notes of little importance

Good news, everyone! Acts 1 and 3 of the play are committed to digital paper, and ACT 2 should be finished by the end of this week. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Three acts. That’s insanity! Who do I think I am? A meth-fueled reincarnation of Arthur Miller in his heyday? Don’t worry. It’s really more like 2 acts with a musical epilogue. Either way, it’s almost finished. And when that magic day arrives, I can print it up, set it aside, and let it stew in its juices until editing time comes and I go through the fun all over again.

If only I could get somebody to give me real, green money for this kind of work. Then my life would be complete.

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In case you haven’t read the comments from my previous post, the meeting with the eye doctor went well. It turns out that my eyeballs are healed and I can return to wearing the expensive contact lenses which approximate good vision. This means I can also return to driving on the streets on Columbus at nighttime with only a minimal fear of running into somebody!

That's good for you, too. Especially if you live in Columbus. Or Xenia.

In celebration of the return of sight, I ran straight out to the local Chinese food store (and there are several in the area) to purchase an extra large order of General Tso’s chicken. I hurried home and proceeded to plow through the msg-laden goodness like a fat kid attacking a doughnut. Unfortunately, my stomach is not accustomed to that much grease that quickly, and I have spent the better part of the last hour anticipating a flow reversal in my esophagus. Things had better calm down soon. I have flight school this evening and I imagine my instructor would be none too please if I painted the classroom in mostly undigested chunks of chicken, broccoli, and soy sauce.

Plus, I would hate to have spent $8.50 on all that food only to see it disappear in such a sad fashion.

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The Bengals are 5-1. THE BENGALS ARE 5-1! Do you know how excited that makes me? And next week, we get the real test. We play Pittsburgh. A battle to the death against the hated favorites of the AFC Central. Or the east. Or whichever division we’re in. Who knows?

Certainly not me, bubba. I’m outta here.