I'm not used to certain aspects of the modern dating scene. In fact, I am pretty stinking naive about a lot of the finer points of social interactions.
A couple of weeks ago, had a great time at a concert with some of my friends. At said concert, there was a plentiful supply of attractive single men of an appropriate age. Excellent for a girl's night out, feel free to inquire for more details or for planning an outing. During this particular night, tequila shots were involved. This, I would like to say, is very rarely a good idea for me. Oh, I have fun. I just don't remember all the details and require the vivid descriptions provided by my cohorts to patch together those nights and days. Remember those boys I mentioned? I got pretty friendly with one on the dance floor. He was cute, but that's about all I remember. His cuteness was agreed to by those in my company, so at least our beer goggles coincided.
Flash forward to tonight. Had an excellent time at the Belmont, where I got the opportunity to sing along with a wonderful acoustic twosome who did some great covers of familiar, cool songs. Seriously, with the mic and everything! Will plan on seeing them again April 10 (a Thursday) when they play again, and I invite all to attend. I also invited them to karaoke night. They're cool, so maybe they will come. Following this portion of the evening, was having a good chat with Alicia at her house, when suddenly! A text from an unknown number asking how I was. I replied "Good. But who are you?" None other than mystery cute guy, who turns out is named Adam. My company was solicited, but as it is nearly midnight, I have suspicions that this may not be a "Let's have coffee and get better acquainted" kind of a date he has in mind. As such, I let him know, no. But, I invited him to get in touch for later this week if he would, in fact, like to chat over coffee. He claims that he will. I have my doubts, but will, indeed, go out with him should he actually call. We will have to see. Stay tuned.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Splinter
Yesterday we took the girls to the Fort Worth Zoo. It's a great place! They ran around as expected, waved at the critters, and generally were well behaved. However, all was not bliss on that day. While running her hand along one of the fences, the youngest suddenly came to a halt, looked at her hand, and started to cry. She had picked up about 5 splinters in 3 fingers, and one of them was enormous. Great! My parents and I soothed her, and I took a better look since I was the only one of the 3 who could see without a magnifying glass. I succeeded in immediately extracting one small splinter, but the rest were buried in pretty well. The decision was made to leave well enough alone until we could get the necessary tools at home, and to hasten through the remainder of the zoo.
Just so you know, splinters in the hand of a 4 year old = inability to walk. She gave me the saddest little face, whimpered a little bit, sniffed back some little tears behind her bifocals, and said "Aunt Gigi, can you pick me up?" in the most grief stricken, quavery tones imaginable. God, why did you design them to be so gosh darn cute?!
As soon as we got in the car, she passed out pretty quick and slept until we arrived home. My parents decided that I was the most qualified person to remove the offending foreign bodies, so I prepared my instruments: an alcohol soaked cotton ball and one sterilized sewing needle. I'll say this, she was a trooper. For about 3 seconds. Then I was treated to soul rending sobs as I extracted the little bastards from her hand. The happy ending is that Snoopy bandaids make life a lot better, and she has forgotten the whole thing.
Just so you know, splinters in the hand of a 4 year old = inability to walk. She gave me the saddest little face, whimpered a little bit, sniffed back some little tears behind her bifocals, and said "Aunt Gigi, can you pick me up?" in the most grief stricken, quavery tones imaginable. God, why did you design them to be so gosh darn cute?!
As soon as we got in the car, she passed out pretty quick and slept until we arrived home. My parents decided that I was the most qualified person to remove the offending foreign bodies, so I prepared my instruments: an alcohol soaked cotton ball and one sterilized sewing needle. I'll say this, she was a trooper. For about 3 seconds. Then I was treated to soul rending sobs as I extracted the little bastards from her hand. The happy ending is that Snoopy bandaids make life a lot better, and she has forgotten the whole thing.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Kids
My nieces from El Paso are visiting for their spring break. They are cute. See included photographic evidence for verification.
It's a known fact that kids say and do the darndest things, and these are no exceptions. For example, the two youngest squabble a bit, particularly when it pertains to sharing. During one of my attempts to pacify an escalating battle, I asked the youngest why she disliked sharing with her sister. Her answer? "But that's my whole personality!" What? It was pretty funny, but I'm still unsure where she came up with that.
