A good day for a run. So guess what I did when I came home from work?Yes, I went for a run. See how astute you are? I didn't have to bother holding your hand through that one. The run was shorter than usual due to sore calf muscles. Why they were sore, I do not know, but what I do know is that I woke up the other night with one of my calves cramping up. This happens sometimes and usually corrects itself, but this time the muscle was not cooperating. After about a minute of vise-grip pain, my leg returned to its former loose self. Could that incident be linked to my sore calves today? You're right: not likely.
Janelle and Baby Boy Z were on their way out the door when I returned from my run. Call me a softy --better yet, call me a soft, cowardly, booster-seat bound, fancy lad, if you wish -- but I miss them already. Well, they're missing out; I was going to let Janelle buy me dinner tonight-- some place fancy -- and afterward I was going let Baby Boy beat me in chess. He went one for three last time, but what do you expect? He's a dog.
Oh well, guess there's nothing for it but to phone up an escort and use Janelle's bed as a wrestling mat for the next several days. It will be an expensive venture -- will surely empty the coffers -- but what else am I going to do. Well, I guess there's always the soup kitchen, but after seeing an ant on the floor the last time I was there, I'm not keen on going back any time soon.
I made myself laugh out loud in the parking lot after work. For some reason I was thinking about the Sweat Hogs, the not-so intimidating gang of youths that appeared in Welcome Back, Kotter. I have no recollection of how it came to be that I started thinking about them, but I went with it. What made me laugh was the idea of there actually being a sweat hog and how unappealing it would be as food. If I saw that on the menu at a restaurant, I'd probably bypass it. Who knows, maybe if I was offered it with robust enthusiasm...
"What are your specials tonight, my good man?"
"We have only one special this evening."
"Oh, my! Do tell."
"Sweat hog, sir! We have sweat hog, tender and laden with sweat. On my honor, you will not be dissapointed."
"Yummers! Sweat hog it is."
Been swirling this around my head over the last few days: I am the observer, I am the observed, I am the process of observing. It has made for a nice twist in perspective. To that end, I'm going to pick up Lynn McTaggert's The Field: The Quest For The Secret Force In The Universe. I've had my mind blown already by some of the advances in physics lately, and I expect to have it blown further after reading this book. Hear it's very good. We'll see.
Been watching old episodes of The Office, one of my favorite shows ever. If anyone ever asks you what my opinion of the first three seasons is, you tell them I think they're brilliant. And if they ask you if I think the quality dropped after season three, you tell them I most certainly do, with the proviso that I still think it's a very funny show. Here's a little gem from season two:
Michael Scott: And, even though we're still a family here at Dunder-Mifflin, families grow. And, at some point, the daddy can't take a bath with the kids anymore. I am upper management, and it would be inappropriate for me to take a bath with Pam, as much as I might want to.
Damn! I meant to devote this post to zoophelia, but I forgot. I can tell you're devastated.
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