Got some bad shit, then I walked the beach in Venice

Walking back from Rite Aid, where I had the exquisite pleasure of standing in line behind a woman who unveiled a tackle box of coupons and wasn't afraid to use them, I came upon a man walking his dog. As I approached, the dog squatted and took care of his morning ablutions. The man pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and scooped up the steaming brown lump. Being the Renaissance man that I am, I thought it would be quite the social experiment to confront this man about his actions or, to me more precise, to completely misread the situation and brand him a pervert for saving his dog's poo for some immoral purpose. I imagined pointing an accusatory finger at the wretch and saying, " You sick fucking animal! And I'm not talking to the dog, either Bubs. I can only imagine what you have planned for that poo I saw you put in a bag." You might be able to guess, dear reader, that I said no such thing and walked by man and beast without even a nod of acknowledgment. I know, I know: I should act on these impulses, otherwise when I'm old and weak and contemplative, I'll think back with regret that I never did, that I never said YES to life.
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I haven't posted much recently. The chief reason why is because I haven't been feeling well. My sinus issues had worsened and, up until recently, I was in quite a bit of a pain almost all the time. Some nights, I'd only get a couple of hours of sleep. I'd suffer through work, come home and do next to nothing because of lack of energy and focus. There were other unpleasant aspects of this time that had nothing to do with my health that made living a real chore, but I'll leave them on the cutting room floor where they belong. Still, I was able to keep my spirit raised, enough, at least, to function among my fellow humans without causing them to be concerned for my well being. Presently, I feel quite a bit better, and see a break in the clouds.
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Sean came by on Friday and we walked over to The Burren and had some drinks. Sean and I go back a long way and, though we don't see each other too often these days, it's always a fine thing when we do. After The Burren, we walked back to my place through the rain and chill and watched a compilation of high school era performances by our respective bands that Craig had been thoughtful enough to put together. Strange how recent these events seem, despite being lodged in the distant past. Ah, time, you're a real mind fuck.
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Mara and I had a dinner of squash raviolis and garlic bread at my place last night, followed by a viewing of the Celtics first playoff game against the Heat. Actually, I was the one doing most of the viewing; Mara had her laptop to hold her interest. A fun game to watch. Love the playoffs!
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I walked into Starbucks the other day and was astonished at the makeover the place had undergone. Absent were the cozy couches and chairs; they were replaced with long, dull gray, banquet-style tables. All the warmth of the place had been sucked out. When I talked to Mara about this, she suggested the changeover was due to the fact that people were lingering too long in those cozy couches and chairs and costing the place money. I'm not a fan of the new look. Guess I'll have to find another place where I can sit, all comfy-like, with a book or pen and journal. I'll take rustic over the soulless, technology-suited, designs that are becoming more and more prevalent. Seems I'm an anachronism.
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I'm thinking of writing a book entitled, "Humans Are Narcissistic Insane Pricks", or something to that effect. The other day, I was on the highway headed to work when traffic slowed to an abrupt crawl. I had to slam on my brakes and nearly hit the car in front of me. The reason for this dramatic change of events? There was a tow truck with flashing orange lights on the side of the road, hoisting up a car. That's going in the book. Why? Because, on the road, people are always in a hurry. They'll endanger everyone in their paths with risky moves in order to shave a minute or two off their commute. My favorite is when traffic is at a crawl and some jackass cuts me off, nearly clipping my front end, only to end up in front of me, going just as slow as before and having gained nearly no ground. But when there's something happening on the side of the road, like what I described above, or something worse, people will instantly become mesmerized by what they see and forget about always being in a rush. Yes, that's going in the book, which, now that I think of it, will, as a matter of necessity, be massive, and will probably never be completed, even if I live to be a hundred.
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I've had my iTunes on shuffle as I've been typing this post. For some reason, the inanimate DJ has been in the mood for only a few artists: Tom Waits, Sigor Ros, and The Moody Blues. Strange. Oh, wait, things have changed up! Sufjan Stevens has made an appearance. Thanks for finally doing your job, Mr. DJ.
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My dad just sent me an email. He began it by addressing me as "sweetie", then related his need to find a hiding place from my mother and her list of projects, and concluded by asking me how to look up Gaydar online. My reply included a cease and desist order regarding the "sweetie" appellation; a suggestion he convert his pigeon coop into a man cave, a haven all to himself; and a thumbs up for the Dwight Schrute "Gaydar" reference.
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It's raining out. Today may be a lazy day. I may put a significant dent in Drood, watch the Lakers/Thunder game, record some music, do some yoga, daydream about a future love, take a nap. Plenty of options. I shall proceed.