Today after church, the oldest was telling us about a "perverted pigeon" that sits outside the little ones' bedroom window when they get dressed in the morning. Everyone laughed, and suddenly the middle one turned to me and asked, "What is a pervert?" Erm... I started to answer, hesitated, started, hesitated, cursed my brother for not explaining this one before me, and finally settled on "It's something that likes to look at naked stuff. Or, by another definition, it means to sully." Whew. Thankfully, they latched on to the word "sully".
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Blame it on the rain
There is one definite advantage to eating by yourself. You can go wherever the mood takes you without having to take the preferences of others into account. Today, for instance, lamb in a green cilantro curry sauce with basmati rice and naan sounded great. I had initially thought I was going somewhere for soup, but I realized how hungry I was while sitting in traffic, and I felt I needed something more substantial. Upon arriving to my locale, I sat in the parking lot staring out the windshield into the hazy grayness of cold driving rain until I convinced myself that the food was worth getting wet and cold. The owner of the restaurant must have witnessed this, as his first words to me on entering were "You made it!"
Sadly, my stomach is apparently still in half-size sick mode, as I was unable to complete the Texas-sized (yes, it is called that on the menu of an Indian restaurant) portion, and left a shocking amount of rice, naan, and curry. The place was fairly empty, although I did enjoy randomly picking up tidbits of the conversation being held in the booth immediately behind me. From what I gather, they were in some kind of graphic design field that involved 3D CG graphics, masking, gradients, etc. I only understood about 10% of what they were talking about, but computer nerds always make me feel nostalgic. Plus, they were kind of cute for computer nerds. Seriously, I was the only girl in that place. Right before I left, what could very well have been another team of computer nerds walked in and began to place orders. Who knew that the Roti Grill was such a mecca for apparently single, dorky, not-unattractive males? I need to go there more often.
Trudging back to my car through inches of puddled water, I was very grateful for investing in a pair of waterproof shoes prior to going to Ireland. They work very well. It was one bad thing about my old pair of amphibious Tevas; as good as they were for kayaking and river running (2 things that I didn't do with any kind of regularity, meaning never), they were not very good wet weather shoes if you wanted water to stay out. My current sneaks keep my feet dry and warm.
On a completely different note, while having lunch I recalled an old fairy tale that puzzled me as a kid. The Princess and the Pea. Not to say it's a bad story or anything, but am I the only one who felt this was a bizarre way to judge whether someone was worth marrying? "Oh, honey, she has such delicate skin! You should totally marry her!" Can you imagine how irritating it would be if your spouse was so sensitive this kind of crap could keep them awake? That Prince deserved the special kind of hell he probably went through for being such a putz.
Sadly, my stomach is apparently still in half-size sick mode, as I was unable to complete the Texas-sized (yes, it is called that on the menu of an Indian restaurant) portion, and left a shocking amount of rice, naan, and curry. The place was fairly empty, although I did enjoy randomly picking up tidbits of the conversation being held in the booth immediately behind me. From what I gather, they were in some kind of graphic design field that involved 3D CG graphics, masking, gradients, etc. I only understood about 10% of what they were talking about, but computer nerds always make me feel nostalgic. Plus, they were kind of cute for computer nerds. Seriously, I was the only girl in that place. Right before I left, what could very well have been another team of computer nerds walked in and began to place orders. Who knew that the Roti Grill was such a mecca for apparently single, dorky, not-unattractive males? I need to go there more often.
Trudging back to my car through inches of puddled water, I was very grateful for investing in a pair of waterproof shoes prior to going to Ireland. They work very well. It was one bad thing about my old pair of amphibious Tevas; as good as they were for kayaking and river running (2 things that I didn't do with any kind of regularity, meaning never), they were not very good wet weather shoes if you wanted water to stay out. My current sneaks keep my feet dry and warm.
On a completely different note, while having lunch I recalled an old fairy tale that puzzled me as a kid. The Princess and the Pea. Not to say it's a bad story or anything, but am I the only one who felt this was a bizarre way to judge whether someone was worth marrying? "Oh, honey, she has such delicate skin! You should totally marry her!" Can you imagine how irritating it would be if your spouse was so sensitive this kind of crap could keep them awake? That Prince deserved the special kind of hell he probably went through for being such a putz.
Staying power
Over the past weekend, a fair amount of time was devoted to sitting with a glass of beer surrounded by people wearing green. After all, not even being sick was going to stand in my way of celebrating St. Paddy's Day for the first time since I added alcohol to my life.
