George Gardner was an amazing man, and in many ways was the most real person I’ve ever known. He said a lot of things that really changed the way I look at the world.
I remember him giving me a hug at a protest a couple years ago, saying if he could be up at the front chanting and yelling with all us kids, he would have.
He’ll be missed.
Happy birthday to Q. I love you, sweetheart.
I spent FOUR. DAMN. HOURS. last night playing around with The Facebook (my profile).
I never really got into social networking websites but, Christ, this one is addictive. I think the difference was that all my friends already had accounts on the site, or maybe it’s that finding old high school friends is already quite nostalgic.
Either way, I ended up laughing so hard I cried at least once last night due to Facebook sillyness.
This morning I realized that I very much need to do laundry, leaving me with two options for what to wear today. I could either go with the most ragged of my jeans — unappealing on such a cold, damp day — or those dress pants in the back of my closet that I haven’t worn since my last day at the office in Wichita.
So I chose the dress pants. Black, satiny, and slippery. They’d always been pretty fun to walk around in, the kind of pants that just make you feel cool.
But I haven’t worn them in over two years. And while they fit then and still fit now, it seems that two years of my college diet have caused them to fit in an entirely new and interesting way.
Walking around in these pants today, I am constantly aware that behind me all day long, there is my ass and everyone can see it except me. And suddenly, I’m worried about what sorts of conversations my ass might be having behind my back. Suddenly I’m sure that I, up here in front, am being left out of something.
I’ve always been one to anthropomorphize inanimate objects and even body parts, but now I suspect that maybe all that’s not all just in my head.
This weekend, Quinton and I went back to Wichita to visit my family and to Winfield to visit his grandparents. Friday night, he stayed in Winfield and I drove back to Wichita a little after 9 pm.
And due to circumstances beyond my control, I ran over the biggest possum that ever lived. Holy shit, it was the size of a standard-issue hobo, but with a tail.
And so at the end of the night, I was fine (even a bit proud of my mammoth kill) while the possum was very, very dead.
Rest in peace, gigantic possum.
Happiness is a warm chicken nugget.
I never knew until now, but I love Chik-fil-A. The smartest thing KU has done in recent history: opening a Chik-fil-A on campus. If I leave the newsroom on time after my Monday shift and run over to The Underground, I have just enough time to debate my greasy chicken options, wait in line, and hurriedly devour my snack before class starts.
And that’s exactly what I just did.
And it was heaven.
Last night, Quinton picked me up from work, brought me dinner, and took me to see Bill Cosby speak about puberty, the myth of manhood, and dentists. It was awesome.
Cosby’s show was, I believe, the first sitcom I started watching regularly after I graduated from Sesame Street, so getting to see him speak made my week. His age really shows, but he’s still friggin’ hilarious.
I’ve been thinking that
it would be way awesome if
Al Gore was my dad
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