Always Late

My boat may not be the first in the water, but it's also not the first to pitch-pole. =) I hope it's righted by the time I go back downstairs. I don't have time to help... I'm running late for work.

Imitation...

It's the lowest form of shame.

What do Neon Genesis Evangelion and Eureka 7 have in common? They're both great until the end. Trance and neon hearts... What the fuck?!

Garage Doors and Chainsaws

I live in the room over the garage. In the [f?]ROG. It certainly has its perks, but at what cost?...

[0500] The door leading from the utility/laundry hall into the garage is quietly opened and then slammed shut, causing the walls in the immediate vicinity to shutter with contempt. Seconds later the electronic garage door actuator is activated, the door moans in it's tracks, the ceiling above trembles with anxiety. Shortly after, the door closes in a similar manner.

[0630] The above process repeats, but this time the slamming happens last, and is usually louder (it is harder to close from the inside).

This series of events has happened every school morning since my dad made room in the garage to fit a car. This morning at 0930 there was the addition of a chainsaw. I understand that 2-cycle engines can make a lot of power for their size, but there has got to be a way to make those things quieter. Lawnmowers and weed trimmers also.

FTL

And poured we libations unto each the dead...

-Ezra Pound

I think I'm not very good at handling the death of others, at least not in a traditional sense. I lack a vocabulary for uttering any but the most mundane words of comfort. And my eyes lack the tears. I try to put myself in the shoes of a witness: what if I was one of four people in a class of twenty-five who wasn't shot? What would that do to me? Miss Sheehan is one of those four. She dressed up as a stewardess from Snakes On A Plane for Halloween. I helped cock-block for her at that party, but never met her. Here I am, relieved that she fained death to live, but how selfish of me. Twenty-one of her classmates are shot. What do you say to that? "Here, read some Camus."?

P.S. Dr. Phil can go fuck himself.

P.P.S. Design matters. Guns are designed to kill people. And their design has been refined over hundreds of years. Even dumb dogs know this. Well designed objects influence their own use.

Also... Erin Sheehan is my hero.

Hey, that's my line.

No, really. It's a nice metaphor.

Describe yourself in three words.
-Snow in April.

+1

I'm adding the word pounce to my list of favorites. POUNCE! It's so hip, so happenin', so... springy.

The boat needs a new tramp. I might make it my first sailing project (maybe concurrent with the ditty bag?).