On Saturday, Amy, Alicia and myself took up residence at the Old Monk on their covered patio area around 1 pm and didn't leave until 11 pm. During that time, people came and went, payed their respects, and some brought some cigars. To be fair, I had a brief exit while I drove one of our number home so he could get some sleep, but I returned shortly. Their was much tipping back of pints. There was eating of cheese fries. I should have known I was sick when I could barely finish half my burger after only getting through half my breakfast (in the company of little artist and JuJuBe at Norma's, a fine way to start the day). Or to be honest, I should have known I was sick when Amy said the day before, "Gigi, you're sick."
Sunday morning was spent in a haze of illness, followed by a scrumptious brunch at Hattie's and planning for an upcoming trip to Cancun. Well, originally the plan was Puerto Vallarta. And before that, Cozumel. We finally agreed on anywhere with a good beach and drinks included. Drinking is very important on a beach.
Monday rolled around, and again we found ourselves at the Monk. This was less of a marathon sit-in than Saturday, as we only stayed from 4-11, but we did get to enjoy a couple of live bands and even more people wearing green.
On Saturday, Amy, Alicia and myself took up residence at the Old Monk on their covered patio area around 1 pm and didn't leave until 11 pm. During that time, people came and went, payed their respects, and some brought some cigars. To be fair, I had a brief exit while I drove one of our number home so he could get some sleep, but I returned shortly. Their was much tipping back of pints. There was eating of cheese fries. I should have known I was sick when I could barely finish half my burger after only getting through half my breakfast (in the company of little artist and JuJuBe at Norma's, a fine way to start the day). Or to be honest, I should have known I was sick when Amy said the day before, "Gigi, you're sick."
Sunday morning was spent in a haze of illness, followed by a scrumptious brunch at Hattie's and planning for an upcoming trip to Cancun. Well, originally the plan was Puerto Vallarta. And before that, Cozumel. We finally agreed on anywhere with a good beach and drinks included. Drinking is very important on a beach.
Monday rolled around, and again we found ourselves at the Monk. This was less of a marathon sit-in than Saturday, as we only stayed from 4-11, but we did get to enjoy a couple of live bands and even more people wearing green.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Huh, interesting
While perusing some of my back issue postings, I've noticed something. I am addicted to commas.
To be fair, this has been pointed out to me at least once before by my readers. In fact, I am almost certain that this has been going on for a long time. Long, long before I began blogging. Likely from the moment that I picked up my first pencil, the fat chubby kind (mine had Garfield, yes, I still remember), and began to scribble out my first letters. If you go back and look, I'm certain that you would find a comma.
Why, you say? Perhaps this stems back to my speech therapy days, where I was encouraged to envision pauses in my flow of words and to breathe in attempts to slow my lingual velocity. After all, is not a comma a visual cue to pause, hesitate, etc?
Whether this succeeded in slowing me down, well, have a conversation with me and decide for yourself. But I do like commas, so help me. I feel that editors unfairly single them out, plucking them out of phrases in attempts to streamline a passage. Well, I don't want to be streamlined! I want you, reader, to slow down and smell the roses, so to speak.
Granted, if you breathe in with each comma that's in this particular post, you might end up hyperventilating and passing out at your keyboard.
To be fair, this has been pointed out to me at least once before by my readers. In fact, I am almost certain that this has been going on for a long time. Long, long before I began blogging. Likely from the moment that I picked up my first pencil, the fat chubby kind (mine had Garfield, yes, I still remember), and began to scribble out my first letters. If you go back and look, I'm certain that you would find a comma.
Why, you say? Perhaps this stems back to my speech therapy days, where I was encouraged to envision pauses in my flow of words and to breathe in attempts to slow my lingual velocity. After all, is not a comma a visual cue to pause, hesitate, etc?
Whether this succeeded in slowing me down, well, have a conversation with me and decide for yourself. But I do like commas, so help me. I feel that editors unfairly single them out, plucking them out of phrases in attempts to streamline a passage. Well, I don't want to be streamlined! I want you, reader, to slow down and smell the roses, so to speak.
Granted, if you breathe in with each comma that's in this particular post, you might end up hyperventilating and passing out at your keyboard.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
But where?
Somewhere, there's a guy who thinks a complete inability to speak coherently when excited is endearing. He banters, and laughs a lot, and is quick to forgive hurts caused by blundering. This guy, I tell you, he is great to hang out with. He is nice to your friends because, you know what? They're really cool, and he completely agrees.
He appreciates books, and thinks it's hilarious that a visit to Half Price Books can last hours, and sometimes are entirely spent sitting on the floor in the children's books section reading fairy tales with a cup of coffee, interrupted occasionally by helping other shoppers find something.
