Citizen Stache

Porch sitting, Sock-Garters, Thera-Flu with whiskey, roller derby, taking pictures of things, sushi, pho, bahn mi, kickball, discovering condiments, gyrating, building shrines to things, picnics, road-trips, running away, hiding, peeking out, my mullet plant, my gecko, deciphering the metaphorical significance of practically anything, beer gardens with bloody mary's, heat-lamp food, coffee and VH1 in the morning, being on missions for things, connecting one thing to another to still another, using new words, deploying archaic expressions, drunk emailing, making soup, inventing nicknames for things, Waffle House, discussing drinking Sparks, still more roller derby, contemplating snazzy new outfits for the monkey I will one day own.On further reflection, saying all that makes me feel like a shill. It's true enough, but those who should know that stuff already do and those who shouldn't... well no matter. Ruminating on this aloud is my smug little way of not having to decide whether I should just tear all this MySpace crap down. Sort of like - 'see, I thought about it and the page is now on double-secret probation'. Though, for the record, I think my soul would be better protected by filling this thing with wild lies about my affinity for rock-climbing, how I truly understood the depth of the book Fight Club, what tools Christians and Republicans are and how I've weened myself off the glass teat of television. Did you know that the fellow who played Jake Ryan in Sixteen Candles now lives in a remote cabin and makes furniture for a living? I'm guessing that Tom is not one of his friends.