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of the warfighters or whatever you wanna call 'em that's in the middle east. when people say that i'm brave because my little brother is out there, why? because i'm not curled under my desk crying? care about him, not about me.
it really is true that once you can do 100 crunches, you get numb and can just keep going and going until you get sick of it.
during sigur ros, i was just high enough to start thinking that they were singing in english, "you suffer alone . . . you sidle on."
i'm starting to see what she means that we're both kinda lois weisberg-ian—thursday night bumped into a guy i went to school with. he was also a clarinet major and dated the last girl i crushed on as a breeder (i still get crushes on girls but stay the per/in[eum]vert that i am), and then went to yale, and then back home to argentina, and apparently the last time i saw him was at the union square greenmarket while i was holding a cucumber (he remembers this, not me). not once but twice i bumped into a great girl that i used to work with, while i was walking around east river park and she was jogging. both times she's running hard and can't stop and chat but we wave and say hellos and she yells "DRINKS!" and shakes her finger at me (because i suck and lose touch with people all the time) as she runs off. the first time i had my cam and was taking pitchers, and this time i had my soccer ball and was kicking it around and drilling and dribbling and exploring the southern reaches of the park. did you know there's nice tennis courts and an abandoned bandshell with wood bleachers and when you go south of the williamsburg bridge, the fencing is gone and you can actually be by the water with an unobstructed view again?
posted March 29, 2003 in crap, delivery, politics. 2005