Keepin' up with Jones, right?
-LS^2
"Bring me his fingers."
Monday, February 18, 2013
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Phourth of July
It's 9:48am on Sunday and I'm in bed. Still. I went to bed at 8pm. Friday.
Ooooh yeah, the flu. It hurts to cough and it feels like there is asphalt in my lungs. And I'll bet I smell, too. I was going to try and join a baseball league today, but I'll have to waylay those plans. It's been 31 years without playing organized baseball, so the great American pastime can wait another week for my crippling left-handed juke smash and kitty-like speed. I will cough and baseball will wait. What's new?
I want to learn more about space. But where to begin? Where would I start? I feel the same way about contacting Morgan Freeman for some freelance voiceover work (for him, not me). I think it'd be easier to forge a relationship with the Big Black that is space than the Big Black that is Morgan Freeman. But who knows? Maybe he's dying for a project to mix it up. And with enough SBTB video, we could rule the comedy world. Yeah, space is more far-fetched. Morgan will be fish in a barrel.
I work. I work work work and then I get home and I get a head start on tomorrow's work so that tomorrow I'll have a little extra time...to get my work done. It's a 6 hour gig at work, but it's about 1-2 hours of homework each day. Then each week there are sticker plan updates. And 5 times a month there are report cards. Then the 2-3 hours I've been devoting to handing out folders in the morning to parents to spread the Little Fox gospel. Then there's printing on this awful, awful machine we share. All in all, I'm spending all my time on the thing I was told would be the least of my livin' here. I understand fully that that's not how one should expect taking a job to go, but I was hamstringed into believing it. Oops. But salvation of that lies within my resourcefulness. How to make a dollar stretch, an hour sing and a moment appear. Joining a baseball team seems like a logical step. Another would be to block every site from my computer that isn't work. And maybe one that teaches you how to train carrier pigeons.
When I was in 2nd grade, I moved to Waterloo, Iowa. I learned right away that Georgia Trovas was a bitch. Cute. Popular. Bitch. Deadly combination. Then you move forward in my timeline to college. I'm 22. A man. Purely awesome and radiant. I meet Georgia Trovas again. She goes to my school for about a week. I approach her. "Hey, I'm Lucas Salazar. Remember me? Been a while, huh?"
"So?"
Some things never change. I hear she has a sarcastic greeting card business now. I hope she squanders the profits on a fatal cocaine habit.
Got any music to suggest?
I'd really like some NyQuil and a steak right now. I think I'll get the medicine from the store and murder a cow on the way back. Rumor has it there's one in town and happens to be close personal friends with James. Sorry, James, but your Mr. Ed's goin' down.
Face forward, y'all, and keep your hands on the warmth of your loves (their genitals),
-LS^2
My mission work.
Aint seen you in a while, Tootie Fruity 2x4.
Ooooh yeah, the flu. It hurts to cough and it feels like there is asphalt in my lungs. And I'll bet I smell, too. I was going to try and join a baseball league today, but I'll have to waylay those plans. It's been 31 years without playing organized baseball, so the great American pastime can wait another week for my crippling left-handed juke smash and kitty-like speed. I will cough and baseball will wait. What's new?
I want to learn more about space. But where to begin? Where would I start? I feel the same way about contacting Morgan Freeman for some freelance voiceover work (for him, not me). I think it'd be easier to forge a relationship with the Big Black that is space than the Big Black that is Morgan Freeman. But who knows? Maybe he's dying for a project to mix it up. And with enough SBTB video, we could rule the comedy world. Yeah, space is more far-fetched. Morgan will be fish in a barrel.
I work. I work work work and then I get home and I get a head start on tomorrow's work so that tomorrow I'll have a little extra time...to get my work done. It's a 6 hour gig at work, but it's about 1-2 hours of homework each day. Then each week there are sticker plan updates. And 5 times a month there are report cards. Then the 2-3 hours I've been devoting to handing out folders in the morning to parents to spread the Little Fox gospel. Then there's printing on this awful, awful machine we share. All in all, I'm spending all my time on the thing I was told would be the least of my livin' here. I understand fully that that's not how one should expect taking a job to go, but I was hamstringed into believing it. Oops. But salvation of that lies within my resourcefulness. How to make a dollar stretch, an hour sing and a moment appear. Joining a baseball team seems like a logical step. Another would be to block every site from my computer that isn't work. And maybe one that teaches you how to train carrier pigeons.
When I was in 2nd grade, I moved to Waterloo, Iowa. I learned right away that Georgia Trovas was a bitch. Cute. Popular. Bitch. Deadly combination. Then you move forward in my timeline to college. I'm 22. A man. Purely awesome and radiant. I meet Georgia Trovas again. She goes to my school for about a week. I approach her. "Hey, I'm Lucas Salazar. Remember me? Been a while, huh?"
"So?"
Some things never change. I hear she has a sarcastic greeting card business now. I hope she squanders the profits on a fatal cocaine habit.
Got any music to suggest?
I'd really like some NyQuil and a steak right now. I think I'll get the medicine from the store and murder a cow on the way back. Rumor has it there's one in town and happens to be close personal friends with James. Sorry, James, but your Mr. Ed's goin' down.
Face forward, y'all, and keep your hands on the warmth of your loves (their genitals),
-LS^2
PC Road Retter--the fuck does that mean?
"Teacher finished!"
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Garbage Booty
I am known here as a "waygookin." That means "foreigner." I like it. It sounds derogatory (and maybe it is), but when I hear children secretly ask their parents "Waygookin?" and the parents then hush their children (for it's not polite to stare), I smile like a Dutch boy.
