Sunday afternoon. I could be doing something cool; or not so much cool in itself but would lead to cool results if I indeed went ahead and did the less cool part: crawl under my house and pull a CAT-5 wire from the router in my living room to my bedroom computer, thus connecting it to the internet and essentially giving me little reason to ever leave me room again save occasional human contact - which I'll grant is somewhat important - and food, which I also deem important and as of yet have no supply of such in my room so regular trips to the kitchen will still have to happen, but you can't have it all. You can't have it all.
Yesterday I found myself in an otherworldly place known as Glasgow, KY at a little crafts fair on the town square. I was chillin* with my homie Jonathan M. Houser, who had a face painting booth set up for the kids. Now, for all of you who know Jon, you'll probably realize right off the bat that the concept of him running a kid's face painting booth is majorly off anyway, and sure enough it didn't go well for him. He grossed about 4 bucks I think. The sign out in front of his booth said things like "Give me your children's faces!" and "Don't be afraid!" and, my personal favorite: "Please go to the other face panting booth." Not only that but his face was painted up to look like a weird clown, and combined with his crazy top hat and the sunglasses he was wearing, he was literally scaring kids away. It was funny stuff. He had some predesigned faces he painted, and while you could request other things that weren't on his list, satisfaction was explicitly not guaranteed.# His predesigned faces included: A puppy (woof), a kitty (rar), and clown (rar), and the Cure's Robert Smith (my idea). None of them did particularly well.
Well I'm not looking forward to crawling under the house yet so I'm gonna go read a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, the name of which conveniently goes by that same description. It's cool so far... a memoir written by a 28-year-old who's parents both died of different kinds of cancer within a 32 day epoch and thus he was left to take care of his younger brother (who can be found metacritisizing the book in some spots which, I'm told, completely vivisects the author's hypocrisies, albeit I haven't seen them in action yet - I just started the book). Despite the whole parents dying stuff, it's not a sad book at all. Very funny, in fact. This dude has been through some crazy stuff.
I'll leave you know. Off to fight the beginning-of-week ennui in some other ways.
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* I firmly believe my chillin was like a villian.
Yesterday I found myself in an otherworldly place known as Glasgow, KY at a little crafts fair on the town square. I was chillin* with my homie Jonathan M. Houser, who had a face painting booth set up for the kids. Now, for all of you who know Jon, you'll probably realize right off the bat that the concept of him running a kid's face painting booth is majorly off anyway, and sure enough it didn't go well for him. He grossed about 4 bucks I think. The sign out in front of his booth said things like "Give me your children's faces!" and "Don't be afraid!" and, my personal favorite: "Please go to the other face panting booth." Not only that but his face was painted up to look like a weird clown, and combined with his crazy top hat and the sunglasses he was wearing, he was literally scaring kids away. It was funny stuff. He had some predesigned faces he painted, and while you could request other things that weren't on his list, satisfaction was explicitly not guaranteed.# His predesigned faces included: A puppy (woof), a kitty (rar), and clown (rar), and the Cure's Robert Smith (my idea). None of them did particularly well.
Well I'm not looking forward to crawling under the house yet so I'm gonna go read a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, the name of which conveniently goes by that same description. It's cool so far... a memoir written by a 28-year-old who's parents both died of different kinds of cancer within a 32 day epoch and thus he was left to take care of his younger brother (who can be found metacritisizing the book in some spots which, I'm told, completely vivisects the author's hypocrisies, albeit I haven't seen them in action yet - I just started the book). Despite the whole parents dying stuff, it's not a sad book at all. Very funny, in fact. This dude has been through some crazy stuff.
I'll leave you know. Off to fight the beginning-of-week ennui in some other ways.
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* I firmly believe my chillin was like a villian.
# Said that on the sign, too.
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