I probably won’t be updating as often for a while. I’ve started work on a side project. It involves writing, of a sort I’ve never done before. I’m really very excited. I’m also not interested in telling too many people about it, because it would be much cooler to just show you all a finished product instead.
Or at least a half-competent rough draft. Honestly, the way I shoot my mouth off it’ll be a minor miracle if the whole world doesn’t know every intimate detail by next Tuesday.
And now I’m off to keep working on the mystery project that I’m not telling you about. Yet.
I have been dog-sitting my dog-in-law for the last week and a half. Since the wife and I can’t afford a dog of our own right now, we’re quite happy to watch “Libby”. She’s a beagle, an excellent canine archetype. And since she’s 11, she’s far too old to be poorly behaved. There’s only one problem.
This dog eats poop.
This 11 yr old, arthritic, shit-hunting hound will drag me 2 blocks in search of scat. It’s like a delicacy to her. No doubt in that peach-pit sized dog brain there’s an entire registry of colors and consistencies of various defecation. “Hmmm…almondy, with a texture not unlike a whipped mouse… aged perhaps two days, and… yes I detect a hint of IAMs.”
At least, that’s what I assume she’s telling me every time she woof’s when I drag her away from some “after dinner” delight.
Just thought I’d show how the app progresses. For those who don’t remember, I looked like this before. I’ve added a framed jersey to the back wall and a camera to the shelf. They’d both be easier to see if I collapsed the menu fully, but I’m rather proud of my reputation. “Weekend Warrior”. The weekend IS my job.
Oh yeah, and I’ve lost my pants. Freaking awesome.
When I was younger (like 10), I took forever in the shower. We’re talking 60+ minutes, easy. Al Gore once came to my house to discuss an entire rainforest I’d killed due to my excessive water use.
As I got older, my shower time grew shorter. But I’m still conscious of the time I spend showering, particularly when I’m running late.
That brings us to one particular morning last month. I was running behind schedule. Trying to gauge how much time I had, I checked my clock- 8:23. I set myself the goal of being done by 8:30. One hasty lather-rinse-repeat cycle later, I jumped out of the shower and checked the same clock again- 8:21.
There is only one sane conclusion: I showered so fast I went backward in time.
I’ll leave you all to consider that. I’m about to go end Nazi Germany before it ever happened. If all goes well, my dripping wet physique and this little rubber ducky will be the last thing baby Hitler ever sees.