i need to watch things die from a good safe distance
I was promised last night that I'd have a ride to the train station this morning so I wouldn't have to brave the massive rainstorm that's been pounding the eastern seaboard this week. When I discovered this morning that nobody was home and therefore I'd need to walk a mile in torrential freezing rain, I got pissed and in a moment of childish petulance kicked at the side of the kitchen counter, shattering to splinters the wooden cupboard near the floor...damaging a part of my house wasn't my intention, it simply did not occur to me that striking a hollow wooden cupboard with a steel-toed boot is liable to cause damage. It didn't make me feel better, nor change the fact that I still had to get walking. All that my outburst accomplished was to make my mom justly angry and the evaporation of most of my tax return towards fixing the thing. I can almost hear the Buddha muttering, "tsk, tsk".
The Boston Marathon went on today and the train I took home was full of stinky runners. Sadly it was not the worst smell I've been exposed to on the train.
On my way home from work, as I headed through the door of a corner store where I commonly purchase my cigarettes, a couple of high-school aged kids handed me some money and asked me to buy them a pack of Malboro lights. I obliged and the store owner, who I'm on good terms with, was totally aware of what I was doing and we both laughed about it.
The Virginia Tech story--at least 32 students shot dead on campus by a madman--is dominating every news outlet. Though I wouldn't really expect otherwise, the rabid public attention and obsession with details of the event bothers something in me. There's little genuine compassion or remorse, in fact it seems to me that it's almost like they're excited about the gruesome new story shaking things up. Tool's got our number in the song Vicarious.
The Boston Marathon went on today and the train I took home was full of stinky runners. Sadly it was not the worst smell I've been exposed to on the train.
On my way home from work, as I headed through the door of a corner store where I commonly purchase my cigarettes, a couple of high-school aged kids handed me some money and asked me to buy them a pack of Malboro lights. I obliged and the store owner, who I'm on good terms with, was totally aware of what I was doing and we both laughed about it.
The Virginia Tech story--at least 32 students shot dead on campus by a madman--is dominating every news outlet. Though I wouldn't really expect otherwise, the rabid public attention and obsession with details of the event bothers something in me. There's little genuine compassion or remorse, in fact it seems to me that it's almost like they're excited about the gruesome new story shaking things up. Tool's got our number in the song Vicarious.