I’m quite excited that work is letting me celebrate “International Jesse Day” tomorrow. Traditionally celebrated on the last available day before “personal holidays” expire, International Jesse Day starts with a ritual “sleeping of in” and is followed by the “running of errands” and the “consideration of the possibility of calling unemployed friends for the doing of stuff,” and “attending of parties.” These are all excellent traditions worthy of being maintained.
Tonight they are showing “The Magnificent Seven” in Steven’s Square Park. This is the one with the gunfighters, not the one with the samurai. I expect high quality awesomeness.
Yesterday I biked over to my therapist’s office through a mire of stagnant air and climbed the flight of stairs into his darkened waiting room. He wasn’t there — the boombox that normally trickled out classical music was silent. I checked my appointment card, I called and I waited. The thermos in the waiting room was out of water, and only the ice cream truck crawling by outside marked the passing of time. One bar of music accompanied the ripple of reflected light across the ceiling.
Noah has mad skills: his birthday party today featured pirates and a half dozen girls.
I dressed like a pirate for a while, before the costume got too hot.
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Zach made Mario, and I photographed Mario for Zach:
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This morning I checked my “mailbox” at “work” and found that my boss’s boss’s boss had signed off on my “Regent’s Scholarship.” More importantly, there was a coupon for a free Jamba Juice. I already knew that their smoothies were some sort of blender candy, but their “Chocolate Moo’d” smoothie tastes exactly like Reese’s Pieces. I think that I am going to “die.”
AIR QUOTES EXPLOSION!
I finally met my next door neighbor, Hailey, who is stealing — I mean borrowing my wifi connection. There’s nothing like meeting new people while drenched in sweat. Speaking of new people, I stopped by the One on One Bicycle Studio to ask about fender painting for John and bike upgrades for me — not that I can afford them, but a boy can dream…
Also, I think that I might have met Roger Lootine. I was a little shaky from the heat (and trying to outrun a truck after finding myself in the wrong lane… result: not dead) so I didn’t introduce myself, even though he thought I was “Pete.” He may also have been picking up a lady, which is the best possible imagining I could have. I hope he did well.
One of my coworkers strolled into the web office this morning to make a loud proclamation.
“I had the weirdest dream about you last night!”
At the end of the day today I felt a bit off: panicky for no reason I could figure out. Somehow the VIC-20 bleeps I had found on youtube were breaking my heart. My mom called and asked if I still needed an air conditioner. By the time I got home I was nauseated. My apartment was seven degrees cooler than the outdoors, but walking in the door felt like stepping into a canvas bag — perhaps the bag that I woke up in two days ago. It had taken over two hours to claw my way to wakefulness.
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Step One: Put all of the stuff that you would consider selling into a dumpster
Bonus Step: Light the dumpster on fire
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