Useful Tip Fo' Life:

The crippling emotional discord brought on by prolonged contemplation of the labyrinthian nature of reality can be quickly dispelled by a few laps of F-Zero.

This is why I don't make a good English student. Whenever I hear a term such as "comparative literature" I immediately picture something like this:



I hope to attend the next conference on comparative literature where I will resolve disputes and turn a small profit by selling t-shirts that read "Let's Settle This With Hover-Cars".

Writer's Corner: It took me more than twenty minutes of furious internal debate to decide on the appropriate car for each author. At first I was heavily influenced by nationality but then I was like, "Fuck it, it's the future."

Okay, just touch the keys lightly and see what happens. Good, so far no spelling mistakes. That's a good sign. Let's see what I can still spell: Kumquat. Periphery. Glockenspiel. Fahrenheit. Occam. Stoichiometry. Platonic. Gimbel. Damn. Missed that last one. That's fair; I can't think of what a gimbal is.

But that's fine, I'm sure I'm not concerned with gimbals right now. How can I be concerned with something when I don't know what it is?

I should rest. I should put on my Batman pajamas and climb into bed. Wrap myself up snug in my thick red blanket with the tigers on it. Sleep and dream and awaken refreshed. It's the perfect plan.

I had a thick blue blanket with dolphins on it. I wonder where that is.

Why am I feeling this way? Maybe it's the Tolstoy...

I read a book today. Other than that I wasn't terribly productive.

I'm taking some medicine to help my attention span (such as it is) and I've been reading like a kid again. I'm irrationally opposed to any medical solutions to ailments that I don't consider life-threatening, but once I began to lose focus halfway down every page (not due to literary crappiness) I yielded.

In the past two weeks I've read Invisible Cities, Red Mars, a couple of Xanth novels, One Hundred Years of Solitude, re-read Mysteries of Pittsburgh, and I'm well into Valis by Philip K. Dick. On deck is Samuel Beckett's Watt since I've only read/performed Waiting For Godot years ago and I can't claim that I really understood it.

Rather than feeling satisfied by my literary gluttony, I am becoming more voracious. It is a pleasant gnawing, like being awoken by the scent and sizzle of a huge breakfast.

This is my last week of babysitting. When I began, sheesh, four or five months ago(?) the twins could do little more than lie on their backs staring up at me in their baby way, a mixture of judgment and acceptance. Now they're taking their first steps and hurling food like pros. They're also much heavier but my back never hurts anymore. Heh, I must have finally developed those lower back muscles. I could probably lift four, even five babies if I had to.

I will miss spending so much time with them. I will miss Ender's blatant defiance of my authority and how Joshua will crawl up and lie on my chest when he gets sleepy. I will also sorely miss my middle of the day nap.

Other matters await my attention, and my carefree days of frolicking, swimming lessons, and teaching them how to properly harass the dog are at an end. It may be for the best. I try to nurture their independence, problem-solving skills, and healthy suspicion of authority figures, but I worry that in time they may pick up my reclusiveness, moodiness, and ambush-predator approach to problem solving.

It has been my blunt realization that to be a better parent, I must become a better person. I don't think I'm that person yet, so it's best to bail out before anything's irreparable. I'm not too worried. We Lopez's are quite resilient.

I will miss my babies.

Let's call this a transitional period.

I'm still getting a hearty helping of spam in my comments. I was all set to set up the comment verification but I faltered when I remembered how annoying it is. I can't reliably fool a computer into thinking I'm a person and you shouldn't have to either. Why punish the humans? They're some of my best friends...

A few seconds' work will get rid of the comments on my end. What with all the not updating I do, I have plenty of time to get rid of a few mortgage offers. Real estate bores me. Whenever people talk of owning land I am vaguely remind of street gangs.

Blasted spammers have found my comment system. Curse them...exploiting my love for purchasing boats.

It's been an interesting few weeks...month? Month and a half? I'm getting rusty; I used to be able to elude the real world for entire tax periods.

I just realized that I can't remember the last time I heard anyone mention Delaware.

Notes for tomorrow:

Had a great time at Emma's birthday gathering. Irish car bombs were involved.

I was entrusted to take care of dogs at friend's house. I took duties seriously. 3 am found me driving deep into Ahwatukee to feed and water said dogs.

There were no other cars on the dark, winding street when my car died.

I coasted as far as I could and then jumped out. Metal met clavicle, and I pushed my car (I was barefoot, once again) into a Fry's grocery store parking lot. I used to come to this Fry's to buy food for my developmentally disabled clients. DC worked here at that time. It's good to see one of us has gotten far, far away.

I popped the hood and checked what I could. Everything seemed normal. I yanked out the dipstick to check the oil. I ran two of my least-used fingers along the burning metal blade and took the levels. It read normal. I pondered.

I know my car. It is acting like it doesn't have enough oil. I'll be damned if I'll
listen to a stupid burning metal blade to tell me what's wrong with my car.

I grabbed the quart of oil I keep under my seat. I never leave home without a quart of oil. I dumped it in the engine and tried the car again. It started fine and I made my way to my goal without interruption.

Until I got there.

The front door of the house was locked. In all my years of coming to this house for fun and business, the door has never been locked. Stranger still, no dogs barked. Odd.

I pondered again. I shouldered my overnight pack and walked around to the side of the house. The wall was the same height, which meant I could still climb over it. I did so.

I tried to open the back door. It too was locked. Again, this has never happened to me before.

I gambled my last chip and tried the tiny doorway to the master bedroom. It opened. Dogs came pouring out. More dogs than I remembered. I froze as they yapped and licked at me.. I sensed rather than saw a person...no, two people. People breathe differently or something, I'm not sure what it is that makes them stand out in darkness. I called out "Hello? This is Guillermo..."

My pupils flared to adjust to the darkness. I heard a voice that sounded familiar but not familiar enough.

"Guillermo?"

It was the daughter of the owners of the house. Her fiance' was with her. It seems that they too were entrusted with the safekeeping of the dogs and had chosen to spend the night, as I would have done.

So we chatted. I explained why I was there, and they, they didn't shoot me in the chest. It was a pleasant time. Having fulfilled my promise, I left the house knowing the pets were taken care of.

On my way back, a scantily clad woman flagged me down. She was also barefoot. I stopped, asked her if she was all right. She said her boyfriend had beaten her, stolen her truck, and was trying to get to a nearby gas station.

Mama didn't raise no fool. I offered to call 911 immediately. She declined. I conversed politely after that, quite wary and traveling at a higher than normal speed (because for you non-paranoids out there, if someone in the passenger seat is going to take you out they'll wait until you're at a low speed to avoid a deadly crash).

So it went until we got to a gas station. I pulled up the front door and she stepped out. As the door swung shut, I leaned towards her. "Just so you know, I don't believe most of what you've told me."

A broad smile cracked the thick layer of her makeup. "Why's that?"

I shifted into reverse and checked my rearview mirror. No one was behind me. "Just be careful." I stepped on the gas and drove off.

Now I'm home safe.

Times like these I admit that I don't know what I am, just that in dangerous times, I could end up being very useful.