Tuesday, January 18, 2005

she used to fall down a lot

N.B.: grown women over the age of 25 should not walk into my office and bemoan the tragedy of Brad & Jen splitting up, using hackneyed phrases like "I really thought they would last." Actually, scratch that- this does not just apply to women walking into my office. Please don't bring it up over the phone, during dinner, in passing on the street either. Because, and trust me on the sincerity of this remark, I promise you that I do not care in the least. My friend A had the best reaction to this: "I didn't even know they were married." That is why he is the best, see.

Gingerbread Crackhouses must be seen to be believed. I can't even explain it, except to say that this framed a quintessential San Francisco weekend. The only non-San Francisco part of my weekend came on Sunday, when a hiking adventure went awry, and my knee started behaving oddly. Now, when I descend stairs, a sharp pain hits me right above the kneecap. Not sure what to make of that.

Yesterday, I listened to the Shins until my head nearly exploded. I think I could listen to New Slang on repeat for a solid hour, and then would only stop in order to keep myself from plunging into an amalgam of depression and wistful nostalgia. These lines keep turning over and over in my head:
I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find
Without a trust or flaming field, am I too dumb to refine?
That's the feeling that seems to haunt me constantly of late. And like someone who is haunted, I'm on the run. And when I'm on the run, I have no patience. It feels like a race against sadness, and the slightest impediment must be cleared out of the way like overgrown brush on a trail. It's dangerous, because, when I'm armed with such a scythe, friends may be cut away in the process. On the other hand, I tell myself that real friends would be beside me, facing the challenge, rather than standing facing in front of me, blocking my path.

Also: to Peyton Manning, I say "Ha ha!" (TM The Simpsons)

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