I like cake. In case you didn't know, I like cake. I don't have a beer belly. I have a cake belly. I LIKE CAKE. I'm always looking for new ways to eat cake. Not that cake gets boring; I just like to be creative. So I have a few leftover chocolate cake cupcakes. They're not frosted yet. My 7 minute frosting got a bit dry in the refrigerator and needs a bit of water to bring it back up to spreadability. I could always microwave it, but who likes hot frosting. A hot cake fresh out of the oven should warm frosting, not a microwave.
I have a cold. I want to take some green minty cold medicine before I go to bed so I can sleep medicine. You know, the one with Acetaminophen, Dextromethorphan, and Doxylamine Succinate in it. It's supposed to be a good pain reliever, cough suppressant and antihistimine.
Do you see where this is going? Can you imagine a grasshopper cupcake?
Yes, I did. I put a dose of the cold medicine in the frosting and drowned the cupcake with my new grasshopper minty green frosting and I ate it like a mule eating an apple. Yes, I did.
If the obvious timeframe wasn't apparent to me I would think that I thought of that AFTER taking the cold medicine, not before.
This reminds me of the time I was eating some mint chocolate chip cookies and my friend said "Dude, what'r ya doin'?" I told him eating mint chocolate chip cookies. He said "Really? Mind if I try one?" I said help yourself. He ate one and said "Dude, that tasted like a regular chocolate chip cookie." I said I know, you gotta brush your teeth first.
Well, I'm going to brush my teeth and go to bed so I can sleep. I already took my medicine.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Make Me One with Everything
Did you hear the one about the Zen Monk in Kinhin at a hot dog stand who said "Make me one with everything."?
Think of soil. Think of the soil in a river, the soil around the root of a tree. Think of the soil as boiling water or a load of laundry, it's always moving. Potato bugs make holes in it. Rocks make their way to the surface in a farmer’s field. Even under your house the soil moves. Have you ever seen a raised sidewalk? OK. Soil never sits still, it’s always moving around.
Think of water. Rain falls out of the sky, onto the ground. It seeps into the ground. A tree root soaks up the water, it moves up the trunk, out a branch and then into a leaf. Autumn arrives; the leaf falls to the ground and dries up. The water returns to the sky. Water never leaves, it just always moves around.
Think of air. Air just is, trust me. It's not just air with nothing there, it’s real and it's real. Air is so thin you can see through it. Air is so big the weather lives there. Air motivates my senses. Air is even in my blood. Air keeps me alive so I try not to play with it.
Consider this: Soil is not all soil, air is not all air and that water is not all water. There is air in the soil, there is water in the soil, there is water in the air, there is soil in the air, there is air in the water and there is soil in the water. Everything is everywhere. It's just that there are places where more of it is apparent.
Matter just doesn't appear and disappear, it moves around. Like the raindrop that never left and just moved around, people never leave, we just move around. We eat stuff, collect up the good stuff, add it on to us and get rid of the leftovers. The banana I just ate was on a tree in perhaps Jamaica, gathering minerals and water from the soil. Some time ago the banana was physically part of the tropics, now it is physically part of me. So, in a way, part of the tropics is me, I am part tropics. I come from everywhere. I am made up of all, air, soil and water. I am no different than a raindrop, a potato bug, a rock or a banana tree. I am composed of the very same. I move around collecting stuff, composing myself. Eventually, I will return to everything. (Lay on the beach long enough and you will die. Even if someone brings you food for the rest of your life, you will die. Just because you are getting food does not mean you will not die, it just means you will not die as soon. So, OK, you die, you dry up, you decompose. Decompose is the key word. ) Parts of me will move around regardless how the rest of me moves. I will decompose becoming less apparent in one spot. Liquid and ash separate, they return to the soil and sky. It's just that now I have a life form, a shell, a place where I am more apparent.
I never appeared out of nowhere and I will never disappear. All of me, all that ever was and will be was always here and always will be, so even now, I am one with everything.
Think of soil. Think of the soil in a river, the soil around the root of a tree. Think of the soil as boiling water or a load of laundry, it's always moving. Potato bugs make holes in it. Rocks make their way to the surface in a farmer’s field. Even under your house the soil moves. Have you ever seen a raised sidewalk? OK. Soil never sits still, it’s always moving around.
Think of water. Rain falls out of the sky, onto the ground. It seeps into the ground. A tree root soaks up the water, it moves up the trunk, out a branch and then into a leaf. Autumn arrives; the leaf falls to the ground and dries up. The water returns to the sky. Water never leaves, it just always moves around.
Think of air. Air just is, trust me. It's not just air with nothing there, it’s real and it's real. Air is so thin you can see through it. Air is so big the weather lives there. Air motivates my senses. Air is even in my blood. Air keeps me alive so I try not to play with it.
