Good morning and Welcome to Thursday. A full-bore plethora of this and that for your reading edification, for that handful of people who actually take the time to read my insane gibberish.
An old Chamorro guy and I were chatting the other day while I was waiting on the laundry to do its thing. He told me that we’re in the dry season here on Guam. If that is in fact the case, then it’s starting out as an awfully wet dry season. It has done nothing but piss down rain most of this week. Yesterday I spent most of the day in rain, the good news being that I was indoors for most of it.
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Did something last night that I rarely do. I’ve had the beard off now for the better part of 4 months, trying to give my skin a bit of a break from all the hair. Last night, the moustache finally left the face, which has only happened probably 5 times in the last 20 years or so. I must say, I look different, like looking at a stranger this morning when I was doing my early morning grooming.
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In two separate attempts, it has become apparent that I suck at marriage or marital bliss. It should also be noted for the record that my present wife, The Gorgeous One, also suffers from the same affliction. I continually (but completely unintentionally) do things that piss her off. Try as I might, there is always something that I’ve either done or didn’t do or some personal quirk that I have that irks her.
By the same token, every time she opens her mouth, in general it’s going to be something bad. It’s not like it was before; far from it. We used to be one of the most lovey-dovey couples on the planet. Not so much anymore. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re both working our asses off, or that she’s had a couple of health problems lately. I love the woman to death and always will, but something’s gotta change and soon.
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In three days time, I will once again attempt to stop smoking. It has been an ongoing struggle between me and Demon Tobacco for three decades. The problem is that I love to smoke, but it’s a relationship similar to being hopelessly in love/lust with a serial killer. Fingers (and maybe dicks) crossed that I will finally be able to kick the habit. Every other attempt has ended in Utter Failure.
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I love to rock out, and always will. With that said though, lately I’ve been in kind of a country-bluegrass place musically. A lot of Ashokan Farewell (which is probably the most beautiful and horribly sad songs ever written). Plenty of Garth Brooks, Marshall Tucker Band (for the southern rockiness of it). Liberal doses of John Denver (Grandma’s Feather Bed is simply a fun song that I love to sing along to). Dunno why I’ve been getting my redneck on, but I think it has to do with finding comfort in something old and familiar when the world around you is doing it’s utmost to kick the living shit out of you.
As far as reading is concerned, I’ve started rereading a lot of old Hunter S. Thompson books, namely Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ’72, and a couple of others. “The Vegas Book” as the Good Doctor referred to it, still holds up really well as one of the funniest books ever written. Death to the Weird, indeed. Hunter S. Thompson was the 20th Century’s Mark Twain, and so much more.
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I have to give some training this morning on one of the little projects that I am working on, so that a larger number of people in my department can share the pain. To some people, this would be a pain in the ass, but in reality I like giving training. Always did, always will. There is something very satisfying about passing on knowledge that will make those you work with learn something new, and there is the potential that doing so will give me more time to work on other things once these guys are up to speed.
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More later. Must have coffee and a cigarette.
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