Oh bitter pill

Just to get the word out there, my wife, Lisa Graham had an affair with a gentleman by the name of Jeff Francois while they were at Harvard's Kennedy School together. She only mentioned this when she asked for the divorce. Fools.

Birthday

It's also my birthday. Forgot about that. For my birthday I want you all to do twenty push-ups for Jesus, whether you know the guy or not.

Mischief

Been doing push-ups lately. God I love push-ups. Push-ups should be their own religion. People should get together in large gothic cathedrals and praise God through liturgical push-ups. Make them get their communion on the down up. It'd be the fittest religion ever.

"Do you love God!? Hungh? do ya? Prove it, give me twenty!!"

I'd be the best priest ever. Of course there'd be a fundamentalist branch as well that did those push-ups where you come up and clap your hands, or like, one handed push-ups. My regular push-up church would be branded main stream and would gradually dwindle away as people got older and that new upstart push-up church over in the strip mall that used to be k-mart would have like, thousands of people all doing push-ups at the exact same time and in tempo. My church would promote a diverse push-up where you could do your push ups wide or in the middle. We'd even allow that wuse push up where you're on your knees. That other church, those fundamentalist bastards would be all: "Jesus said do it this way!" when in actuality it was probably Paul who probably only implied something, but they say "The word of the lord" anyways. God that's messed up.

Then there'll be those really wacky types who do push-ups for Jesus but like they have snakes involved and everyone wears too much gold jewelry. There's a connection there people.

For sunday school we'll do sit-ups. Something a little more casual of course.

Set fit criteria

About a week ago in the midst of a fit of apathy I finally saw the sky open and the sun revealed. I have sat on my tushkis long enough. I'm taking far too complicated courses at St. Rose to be lying around bending over couches and chairs, conforming to the shape of my laziness. I went about scavengering for a bit of spinal column. My shoes are shined, my bed made and. . .


ok.

not really. But I'm getting there. I pay attention in class and generally am good about spending time on my homework. I ask questions and have designated time for all of my current activities. It's hard to turn everything around on a dime. But my mood has certainly changed. I like the new beginning aspect to school. Each semester gives you a chance not to fall behind. All you have to do is burn every candle in the house and drink an awful lot of black tea. *Shakes fist at sky* I will not fall behind!

New Years: The Grandma Warnock Special

I had a great weekend hanging out with my family. We had to rehash the grandma situation which I am, at this point, excessively tired of hearing. Grandma Warnock has dominated our last three occasions together without ever having been there. My mother hates going back to Ohio which she, my father and brother all did for about five days. Mom got sick and blamed it on Ohio. My brother described driving back and going through New Jersey, "When we started through Newark, Mom looked up at some refinery and said 'Even New Jersey looks good after Ohio.'"

No doubt! I couldn't muster the strength to go back. I think my parents asked me about four times as if I'd never answered them. "No No No! I no go to Ohio. Enough about the Ohio!" It's a forsaken land, this Toledo. This especially without your own weals while living with my grandmother Warnock. I don't think I could ever eat a butcher's special hamburger again. There is no "Butcher's Special." It's just old meat they have to get rid of. But mix that with some iceburg lettuce, a cardboard piece of tomato and a warm diet coke, you've got a grandma Warnock Lunch. Of course this has kept her alive for the last 72 years. I hardly have such a record.

I haven't quite gotten over a general innefective malaise that's infected me over the last four months. Lot's of responsibilities are piling up and I'm just trudging through them unhappily.

Massive

I've been mixing Yerba Mate with peach tea and adding a little honey on top of that. It all goes into my little gourd picked up down in Argentina. I don't know why I'm up this late avoiding work I don't know if I'll actually accomplish. To some degree I feel like I'm holding vigil for my unnacomplished work: as if sipping hardened tea while grooming my cat and listening to online radio amounts to penance.

My cousin TMed me out of the blue today asking "Mochtest due meine schlange kussen?" It's one of the only German "phrases" he knows. That is if "schlange kussen" could actually be considered a phrase; not really everyday usage.

It made me realize very quickly that I'm in need of something else in my life. Not my cousin's schlange obviously, but something else that Will offers me. Our friendship tends to verge on the surreal, constantly stretching ideas to the breaking point and playfully recasting them with new language. It's a very creative friendship that I used to value highly. For a while he vegged out in a placid state of disrepair. Since he lives in Pittsburgh I didn't have the time or the effort to reconnect with him considering the many times he abondoned our frienship. Periodically we'd get caught up in a brilliant series of correspondences as if a day never passed. Then, as suddenly as it occurred it would end.

For about a year and a half in high school Will lived with my family. We had bunkbeds in my room and Will and I spent many nights chatting. Usually we engaged in endless parodies of our daily lives. It was the only way we decompressed from the riggors of midwest Ohio. My parents would listen to us laugh in the other room and about a year or two later, my father admitted that he was mildly jealous of our friendship because he didn't have someone in his life like that. Now, here I am, longing for that kind of experience again. It's something I need in my everyday life.

6 to the one to the L-O

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