Posts in Category: Fall 2002


Sometimes I get the feeling that my entire life would be better if I just packed up all my shit, got in my car, and drove until sunrise. And wherever I was when the first sliver of actual sun appeared over the horizon, I would remain forever. Things would be better, starting fresh, having no past, no identity.

That’s the fantasy, anyway; I know that wouldn’t be the reality. Unless TV has lied to me, I know that if I left, one of two things would happen: (1) I would get murdered by someone who preys on people who want to disappear, or (2) I would be sent to a brutal hell dimension where I would be enslaved and abused until I was no longer useful. Either way, that probably doesn’t seem like such a good thing.

Still, it would be nice to go to a big city or a small town and just get lost. It’d be nice to start over. No need to worry about the mistakes of the past; I could concentrate on making brand new mistakes.

A good idea was donated to me by a friend. Something he said brought back a memory from junior high, and that memory spurred dozens of other memories of that bizarre and hilarious time in my life. He said, “Hey, you should write about that.” Yeah, I should. I’ve got a vague idea of thematic elements that could loosely tie together a series of short stories about the most memorable experiences in junior high.

It’s pretty odd, though, how I don’t remember as much about high school as I do about junior high. Well, I do, I guess. I have memories, and if I strained hard I could remember vividly. And when people jog my memory, the specific icident becomes clear in my mind. But never as clear as junior high. I wonder why that is.

I’m gonna go read.

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I hate commercials. A lot. Granted, I don’t watch them often (thanks to the magic of a taping shows—yeah, I’m not cool enough for TiVo yet), and when I do they’re muted, but there are occasions when the remote is on the other side of the room, so I’m subjected to the horror of commercial advertisements.

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Weight Loss

I’m a fucking chubby piece of shit. I’m not fat, really. Well, maybe I am. But I prefer to think of myself as chubby.

But I have a new weight loss goal in mind. I just bought a large t-shirt. Yes, a large. There were no extra-larges available. I want to lose enough weight for it to not be form-fitting, and I want that to happen before it fades. It helps that it’s fade resistant, which will buy me some time, because I’m not off to a very good start.

Here’s how not to start your diet: a half-dozen Dunkin Donuts in the morning (don’t forget the 12 oz. coffee with cream and sugar), followed by a sensible six hours of Cheez-It munching, followed by a nutritious (and delicious!) dinner of McDonalds. God, I’m a fucking chubby piece of shit.

But that’s all over now. I’m back on the diet. And I’m exercising again. The damn exercycle thing is no longer covered in wall-to-wall shit from the Sister Dynasty. I can actually get to it without Indiana Jones-esque maneuvering. One of these days, I might actually get back to my target weight of “looks decent in a large t-shirt.” Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get down to the svelte 174 I weighed when I was 16.

It could happen. Just as soon as I finish the other half-dozen donuts…

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So I saw a trailer for the new Daredevil movie, and I gotta say, it looks pretty damn good.

You’ve got Ben Affleck as the superhero with two major problems: (1) he’s blind and (2) he stuck a wirebrush down his throat. You’ve got Jen Garner, looking hotter than ever, as…well, I dunno what the hell she’s supposed to be, but as long as she looks hot and kicks ass, it’s enough to get my ass in the theatre. You’ve got Jon Favreau, fatter than ever, looking like some freak Orson Welles-Marlon Brando monster, wedged into a chair in a lower Manhattan café for all eternity. And you’ve got Colin Farrell, master of really poorly faking non-Irish accents, as the neo-Nazi bad guy. Ooh, and we mustn’t forget Joe Pantoliano as the annoying-as-all-get-out reporter, and Michael Clarke Duncan as the huge black guy who stands around looking menacing. And the almost certainly frightening cameos by Kevin Smith and Coolio.

I hate comic-book movies because most of them fucking suck, but this one looks like a keeper. Okay, actually, it also looks like it sucks, but it’s got the Jen Garner factor, and it’s got a pretty decent cast. So yay for Daredevil. And yay for Jen Garner.

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