I've come to the realization that I'm a much better reader than a writer. I have not blogged in weeks but I've added at least 7 new blogs to my Favorites tab on my old school but dependable PC.
I'd like to say the spirit hasnt moved me in a while but the real reason is that I got locked up in prison and I got my hand chopped off a la T-Bag. But never fear, I scored some batteries from my guy in Kitchen and swiped a pillow case and beat the living daylights out of the birdie who decided to sing about my recently acquired contraband hidden in my toilet. As it turns out, I had the wrong snitch so I've been doing everything I can to get my ass to solitary so I wont be jumped in yard. The DOC out here is corrupt but if I can swing a couple weeks of good behavior, I could be in out in 20.
Ohhhh....I'm sorry. Did I mention that I'm completely enthralled with Prison Break? Not familiar? Well you should be. Otherwise I've got a shank with your name tattoed on it.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Getting High with Odd Thomas
One of my fellow bloggers has taken to mentioning Dean Koontz and this book Odd Thomas for quite some time so I decided to take him up on it and read the damn thing. I liked it. I liked it alot. Not only do I love Koontz references to classic literature (William Blake, hells yeah) but the story is masterfully crafted. Great, now I sound like a pretentious asshole.
Anyway, this isnt a book review. If you like good stories, I recommend it. However, this is about getting high. No, for those of you out there who dont me, I didnt really get high. Unless you consider reading a quality book akin to the hallucinogenic high that comes from smoking herb, then yes, I did get high on good literature.
I checked out Odd Thomas from the library and have been reading it straight for a week and half now. Except for the occasional Arrested Development show, it has become the essential part of my daily bedtime routine. Brush. Floss. Wash Face. Curl up with Thomas. With 100 pages left to go, I realized that the book was due today. With a break from work, I decided to plop myself on my deck with a glass of water, cigarettes and the steely resolve to finish Odd Thomas before noon.
After 50 pages or so, I knew the goal was in sight. Thomas has just discovered a body and...well, I wont ruin it but it was a good, good part. As I flip to the next chapter I spot something pressed into the creases of the book. It was green with a slight hint of orange. At first I thought, oh great, a booger. Thats rich. And original. Some idiot didnt like the book so he picked his nose and left his nasty green gooze in between the pages for people like me to find.
Looking closely, I realized it was not a booger. It lacked the sticky consistency of a booger. Rather than attach itself to my finger, this "booger" crumbled like the Walls of Jericho. Because, like all humans, we have a fascination with all things gross, I began to poke and prod and like a 3 year old kid, I let some of this "booger" linger on my finger and slowly drew it up to my nose.
The distinct smell of mary jane hit me square in the face and I think I may have accidentally snorted a piece of it in nose during my "holy crap, its weed" reaction. I picked at it some more and noticed the small trappings of weed crammed into the spine of the book. I laughed. The idea of some high school pothead reaching the climax of Oddie's story, freaking out and promptly rolling a doobie to offset the drama is, in fact, hilarious.
Curious to find out more, I flipped through more pages and noticed small specks of greenery lining the spine of the next several pages. Wanting be a 100% percent sure of my discovery, I jammed the book into my nose, inhaling and exhaling that rotting skunk smell. This was weed all right. Real cannabis.
Still reeling, I finished the book. I'm about to return it to the library this afternoon and part of me would love to walk up and say, "Excuse me, but someone left some weed in this book, its not me, but I thought you should know." Or "I believe some lowlife street thugs are using this paragon of literature to traffic drugs."
Perhaps I'll just quietly slip the book into the large steel dropbox and leave it for the next patrons. Maybe a little high will brighten their day.
Anyway, this isnt a book review. If you like good stories, I recommend it. However, this is about getting high. No, for those of you out there who dont me, I didnt really get high. Unless you consider reading a quality book akin to the hallucinogenic high that comes from smoking herb, then yes, I did get high on good literature.
