Time Travel at Normal Speed.

Well, I don't know what brought you to do it, but you wound up back here.  I appreciate it.  It makes me think, "Oh man, I am really cool and some people think I'm both funny and a genius."  Some people in this life don't really get to feel that way.  Unless he/she is really pretentious and in love with him/herself.  Which, the case still may be that deep down inside he/she actually feels inadequate and needs to make up for that by pretending to be funny and a genius.  I don't know.  I'm not a psychologist.

I'm not a lot of things.  Have you figured that one out yet?  Right, of course you have.  Right now I'm a guy in his fuzzy pajama-jam pants and t-shirt, drinking Sakura Allure green tea (one of the new installments to the Teavana selection), and listening to Dredg's "The Pariah, The Parrot, The Delusion".  Comfy day after Halloween.

Unsure of what to post this week, but I had a few ideas.  Let's roll with one of them.

Now, as some of you may or may not know, I was once a fat kid.  That thing to the left?  Fat kid.  Fourteen years old.  Spring of eighth grade, 2001.  As you can tell, I wasn't really socially conscious, either, which didn't really help my weak, adolescent self-esteem, which I can go more in depth on another time with both funny and scarring anecdotes.  And my looks?  I don't even think the 90's would've allowed it (and they did allow a lot).  First of all, I'm wearing a ridiculous early 90's Hawaiian shirt ("But Michael, how do you know it's from the early 90's?" "Because It was once my father's and he got it when we went to Hawaii in 1991.  I wore it back then because I thought Hawaiian shirts were 'in'").  I also had quite the bowl cut for many years.  Glance over to exhibit B.

                                         Exhibit B.
(The only way you can make this cuter is if you were to staple new born kittens to this child.)

Yeah, ever since I was a tot I was graced with a golden bowl atop my crown.  And pinchable cheeks.  Which, however you look at it, could be a blessing, or something you wish you could do away with altogether so that people wouldn't think your six years younger than you are (See "How I Spend My October" for an in depth explanation). 

The point of all of this being is that, yesterday morning, at about 7 am Central Standard Time, I registered myself for the GO! St. Louis Marathon, something I've been anticipating to accomplish for about a year.  Now, as you may remember, loyal followers, I did mention in "Going the Extra Mile" that this is one of my life goals.  After I realized a year ago that I can run more than a couple miles at one time, I figured I could continue to add on the miles.  A marathon will just be a very drawn out, two mile run.  I'm excited, but mostly terrified.  I may or may not die.  This may be the last thing I accomplish in life.  If this is so, speak with Phillip Freeman.  He knows best on how to prepare my funeral.  There will be a cake and everything.

But in all seriousness, I'm really excited about training and actually going through with it.  A lot of the things I actually accomplished in my life that were notable I was pressured into doing.  Maybe pressured isn't the right word, but I was coaxed to accomplish certain goals that weren't necessarily completely my own.  This goal, though, is mine.  No one told me to do it.  I'm completely choosing to do it, and the reward from that feels even more special.  Then again, perhaps that smiling fat kid in picture one is actually telling me to do it.  "You've got this far.  You've rearranged yourself so that you'll never be this again.  Keep going.  Keep growing."  He probably doesn't care.  If he were here to speak with me he would ask, "Sooo...do you get a lot of girls now?"  I would then sit him down and fill him in on a lot of things.  Not just girls, but his future and my past in general.  But mostly about women.  I need to prepare him for the things that are about to happen to him.

Now, you take all of what I said, think about it for a half hour, then just forget about it and move on with life like you normally do.  But remember!  Be back here next week.  Surely there will be more luscious word gold to wade through.

Until then.

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.