Miscellaneous Other
Hey, everybody. The past couple of weeks have been a bit strange, so I’m going to do one of those choppy stream-of-consciousness entries. I hate stream-of-consciousness as a literary tool since it’s just plain lazy, so it’s a good thing that I never go back and read these things. Also, this isn’t really stream-of-consciousness, since I’m still using paragraphs and stuff like that, but the paragraphs have nothing to do with each other.
The most significant event was on Saturday: John Reeves Hall, who had been fighting cancer for the past year or so, passed away. Reeves was a good friend, and, though I feel like I ought to write something about this, the words that come to mind seem shallow. dcantrell wrote a nicer obituary (http://www.burdell.org/?p=352) than I’m able to, and Reeves’s diary of his fight with cancer is available at http://overcode.yak.net. Although it ends as a tragedy, the tale is inspiration of the finest sort. He kept his spirits throughout the whole ordeal. I suppose that it’s impossible to avoid an event like this—the loss of a friend—yet the death of someone so young cannot but evoke thoughts of one’s own mortality.
I tried taking my bike into work today. I thought that it would be a good idea to try it on a weekend to see whether or not a bicycle is a feasible means of locomotion on a weekday, and the answer is quite definitely, “No.” I parked my car in the lot off of Wileo by the county line, next to the river, and, though there are some nice bike trails between there and Riverside Dr, the hill from Riverside to Holcomb Bridge is kind of brutal. I’d estimate that it’s about a quarter of a mile uphill in medium traffic, but, since I’m incredibly out of shape, I had to stop every few minutes to catch my breath. To add to the fun, the section on Holcomb Bridge that crosses that creek is about the least safe section of road that I can think of. Somehow the memories of pedestrian fatalities on that section of road didn’t factor into my route planning. I did eventually manage to make it to the office, and I was able to get a ride back from a coworker who happened to be in the office on Saturday. When I got back to my car, the Roswell Park Police were there, either planning on towing my car or guarding it; I’m not sure which. I received an oral warning that the park closes an hour after sunset and there have been a lot of break-ins and blah blah blah. Biking into work from there totally isn’t worth it. Maybe the ‘burb would let me park there and ride into work. It wouldn’t save much gas, but it would still be some exercise. Also, I like alcohol and pizza.
I received a pamphlet today from State Representative Rob Teilhet. As someone who registered to vote last year, I’ve received a handful of mailings from local officials detailing their victories in the past year’s legislative battles, but this is the first to invite me to participate in town hall meetings. Favorite phrase: “he went and got a law passed.”
I still need to find a place to buy a needle and thread. I lost a button from one of my hawaiian shirts, and, though I vaguely remember how to repair this from that home ec. class I took in 7th grade, I have no clue where to get the materials to do so. So far my only attempted store, Target, the big-box store that depresses me less than Wal-Mart, has failed to deliver. Someone on the Internet has suggested that sewing kits are available as stray items, out of place in the aisles they call home, at Food Lion, the nearest of which is in Carollton. Someone else has suggested Wal-Mart, which, as noted above, makes me sad. Maybe I’ll try Michael’s. Sewing’s a hobby, right? I’ll probably pay too much, but I can walk there, so, something.
I don’t like the New Yorker. My daily adventures of clicking shiny things on the Web brought me to a review of a book that I happen to own, Eats, Shoots & Leaves. It’s a somewhat odd book since it claims to be a treatise on the strictest of punctuations, yet it’s more of treatise on using punctuation as a mostly unregulated art. Punctuation marks each have a purpose, of course, yet that purpose is mostly in the mind of the writer. Punctuation as an art form is continually reinforced through the presentation of historical changes and uncertain cases, yet the New Yorker managed to ignore all of this, instead deigning it necessary to spend the first half of the critique tearing into the incorrect punctuation of the book, making at least one error itself, only stopping to acknowledge the purpose of the book in order to demonize that, too, as this can only be a failure for a novel that is overtly advertised as a manual on punctuation. Clearly, such a book cannot allow for inconsistencies. Apparently it’s also a sin to be British, since they’re a bit looser with stops in relation to quotations and other such things. Man, what a bunch of dicks. I think I’ll stick to Creative Loafing for my intellectual needs. Any time the phrase “nonrestrictive appositive” comes to mind, it’s probably time to step back and ask yourself, “Am I being a total jerk?” The answer, of course is “Yes.”
Apparently I’m three degrees of separation away from country music singers. Joe, a former coworker, now retired, invited me last weekend to a show led by one of his friends from college, Tony Arata, who has written songs recorded by people like Garth Brooks, Patty Loveless, and, most recently, Bonny Rait. That’s way better than Kevin Bacon. When was the last time you reached for a Kevin Bacon movie when you were feeling down?