Newspapers Matter Not to Me, Yeah, 2001-09-17

It is a cloudy and drizzly Monday morning. Kind of nice. It has cooled off. There are pumkins in stores.

Not a peep from me here for a few weeks. I'll tell you some things now.

Do not underestimate the joy that can result in having your underpants cleaned for you in your very own personal basement. I have felt this joy and it is deep and it is meaningful.

I saw a commercial for Subway yesterday that was essentially a black screen with some scrolling text about what happened last week. It seemed nice and tasteful. But they used "impact" as a transitive verb and so I decided I hated it.

I don't have much of anything to say about last week. I tried to avoid posting anything. All the other posts using words and phrases like "numb" and "disbelief" and "there are no words" and etc. just kind of seemed tacky. To me. The first-hand accounts though, the stories and the I-was-six-blocks-from-the-collapse type personal photos really kind of worked for me. The personal web. I think it's valuable stuff.

I have some airplane trips in the coming weeks that I am now really just not sure about at all. I don't know. I feel like a weiner. I have been planning and looking forward. But I guess I'll really have to decide what is worth what. I'm not sure I have enough of what Mike Shannon would call "intestinal fortitude" to deal with the now all-too-likely possibilities.

I've been having some bizarre dreams lately. Like really bizarre. And this is coming from someone whose dreams are rarely if ever rooted in anything close to reality.

My hair is stupid. It is reaching punk-rawk proportions in terms of height and overall maintenance and prep time. I look ridiculous because I'm scared of haircuts. You people laugh at me, I'm certain.

Keep on keepin' on.

Newspapers Matter Not to Me, Yeah, 2001-09-17

Content and Etc. © 2001 Tim Boyd, But Take Whatever You Want.

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