Eating at home? He loves it, and likes cooking or just helping slice up veggies. He always offers to fry things because he knows that the spattering oil is scary and some people have a horrible fear of it. But a lot of times, it's nice to go sit somewhere and let someone else do the cooking while we enjoy a glass of wine, or often sip a milkshake. Because let's face it, this guy digs ice cream, and is always up for splitting dessert.
His family is awesome. They're pretty close, and he keeps in touch with them and has plenty of pictures at his home. He remembers your family, too, and there have been plenty of embarassing and hilarious stories traded between you. In fact, he probably remembers the important dates better than you do.
You could totally spend a lazy day just loafing on the couch with him, and he knows how to kiss. He can make you feel giddy just by flashing a grin at you or with that look. Curling up under a blanket and a movie? Sounds like a perfect way to spend the night, even if you end up ignoring parts of the film.
He's got a taste for travel, and is happy to have someone who will come with him. He's also kind of fit, damn him, and he enjoys gently goading you to come out and ride bikes with him and taking walks around the neighborhood. He can start a fire, and likes the idea of going out on a camping expedition and making sure you stay out of the poison ivy while you wander around looking at everything.
Maybe he isn't the best karaoke singer in the world, but he's not afraid to go up every now and then and have fun on the stage. And he always cheers for people, because he understands the importance of being a good sport.
God, he's so damn cute. Where the hell is he?
Random Link: Interesting piece of news, but my favorite part is the caption on the picture.
He appreciates books, and thinks it's hilarious that a visit to Half Price Books can last hours, and sometimes are entirely spent sitting on the floor in the children's books section reading fairy tales with a cup of coffee, interrupted occasionally by helping other shoppers find something.
Eating at home? He loves it, and likes cooking or just helping slice up veggies. He always offers to fry things because he knows that the spattering oil is scary and some people have a horrible fear of it. But a lot of times, it's nice to go sit somewhere and let someone else do the cooking while we enjoy a glass of wine, or often sip a milkshake. Because let's face it, this guy digs ice cream, and is always up for splitting dessert.
His family is awesome. They're pretty close, and he keeps in touch with them and has plenty of pictures at his home. He remembers your family, too, and there have been plenty of embarassing and hilarious stories traded between you. In fact, he probably remembers the important dates better than you do.
You could totally spend a lazy day just loafing on the couch with him, and he knows how to kiss. He can make you feel giddy just by flashing a grin at you or with that look. Curling up under a blanket and a movie? Sounds like a perfect way to spend the night, even if you end up ignoring parts of the film.
He's got a taste for travel, and is happy to have someone who will come with him. He's also kind of fit, damn him, and he enjoys gently goading you to come out and ride bikes with him and taking walks around the neighborhood. He can start a fire, and likes the idea of going out on a camping expedition and making sure you stay out of the poison ivy while you wander around looking at everything.
Maybe he isn't the best karaoke singer in the world, but he's not afraid to go up every now and then and have fun on the stage. And he always cheers for people, because he understands the importance of being a good sport.
God, he's so damn cute. Where the hell is he?
Random Link: Interesting piece of news, but my favorite part is the caption on the picture.
Living it up
I never knew that being unemployed could be so much fun.
I haven't held gainful employment since October. This is the longest vacation I have had since... 1995. Every other period of time between class terms has been filled with summer jobs, summer courses (because I just couldn't get enough of school, eh?), or it was just a 3 week pause between grueling course work where I spent a lot of time asleep. While the lack of income kind of stinks, think about the following:
I haven't held gainful employment since October. This is the longest vacation I have had since... 1995. Every other period of time between class terms has been filled with summer jobs, summer courses (because I just couldn't get enough of school, eh?), or it was just a 3 week pause between grueling course work where I spent a lot of time asleep. While the lack of income kind of stinks, think about the following:
- I have been to Europe, twice.
- I have traveled through beautiful portions of the continental US, primarily the South, Southwest, and Midwest.
- I have been reading and watching movies whenever I feel like it.
- I hang out with my friends and family whenever I feel like it, and am able to accomodate even the weirdest schedules because, hey, I don't have anywhere I really need to be!
- If I feel like taking a walk through Dallas at 11 AM, I can. Or at 11 PM. Or even at 2 AM! (Usually not, though.)
- I party like a rock star whenever the urge strikes.
