Whether or not Black Americans go camping is not the question at hand

My first day back working. God, how awful. I spent the entire day in a semi-vegitative state. Things became dire around 1:30 when I spilled spicy garlic sauce from my Chinese food all over myself. I smelled like Chinese food all day.

I was supposed to leave work at 5:00. However, I was informed half way through the day that we would have a meeting at 5:00. So while I could have been home, I had to stare at my supervisor's stupid uneven face. Had we been sitting in a larger venue I would have fallen asleep. Unfortunately, I was sitting directly across from the Boss.

I'm still very uncertain how I manage to pass the time every day at work. My short-term memory loss should possibly worry me. I think, though, that forgetting each passing day is a security technique. I have the distinct, disturbing feeling that I'm blocking out horrible events. It's clearly better for my psyche that I go numb from the brain down the second I walk into the office. I think everybody else there, for that matter, is also numb from the brain down, though possibly for different reasons.

Tomorrow it will no longer be Black History Month. What next?

qwik

I have just returned from the longest walk that was ever a walk and I smell like dog. Seattle has been wonderful to me thus far. The weather has been incredible, which I think is almost unfair as it is setting me up with unrealistic expectations. Shame on you, beautiful weather!

I've been taking walks every afternoon upon returning from the days adventures with Auntie Chris. Yesterday, I walked around Camp Long, a New Deal CCC camp just two blocks from the Greenwood/Mellinger household. Today I walked all over West Seattle and made it, probably, half way back to Michigan.

On Friday I may have a chance to sit in on a biostatistics class at University of Washington's Community Oriented MPH program. I will have less than no idea of what's going on. I'm excited, though. I walked around U of W's campus yesterday and was impressed. It's a beautiful campus.

I'm drained. And my fingers hurt from all that walking. I guess that teaches me not to walk on my fingers.

I'll Sell My Soul Before I Buy Your Eats

They not only have stopped feeding you on long flights, but they now offer the same, cheap shit for sale. I was offered a plain bagel and some fruit for the low, low price of $8 (U.S.) Listen, you still buy the goddamned food on the ground, so taking it up several thousand feet doesn't make it anything special. It's still a dry piece of bread and a cold banana. I screamed at the flight attendant. I told her I'd never come fly the friendly skies again. I amassed a cadre of angry fellow travelers who felt just as cheated out of their right for cold, unappetizing airplane food.

Then there was fat Benjamin Netanyahu, who had his seat back reclined right in my face the second the plane took off. Professor Stimpy - the smelly, psychopathic math professor sitting next to me - squished me against the wall for the entire flight, not once sharing the arm rest in the four-hour duration of our time in the skies. An entire military academy was sitting behind me - one fellow sharing his backwards philosophies on flight-law particularly loudly while his military wife stared dotingly at the genius she married.

I tell you, if I weren't such a paragon of morality with infinite patience, I would have jumped off mid-flight. Fortunately, I arrived in Seattle with my wits intact and my political philosophy soundly un-molested.

Leaving the airport, I was accosted by a large, orange, heat-emitting orb suspended in the sky. Apparently that's what we call the sun - the center of our galaxy. Some of you may find it ironic that my first encounter with the sun in ages was in a city renowned for its cloudiness and rain. Nevertheless, the forecast for the week looks more promising for Seattle than it does for Lansing. I thank my mother's good genes for this brilliant weather.

I've started reading Haruki Murakami's new book, Kafka on the Shore. It's good, so far. I like the idea of being able to talk to cats.

Anyhow, I've just seen Ocean's Twelve and am now quite tired from my long day of torturous travel. I think I'll turn in for the night.

God Bless.

To Be Young, Gifted, and Black

I'm young, but I think that's all I've got going for me.

I've finished reading A Confederacy of Dunces. I'm thinking of starting the Naguib Mahfouz book.

I'm going to Seattle on Saturday. My primary objective is to go to Hillside Quickies Vegan Sandwich Shop. Only once I have sated my desire for vegan soulfood can I begin to explore the University of Washington, learn more about the city to which I may move, or explore living options. And if I run into Q-Tip there, I think I can handle that just fine.

Oh, and I might pop up to Vancouver. That is, if the border police let through a suspicious character like me.

All Your Depravity, Wrapped in a Taco

Mmm...tacos....

I just got back from running. I think I'm addicted. What's not to love about sweating buckets, being short of breath, dying for cold water, and feeling shooting pain in your legs?

I didn't do much today, though. I was a bit sick, so I stayed home, did some chores, and tried to feel better. Tell me if you think this is a bit draconian. I needed to make a copy of the key to my room at my house. I've been working a lot lately, so I haven't had time to make a copy. Apparently, the Maintenance Vice President told my house's maintenance officer to fine me $25 and to change the lock on my door while I was out of the house. Exactly how that would solve any problems, I don't know, but it seems like a horrible idea and I am grateful that it didn't come to that. There would have been hell to pay.

Brother I can accept your argument regarding Hotel Rwanda. It's very similar to what Don Cheadle has said in interviews. Also, it's probably good movie-making to stick to a tight plot, instead of letting your story ramble and include things that don't have a whole hell of a lot to do with the story.

Oh, Happy Valentine's Day.

So many nuts!

Last night, it came to light that Casey wasn't doing anything for his birthday. And I missed the retro dance party. So I stayed at home nursing my hurt back. Today (brilliantly) it feels much better. This is the fastest healed hurt back ever. I thank the Korean food for that.

Tonight I took Ms H. Duncan out for a beer at the Peanut Barrel. Her birthday was this week as well, so I owed her a birthday beverage. The Peanut Barrel, on a Sunday night, is a depressing place, so we left and went next door to Espresso Royale to read. this is where we are now. H sits across from me reading Deepak Chopra and I write this. When I am finished, I will continue reading A Confederacy of Dunces. I like the book a great deal, but I have so much I want to read that I feel a great urgency to speed through every book in order to get to the next one. Josh has let me borrow Kafka on the Shore, and the Romeo Dallaire book is on order for me at the book store. I also have Naguib Mahfouz, Umberto Eco, John D'Emilio, Martha Minnow, some Foucault, and a book about Apartheid. Aargh! So many books!

In the midst of all this reading frenzy, there (apparently) is also the spirit to consider as well. H advises meditation. I was thinking more along the lines of heavy sedatives, but I'll try anything. I've also been running a lot lately and am having a lot of fun with it, in a flagellation-sort-of-way. I would really like to be a runner. Actually, I'd really like to be able to play soccer.

Any recommendations (re: reading, spirit, running, soccer, elephants?)

Cancer for the Cure

I sat at a desk at work for hours doing nothing. Boy, is my mind numb. To pass the time, we play games. Today we played Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels of Fortune. My co-workers don't like my words and phrases. Spoil sports.

Last night, like an old man, I hurt my back. I was merely rubbing my hands together to generate some warmth and something was thrown into revolt. Who needs a dumb ol' back, anyway?

Tonight, the retro dance party or Casey's birthday party at the Peanut Barrel? Can one dance retro-ly with a thrown back?

Oh dear.

Now it's 9:30 and I just took Dad out for Korean food. He didn't much care for it. Oh well - you win some and you lose some.