No Backpack Friday

After learning from yesterday's weather, I was so well-prepared that I didn't even need a backpack. My lunch and change of clothes were already at work so all I needed were my credentials, a banana, a book and gloves. It's a rare and different feeling when I'm bare-back. Feels like I'm missing something but it really frees me up to be more agile. That's good, I suppose and if I keep planning ahead perhaps I can do it a little bit more and lose some of the stress of having to pack for work.

I am reading Hemingway's Garden Of Eden. I bought it -- a first edition, untouched hardcover -- at a nearby garage sale for 50 cents back in the summer. For an additional 50 cents I was able to pick up Jim Norton's I Hate Your Guts. So it was like I satisfied my intellectual and moronic urges with 4 quarters. I started Eden a couple of weeks ago but got sidetracked by a phone call that never came which inspired me to pick up a couple of how-to books at the library. But I decided to pick up where I left off, which was about mid-way through.

This is an okay book thus far and sometimes it reminds me of his house, which I toured in Key West in early 2009 and sometimes it reminds me of this snooty writers' group I was expelled from after submitting the first act of my screenplay, "Go Grandpa, Go!" Apparently, if I was going to get my low-brow family comedy up to snuff, I really needed to read Hemingway to get a grasp of good dialogue. I hope everyone in that group (except my old co-worker) loses their hands digging for gold and can no longer type out their deep, insightful short stories that expose their childhood traumas. The world needs a good fart joke every once in a while, dammit.

I used to think that part of the book involved the Catherine playing the role of the husband in bed but now I think it was more just a "state of mind" thing rather than her going in through the out door on her husband. Part of my problem is that the husband, David, is a writer, so that sort of bores me, as I don't want to read about a fictitious writer after a while as it doesn't interest me. But the setting is interesting and he's not in to his three-way love affair as you'd think he'd be so that's what's keeping me involved.

As I was stopped at the Albany Street light, a foreign tourist started to take my picture and I waved her off. She persisted and mentioned something about "bike" and "husband" -- I turned away and she probably took a shot anyway. There's something creepy about that it's just annoying. There is nothing special about me and the bike wasn't folded and I am dressed as properly as Stallone during the outdoor training sequences in the first "Rocky" only with a helmet so I didn't see the point and wasn't in the mood to be an attraction.

My thighs are a little sore due using the thighsolator and hip abductor at the gym yesterday. It's a good soreness since I cranked up the weight on the machines.

It's going to be a long day since there are plans abound for the night there will be mass coffee consumption.

Playlist:
Soundgarden - "My Wave"
Metallica - "Trapped Under Ice"
Monster Magnet - "Slap In The Face"
Jamiroquai - "Soul Education"
Guns 'n' Roses - "The Garden"

Thank you for reading.