Last night, for instance, I got to go to a Mavs game (thanks, Ray!), followed by a visit to the Tipp. And it was crazy fun, I tell you. A lot of new folks were there who danced, on stage and off. Crowd participation was through the roof! For the first time ever, I didn't do a single solo performance, but Amy and I rocked some Dixie Chicks, and then we added Autumn to the group to do some killer renditions of Madonna and Shania Twain hits. And make no mistake, there were plenty of other folks who did some great work on the stage. As usual, we were the best audience ever, and gave out plenty of love to everyone who plucked up the courage to sing. We made some new friends, and will be checking out some new locales. And on Wednesday, we're planning a trip to Mexico, arriba!
So yeah, unemployment? Not as bad as I ever thought it would be.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Cliff Notes? Bah.
I love reading. Mom taught me when I was very small, and I still remember the book I learned from, Mi Libro Magico. In fact, we still have a copy. Mom says that soon after her first lesson, I carried it over to her and ask for another one. And another. And another. Apparently, I was pretty obsessed with being able to read. My brothers and parents had lots of books all over the place, and I distinctly remember someone saying "No, you can't look at it. You can't even read yet." So I had incentive. According to my parents, I took to reading in Spanish very quickly and was immediately able to carry it over to English. And so a book junky was born at the ripe age of 3.
I still remember (hazily) reading to myself out loud. Kind of wish there was video of it, I'm sure it sounded funny. Understand, I didn't exactly have a speech impediment, but I have always been a fast talker, and when I was a kid I spoke at the speed of light, so fast that half the time I would trip up on my own words and would lapse into a frustrated string of stutters. Add to that an accent that was some kind of amalgamation of Spanish/British/Unknown, and it's no wonder I was put in speech therapy when I entered school. I've watched videos of me as a kid, and half the time I have no clue what I'm saying. At any rate, I know it annoyed my brother Mel. One day he turned to me in the living room while we were sitting on the Lazy Boy and said, "Either read to yourself or stop reading." I think I was 4, and the concept of reading quietly to myself blew me away. It was like getting to skip the middle man, and it allowed me to read so much faster. I'm grateful that my bro introduced such a key concept.
I still remember (hazily) reading to myself out loud. Kind of wish there was video of it, I'm sure it sounded funny. Understand, I didn't exactly have a speech impediment, but I have always been a fast talker, and when I was a kid I spoke at the speed of light, so fast that half the time I would trip up on my own words and would lapse into a frustrated string of stutters. Add to that an accent that was some kind of amalgamation of Spanish/British/Unknown, and it's no wonder I was put in speech therapy when I entered school. I've watched videos of me as a kid, and half the time I have no clue what I'm saying. At any rate, I know it annoyed my brother Mel. One day he turned to me in the living room while we were sitting on the Lazy Boy and said, "Either read to yourself or stop reading." I think I was 4, and the concept of reading quietly to myself blew me away. It was like getting to skip the middle man, and it allowed me to read so much faster. I'm grateful that my bro introduced such a key concept.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Out of touch with the world
I had a good day today. I sat on a couch, read, watched movies, and got to make some chili and eat it with friends. Perfect, really.
So it wasn't until night had fallen that I heard of some of the news of the day. Damn it, what is with people? A brief discussion ensued, and I termed the guy who did this a kook after the part of the 10 page political manifesto was mentioned.
Kook. Is he? Apparently this guy is against America being in Iraq according to hazy reports from sources who had some contact with the documents that were mailed out to several Capitol Hill offices.
You know what? There are a lot of people over there without a clear idea of when they will be able to come home. Or people who have done their service but then get pulled back in for more. There are a lot of people here who just want their friends and family to be out of harm's way, and feel even more frustrated when there isn't a clear end in sight. So if you want this war to be over, I'm with you.
But this guy... I'd like to know what exactly that document said. Because if he's upset about the loss of life that has been happening, setting off a bomb that could have killed or maimed someone on your home soil seems like a pretty stupid way to protest. What do you gain from such an action? Notoriety? Recruiting to your cause other people who think terror is a decent way of making a statement to your own government and countrymen? Despicable.
So it wasn't until night had fallen that I heard of some of the news of the day. Damn it, what is with people? A brief discussion ensued, and I termed the guy who did this a kook after the part of the 10 page political manifesto was mentioned.
Kook. Is he? Apparently this guy is against America being in Iraq according to hazy reports from sources who had some contact with the documents that were mailed out to several Capitol Hill offices.