Last weekend I went bowling every waking hour. On Sunday, I bowled a 166, which I believe is in my top 3 scores of all-time. I have no form and only an antiquated sense of fundamentals, but I do enjoy a good bowl. It's not too big in Korea, which would explain the NO DRINKING rule and the fact that there were never any other bowlers there save for my company. Yep, I spent all my money bowling. And a Friday night of whiskey and gizzards.
I'm still duckin' and bobbin' and weavin' with my job. It's a never ending pinballing 'twixt hoping they enjoy themselves, cramming lessons into their faces, pleasing the bosses and not punting a child down the hall. I had to assign one of my more unruly classes a seating chart. There are 8 students and 12 seats. The goal is to keep the sleepy ones engaged, the hyper ones at bay, the ones with grabby hands away from appliances and windows and stop them from fighting. And, you know, to teach them English. When assessing this, all I can think of is the riddle with the rice, the cat and the wolf (or whatever evolutionary hierarchy you learned). You gotta get 'em across the river, but you can only take one at a time, you can't take the rice with the cat 'cause it'll eat the rice, you can't take the wolf with the cat 'cause it'll eat the cat, and you can't shoot them out of a cannon. In my case, this girl can't sit by these two girls, this girl can't sit by the window or the light switches, this boy has to sit in front, this boy can't sit next to any of the talkers, these two girls are good and must act as buffers between the baddies, and the back row is too far away for the myopic and the perpetually fatigued. I plot it out like Napoleon, but invariably I find flaw with it. Right now, "Ooni" keeps turning on and off the heater.
Wait...why wouldn't the wolf wouldn't eat the rice? Or you for that matter? And why such a small boat if you've taken the responsibility of domesticating a wolf? Or have you not domesticated it, in which case what the hell are you doing with it anyway? And is the rice cooked? Could you put it in tupperware?
I am on my 3rd week of the Insanity workout. It's a mother fucker, but I'm getting somewhere, which is very encouraging. My goal is to get down to 75 pounds. But as I just discovered Nutella, this may be unrealistic.
I have to thank the light and life around me. Through the extremely gracious karmic whathaveyou, I am living in Korea, financially above water, healthy, sitting in a nice chair and loaded with fresh veggies and lemon juice. All this thanks to help from others, good friends, unsecured garbage dumps, love from my family and some good ol' dumb luck. With all the advantages I've had, I could be much further along, but I won't dwell on that (yes I will). I'll simply continue forward. I'll see you when I'm emaciated, world.
And Happy Birthday, Brett Loudermilk. Yesterday to me, but Today to you. Much love, Freakazoid.
As for the rest of you: Happy Birthday (when applicable).
Love you like FNM,
-LS^2
Last weekend I went bowling every waking hour. On Sunday, I bowled a 166, which I believe is in my top 3 scores of all-time. I have no form and only an antiquated sense of fundamentals, but I do enjoy a good bowl. It's not too big in Korea, which would explain the NO DRINKING rule and the fact that there were never any other bowlers there save for my company. Yep, I spent all my money bowling. And a Friday night of whiskey and gizzards.
I'm still duckin' and bobbin' and weavin' with my job. It's a never ending pinballing 'twixt hoping they enjoy themselves, cramming lessons into their faces, pleasing the bosses and not punting a child down the hall. I had to assign one of my more unruly classes a seating chart. There are 8 students and 12 seats. The goal is to keep the sleepy ones engaged, the hyper ones at bay, the ones with grabby hands away from appliances and windows and stop them from fighting. And, you know, to teach them English. When assessing this, all I can think of is the riddle with the rice, the cat and the wolf (or whatever evolutionary hierarchy you learned). You gotta get 'em across the river, but you can only take one at a time, you can't take the rice with the cat 'cause it'll eat the rice, you can't take the wolf with the cat 'cause it'll eat the cat, and you can't shoot them out of a cannon. In my case, this girl can't sit by these two girls, this girl can't sit by the window or the light switches, this boy has to sit in front, this boy can't sit next to any of the talkers, these two girls are good and must act as buffers between the baddies, and the back row is too far away for the myopic and the perpetually fatigued. I plot it out like Napoleon, but invariably I find flaw with it. Right now, "Ooni" keeps turning on and off the heater.
Wait...why wouldn't the wolf wouldn't eat the rice? Or you for that matter? And why such a small boat if you've taken the responsibility of domesticating a wolf? Or have you not domesticated it, in which case what the hell are you doing with it anyway? And is the rice cooked? Could you put it in tupperware?
I am on my 3rd week of the Insanity workout. It's a mother fucker, but I'm getting somewhere, which is very encouraging. My goal is to get down to 75 pounds. But as I just discovered Nutella, this may be unrealistic.
I have to thank the light and life around me. Through the extremely gracious karmic whathaveyou, I am living in Korea, financially above water, healthy, sitting in a nice chair and loaded with fresh veggies and lemon juice. All this thanks to help from others, good friends, unsecured garbage dumps, love from my family and some good ol' dumb luck. With all the advantages I've had, I could be much further along, but I won't dwell on that (yes I will). I'll simply continue forward. I'll see you when I'm emaciated, world.
And Happy Birthday, Brett Loudermilk. Yesterday to me, but Today to you. Much love, Freakazoid.
As for the rest of you: Happy Birthday (when applicable).
Love you like FNM,
-LS^2
Edging out England in a nail-biter.
Hey kid, c'mere...
...that's right. Now smile!
Atta boy.
Rapping HS boys beget screaming MS girls.
Some of my Garbage Booty.
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