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(04/27/2003; 03:13am) - it's the little things that matter

i don't know what the difference between an accordian and a squeezebox is. i also don't think i want to.

(04/24/2003; 09:44am) - parry parry strike

the last time i was in a fist fight was eleven years ago. i was in middle school. i fought with another guy in the class over a disputed basketball call. in the heat of the argument he tackled me to the ground and swung a punch. he hit me squarely in the face. i tried to swing back, but he blocked it and swung again. i was losing the fight. i was bigger than him, but not in the way that would be good for winning fights. i was bigger in the way that makes every move really slow, and easy to dodge. the fight ended, and i hadn't landed a punch. my face was bloodied, and i was crying. i suppose that is why i almost peed myself today when a guy said he was going to kick my ass if didn't stop singing "when a man loves a woman" on the subway.

(04/22/2003; 07:04pm) - carter buys shampoo

i ran into my friend carter the other night at the checkout conter of CVS. i hadn't seen him for a while. it was nice. it turned out that we were both buying dandruff shampoo and candy bars. i was buying CVS brand dandruff shampoo, elequently named "dandruff shampoo" and a butterfinger. he was buying Dessonex and reece's peanut butter cups. he went first. the clerk rang him up, and as carter handed him the money he said to him, "is this what you thought of when your mother said you could be anything?" at first the clerk didn't seem to respond, until he lunged forward with a mean left hook from under the counter, sending carter to the unvaccumed carpet. i wanted to do something, but, i haven't really seen carter since we were kids. the clerk jumped over the counter (no small feat, for he was edging on three hundred pounds) and cowered over my beaten friend. he grabbed the collar of carter's shirt and pulled his face close to his own, sweat now dripping off his nose and said, "no."

(04/18/2003; 01:15am) - on peanut butter

oft i'll refuse a peanut butter cracker because i don't think i'll really want that taste in my mouth. but whenever it is that do eat one (albeit seldom), it was always the right choice. i'm either really in tune with the harmony inside my mouth, or i'm usually wrong, and i should take the peanut butter cracker every time.

oft i'll refuse a raison for similar reason. however, if that raison is riding along on a celery log filled with peanut butter, i'll always exept.

(04/17/2003; 03:09pm) - just one kid...and he's been on the block a long time

i can't stop dreaming about joey mcintyre. i don't even know why he's in my head. but for the past three nights he's turned up in my dreams. this wouldn't be so disturbing if the dreams weren't so cryptic. i'd rather be having sex with him, or fighting him, or something that would mean he symbolized something like my latent homosexuality or agression towards my catholic upbrining, but alas, nothing of that sort has materialized. instead, we just chat. i talk to him about his career, we trade recepies, chat women, and men, and life, and the world, then i wake up. but when i wake up i don't feel refreshed. i feel disturbed, deeply disturbed. i can't shake the feeling that i've been doing something wrong. i fear going back to sleep. i sweat. i tremble. "get out of my head. you're not my friend, joey mcintyre! we're not yentas, knitting over tea! i didn't invite you. i don't want you here. you weren't even my favorite new kid. i'm a donny man!" but he will not answer my pleas. instead he arrives in my dreams as soon as i return to sleep. and my sleeping personality has no idea how much i loathe these encounters, and he chats away with joey mcintyre endlessly. my waking personality is trapped in my own head, forced to watch it happen, like an infomercial when NOTHING else is on. i'm at the mercy of a nameless force falling deeper and deeper into petty conversational darkness. perhaps this is a harbinger of death. in many ways i've always assumed death would look something like joey mcintyre. his boyish good looks much more haunting than the empty darkness the hood of the reaper reveals, his bright eyes and candy cheeks only to be seen by those he chooses to take with him to the other side. maybe so. maybe this is the end. or maybe i should stop eating chee-toes before bed.

(04/16/2003; 02:06am) - a surprize phone call

this morning the phone range at like 9 in the morning. normally i don't answer the phone that early because it's always one of those computer calls, and that just sucks. but i was feeling particularly sadistic (and the phone was right next to my bed because i forgot to put it back on the thing) and i picked it up.
"you still sleeping, walker?"
"get your goddamned head out of your ass"
it was my high school football coach.
"coach, it's nine in the morning"
"that's bullshit"
i remember thinking "can he swear? no authority figure before in my life ever swore in front of me, unless they got hit in the balls or something. i'm supposed to respect elders, and not swear in public, and here's this guy, clearly my elder, swearing at me. i suppose he can, i mean, this isn't middle school or anything, maybe this is the way things are now.
"coach that's not bullshit, it's nine in the morning"
"don't you swear at me, you little fuck. if you're giving 110 percent, you're up at 8 and you're ready for the day."
somehow i got balls, i talked back to him
"coach, if was giving 110 percent, shouldn't i get up at 11:24? that's 10 percent later in the day than 9."
"goddammit walker, i'm coming over there"
and he hung up the phone.

(04/13/2003; 08:44pm) - angels in the outfield

the end of angels in the outfield made me cry today. i didn't even see the whole movie, i mostly just saw the end.