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I have books by all of the "Authors I Want to Read More of" now but I'm almost done Atlas Shugged and I've have some Tolstoi I want to read first before I continue on with the list.

I'm spending too much money on books, which I'd even be alright with if I had time to read it. With working and university right now I pretty much just read while I'm out about town, waiting for classes or work. Once I get home it's all I can do to curl up with my laptop or in front of the TV and idle away the few hours before I really ought to be going to sleep.

I'm going to try to write a novel in november. I'm going to try to write at least 2000 words a day, which will put me at 60 000 by the end of the month. It does happen to be national novel writing month, but the main reason that I want to do it during this time is that is that I want to have written a novel before my 18th birthday on the offchance that I someday achieve fame; my list of acheivements will could begin with the novel I wrote when I was seventeen. Which just sounds cool. Frankly I expect it to turn out to be absolute rubbish for three reasons. The First is that I don't esteem myself ot the that great of an author. The second is that I haven't the freetime to indulge in such an undertaking. The third is that I have no clue what I'm going to write about.

Irregardless, it's to be a learning experience more then much else. Plus I'm going to try post how many words I've written on the blog each night. Which means around 30ish updates. So you'll get to watch me slowly fail.

Finally: I noticed this afternoon at work I was getting a sore throat and now I have one.

hello again

I'm going to buy a 120 gigabyte ipod tomorrow,

-=link=-

hello again

I was walking down around the less busy side of town yesterday, and when I cut across a parking lot to get to Bob's Corner Restaurant, nestled beside one of the nigh customerless businesses there was a bus.

It was just sitting there, parked beside the store, out of view of the storefront, with no one in sight. The door was open. And the engine was running.

At that point I deeply regretted not ever having learned how to drive a bus, because I could have taken that bus.

Granted, once I had the bus, I wouldn't know what to do with it [besides blaring "Bad Boys" over the sound system I mean] and I would undoubtedly get caught; but I nonetheless paused for a moment, standing before the doorway, basking in the low hum of the idling engine, picturing an surreal possibility would never be realised.

I suppose I could just drop out of university and dedicate my life to becoming a bus driver, but it just wouldn't be the same.

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I bought a digital alarm clock a few weeks ago at a second hand store, because my parents wake me up fifteen mintutes before I have to go, and I never have time to get ready. The clock keeps time, and the radio in it works well, but the alarm feature doesn't work. So it did nothing to solve my problem

I'm glad because it gives me an excuse to get one of the solely mechanical ones that you have to wind and have actual bells on them, like the ones that I saw the other day.

I'd rather still have one of those one's with the flipping numbers like in Groundhog Day, but I haven't seen any of those around.

hello again

I saw something today I wanted to put on my blog.

It wasn't the shard of a vinyl record that I picked up off the side of the road when I was on my lunchbreak.
It wasn't that part of the label was left on it, that any writing had worn off of it, nor that the weathering had faded the rich turquoise label into a variety of jewel tones that set off against the shiny black lacquer of the record marvelously.

It wasn't the mother pushing her child in the cart across the parking lot, pushing faster and faster until she had enough momentum to lift her feet onto the rack underneath and ride on her momentum.
It wasn't that I smiled warmly at her and met her glance.
It wasn't that she smiled back.

It wasn't that I hate obligations.

It wasn't the perturbed look that you get in response these days as you look people steadfastly in the eye as you pass them down the sidewalk.

Nor was it the man who came through my checkout today; he was young, probably in his mid-twenties, and he came through with his wife and his young kid.
It wasn't the greyish-brownish blazer he had on that was just like one that I would wear or the grey shirt underneath, like I've been looking for for the past while: the long sleeved, but thin cotton like a t-shirt and buttons at the collar, but isn't a polo, and looks good under a blazer, but yet you can take it off and scrunch up the sleeves and look more nonchalent.
It wasn't the ring on his finger that I saw as rifled he through his wallet looking for his reward points card, the ring which was classy looking, with an intricate yet tasteful crest.
And it wasn't that on his head he sported a worn out Coca-Cola hat, grey, with the brandname on the front in those white cursive-esque characters, as if left over from working for the company years ago. Just like the one I'd wanted for years.

What it was was something very clever and profound, but not complex. Something that gave an an impression of deep and contented wonder. But I can't remember what it was for the life of me.

Monday

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On Monday I happened to be walking up by my old school on my way to a used book store and down the street towards me came a fellow who at first seemed truly unremarkable.

He wore a White Yankees Cap with the iconic black stripes and the brim perfectly flattened and worn slightly ajar. He wore a grey sweatshirt with white symbols all over it that formed a pattern, it was two sized too large. quintessential baggy pants the onlooker to see more of drawers of the subject than their footwear. I'd seen hundreds of guys like this at my high school over the year, of every creed and size. This one -as most are in my area- was Caucasian, he was averagely tall, averagely stocky, with light brown hair in the short style favored by the group one would associate him with.


The first thing that struck me about him was that he was smiling, not sneering, not smirking in smug defiance, but instead he wore a wide genuine grin. This was unusual, but not unprecedented. He was by himself, not in a pack of seemingly like minded people, with his head held high as he walked down the incline of the street. But he was missing a shoe.

One foot was clod in a Lugz workboot, but the other strod right alongside down the sidewalk in only a white sock. There was no shamble, no hopping, and no sheepish look appeared on his face as we passed by one another. It was as if he didn't even know.

That was monday, and nothing more interesting has happened to me since, but now I have my laptop back after a month, so I can update a bit more readily.