I've been trying to figure out exactly why I still update this here journal diary site every day. It gets harder and harder to write things that even entertain me, and I am one easily entertained fool of a man.
All I really did last night was watch Invader Zim on Divx... which reminds me, I have to mail the CDs I copied for a person. Person, if you're reading this hold tight, they're coming.
Anyway, I'm easily entertained, I'm wondering why I keep this journal, and I actually found a pretty good reason why I keep writing in it: I can look back on what I was doing last year!
Its rather obvious, I know, but having a semi detailed record of what I was doing on a daily basis years ago really can come in handy.
[Beginning entry from 3-26-2001]
Ok, I feel horrible today. Getting a few hours of sleep will do that to you.
I told Jen I would pick her up at the airport last night. 1 am in Boston. I live in Providence - an hour away.
IT'S THE AIRLINE INDUSTRY, SO OF COURSE THE PLANE IS FREAKING LATE!
4:30 am I fall asleep.
8:00 am I wake up.
You see, I truly believe I am getting too old for this shit. I can't handle it. I get hangovers now. I have to use tissues instead of doing that projectile snot shot out a single nostril while you hold the other closed with your thumb...
Ummm... Ok, I never could do the projectile snot thing very well, but if I did, I'd feel too old for it now!
I'm just tired
and a little pissed that Jen never thanked me for picking her up.
I DID DREAM ABOUT MY DEAD CAT LAST NIGHT THOUGH! Don't read the previous entry if you cry easily.
Please, no no no, no more autographs for the cheeriest man in the world award recipient. The young man who feels old needs more coffee.
Much more coffee.
[End entry from 3-26-2001]
Now if my friends or my girlfriend ever say to me that I never feel like doing anything, that I'm too tired all the time, or ask me why I seem different, I can just go to the archives.
I can go to this same day last year and prove that I've always been bitchy, tired, apathetic, and generally blasé in the month of March.
Well, that's enough of that. I don't want to get too excited and pull a muscle
in my brain.
I'm getting all the hairs on my head cut tomorrow. All of them. If the stylist misses a hair I'm going to be pissed.
I also grew a beard. No more goatee for a while. I think I did it as a personal backlash against Apolo Ohno. That little peace patch he sports has started a trend towards smaller and smaller goatees and frankly I don't like it. So I've protested by letting my goatee take over my entire face.
GOATEES OF THE WORLD UNITE! Take over your owner's faces! Grow to Walt Whitman proportions! References to the Taliban be damned!
As a result of this rather large growth of facial hair, I've been getting strange glances when I walk through the city. Mostly from people who look rather...
Perhaps they think I'm a member of the Taliban. They might think I'm a member of Al Quaida.
Perhaps middle aged women and men with pinched faces and sidelong glances are mistaking me for Osama Bin Laden! We're both the same height.
Ahh, if it were only true. If I were actually Osama Bin Laden, I'd drop all this destroy the Western World and bring purity back to the holy land nonsense. Instead I'd use my power, influence, money and guerilla war training to start a flashy marketing campaign against countries that don't like flan.
I'd use my powers of CIA sponsored evil to educate the world on the wonders of flan
because who shouldn't like flan?