Tuesday, June 26, 2012


     We turned the A/C on yesterday. You can see my facebook post about that one. Good Lord is it amazing though.
     As I made the astute comment in my blog yesterday about how everything takes time, I decided to do something about it: I bought a watch. A Casio G-Shock Sports Watch actually. Thank the grandparents for the Amazon Giftcard, I feel so loved and thought of. 
     No, the watch was actually because I was tired of whipping out my oversized smartphone to check the time. It's time to just disconnect and go live in the woods dude, like seriously. I'll go all Thoreau out there and whip out some delicious writing that I'll come back into the fray of society and just make millions. Sound like the most likely career path for me? Anything's possible.
     So I work with kids at a school. I'm a pool assistant on M,W,F. The real reason I decided to get a watch is because the lovely folks at the Lawrence Pool have made time and knowledge of it a luxury formerly reserved for spices from the Orient. Their giant sundial of a clock on the side of their building has obviously got some teenage angst, because there's something seriously wrong with it. First of all, it's not the right time. It's way off, like way left field. And, seeing as I've been coming back each week, it seems as if they've made no effort to fix it. Secondly, I was informed by a co-teacher that it doesn't even keep time correctly. Good grief, I thought we were beyond that sort of shenanigans! That's big government for ya though, public funds paying for petty products. So, if your eyes wander elsewhere in the poolside compound, you'd expect to find a replacement for the defunct monolith on the side of the building. There is a small clock, somewhere, about the size of the small one that would go inside of an office cubicle. But, the catch is, it only seems to be out there occasionally, sporadically even. It's like they literally don't want us to know what time it is. It's been my decision that the pool has adopted the unsung slogan: "Lawrence Aquatic Center, where time will fly by and you won't even notice you're late for that job interview." I'm pretty sure it's in some of their staff materials somewhere, I'm just not sure where yet. 
     Anyway, I think my watch comes today, and I'm super excited to begin enjoying another modern accommodation! It's even got one of the glow backlights so that, if by miraculous chance, I should arise into panicked consciousness in the middle of the night from a horrible dream about Oreos being multicolored, I can look over at my watch and remember the exact moment I reassured myself such a silly and forward-thinking action on behalf of a company would never happen
     That's all for now folks, got to get back to tending the little lambs!

Sunday, June 24, 2012

It's Hot

     You know what? It's hot! You know what else? It's hot! I'm perched upon the precipice of prose in my stunning hand-me-down recliner, slowly soaking up the sweat that oozes out of me. "Cool" and "Refreshing" are words that do not have a place here in Lorimar Townhomes. Good God, which one of the three of us decided it would be a good idea to hold out on turning on the air conditioning? Oh wait, that was me. I think my line of reasoning on that one was, "Oh ho! Wait'll the folks at work get a load of this! Ol' Coop still hasn't utilized his modern accommodations! He must be a true man at one with nature!". Highly the contrary. I really wish this was more like last summer where I was gearing up to study abroad in Costa Rica about this time, which turned out to be a balmy 75-80 degrees the entire time. Costa Rica was not Satan's armpit. Kansas is Satan's armpit. 
     Enough about it being hot. I think I'm delusional. At any moment I'm just hoping for one of my roommates to crack and hit that little golden switch that we're so obviously entitled to, yet we've all taken some silent oath to not touch upon fear of castration. They seem too "gifted" and "special" to even comment on the obviously deplorable conditions that we're inhabiting because it seems as if I'm the only one that comments on the big elephant in the room. Why won't they crack?
     Living in an apartment has its perks and its quirks. Perk: My own room behind closed doors to do whatever the heck I want. I'll let your imagination run the full gamut of possibilities as to what that might entail (insert winky face here). Quirk: I have to buy my own groceries, cook my own food, and wash my own along with my roommates' dishes about half the time. Perk: I can drink a Guinness whenever the heck I want. I've come to love Guinness. It's delicious, not too heavy, and still a great summer beer. My waistline has also seemed to enjoy its company. I do indeed hope that no gene flow occurs between the two. Quirk: It takes time to do all of the things of the aforementioned quirk. Lots of time. Last Tuesday was grocery day (which I was very pumped for by the way) but after getting off work and doing the deed, it was 8:30 and poof, the day was done! Good God, when the heck am I supposed to have time to take up bookbinding, woodcarving, pipe smoking, and glassblowing? I guess that's what I'll leave Wednesday nights for. Nevertheless, it takes a lot of time to do a lot of mundane tasks. I need a maid. First world problems indeed. I also need a Guinness. 
     I'll leave this post here for now, I've got to get to bed and prepare to engage in combat against the "Guinness Waistline" as I've dubbed it. That fight will be left for tomorrow morning. That, along with making coffee and cooking breakfast, another task that needs to be combined into one machine that will undoubtedly be found at Sharper Image in ten years. 
     I hope everyone hasn't noticed my almost two year hiatus from writing. I really enjoy it, and hope to post more regularly now that I've come to my senses and realized I can be mildly funny with words. I promise not to mildly disappoint! 
My brother after he lost a tennis match this weekend due to: 
1. Obviously the heat and nothing to do with stamina or physical fitness which us Nickels are notorious for.
 2. Not wearing all Under Armor apparel.