Health: Handstand push-ups are the base exercise in tonight’s workout. And all I want to do is drink bourbon and wear a cowboy hat. Damn the prudent choice, I am having it all. Add some Dizzee Rascal from Maths & English, and presto, one more rep every set.
Shallowness: I once stopped ‘seeing’ a woman because she not only did not recognize the RZA in American Gangster when I pointed him out, she had not a jot of an idea who Prince Rakim or Ruler-Knowledge-Wisdom-and-Understanding-Allah might be. Pffft, last date with her, and I think I would have been justified to walk out of the theater.
Antisocial-ness: I have embraced my new schedule, internet and phone communications on Monendag, Wodensdag, and Friggsdag only. Preparation for shifting to postal mail as my sole means of communication. I, in my ineffably mature fashion, flipped a few folks the bird as they tailgated me this fine day. I still keep one short helmet specifically for chewing tobacco on the bike, and letting loose a mouthful of special spit when tailgated. I’m a class act.
Neural Net: Re-learning every action left-handed is far more challenging than one might guess. Tougher than braiding six-plus strand covers, tougher than most of the practical chainmaille patterns. Thusly, a pointless and for this guy, entirely worthwhile goal. I have failed, miserably, in my umpteenth attempt to become addicted to nicotine via smoking. Belomorkanals are the heat, and I hear chicks dig them, but no joy, my addiction pathways are spoken for.
