People. People. People.
There's an hour of work left on a Friday afternoon in this foul year of our Lord, 2006, and I can think of nothing better to do than write something, especially since the construction people of the large state university in Ohio where I work have apparently decided to put the totality of their technical acumen to good use through banging large, metal wrenches against thick, percussive poles endlessly, for hours upon end. Seriously. It's like they're going for a fucking record or something. My eyes have stopped working and the devastation of Meniere's disease upon my inner ear has persuaded the desk in front of me to jump ten feet to the left at random intervals all day. Just when I think its safe to start work again, somebody puts my office on spin cycle and everything flies around me in a discombobulated whirl. This means that even if I wanted to do real work I can't because my office won't let me.
Driving home should be fun.
So what are you up to? Is work going well? Are your various and sundry public service endeavors turning out like you had hoped? I realize that sounds sarcastic, and I apologize. I don't mean to be. I actually have a deep respect for whatever the hell it is you do. You're an amazing person and a testament to all that is American or Canadian or whatever nationality you are. I don't mean to be this way. It's just that, in my current state of mind, I can't help but sound like an ass.
I crossed the street this afternoon in search of a chipotle burrito and ran into a telephone pole. I mistepped while trying to avoid a homeless person who simultaneously begged for spare change and wished God's blessing upon all those who declined to share the contents of their emaciated pockets. He moved this way and that like a professional dancer in rags, jumping and thrusting his appendages at queer angles like a gazelle with loose tendons. I don't think he saw me coming, because after he imparted the wisdom of Job upon two college students who failed to notice him above the din of their iPods, he leapt backward, thrusting his arms in the air, shouting, "God say's it's gonna be all good!" His trajectory left him in my path, which would normally have been an easy thing to avoid. Unfortunately my aforementioned vertigo took that moment to tilt the earth downard and to the right, and I ran face first into the pole. This was a lucky thing, though. Because at that very moment a city bus blasted through the intersection at nearly 50 miles per hour. I might be a match for a VW Bug, but a city bus would have eaten me for lunch, which would be ironic since it was I who had recently sought noontime sustenenace.
The circule of life, indeed!
Alright. Enough babble. Everybody return to their regularly schedule programs, and I shall return to my previous love, professional yodeling. Ah the fun memories I have from my days as head yodeler on the professional circuit: the oppressive crowds, the thrill of competition, the sexy leiderhosen, the suffocating stench of sauerkraut. It was an amazing time but, sadly, it is another story for another day.
Yodeleeeee HEEEE hooo!