The Last Thing On A Bug's Mind . . .

In the Great Scheme Of All Things, from the subatomic to the galactic, the instantaneous to the infinite, I seriously doubt that the rise and continuation of humanity is such a significant event.

Evenings Are Earlier

Sadly, we have reached the time of year where the time during the day gets leeched away by the night. I am fairly OK when it happens slowly, but in about 3 weeks, October 21st I think, DST kicks out and winter really has it's foot in the door. Last night was the first time that I shut the door before dark, and soon after, I turned on the furnace for the first time in the evening.
I don't think that it would bother me so much if the politics weren't heating up. It is a real drag to stop and think that we still have another summer to go thru till the election is finally done with. I have a feeling that very soon, we will be in constant campain mode. Kill me now.

Something Seems To Be Creeping In . . .

Two days ago, I felt a strange twinge as I went out to pick up my morning news paper. For several months, I have been bouncing out the door, picking up the news and then leaving the door open as I had my coffee. It was getting cooler. Tonight, it has become offically cold. I saw a neighbor wandering about in a winter coat. I have resorted to a long sleeve shirt and begun to shut doors and windows by dusk. I believe we have begun to slide down the slippery dune of cold sand into the winter. whoopie. I can hardly wait.

Nary Another Whisper

It gasped, then it was gone. Like it was all a bad dream, all of those tourists, the cars, the waward trash, it is suddenly over. The strange part is, now that Summer '07 is beyond help, the locals have sprung up in their place. The traffic seems worse now, mostly during the lunch than any other time. It is like we all have just woken up, and we are wandering around in a half-sleep, bumping into walls and dropping objects in our stupor.

Perhaps "tourist mode" has become second nature and we are all lost souls when they depart. Oh, lord, what have we let ourselves become?

Summer 2007's Last Gasps

Everyone is out today, on the beaches, in the parks, on the lakes, trying like hell to make the most of the last weekend of summer. The sad part is, that for too many, it will be the last weekend of any summer. Caution should never be undersetimated. Bravery and Stupidity are seperated by only the consequence, too fine a line to define what the real intent was. Be careful out there, I'm tired of hearing the ambulences go by.

Todaze Wisdom

There is a reason that there are stereotypes. People are so predictable and conform to peer groups so well that someone had to coin a word to explain the concept.

Every morning I read the newspaper obituaries first. If my name isn't there, I continue on to read my horror-scope.

It took me years to figure out that 4 leaf clovers were invented by mothers to keep kids quiet. The only luck involved was that lucky few minutes of peace and quiet that the mothers were able to get.

I got out of bed one morning in 1973. It was a gray, cold Friday. Now, as I look out my window it is still gray, it is still cold and it is still Friday. I have a terrible feeling that it is going to be a very long weekend.

I sat in school for 12 years, being force fed math, history and other vital recources that I would never be able to use beyond the very basics. I was taught to read, to wright and right, I was taught to pray to a wall for which many of my friends would die. The only thing I ever really learned was that summer vacation always had to come to an end.

I remeber when I was 4 years old, I first learned about the draft, and how people could come and take my daddy away, and he could't hide anywhere, not even the attic or the basement. I think that I have been paranoid ever since.

Important Note on Life

Check for toilet paper before you sit down. You'll always be glad you did.

Observation

The most ironic oxymoron ever spoken:
Killed by "Friendly Fire".

Mission Statement

There is pleasure sure in being mad that none but Madmen know. John Dryden 1631~1700