You know what? There are a lot of people over there without a clear idea of when they will be able to come home. Or people who have done their service but then get pulled back in for more. There are a lot of people here who just want their friends and family to be out of harm's way, and feel even more frustrated when there isn't a clear end in sight. So if you want this war to be over, I'm with you.
But this guy... I'd like to know what exactly that document said. Because if he's upset about the loss of life that has been happening, setting off a bomb that could have killed or maimed someone on your home soil seems like a pretty stupid way to protest. What do you gain from such an action? Notoriety? Recruiting to your cause other people who think terror is a decent way of making a statement to your own government and countrymen? Despicable.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Conversations in the AM
There are a lot of superstitions that abound in my family. Some are pretty common, some are unique as far as I know. This morning my mother called me to tell me about a nightmare she had. Why? Because if you keep them to yourself, they gain strength to do harm, and for best evil dispelling effect it should be done before noon of the day you wake up. This is especially true when the nightmare has to do with people you know and events that could actually occur. Mom's nightmares are not to be taken lightly, I've found. One, where she dreamt I choked to death on a hot dog, resulted in the removal of the culprit from the household for over a year. Last night's dream was about me, too, but no hot dogs in sight this time.
After that, we just talked for a good while. About family. About food. But we spent a lot of time talking about her friends.
Mom is a gregarious lady by nature. She talks a lot, and is hard to stop once she starts on a topic. She has a wonderful laugh. And yet, she has very few friends here in the USA. Part of it is due to a sad history of friends my parents have had here. As it is, she has friendly conversations and relationships with some of our neighbors, and with some restaurant and shop owners. But the friends she has have been such for most of her life.
LiLi and Dina are sisters who have known Mom since she was a girl. They were her chaperones on dates, her confidantes, her allies in mischief. Dina lives in Peru, and is the eldest. LiLi lives in the states with her husband. Mom... she remembers so much. Details of their lives, gifts they gave, their families, their frustrations. They call her for advice, and vice versa. They laugh on the phone together, and they cry sometimes too. Mostly, they laugh.
Their are other friends she has, mostly in Peru. She hasn't seen a lot of them in years, but I know if she ever goes to visit, she will sit in their homes and laugh with them over the way life turns out. They will remember together, and bask in those memories, and revel in the friendship of today. I think about that, and it makes me smile.
After that, we just talked for a good while. About family. About food. But we spent a lot of time talking about her friends.
Mom is a gregarious lady by nature. She talks a lot, and is hard to stop once she starts on a topic. She has a wonderful laugh. And yet, she has very few friends here in the USA. Part of it is due to a sad history of friends my parents have had here. As it is, she has friendly conversations and relationships with some of our neighbors, and with some restaurant and shop owners. But the friends she has have been such for most of her life.
LiLi and Dina are sisters who have known Mom since she was a girl. They were her chaperones on dates, her confidantes, her allies in mischief. Dina lives in Peru, and is the eldest. LiLi lives in the states with her husband. Mom... she remembers so much. Details of their lives, gifts they gave, their families, their frustrations. They call her for advice, and vice versa. They laugh on the phone together, and they cry sometimes too. Mostly, they laugh.
Their are other friends she has, mostly in Peru. She hasn't seen a lot of them in years, but I know if she ever goes to visit, she will sit in their homes and laugh with them over the way life turns out. They will remember together, and bask in those memories, and revel in the friendship of today. I think about that, and it makes me smile.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Lowered standards and short cuts
Ambling through different areas of Dallas, you are bound to see some graffiti. I've talked about it before, in fact. However, I've noticed something more and more frequently. Rather than the traditional defacing of yore, where you used a nice thick permanent marker or spray paint if you're going to leave your mark, these guys have been putting the design on plain white stickers which they then slap onto random objects. Presto, instant tagging!
I have one word for this. LAME!
I mean, come on. Has there been a decline in artistic recruiting in gangs, or what? Are today's youth so freaking lazy that they can't perfect a design that they can produce in a minute or less? I can almost hear the leader of one of these gangs. "Man, you guys suck! I guess I need to print some stuff on Photoshop for you morons."
Bah.
I have one word for this. LAME!
I mean, come on. Has there been a decline in artistic recruiting in gangs, or what? Are today's youth so freaking lazy that they can't perfect a design that they can produce in a minute or less? I can almost hear the leader of one of these gangs. "Man, you guys suck! I guess I need to print some stuff on Photoshop for you morons."
Bah.
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