The creative endeavours of a human being in progress.
Sometimes I have thoughts.
Sometimes I post these thoughts on my website for you to read. Sometimes you read them. This is generally referred to as "Blogging", which should not be confused with "Flogging", an activity I do not perform for free. Unlike my Blogging.
I think the age you stop Trick-or-Treating at Halloween is the one where you realize your desire to collect free, individually wrapped, tiny bars of chocolate is trumped by your laziness over having to walk around the block carrying a bag and knocking on doors.
We all have that one friend who is a complete idiot. Unless, of course, you don't have any friends. Then you feel extra pathetic because as much of a moron as that one guy is, he still has more friends than you.
I'm a social rebel with unrealistic anxiety issues. The kind that will walk around without underwear on, just to prove my life won't be dictated by societal norms, all the while terrified I will be held at gunpoint and forced to give someone my pants.
I realized today that one person I never tell how much I appreciate, is my mother. She is ten feet away in the next room but I am posting this on Facebook. One of the things I appreciate most about her is that she doesn't make a big deal about how lazy I am. Maybe I'll mention it the next time I get up to go to the bathroom.
I am a great fan of the arts. Art Garfunkel, Art Carney, Arthur C. Clarke, and others. I'm not a snob, though. I like many of the lesser known Arts as well. In fact, there are a few in my neighbourhood. Sadly, we don't share a kindred appreciation and they tend to call the police when they catch me spying through their windows. Apparently, art is not only subjective, but litigious as well.
You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. It works with people too, but that much honey can get expensive so I choose to ignore them instead. What would I want with a crowd of people trapped in honey anyway? I have enough trouble with just one of them in a face to face conversation.
Here's a tip: Sign language for "Hump Day" is not grinding your crotch up against someone's hip. I think the old lady in line at Tim Horton's forgave me, but it cost me a maple dipped donut. What is it with old people and maple? So keep your crotch to yourself unless you find someone open-minded with a willingness to learn new languages. You never know, you may even get a fiver tucked into your waistband. I'd probably only get a quarter, and it would roll down my pant leg so I'd have to chase it. Not sure if I'd be bothered.