Good Ideas

I'm eating Dunkaroos.  Yes, the little snack that was unhealthy and packed with deadly sugar but you still loved as a child.  Or at least I did.  Enough to become fat (more on that later).  A friend of mine found them and bought a box for me to indulge.  To her I could not be more grateful.  Mostly to have another opportunity to live in the 90's again.  Which, by the way, reminds me of the great thing Teen Nick has decided to do.  In an effort to, I suppose, just give up on making any new material, they brought back the classics of 90's nick.  Which is fine by me for two reasons:

1).  90's Nick made life okay.  It brought me up into the wholesome human being I am today (along with probably a few other things).
2).  The stuff they were showing on there before they got the bright idea of replaying old shows in their 11pm-1am time slot was trash.  Sorry.

I don't blame you, Teen Nick.  I do not blame you.  So, to that, I give the head nod of appreciation.  It's the highest form of flattery from me.  You should consider yourselves geniuses for the decision you've made and retire somewhere nice.  Some place with palm trees.  That's just my preference.  I'm sure you've got some good ideas.

All right.  With all of that said and put behind us, we can get to the sweet juice of this post that I've been grinding in my mind all day. 

Pour.

Honestly, though, I really don't have a whole lot to report.  Some cool news that just went down today is that the intership I've been doing at Chalice Press will now become a part time gig with pay.  I'm darn excited.  So, I'll be serving not only the tea lords but also the publishing world.  Hopefully soon it will all lead to something else...like me living in Portland.  It's the next logical step.  Become the west coast beat poet I've dreamed of turning into.  Do hipster things.  Eat organic food.  Wear "vintage" clothes.  Make friends with hip musicians in indie bands with names like, "Collin" and "Tanya".  Yeah man, this whole publishing thing is sure to open some doors to let out my inner yuppie.

Interjection:  I'm wearing some sweet fuzzy pj pants.  They're no match to my Tyrannosaurus Rex/Jurassic Park pjs I had when I was but a tot, but they are stinking comfortable.  I have had them for nearly a year.  I suppose there could have been a better time to mention them in the past, but now you know I have some extremely comfortable pajama-jam pants.  I recommend investing in some.  And if I ever owned a business, fuzzy pajama pants would be mandatory.

"Look Earl, I know it's your first day, but khaki slacks?  Come on, man, chill out.  Throw on these fuzzy pajama pants.  Yes they're clean, smell them.  Yeah, Snuggles soft with a hint of mountain breeze scent.  Now you're ready to get 'em, tiger.  Go out there and power point the pants off them.  But not their pajama pants.  Their metaphoric pants.  We want to keep these people comfortable."

Either that, or we all wear kimonos.  Kimonos and fuzzy pajama pants.  Wow, that's fantastic.  You know you want to work for me now.  Too bad, you have to apply first.  Then there's this thing we do with new folk who want a job: Interview.  And after that is the survival test.  I open the trap door, you land in the room with the t-rex with bear arms and a shark tail that breathes fire.  If you outwit it, we may give you a call back.

Cool.  Well, I'm going to bed.  No, you can't come.  That's  really weird.  Plus Mike Lee is his own man and likes to flail and roll about in his bed.  He needs all the room for his unpredictable sleep movements. 

Take care, take care, take care.  See (or write) you somewhere on the other side.