Today’s soundtrack: I never cross the tracks baby
Today at 12:02pm: trying to teach this yellow belt the difference between right and wrong



I am a random number generator. Watch.

42.

You see that? Wait, I’ll do it again.

17.

Blam! Who got skills?

233.

Ouch! Don’t be so mean.

6,841.

How does he do it?

I was reading the Film section of the Village Voice. I don’t really like the Voice but it’s free and sometimes over lunch I want to read something that isn’t coming through a modem. Anyways I saw the word “solipsistic” in three different capsule reviews on the same page. When I got home I looked it up, but I think it will be some time yet before I can use it in a sentence. In the meantime I hope it doesn’t apply to me.

Film Guy is putting me on a project, and in order to execute it I have to watch certain movies to understand points he brings up. Tonight my homework was to watch a movie about a talking pig. It’s interesting--fifteen years ago I had to read Animal Farm for homework, but at 33 I’m watching Babe. Is it any wonder I’m shaping up to be a poor excuse for an adult.

My auto insurance company says they’re cancelling my policy. Between that and the three grand I need to cough up to fix the airbags, if I can’t get it sorted out tomorrow I’ll just have to suck it up and sell the car. I wanted to live in a certain way but I have to face reality, which says I am not making it work.

To have a car in Manhattan is rare, and rather than feel bad about losing it I guess I should just be happy I got to experience it at all. It’s okay, and there are worse things to fail at. I’ll figure something else out for roadtrips.

Something that kind of bothers me is that the airbag thing happened while I was doing a friend a favor. Tommy Chops asked me to take him out to Home Depot on a Saturday. I left my Saturday available but he changed it to Sunday at the last minute. So we went out Sunday and I slammed into that pothole, which changed everything.

Well, whaddaya gonna do, I guess it’s nobody’s fault. Coulda, woulda, shoulda, blah blah blah. Once you’re in the shitter, culpability is moot. Just have to keep shoveling.

Today at Hapkido I made a frightening discovery: They have a new promotional card, and they put my picture on it. I’m not doing anything dramatic in it, it’s just a simple silhouette and it looks I’m striking a silly pose. But who needs this kind of pressure? Now if I get into a fight I have to win it. What will it look like if I’m on the fucking promotional material and I end up having my ass handed to me?

I think they just had the picture lying around and it looked photogenic. I’m far from the best guy at the school--I’m not even one of the black belts! During my last test I got tossed around by a fucking blue belt. In an actual brawl I rate my chances as only slightly above average, and this is on a good day when I’m wearing the proper shoes.

With my luck I’ll end up on the wrong side of a haymaker and get knocked the fuck out sometime next week, right in front of the school. I’ll be lying unconscious in a pool of my own blood in front of a blown-up poster of me in full uniform.

24,918.

I am blowing your mind.