I checked out Odd Thomas from the library and have been reading it straight for a week and half now. Except for the occasional Arrested Development show, it has become the essential part of my daily bedtime routine. Brush. Floss. Wash Face. Curl up with Thomas. With 100 pages left to go, I realized that the book was due today. With a break from work, I decided to plop myself on my deck with a glass of water, cigarettes and the steely resolve to finish Odd Thomas before noon.
After 50 pages or so, I knew the goal was in sight. Thomas has just discovered a body and...well, I wont ruin it but it was a good, good part. As I flip to the next chapter I spot something pressed into the creases of the book. It was green with a slight hint of orange. At first I thought, oh great, a booger. Thats rich. And original. Some idiot didnt like the book so he picked his nose and left his nasty green gooze in between the pages for people like me to find.
Looking closely, I realized it was not a booger. It lacked the sticky consistency of a booger. Rather than attach itself to my finger, this "booger" crumbled like the Walls of Jericho. Because, like all humans, we have a fascination with all things gross, I began to poke and prod and like a 3 year old kid, I let some of this "booger" linger on my finger and slowly drew it up to my nose.
The distinct smell of mary jane hit me square in the face and I think I may have accidentally snorted a piece of it in nose during my "holy crap, its weed" reaction. I picked at it some more and noticed the small trappings of weed crammed into the spine of the book. I laughed. The idea of some high school pothead reaching the climax of Oddie's story, freaking out and promptly rolling a doobie to offset the drama is, in fact, hilarious.
Curious to find out more, I flipped through more pages and noticed small specks of greenery lining the spine of the next several pages. Wanting be a 100% percent sure of my discovery, I jammed the book into my nose, inhaling and exhaling that rotting skunk smell. This was weed all right. Real cannabis.
Still reeling, I finished the book. I'm about to return it to the library this afternoon and part of me would love to walk up and say, "Excuse me, but someone left some weed in this book, its not me, but I thought you should know." Or "I believe some lowlife street thugs are using this paragon of literature to traffic drugs."
Perhaps I'll just quietly slip the book into the large steel dropbox and leave it for the next patrons. Maybe a little high will brighten their day.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Are you Pregnant?
For some reason, I've been having a insane fear that someone will ask me that question. They will catch me wearing one of those empire waist dresses (that are oh-so-comfortable and my current summer wardrobe of choice) and my belly will slip through and then they will utter those three words. Ridiculous, right?
Now, I'm not pregnant in any way, shape or form, nor do I wish to be pregnant at this juncture of my life. And I'm not fat...but not skinny. Healthy is a word I like to use. Perhaps this fear of the question is only, as my friend TV Girl says " projecting negative body image issues" onto to my perfectly normal sized figure, but still, I'd like to be prepared should someone decide to get nosy. So, I've come up with a few responses to the question.
-"No. But I love what they've done with your face. How long ago was the surgery?"
-"No. Its only a boob job gone completely awry."
-"No. I have the largest tumor known to man and I've got 3 months left to live."
-"Yes. No thanks to your husband."
-"No. I have stomach cancer. Thanks for bring it up. You are a bastard."
-"Ohh my gosh, I am...what the...who the...." (followed by intense wailing and crying and falling down on the ground)
Now, I'm not pregnant in any way, shape or form, nor do I wish to be pregnant at this juncture of my life. And I'm not fat...but not skinny. Healthy is a word I like to use. Perhaps this fear of the question is only, as my friend TV Girl says " projecting negative body image issues" onto to my perfectly normal sized figure, but still, I'd like to be prepared should someone decide to get nosy. So, I've come up with a few responses to the question.
-"No. But I love what they've done with your face. How long ago was the surgery?"
-"No. Its only a boob job gone completely awry."
-"No. I have the largest tumor known to man and I've got 3 months left to live."
-"Yes. No thanks to your husband."
-"No. I have stomach cancer. Thanks for bring it up. You are a bastard."
-"Ohh my gosh, I am...what the...who the...." (followed by intense wailing and crying and falling down on the ground)
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