Dem's da' rules, Toni!
I'm glad the meat portion of my diet COMPLETELY consists of chicken. That's it. I swear to God I eat chicken at every single meal, which is awesome.
A second bag....SECOND.
So, I'm really glad I bought the Grand Theft Auto game that came out on the PSP on Tuesday. Believe it or not, I haven't dedicated 100% of my free time to it as I had originally believed. I've been using it to pass some time, playing it every once in a while. It's good fun, a nice tribute to the series. It's nice having a GTA game back in Liberty City. That was easily the coolest setting out of the trilogy on the PS2.
My story is going good so far, hopefully I can have something worth turning in by my deadline. Here's my first two pages....
Routine. Everyday for thirteen years. I guess after that much time, you could finally coin our relationship as ‘routine,’ or maybe a routine. I mean, since life itself is filled with a monotony of routines. Mundane routines encompassing habitual actions and reactions. Habitual situations, sleep, shagging, eating, dreaming, and crying. So, in essence, our relationship was nothing more then a routine inside a routine. Metafiction, but we like it that way.
See that guy over there. No, not that idiot, that guy. The one in the olive blazer. Yeah, that’s me. Gavino Mattio Leone is what it says on my birth certificate, but you can just drop the latter two if you’d like to address me. I usually stick out like a sore thumb in this part of town, but hey, it’s the best place to sit back, drink coffee, reflect and occasionally genuflect to the amazing power of the human mind.
“Good afternoon, Craig. Gorgeous day,” I directed towards my compatriot on the secluded bench of Grant Park, extending my right arm, in hopes of being greeted with a healthy handshake. The day was just pouring life from every corner. Sunlight poured through the opaque clouds, jettisoning happiness to all inhabitants of Earth.
Today was one of those days that just takes you by the hand and leads you wherever it pleases. A day when you look up at the sky, the sun greets you happily with its overwhelming rays, the ones that creates those little wrinkles next to your eyes when you squint. A serene day, just one miniscule fraction of the progression of time.
“Oh, hey man! What’s up? Fall break man, I’m excited. It was high time for a well deserved break,” Craig responded as I sat myself on the right side of the bench. I glanced down, tracing the stain of an ice cream cone with the toe of my fading brown boots. The yellow stitching traced my heal like a catalogue of caterpillars marching endlessly. My mind raced, intermingling with each leaf as they slowly tumbled to the ground. Craig began talking about this and that, but I was at ease with the world and didn’t want to lose stride with what I had already gained.
“…Yeah man, my kids are really driving me up the wall,” Craig said condescendingly, biting his bottom lip “I mean, these cats don’t understand that learning is a give and take process. You have to participate, you have to open your mind to the fruits of intellectual stimulation. Learning isn’t a spectator sport: these kids have to realize that.”
I lifted my cup of French vanilla to my lips, laughed heartily at Craig’s assessment. “Craig, what’d I tell you in grad school? My goal our fifth year was to convince you to get your PhD and teach college. High school kids just don’t realize yet how important a witty mind . You can’t plant seeds in these kids at young ages anymore. At 13, they think they have everything figured out. It takes ‘em a while to really get their gears turning.”
“Yeah Gav, but you can’t tell me every college student is completely dedicated to learning. Come on, we know that a majority of them spend their time dicking around. Remember when we graded those essays from Loyola? Man, some of those were God awful: you would’ve thought half of them were composed by an eight-year-old. Nothing but caffeine fueled, Adderall inspired messes.”
“Ahh, but you cannot forget that those were Physics majors, my friend. Do you honestly believe that an esteemed member of the English community, such as ourselves, would dare turn in such poorly cultivated trash?” Craig began laughing hysterically, and I soon joined him in agreeance.
We continued talking, discussing our theories of the Burkiean Parlor, when our weekly interruption made his way into the park.
Whadda' ya' think?
A second bag....SECOND.
So, I'm really glad I bought the Grand Theft Auto game that came out on the PSP on Tuesday. Believe it or not, I haven't dedicated 100% of my free time to it as I had originally believed. I've been using it to pass some time, playing it every once in a while. It's good fun, a nice tribute to the series. It's nice having a GTA game back in Liberty City. That was easily the coolest setting out of the trilogy on the PS2.
My story is going good so far, hopefully I can have something worth turning in by my deadline. Here's my first two pages....
Routine. Everyday for thirteen years. I guess after that much time, you could finally coin our relationship as ‘routine,’ or maybe a routine. I mean, since life itself is filled with a monotony of routines. Mundane routines encompassing habitual actions and reactions. Habitual situations, sleep, shagging, eating, dreaming, and crying. So, in essence, our relationship was nothing more then a routine inside a routine. Metafiction, but we like it that way.
See that guy over there. No, not that idiot, that guy. The one in the olive blazer. Yeah, that’s me. Gavino Mattio Leone is what it says on my birth certificate, but you can just drop the latter two if you’d like to address me. I usually stick out like a sore thumb in this part of town, but hey, it’s the best place to sit back, drink coffee, reflect and occasionally genuflect to the amazing power of the human mind.
“Good afternoon, Craig. Gorgeous day,” I directed towards my compatriot on the secluded bench of Grant Park, extending my right arm, in hopes of being greeted with a healthy handshake. The day was just pouring life from every corner. Sunlight poured through the opaque clouds, jettisoning happiness to all inhabitants of Earth.
Today was one of those days that just takes you by the hand and leads you wherever it pleases. A day when you look up at the sky, the sun greets you happily with its overwhelming rays, the ones that creates those little wrinkles next to your eyes when you squint. A serene day, just one miniscule fraction of the progression of time.
“Oh, hey man! What’s up? Fall break man, I’m excited. It was high time for a well deserved break,” Craig responded as I sat myself on the right side of the bench. I glanced down, tracing the stain of an ice cream cone with the toe of my fading brown boots. The yellow stitching traced my heal like a catalogue of caterpillars marching endlessly. My mind raced, intermingling with each leaf as they slowly tumbled to the ground. Craig began talking about this and that, but I was at ease with the world and didn’t want to lose stride with what I had already gained.
“…Yeah man, my kids are really driving me up the wall,” Craig said condescendingly, biting his bottom lip “I mean, these cats don’t understand that learning is a give and take process. You have to participate, you have to open your mind to the fruits of intellectual stimulation. Learning isn’t a spectator sport: these kids have to realize that.”
I lifted my cup of French vanilla to my lips, laughed heartily at Craig’s assessment. “Craig, what’d I tell you in grad school? My goal our fifth year was to convince you to get your PhD and teach college. High school kids just don’t realize yet how important a witty mind . You can’t plant seeds in these kids at young ages anymore. At 13, they think they have everything figured out. It takes ‘em a while to really get their gears turning.”
“Yeah Gav, but you can’t tell me every college student is completely dedicated to learning. Come on, we know that a majority of them spend their time dicking around. Remember when we graded those essays from Loyola? Man, some of those were God awful: you would’ve thought half of them were composed by an eight-year-old. Nothing but caffeine fueled, Adderall inspired messes.”
“Ahh, but you cannot forget that those were Physics majors, my friend. Do you honestly believe that an esteemed member of the English community, such as ourselves, would dare turn in such poorly cultivated trash?” Craig began laughing hysterically, and I soon joined him in agreeance.
We continued talking, discussing our theories of the Burkiean Parlor, when our weekly interruption made his way into the park.
Whadda' ya' think?