It's been awhile since I've sat down with enough motivation to write anything, and I've got to say, I've been busy. Oh, don't worry; I'm not actually going to tell you about any of it, I just wanted you all to know that I've been existing pretty steadily during the last month or so. Speaking of the last month, that's about how long I've been home from Germany, which is just starting to feel something close to normal. Keep in mind that "normal" has always been a suspect word as far as I'm concerned, but I guess that's just because I've never really met anything normal. OK, that was a lie. I've met plenty of normal things, but I just tend to get creeped out by them. You know what I mean, the person who is so totally unobjectionable and likeable in the way they dress, talk, act, pray, laugh, eat, express opinions, and tell jokes, and so on, that there's nothing to dislike. You can't help but like everything about them, and I hate that. It drives me mad. If there's not something about someone that makes me just a little crazy, I can't stand to be around them.
Luckily, things aren't that normal yet, just a bit boring, to be honest. See, I don't have a job yet, and school hasn't started, so I spend a lot of my time purging the Jedi Temple in "The Revenge of Sith" video game, a process that I like to think of as the self-flagellation of geekdom, because....Look, I think we all know how I feel about the new Star Wars movies, so let's just spare ourselves a bit of ineffectual rage and move on, shall we? To put it simply, wearing a horse hair shirt has never been my kind of thing, and neither is sitting on the couch eating grocery store sushi while imagining myself with force powers and, most importantly, a lightsaber, while not-so-silently cursing George Lucus for murdering a long chunk of my childhood, It gets old, believe it or not.
So I've drunk a lot of coffee in the past four weeks, and I do have to confess that I am a huge fan of reading in a coffee shop, not only because it's, well, a good place to read, but because I get to watch all the people who come in and eavesdrop on their conversations. I guess that's why it's taken me this long to finish "20,000 Leagues Under The Sea," but I did it. The squid scene is fantastically cool, by the way. Just thought I'd let you know. Oh, the rest of the book is good too, but the squid! Man! A SQUID! Anyway, I've had a lot of coffee, read a lot, and sat around and had shamelessly geeky conversations/arguments with my room mates, and by room mates, I mean Ben....If Batman counts as a super hero, so does Zorro, but that's all I'm going to say about that. Really. That's all.
That's basically all I've been up to. I'm at home right now taking care of all the animals, and it's kind of nice. I can sit around, read, watch a bit of television, then head out and feed the dogs. It sounds cute, but it really isn't, not with six. One or two, that's kind of charming, but a hot, panting, and eerily moist mass of six hysterically hungry dogs leaping and pressing itself against you crosses the line from pet to some writhing outback abomination that locals tell stories of while huddled in a dim, candle-lit tavern set by a sunken road and surrounded my bleached and rattling dead trees. But my family buys pets according to the Sam's Club school of thought: "why buy one dog, when you can buy six at half price? A gallon of pickles, six dogs, it's all the same." It really wouldn't be that extraordinary if it stopped there, but it doesn't, as tradition would dictate. We have, according to my last count, six dogs, two miniature donkeys, three Llamas (yes, Llamas), six chickens, one mule, about six horses (I can never remember those), and, most recently, 30,000 honey bees. This last one kind of surprised me, and I believe it to be a physical manifestation of a secret, subconsious death wish held by my father. It's kind of like the book "Sphere," only without the alien. And the spaceship. You see, my father has, among other things, the unenviable ability to get stung anywhere, anytime, providing there is at least one stinging insect in the immediate area. So he buys 30,000 bees. That makes sense, right?
The truth is, very few things do make sense, least of all a dog, and we allow, no, INVITE them to live with us, and you know what? I love it. That doesn't say too much for the human race, or at least this one, but whatever....dude. I'm going to take the little French Bulldog outside on a leash later, walk her in circles, and say all kinds of nasty things when she refuses to go to the bathroom. She'll look up with the most calculated pitiful face seen on the American continent since Nixon's "Checkers Speech," and I'll melt, pat her on the head, then swear some more.
Ah, love. It's something else.
Luckily, things aren't that normal yet, just a bit boring, to be honest. See, I don't have a job yet, and school hasn't started, so I spend a lot of my time purging the Jedi Temple in "The Revenge of Sith" video game, a process that I like to think of as the self-flagellation of geekdom, because....Look, I think we all know how I feel about the new Star Wars movies, so let's just spare ourselves a bit of ineffectual rage and move on, shall we? To put it simply, wearing a horse hair shirt has never been my kind of thing, and neither is sitting on the couch eating grocery store sushi while imagining myself with force powers and, most importantly, a lightsaber, while not-so-silently cursing George Lucus for murdering a long chunk of my childhood, It gets old, believe it or not.
So I've drunk a lot of coffee in the past four weeks, and I do have to confess that I am a huge fan of reading in a coffee shop, not only because it's, well, a good place to read, but because I get to watch all the people who come in and eavesdrop on their conversations. I guess that's why it's taken me this long to finish "20,000 Leagues Under The Sea," but I did it. The squid scene is fantastically cool, by the way. Just thought I'd let you know. Oh, the rest of the book is good too, but the squid! Man! A SQUID! Anyway, I've had a lot of coffee, read a lot, and sat around and had shamelessly geeky conversations/arguments with my room mates, and by room mates, I mean Ben....If Batman counts as a super hero, so does Zorro, but that's all I'm going to say about that. Really. That's all.
That's basically all I've been up to. I'm at home right now taking care of all the animals, and it's kind of nice. I can sit around, read, watch a bit of television, then head out and feed the dogs. It sounds cute, but it really isn't, not with six. One or two, that's kind of charming, but a hot, panting, and eerily moist mass of six hysterically hungry dogs leaping and pressing itself against you crosses the line from pet to some writhing outback abomination that locals tell stories of while huddled in a dim, candle-lit tavern set by a sunken road and surrounded my bleached and rattling dead trees. But my family buys pets according to the Sam's Club school of thought: "why buy one dog, when you can buy six at half price? A gallon of pickles, six dogs, it's all the same." It really wouldn't be that extraordinary if it stopped there, but it doesn't, as tradition would dictate. We have, according to my last count, six dogs, two miniature donkeys, three Llamas (yes, Llamas), six chickens, one mule, about six horses (I can never remember those), and, most recently, 30,000 honey bees. This last one kind of surprised me, and I believe it to be a physical manifestation of a secret, subconsious death wish held by my father. It's kind of like the book "Sphere," only without the alien. And the spaceship. You see, my father has, among other things, the unenviable ability to get stung anywhere, anytime, providing there is at least one stinging insect in the immediate area. So he buys 30,000 bees. That makes sense, right?
The truth is, very few things do make sense, least of all a dog, and we allow, no, INVITE them to live with us, and you know what? I love it. That doesn't say too much for the human race, or at least this one, but whatever....dude. I'm going to take the little French Bulldog outside on a leash later, walk her in circles, and say all kinds of nasty things when she refuses to go to the bathroom. She'll look up with the most calculated pitiful face seen on the American continent since Nixon's "Checkers Speech," and I'll melt, pat her on the head, then swear some more.
Ah, love. It's something else.
posted by Der verwirrte Ausländer at 1:36 PM
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