Yo, this will be brief.
Got up at 6:30am, had some coffee, took the trash to the dump. Tried for sixty years to burn one CD. Finally I showered and went out.
Ready for my first day at work... at Goody's.
It has dawned on me that I'm doing this to be nice, not because I want to or need to necessarily. The manager is a friend and needed someone to work stock. I said yes I would and I started that today.
What fun, what joy!
All I can say is that there is a phrase burned into my eyes: This Bag Is Not A Toy.
Who has ever confused a bag for a toy? Those who would are more than likely illiterate -- such as the case would be with small children and the mentally disabled.
I also learned that many things are still made in Hong Kong. No word yet about those starving kids in China who've always been offended by the amount food left on my plate. Maybe they got jobs working in the sweatshops that make the overpriced bullshit we all buy. If that's the case, I expect them to be more grateful in the future and stop bitching about my eating habits.
The guys I work with are cool.
That's enough. I'm in Atlanta now and it's a quarter to 6am. I've only taken a thirty minute nap so maybe I should sleep. Hopefully, tomorrow, I'll be seeing Fahrenheit 9/11. And yes, I'll tell you all about how it is because I know you're all too cheap to see it yourself.
Once again, you can live vicariously through me.
(UPDATE)
I've seen F-9/11. I'm not ashamed to admit that it made me cry. A lot. I'm sensitive when it comes to the sufferings of others. I don't like seeing death, despair and trauma. I can deal with it but I never like it. Some of the things you'll see in the documentary (really more of a movie because though fact based there is far more propaganda), will effect you. Should effect you, provided you have a soul. However, I concede you may not react as I did. After all, I'm a little man on the inside. Some would say a "boy" or "wimp". There are other terms that I deem unmentionable here where mixed company may read.
Can't wait to see Spiderman 2 now. Something light and bouncy with lots of flashing and laughter.
Speaking of, will someone please make karaoke happen for me? I know this isn't something that a cultured and highly intelligent fella such as myself should be missing but goddamn if I do. Can't help it. I want to sing. I want to let the very contents of my heart and soul rip forth high in the sky then watch it all fall pleasantly into the ears of my demanding audience. Then again, I don't do it for you, the fans. No, I do this for myself. To grasp the fleeting glory that flashes its tits at me when I'm on stage. And unfortunately, I can't do it alone. I need help getting there, staying there. Making the magic happen. I need a person in my inner circle who will sit amazed at my talent and stage presence, pretend not to notice then behind my back tell everyone how awesome I am so that in the days that follow, people part like the Red Sea when I come walking by.
So who's up for it?
And those who are applying for the position of editor, please send me your real eMail addresses so I can send you my work. We're going to start with a short story or two -- so we get a handle on things -- then we're going to get busy on the novel. Don't forget. You're important.
And I didn't wake up until 3pm. Fuck you, rooster! Fuck you very much.
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