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<< Previous: Just Zoogling Around | Next: Minimum Wage >>

Caring
Sunday, 2005 June 26 - 10:43 pm
Weekend of lumpitude, Part II.

The leg was a bit better today; I could at least hobble around without using a crutch. I even went grocery shopping. Sometimes it's the little things that make you happy. My Zoogle is now back to being used as a practice golf club.

You know, I have this fantasy that someday, when I'm dead, my house will be a little museum of things that I've depicted in this blog. People would visit and say things like, "Hey, there's the Zoogle he talked about", or "Look, there's the Og book." But actually, in all likelihood, people would be saying, "What's with all the empty beer bottles?" Or, "LOOK AT ALL THE DAMN PORN!" And that reminds me, I need to find a porn buddy... you know, someone who will discreetly clear all the porn out of my house when I die, before my parents find it.

So, I really shouldn't root for my favorite sports figures any more. My baby Michelle Wie had a complete meltdown today, shooting an 11-over-par 82. A lot of other players had a tough time at the U.S. Women's Open, and it was sad watching all the teary-eyed interviews afterwards. You know, golf seems like a different game when a bunch of the competitors are emotionally fragile teenagers. How could you root against any of these kids?

I have that same feeling whenever I watch the national spelling bee (which, coincidentally, was being re-run on ESPN earlier this afternoon). You just really don't want to see that much disappointment in the face of a little kid.

I've always been a pretty good speller. I mean, I wouldn't do so well in a spelling bee, but in everyday writing, I take pride in spelling things correctly. I cringe when I see misspellings. It's not that I mind that people make mistakes; I mind that they don't seem to care. That's why I appreciate the passion that professional athletes and spelling prodigies put into their efforts. It's good to care about things.

But you know, someone should lash me with a wet noodle about the number of empty beer bottles occupying my house. I really ought to care enough to do something about THAT.
Permalink  4 Comment   Bookmark and Share
Posted by Ken in: life

Comments

Comment #1 from Sonja (Guest)
2005 Jun 27 - 11:03 am : #
Grammar and spelling are far more important than a clean house. At least that's what I keep telling myself.
Comment #2 from Ken (realkato)
2005 Jun 27 - 11:40 am : #
Sonja, I just swooned a little, just now. :)
Comment #3 from Cori (Guest)
2005 Jun 28 - 12:41 pm : #
Thank you for explaining what a 'porn buddy' was. I had a moment of extreme 'ick' before I read the next sentence.
Comment #4 from Phil (Guest)
2005 Jun 29 - 4:40 pm : #
My executor is also my porn buddy. There are instructions in tshe note I have attached to my will.

I was a lower-grade porn buddy for a neighbor, once. His Mom and I and some other folks were helping him pack for a move, and a snagged the one magazine he had hiding in his laundry room. At first I thought I shouldn't mention it to avoid embarrassing him. Then I realized that the greater sin would have been to *not* mention it which would have made him wonder for the rest of his life (a) where it had gone and (b) if his mom or daughter had been the one to find it. So I told him. He was grateful. That was maybe ten years ago. Now that I'm 38 and know more men who have aged into their 40s (like this guy at the time), there would be no hesitation. Just a quick pulling aside and a "hey buddy, I got your back on the magazine. I know you'd have done the same for me.")

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