Marc
Silent. -- This is the word you see at the top of my cell phone, though the ringer is set on high and it is unbearably loud. Ironic.
One. A girl from our apartment complex committed suicide this past weekend. Of course, as we saw the coroner's van and three squad cars hanging outside the place, and a stretcher and a body bag on the scene, we weren't quite sure just what was going on. But it has been confirmed -- suicide. I find this both unbearably sad and unneccesarily selfish. The girl was set to graduate, and she was also engaged to be married. It should've been a time of celebration, yet I believe I saw her family (possibly including her fiancee) in the parking lot this morning packing up her belongings to move her out. I don't understand it. I cannot comprehend, at all, the urge to committ suicide.
Two. I ate dinner this evening at a strip club. For ten dollars I got a gargantuan steak, french fries, corn, and two terribly burnt pieces of garlic toast. We went at around seven o'clock. Strippers, apparently, don't like to do too much dancing/stripping at seven o'clock. They all seemed lazy and uninteresting. Apparently, also, strippers aren't fun to watch unless one is drunk, which was not the case at seven o'clock. Now, at nearly three in the morning, I could watch strippers. But not then. Not at all.
Three. ...
Four. Fellas, I want to put the tentacles out there to find out how you would all feel about asking Luke to join the blog. He's moving to Washington, DC in a week, and I know for a fact that we'll be seeing very little of him over the course of the next few years. He's expressed interest in accepting an invitation to write here as a way to keep in touch with everybody cause, let's face it, the telephone is not a way for a bunch of dudes to find out how everyone else is doing. I can't imagine having a conversation with Luke on the phone for more than two minutes. So, here's the prop -- with your approval, I will gladly ask him to join. I've always seen this dumbass webpage as more of a way to keep in touch (both directly and indirectly) with each other than anything else. Yea or nay, boys?
UP NEXT: Denali's self-titled album; the rush of the wind through my window screen; and the sound of my head scraping against an un pillowcased pillow.
Tomorrow: Phone conversations.
Silent. -- This is the word you see at the top of my cell phone, though the ringer is set on high and it is unbearably loud. Ironic.
One. A girl from our apartment complex committed suicide this past weekend. Of course, as we saw the coroner's van and three squad cars hanging outside the place, and a stretcher and a body bag on the scene, we weren't quite sure just what was going on. But it has been confirmed -- suicide. I find this both unbearably sad and unneccesarily selfish. The girl was set to graduate, and she was also engaged to be married. It should've been a time of celebration, yet I believe I saw her family (possibly including her fiancee) in the parking lot this morning packing up her belongings to move her out. I don't understand it. I cannot comprehend, at all, the urge to committ suicide.
Two. I ate dinner this evening at a strip club. For ten dollars I got a gargantuan steak, french fries, corn, and two terribly burnt pieces of garlic toast. We went at around seven o'clock. Strippers, apparently, don't like to do too much dancing/stripping at seven o'clock. They all seemed lazy and uninteresting. Apparently, also, strippers aren't fun to watch unless one is drunk, which was not the case at seven o'clock. Now, at nearly three in the morning, I could watch strippers. But not then. Not at all.
Three. ...
Four. Fellas, I want to put the tentacles out there to find out how you would all feel about asking Luke to join the blog. He's moving to Washington, DC in a week, and I know for a fact that we'll be seeing very little of him over the course of the next few years. He's expressed interest in accepting an invitation to write here as a way to keep in touch with everybody cause, let's face it, the telephone is not a way for a bunch of dudes to find out how everyone else is doing. I can't imagine having a conversation with Luke on the phone for more than two minutes. So, here's the prop -- with your approval, I will gladly ask him to join. I've always seen this dumbass webpage as more of a way to keep in touch (both directly and indirectly) with each other than anything else. Yea or nay, boys?
UP NEXT: Denali's self-titled album; the rush of the wind through my window screen; and the sound of my head scraping against an un pillowcased pillow.
Tomorrow: Phone conversations.
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