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.

Random Thought of the Day

Do schools still instruct children to go to a neighbor's house in case of a fire? Because, chances are, they can just whip out their phones and call 911.

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Now playing: Weezer - Hashpipe (Live)
via FoxyTunes

Release

It's hard
to let go
of something you don't have
But I'm gonna try
And I think
you can fly
Not to leave
me behind
just
where I was.

Yeah, I'm Kind of Weird

Last night, before crawling into bed, I turned on my iTunes (I like to have music playing while I sleep). First thing that came on was "Jump Around" by House of Pain.

"Perfect," I thought.

What Happens When You Are Not Stimulated

One day, a girl came to the register with a pregnancy test. I rang her up and she chose to pay with a credit card. She inserted it into the card reader and left it there. I told her, "You need to pull it out."

To myself, I thought, "Like he should have."