“I couldn’t sleep at all last night,” says the song. I, of course, know it too well.
Archive for Ventually
You remember the old saying, right? “The Internet: where men are men, women are men, and children are FBI agents.” Sometimes I wonder if I remember it too well.
How can you be subjected to peer pressure when you don’t have any peers?
I tend to pay no attention to my dreams unless they’re really off the wall. But what if one of them might be trying to tell me something?
Update, 9 July: Everything apparently came off well.
What can you say about a sixteen-year-old kid who may be dying? And what, as a 60-year-old in tolerable health, can I possibly say?
Update, 9 June: It appears that the kid’s lease on life is a lot less tenuous than he said it was.
Surprisingly, the population is fairly dense, for several definitions of “dense.”
Seriously: how much does it matter if someone is wrong on the Internet?
Were I independently wealthy and generally unencumbered, I’d have no problem getting out of bed that late. Unfortunately, I am neither of those things.
Not so far away, there’s a blonde in her middle sixties who can rock tight contemporary jeans better than the teenager up the block. She is, of course, spoken for. Even if she weren’t, though, I have no business even mentioning it.
There’s something fundamentally wrong with a tax code that routinely costs ordinary people many hours and dollars every single year, and not just for taxes either.
I had no idea I was even heading in this direction; I’m as surprised as you are. Maybe more so.
Once upon a time, fashion was intended to serve the time-honored function of making sure that boy meets girl. (There always were, and still are, other combinations possible, but they require a bit more specialization, or so it seems to me.) Today, the dynamic is utterly different.
There was a time when people would think to themselves “You know, this job sucks,” but then pushed that thought out of their minds and finished the job, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.
That time was, um, earlier this week.
There are times, admittedly not often, when you might actually want to vote for an incumbent. This is one of those times.
No, I’m not going all Trent Reznor all of a sudden. But damn, I don’t remember being this fragile.
Consider this a brief summation of what goes through your head as you desperately search for ways to keep this old clunker running for just a few more weeks. And by “you,” I of course mean “me.”
Shorter version: if “people” = “yes” than “it” = “not appropriate.” If it gets complicated after that, well, so do people.
If I understand things correctly — and who says I do? — it won’t actually be finished so long as I’m breathing.
Remember when the holidays weren’t politicized to a fare-thee-well? Well, I do.
Where did it come from? What did it mean? And why is it sitting on my desk?
There is friendship, and there is magic. And there are times when it might take the latter to bring about the former.
An insufficiently mild horror story of teddy bears and piano teachers.