting for parts to arrive in the mail. A test of patience, indeed. It does, however, give me time to read in the shade outside.
Time and Relative Dimension in Space
Last of the Living. That, my friend, is good fucking stuff.
Warning bells: woman states, “You’re Irish, I could tell from the tattoos and the green skullcap,” and “They’re killing our heroes,” referring not to MLK or JFK, but to Michael Jackson. I am not letting my houseguest bring any more women home.