July 6th, 2004

Self-Portrait 3

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-- I had a very nice, if somewhat strenuous, weekend this past week. Spent Saturday first loading and then unloading a very hard-won U-Haul to shuttle the last remaining pair of wonderful people off to Birmingham. Moving was fun. It didn't take very long because we had a lot of people helping, and the rest of the weekend was spent hanging out. I got to see Shane, Tommy Ware, and Dave and Cooper again for the first time in a while. I need to do things like that more often. Except for the moving my friends away part. I don't so much like that.

-- I pulled and/or strained something in my shoulder pulling Sarah's washing machine up the stairs, in addition to rolling it over my foot. The washing machine, not my shoulder. My left hand is even more beat up from kendo than it was this time last week and my neck hurts from getting dropped on it last night. Twice. Your 30-year-old shell wants a fucking break.

-- No, as a matter of fact print media isn't dead, but it's not for lack of trying. Then again, maybe it's just the fucking Post.

-- I have a lot of stuff I need to do tonight. I have letters I need to write, I have people I need to call, I have emails I need to send, I have laundry I need to do, I have books I need to organize, and I also need to reorganize my DVD shelf. I went looking for something the other day and after a few minutes I began to wonder if I was on the crack the last time I sat down in front of the thing. Granted, my organizational system is a nebulous abstract at best, but still, there is a damn system. There were whole bunches of movies that just were not where they needed to be. No flow at all. That said, it's entirely possible that I'm going to blow every bit of it off and go chasing after women. We shall see.

-- Then again, maybe I won't. That's a lot of stuff. But then again again, pretty blondes and cute redheads. Decisions, decisions.

-- And yes, I understand and accept that me chasing after women is the very zenith of pointlessness. But I comfort myself by believing that there's only so much love in the world, and that my being cold and alone and lonley is allowing someone else to feel the love and happiness that I don't. Looking at it that way, I'm okay with it. Laugh if you want but it gets me to sleep at night.

-- Speaking of sleeping at night, I've been having some weird fucking dreams lately and more than one of them has involved Vin Diesel, crying, or Vin Diesel crying. I don't even want to know what that's about.
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Self-Portrait 3

Yes indeed it does.

Now, the world don't move to the beat of just one drum,
what might be right for you, may not be right for some.
A man is born, he's a man of means.
Then along come two, they got nothing but their jeans.

But they got, Diff'rent Strokes. It takes,
diff'rent strokes. It takes,
diff'rent strokes to move the world.

Everybody's got a special kind of story,
everybody finds a way to shine.
It don't matter that you got,
not a lot,
so what,
They'll have theirs, and you'll have yours, and I'll have mine.
And together we'll be fine....

'Cause it takes, Diff'rent Strokes to move the world.
Yes it does.
It takes, Diff'rent Strokes to move the world.