Nothing But Flowers
7/6/1
Well, I typed in a long Stuffo last night on the Mac, but for some reason Mousewrite didn�t save it right. That�s what you get with 10 year old, free Mac software.
On the way to work today, I had to pull over twice due to one of my spark plug wires slipping. When the Kronos goes down to 3 cylinders, it gets about 50 hp and runs very [very very] badly. The first stop was on Slaughter at Covan, the next was off the service road of the Parkway after I got McDonald�s.
I�ve gotten disenchanted with cereal. Sad but true. I have an experiment in mind where I take four scoops of chocolate protein powder and put it in some sugar free, fat free pudding. I don�t know if it will be good. Oddly enough, the protein cost much more than the pudding package. Aisai asked if I was planning on eating it for breakfast.
I finally remembered to bring coffee and creamer today. I also brought brown sugar. I get the granulated kind that Dixie Crystal came out with. Granulated is really the wrong word for what they do. It�s little balls of brown sugar. I�m drinking Yuban coffee with about 2 spoons of brown sugar (I�m not exactly sure since it�s a pour thing) and some Cinnamon Coffeemate in it.
And my current coffee mug is actually one of those aluminum coffee tumblers. It is anodized silver [in color] with black rubber bottom and black polyethylene top and insides. Aisai got it for me for Christmas.
Oh, and check out the Stuffoblog for the next cool watch.
Here�s the last � of what I wrote last night:
The Kronos's engine started stuttering again. I was supposed to pick up some plugs and wires tonight on the way home, but I forgot.
I'm writing this on the Mac Classic II in the library. The library at our house, not some public library. I'm also making at tape. Right now, "Letting The Cables Sleep" by Bush is playing. I'm looking forward to listening to this tape in the car. I'm also looking forward to hearing "40 Miles From The Sun" in a few minutes.
The five CDs loaded into the CD player are Talking Head's Greatest disk 2, Powerman 5000 - Tonight the Stars Revolt, Bush - The Science of Things (obviously), Rob Zombie - Hellbilly Deluxe, and Soundgarden - Superunknown.
I haven�t' heard Black Hole Sun in a while.
We went to Olive Garden tonight. We were supposed to have some informal meet with some of the kids from our College Age class at church. Aisai and I decided that in the future we'd need to establish some contact person. We were the only ones who showed. I was able to call Fish and found out he was still working. His sister, I kind of didn't expect to show. And his girlfriend, the only other person who'd show up, would have shown up with him.
After 20 minutes and the phone call to Fish, Aisai and I decided to give up and be a party of two.
Oddly, the food at Olive Garden was better than that we had a Macaroni Grill in flavor. The service wasn't horrible by any means, but for $26 and us just drinking water, I'd expect better service. I got a near clone of the dish that I got at Mac-Grill but with a more refined flavor.
Aisai got her usual: Canaloni Dogfoodo. Sheesh, when you mix chicken, pork, and beef with some whatnot, I don't want to eat it.
Ah, 40 Miles From The Sun just came on. I love the pause. Here it comes...there. "There is nowhere left to hide, there is nothing to be done, no people to be saved, no ..." I can't type that fast.
The table that the Mac is on is our old coffee table/eating table. We don't use our kitchen table, but eat at oversized coffee tables. This one I made. It is four feet by three feet plywood. Aisai put some Celtic kells on it in green paint and I did a white pickling on it. It's a little rough.
Besides the Classic II, there is also my trombone case on the table.
"Oh, do you play, Postwood?" No, not hardly. I did in 7th grade but I lack the skill now. I am learning to read music again at church. No formal lessons, just picking it up as I listen to the other men singing bass.
Dang, this Mac's screen is bright. Enough stuffo. Nighty-night.
[As Postwood finished his Stuffo and lay back onto the fairly scratchy rug below him, The Talking Heads were playing Nothing But Flowers.]