Consider this: Soil is not all soil, air is not all air and that water is not all water. There is air in the soil, there is water in the soil, there is water in the air, there is soil in the air, there is air in the water and there is soil in the water. Everything is everywhere. It's just that there are places where more of it is apparent.
Matter just doesn't appear and disappear, it moves around. Like the raindrop that never left and just moved around, people never leave, we just move around. We eat stuff, collect up the good stuff, add it on to us and get rid of the leftovers. The banana I just ate was on a tree in perhaps Jamaica, gathering minerals and water from the soil. Some time ago the banana was physically part of the tropics, now it is physically part of me. So, in a way, part of the tropics is me, I am part tropics. I come from everywhere. I am made up of all, air, soil and water. I am no different than a raindrop, a potato bug, a rock or a banana tree. I am composed of the very same. I move around collecting stuff, composing myself. Eventually, I will return to everything. (Lay on the beach long enough and you will die. Even if someone brings you food for the rest of your life, you will die. Just because you are getting food does not mean you will not die, it just means you will not die as soon. So, OK, you die, you dry up, you decompose. Decompose is the key word. ) Parts of me will move around regardless how the rest of me moves. I will decompose becoming less apparent in one spot. Liquid and ash separate, they return to the soil and sky. It's just that now I have a life form, a shell, a place where I am more apparent.
I never appeared out of nowhere and I will never disappear. All of me, all that ever was and will be was always here and always will be, so even now, I am one with everything.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Disambiguation of Thought
Ok, so I now find myself in this loopy circular thinking. If I write my first thoughts before I go to bed, are they my first thoughts (as I think them) or my last thoughts (of the day)? What if I happen to be up late at night writing before I go to bed and I happen to be up past midnight and I continue to write? Aren't those thoughts for a new day? Are they still my first thoughts? Yes, they are the first thoughts as my last thoughts of the day before I go to bed even if those thoughts are the first thoughts of a new day.
Is the time I perceive divided into segments of being awake and being asleep in alternating modes? The definition of "day" is in the perspective of the perceiver. When does the day start for a third shifter? At midnight, when they wake up, or when they are off of work? The weekend is often considered to start on Friday afternoons after work is completed. Let's say I stay awake for a day and a half writing, and then I go to bed. As I lay in bed, I might say to myself "that was a long day". The vigilance of time seems to be for consistent reference points for gauging how long something has been going on. Punch the clock, work overtime, sleep in, and stay up late. Our definition of what is an acceptable amount of time for these actions varies in as many people as there are gauging these actions.
Somehow "Blog of First Thoughts as I Think Them" is too complicated. I'd much rather amuse my muse with unintentional ambiguity and stick with BLOGOFT. It actually comforts me quite a bit being content without any disambiguation of thought.
Is the time I perceive divided into segments of being awake and being asleep in alternating modes? The definition of "day" is in the perspective of the perceiver. When does the day start for a third shifter? At midnight, when they wake up, or when they are off of work? The weekend is often considered to start on Friday afternoons after work is completed. Let's say I stay awake for a day and a half writing, and then I go to bed. As I lay in bed, I might say to myself "that was a long day". The vigilance of time seems to be for consistent reference points for gauging how long something has been going on. Punch the clock, work overtime, sleep in, and stay up late. Our definition of what is an acceptable amount of time for these actions varies in as many people as there are gauging these actions.
Somehow "Blog of First Thoughts as I Think Them" is too complicated. I'd much rather amuse my muse with unintentional ambiguity and stick with BLOGOFT. It actually comforts me quite a bit being content without any disambiguation of thought.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
An Explicitly Legitimate Knocking
5:45am, I’m sleeping. Somewhere in 1993, August perhaps. The one August I happen to live alone in an apartment building on the second floor. Sound asleep at 5:50am.
Knock knock, long pause. Knock knock knock knock, long pause. As I wake, Knock knock knock knock knock.
This is not just some random noise. Not quite the drunk neighbor below tripping on his furniture, but just as loud. And then again confirming my suspicions, an explicitly legitimate knock. Knock knock knock knock knock. This is serious knuckles on wood at 5:55am. It’s got that answer the door sound of a landlord collecting rent. It’s got that can’t you hear me knocking sound of a cold canvassing environmentalist. It’s got that I’m not going away sound of a Jehovah’s Witness who knows you’re home. Knock knock knock knock knock. Undoubtedly an official knock.
I alluded my interest in the knockee with a lackadaisical saunter to peek out the window to see if I could catch a spy on who was knocking and I woke up all at once as I looked. It was the police, a whole half a front yard full of police. EEK! That explains the knock. Once I saw it was the police I went to answer the door.
By 6am I was half way down the stairs when I saw their boots through the front door triple stacked windows. It was then I realized that I was in my underwear. Great, watch some neighbor open the door to see what is going on and I’m standing around in my cartoon boxers with the police. I’ll just answer the door, let ‘em in and scram back up to bed.
