Evidently in my last blog what I said was not exactly "'nuff".
Tore, would indicate that something had been rent asunder. Made unwhole.
Taint, on the other hand is the area of the human body that resides between the anus and the gender specific equipment--either vagina or the cock and bawls. Sometimes it is referred to as "
the gooch" but that makes me think of the bully on Different Strokes, and that is not a pleasant thought.
At any rate, the other day I was walking at work and felt a good deal of discomfort in my general taint area and am now concerned that there may be some tearing in that region. That is really all anyone needs to know about the goings on in that space, other than to remember to keep yours talc-ed when the hot weather comes around...it can be a lifesaver.
Word.
-A.R. Leith
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Fatalist View of Professional Baseball
Tonight I watched the Cardinals of Saint Louis take on the Cubs of Chicago in a professional baseball competition. The Cubs won, by the way, but that is bound to happen once in a while when you enter in as many sports contests as they do each year. At any rate, my mother was wondering during the game how they were able to get the balls and strikes on the scoreboard so quickly. Although, I suppose this all bears some explaining...
The Cubbies are an oldey-timey ball club with an oldey-timey stadium (it was built in 1918 or somesuch). The scoreboard is likewise long in the tooth and still manually operated. There are guys inside who change the numbers and all the intricate business that this involves. Speaking of- to be the man inside the scoreboard is my new dream job.
Okay, back to the story. So when a pitch is made in Wrigley it is rare that you have a chance to look up to the board before the balls and strikes have changed. It is like magic. So my mother sez to me she sez,
"How do they change the numbers so fast? It hardly seems there is time between the pitch and the numbers changing on the board." To which I replied, "They have a script."
It got me thinking about fatalism. But then I decided not to. It is boring and kind of depressing. I mean doesn't it seem like there isn't really a point if everything we do is predestined on some level? You could try to fight it, but even that would have been on your slate from the start. There is no getting around it. Even the balls, strikes, hits, walks, and outs in a baseball game. What would be the point if someone somewhere knows what will happen...has actually laid out every thing that will happen throughout your existence. I just think it might be best not to think about it is all.
Plus, if the whole scoreboard job doesn't work out somehow I think I might become a 'talent scout' for them girls gone wild picture-shows they advertise on the television.
Speaking of, I would like to let slip here on this blog that Wrigley Field is the best looking ballpark ever. Of course, this is because of all the stadium features that are now part of baseball lore. The ivy, the scoreboard, Harry Carey, yadda yadda... But more importantly the fans at this particular ballpark are a good looking bunch. In a summer when I have gone to three ballparks and watched many many games on the TV there is no crowd as attractive as the one to be found in the Friendly Confines. Seattle had nothing but a bunch of underprivileged kids or some shit like that and fat people. I'm not even going to get started on the people at the minor league park I went to. And when they show fan shots at other parks on the television there seem to be a lot of dudes and heffers. Oh, I'm sure they all have wonderful personalities and contribute positively to society, but c'mon. When I go to Wrigley I really feel like I'm dragging down the average looks-wise. 3/4 of the crowd are good looking twentysomethings and it makes going to the ballpark so much more enjoyable. Especially when they dress well.
Okay, I'm sleepy. Screw all of you. I hope someone is actually reading this shit.
-A.R. Leith
"You tell me that my problem is thinking...I can chase it away with a problem like drinking."- The lawrence arms
The Cubbies are an oldey-timey ball club with an oldey-timey stadium (it was built in 1918 or somesuch). The scoreboard is likewise long in the tooth and still manually operated. There are guys inside who change the numbers and all the intricate business that this involves. Speaking of- to be the man inside the scoreboard is my new dream job.
Okay, back to the story. So when a pitch is made in Wrigley it is rare that you have a chance to look up to the board before the balls and strikes have changed. It is like magic. So my mother sez to me she sez,
"How do they change the numbers so fast? It hardly seems there is time between the pitch and the numbers changing on the board." To which I replied, "They have a script."
It got me thinking about fatalism. But then I decided not to. It is boring and kind of depressing. I mean doesn't it seem like there isn't really a point if everything we do is predestined on some level? You could try to fight it, but even that would have been on your slate from the start. There is no getting around it. Even the balls, strikes, hits, walks, and outs in a baseball game. What would be the point if someone somewhere knows what will happen...has actually laid out every thing that will happen throughout your existence. I just think it might be best not to think about it is all.
Plus, if the whole scoreboard job doesn't work out somehow I think I might become a 'talent scout' for them girls gone wild picture-shows they advertise on the television.
Speaking of, I would like to let slip here on this blog that Wrigley Field is the best looking ballpark ever. Of course, this is because of all the stadium features that are now part of baseball lore. The ivy, the scoreboard, Harry Carey, yadda yadda... But more importantly the fans at this particular ballpark are a good looking bunch. In a summer when I have gone to three ballparks and watched many many games on the TV there is no crowd as attractive as the one to be found in the Friendly Confines. Seattle had nothing but a bunch of underprivileged kids or some shit like that and fat people. I'm not even going to get started on the people at the minor league park I went to. And when they show fan shots at other parks on the television there seem to be a lot of dudes and heffers. Oh, I'm sure they all have wonderful personalities and contribute positively to society, but c'mon. When I go to Wrigley I really feel like I'm dragging down the average looks-wise. 3/4 of the crowd are good looking twentysomethings and it makes going to the ballpark so much more enjoyable. Especially when they dress well.
