My Brain is Getting Away From Me

Aren't guys who buy "her pleasure" condoms just shamefully lazy and uncommitted to the cause?

Yeah, I Might Be Getting Older

Impressing your friends, age 14: "Yeah, man, I just got Goldeneye! It's soooo sweet!"

Impressing your friends, age 24: "Dude, I just got a new bed. From the Original Mattress Factory. Seriously. It's great."

Also

I'm running Linux on this machine- Ubuntu to be exact- so I feel really cutting edge/cool/geeky. Interestingly, it doesn't come with the Times New Roman font, which is a little aggravating given the name of this blog. Part of what makes Ubuntu such a great platform, though, is that all I needed to do was bring up a window that showed me all the nifty programs and things I can download- for free- from the Ubuntu community. One click and the Microsoft font pack was installed. Seriously, this thing is great. I can find anything I want to. Photoshop clone for free? Yep. Civilization for free? Yep. A clock that moves counter-clockwise? You bet.

Look Who Caught Up to Strong Bad!

That's right, I finally have myself a laptop. I guess the score is even now, old boy.

Now that I can actually type from a comfortable position (which the desktop did not allow me to do), I might do so more often. We'll see. We all know the problem isn't that I don't have things on my mind.

Well, Shoot

Not exactly the best news I've read. The Baltimore Sun has a great article about this. I wouldn't call myself a voracious follower of Wallace's work; indeed, I don't really latch on to any particular author with the possible exception of Eric Schlosser. But any time I came across his work, I felt my soul rise. I saw a little bit of myself in his writing. Certainly not as limber or talented, but I could relate. I felt like, if I met him, we would be friends. Our brains, and possibly our writing, seemed to be similar. Perhaps this was his writing, perhaps this was hubris on my part. I don't know. At the very least, we could talk tennis for hours. He wasn't a "tennis writer" per se, but nobody wrote about the sport better.

Chillingly, I now discover that we may have been more alike than I would have wanted or desired. We all think about death from time to time. For whatever reason, I had recently been thinking about if I died tomorrow, how would I be regarded? What would the obituary say? Who would miss me? Ultimately, what would my legacy be? I think we all want to know how others will react to our passing.

Everyone has reacted to his suicide like he got punched in the gut. Knowing, of course, that he'll never read this, I just want to say to him that I'm sorry. I didn't even know you, David, but I'm sorry.