What's up, Brooklyn?

Sometimes people ask me why I'm not married. Which is weird. I usually respond with "I don't know." This is a lie. I do know.
I'm not married because today, for the third week in a row, I forgot that Wednesday is garbage day and rolled our cans into the street only after I heard the truck drive by. The cans will remain on the street until next Wednesday.
I'm not married because today I got hungry and drove to my family's home and ate left-over spaghetti. I also stole three cans of diet coke. (Yeah that was me).
I'm not married because it's 1:58 pm and I'm under the covers writing a blog and youtubing Lil' Wayne. "I'm a gangsta Miss Katie"
I'm not married because the only thing I've successfully cooked in 3 months is muddy buddies.
And finally, I'm not married because I'm ok with all of this. Maybe that's bad.

I'm glad I'm a man. And so is Lola.

Years ago I saw an episode of Oprah. Not that it was the only episode of Oprah I have ever seen, or that I haven’t seen other episodes since, but years ago I saw a particular episode of Oprah. Her guest of choice for said episode was a renowned Dietician. I was soon bored, as hearing “eat right and exercise” stated in so many different ways for an hour failed to enlighten. But then he posed a question that truly stood out. Speaking to a crying obese woman, he said, “Are you eating to live, or living to eat?” At the time I paused and reflected on my day’s caloric intake, wondering if I had enjoyed the cookie at lunch just a bit too much. But today the question, slightly altered, haunts me for a different reason. Lately I’ve had to ask myself “Am I writing to live, or living to write?” I recognize that very few people write to live, if any, but it sure is dramatic worded like that. In responding to my own query, I hang my head and admit that more often than not, I am living to write.

Agnes, Agatha, Jermain and Jack

I made the mistake of eating lunch at the teca during Provo High's lunch break. I heard the following one table over:
"Wait, your mom is single?"
"Your mom is hot!"
"Shut up"
"No really. What if I married your mom?"
Then my phone rang and I stopped listening.

The older I get, the less of a priority showers become.

My Best Buddy has Fragile X Syndrome. Which is fascinating. It's just one small mutation in one X chromosome that changes everything about him. But that's true of all of us, isn't it? The effects aren't as drastic as they are with him, but so many small things make up us. Even if it's not DNA strands or chromosomes. The books we read, the people we meet, the songs we repeat, all shape us. So are we more ourselves everyday? Or are we just always changing?

She says she wants diamonds, I took her to Ruby Tuesday.

Pirate Island. We should have known. But our curiosity got the better of us and we succumbed to our natural consumer tendencies. I thought maybe I was wrong in my premature judgments, assuming the worst. I'll never doubt myself like that again. Pirates+pizza=not delicious. El Azteca=delicious. Always. I'm not even a math major and I've got that all figured out.
I learned a term I really like today. "Unacknowledged Legislator". Like John Lennon. Or essentially anyone who creates art with influence. Do we have those anymore? I can't think of anyone one artist of our generation who stands out as a leader for a cause, unless it's the insane clown posse. Maybe we're too multifaceted. Or maybe we appreciate art for art now. A little more order to society, an appropriate time and place, etc. But that's boring isn't it? I'd rather a musician tell me how to think or act instead of anyone with real authority. Ok fine if we're being totally honest I'd rather be the musician who tells people how to think and act. Then finally suspenders and leisure suits will make a come-back.

You're gonna carry that weight.

Today my ipod pulled an ultimatum. I guess I haven't been treating it very well,
taking it for granted and what-not. I'm easily annoyed and stand-offish, especially when it pulls the same selection of songs in the same order so many times. So this morning when I skipped five songs in a row, it just stopped. I interpreted this to mean "I think you need some space. You're obviously not that into me. Why don't you take some time to figure out what it is you really want." So after a five minute walk in silence, we worked it out. I even listened to a couple songs I don't really like just to make peace. I mean sure it's not the cutest, newest or smartest pod in town, but it's there for me. And life without it would be...quiet.

Amazing Grace.

32 more hits, and we're at 10,000. Come on guys. If we make it you each get a hug, or whatever treat I may have on me when we run into each other. Probably a stick of gum. Do you think Obama will finally notice my blog once we pass this threshold? I bet 10,000 hits is the number that will get me knighted or at least a purple heart or something. I bet Oprah will call. The mayor will present me with a key to the city and I'll be front page news. Sure, most likely more than half of these hits are my own. Sure, when the tracker was installed the installer said something along the lines of "I don't really know if this is accurate". But does that really matter? Why are you so negative?

Halo. Halo. Halo. Halo. Haloooooo.

I saw Neil and looked the other way. It would be awkward to say hi. Even though I know his last name. And I know he was born on Albert Einstein's death date. I know that he once invented a contraption to help his mom carry milk home from the store. I know that he has three younger brothers who look just like him, and a younger sister who looks different only because of longer hair. I know that he spent a year in Japan. I know that his dad teaches on campus. I know that his house is on the hill. And I know that he knows just as much about me. But it's been so long since we were in Mr. Grass's 5th grade class together, or Mr. Greenwood's American History, or even since we graduated high school.
I like to think that the people I know now are permanent. That we'll always be close and continue to share our lives. But maybe that's unrealistic. Maybe in 6 years you and I will be walking in opposite directions down the street and I'll look the other way cause it would be awkward to say hi. I really hope not.