So I’m going up the stairs. Hmm, I thought out loud under my breath. They’re going up the stairs too. I furrowed my brow with confusion trying to think of a way to tell the police that not only are beginning to invade my personal space but they disturbed me from my warm sound sleep. They were all coming up behind me for somebody on my floor. I turned the corner to just mine and the old lady’s apartment across the hall and the police followed suit.
Rushing thought: They’re either here for me or Mabel; all Mabel does is make hot dog casserole, fill the bird feeder in her slippers and talk about the weather. Hmm, they’re not here for the old lady.
Hmm, reaching for my doorknob in slow realization that they were indeed coming to my place I asked them “You guys aren’t going to arrest me in my underwear, are you”? They asked me “Are you Scott Somethingorhteother”? I felt like Henry Chinaski from Barfly, answering the door in my boxers. I almost said “No! I’m Leon Spinks!” before I slammed the door in their faces, but I didn’t. Capitulate I thought, in nothing but your underwear, capitulate. Don’t resist anything to a hallway full of cops when all you have is your underwear. I did offer them Scott’s Somethingorhteother’s alias names though (I’ve been reading his junk mail. His junk mail is exceptionally trashy). I handed them some catalogs as evidence and showed them my ID as further evidence.
You know those signs at the gas station that say “Drive offs will be prosecuted”. They’re serious. Apparently the DMV still has Scott’s old address - mine. They said thank you and sorry. I said no problem.
Knock knock, long pause. Knock knock knock knock, long pause. As I wake, Knock knock knock knock knock.
This is not just some random noise. Not quite the drunk neighbor below tripping on his furniture, but just as loud. And then again confirming my suspicions, an explicitly legitimate knock. Knock knock knock knock knock. This is serious knuckles on wood at 5:55am. It’s got that answer the door sound of a landlord collecting rent. It’s got that can’t you hear me knocking sound of a cold canvassing environmentalist. It’s got that I’m not going away sound of a Jehovah’s Witness who knows you’re home. Knock knock knock knock knock. Undoubtedly an official knock.
I alluded my interest in the knockee with a lackadaisical saunter to peek out the window to see if I could catch a spy on who was knocking and I woke up all at once as I looked. It was the police, a whole half a front yard full of police. EEK! That explains the knock. Once I saw it was the police I went to answer the door.
By 6am I was half way down the stairs when I saw their boots through the front door triple stacked windows. It was then I realized that I was in my underwear. Great, watch some neighbor open the door to see what is going on and I’m standing around in my cartoon boxers with the police. I’ll just answer the door, let ‘em in and scram back up to bed.
So I’m going up the stairs. Hmm, I thought out loud under my breath. They’re going up the stairs too. I furrowed my brow with confusion trying to think of a way to tell the police that not only are beginning to invade my personal space but they disturbed me from my warm sound sleep. They were all coming up behind me for somebody on my floor. I turned the corner to just mine and the old lady’s apartment across the hall and the police followed suit.
Rushing thought: They’re either here for me or Mabel; all Mabel does is make hot dog casserole, fill the bird feeder in her slippers and talk about the weather. Hmm, they’re not here for the old lady.
Hmm, reaching for my doorknob in slow realization that they were indeed coming to my place I asked them “You guys aren’t going to arrest me in my underwear, are you”? They asked me “Are you Scott Somethingorhteother”? I felt like Henry Chinaski from Barfly, answering the door in my boxers. I almost said “No! I’m Leon Spinks!” before I slammed the door in their faces, but I didn’t. Capitulate I thought, in nothing but your underwear, capitulate. Don’t resist anything to a hallway full of cops when all you have is your underwear. I did offer them Scott’s Somethingorhteother’s alias names though (I’ve been reading his junk mail. His junk mail is exceptionally trashy). I handed them some catalogs as evidence and showed them my ID as further evidence.
You know those signs at the gas station that say “Drive offs will be prosecuted”. They’re serious. Apparently the DMV still has Scott’s old address - mine. They said thank you and sorry. I said no problem.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Too Slow with BLOGOFT
Sleep is for the weak. I remember checking to see if the blog address I was interested in was available. It was. Then I pondered and procrastonated for a long while. Just ecactly what do I WANT to say? What SHOULD I say? It Dont Matter!
I wanted to grab blogoft.blogspot. but BLOG OF T got there first. You snooze you looze. So Timothy has the address I wanted. http://blogoft.blogspot.com Kudos to him for beating me to it. I'll settle for the whole thing blogoffirstthoughts.blogspot.
I wanted to grab blogoft.blogspot. but BLOG OF T got there first. You snooze you looze. So Timothy has the address I wanted. http://blogoft.blogspot.com Kudos to him for beating me to it. I'll settle for the whole thing blogoffirstthoughts.blogspot.
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