Okay, I'm sleepy. Screw all of you. I hope someone is actually reading this shit.
-A.R. Leith
"You tell me that my problem is thinking...I can chase it away with a problem like drinking."- The lawrence arms
Friday, August 05, 2005
The world according to Leith
Arguably, there is something soothing in the idea of knowing how you are going to die. If not the actual method of your own demise, at leas the manner in which you would like the days immediately following to proceed.
I was lying in bed this afternoon, ironically reading the epilogue of a very good novel that dealt heavily with death, when the the wafting sounds of Amazing Grace being played on the bagpipes. Whenever I envision my own funeral (which is more often than it probably should be) I imagine good times and bagpipes. Not good times in the sense that there will be no sadness, but more in tune with a celebration of life-well-lived than a lamentation of what could have been. I always, ALWAYS, imagine there to be bagpipes, and a rousing good time of an afterparty. Of course, this is all speculation; or should be.
The problem that I run into is that when envisioning my own funeral it is almost always in the near future. I have never thought of it as being something that happens when I am very old, and where most of the people I know who would attend are very old. In and of itself this doesn't bother me too much, mostly because I have trouble imagining what the future will be like, and have all my life. It's not just the distant future that I have trouble picturing, but the immediate future as well. Perhaps that is also at the root of my trouble with financial planning and that lot. Who knows.
Recently I have been told by a professor that she had a previous vision of many of the events in her life. So, should I simply ignore my current visions of having a memorial service peopled with young, fresh, grieving faces; or should I take heed and maybe prepare myself to shuffle off the mortal coil a little earlier than some others? The truth is that I just don't know. This topic is linked, in a way, to another problem that I am facing in life, right now.
I want to be a writer. Whether or not it shows here I believe that I could be a good writer--with the proper editing. The problem, it would seem, is that I just don't really have anything to write about. I lack experience. The kind of life experience that makes for the stuff of great books. Somehow I need to get out into the world and start living, so that I can have something to write about...In order to provide for the family that I hope to one day have. But here's the rub: I feel stuck in a rut. To me, there is no foreseeable way out of the cycle of working, paying bills, and generally trying to survive. I have considered squatting, which would probably give me something to write about, but it does not jell with my sense of working for a living. I guess the only way I can think about it right now is to find a sugar momma, or some sort of benefactor, who will suport me in adventures to travel around so that I will have something to write about. Other than that I suppose I just have to get my ass out there and try to find stuff to write about. I suppose I could write novels, because you can just make those up and loosely base them on real life. Maybe I'll work on having one of those out by the time I'm 30. I mean, it worked for that King guy. He wrote lots of books.
-A.R. Leith
I was lying in bed this afternoon, ironically reading the epilogue of a very good novel that dealt heavily with death, when the the wafting sounds of Amazing Grace being played on the bagpipes. Whenever I envision my own funeral (which is more often than it probably should be) I imagine good times and bagpipes. Not good times in the sense that there will be no sadness, but more in tune with a celebration of life-well-lived than a lamentation of what could have been. I always, ALWAYS, imagine there to be bagpipes, and a rousing good time of an afterparty. Of course, this is all speculation; or should be.
The problem that I run into is that when envisioning my own funeral it is almost always in the near future. I have never thought of it as being something that happens when I am very old, and where most of the people I know who would attend are very old. In and of itself this doesn't bother me too much, mostly because I have trouble imagining what the future will be like, and have all my life. It's not just the distant future that I have trouble picturing, but the immediate future as well. Perhaps that is also at the root of my trouble with financial planning and that lot. Who knows.
Recently I have been told by a professor that she had a previous vision of many of the events in her life. So, should I simply ignore my current visions of having a memorial service peopled with young, fresh, grieving faces; or should I take heed and maybe prepare myself to shuffle off the mortal coil a little earlier than some others? The truth is that I just don't know. This topic is linked, in a way, to another problem that I am facing in life, right now.
I want to be a writer. Whether or not it shows here I believe that I could be a good writer--with the proper editing. The problem, it would seem, is that I just don't really have anything to write about. I lack experience. The kind of life experience that makes for the stuff of great books. Somehow I need to get out into the world and start living, so that I can have something to write about...In order to provide for the family that I hope to one day have. But here's the rub: I feel stuck in a rut. To me, there is no foreseeable way out of the cycle of working, paying bills, and generally trying to survive. I have considered squatting, which would probably give me something to write about, but it does not jell with my sense of working for a living. I guess the only way I can think about it right now is to find a sugar momma, or some sort of benefactor, who will suport me in adventures to travel around so that I will have something to write about. Other than that I suppose I just have to get my ass out there and try to find stuff to write about. I suppose I could write novels, because you can just make those up and loosely base them on real life. Maybe I'll work on having one of those out by the time I'm 30. I mean, it worked for that King guy. He wrote lots of books.
-A.R. Leith
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