Day one, day one.

Well goddamn.  Finally I'm able to get some sort of writing done.  It needs to get out of my head instead of being trapped in this brain, bubbling over.
Setting up this blog wasn't exactly delightful and I was easily bored with it.  I prefer Wordpress, but, this makes it easier to use since I can just log in with gmail.  And I don't really care anyway, I guess this blog is just something to do to take my mind off anything else that's going on (i.e. work).
So what's new?  As my computer was crashing and reloading I tried to think about what I would cover in this very first and yet still unimportant blog post.  I could write about:

• female orgasms - because they really are mysterious
• unemployment rate in Charlotte - because no one in my neighborhood seems to work, and it's rather distracting for me sometimes
• organic farming - a recent favorite topic of mine
• books
• fiction writing, or lack there of

But instead of any of those topics, or even the one that is weighing so heavily on my mind that I will not dare mention, I will recount some of my high school journal. Good times.

For the record, I was a pretty bigtime hippy/free spirit in high school.  We had a significant group (according to us) that we called "the society" (after Dead Poet's Society) and we always ate lunch outside on the grass, which was dubbed the grassy knoll. 

This isn't the grassy knoll, but it was near it. Maybe we got kicked off of it or something. This is my best friend at the time, Amber, and myself.

Here are some of my notes about the society members:

12/4/98

Bill

"I know I don't know him well, he's just some guy that sometimes came to lunch.  It took me so long to learn his name.  Bill - you'd think of a bald, middle-aged man not a long-haired dark guy.  He just has this blah personality; blah, I'll go over here - blah, I'll go over there.  I just want to ask him what he's thinking.  Does he have a problem with that?  Is there a problem with me?  What?  What the hell's he thinking?  The other day at lunch, he was laying next to me and he rolled over.  His back lightly touched my knee and I realized how badly I wanted to touch him.  Just to touch his back or his long dark hair - even if it was just to brush the grass off of his back.  But I didn't - I just avoided looking at all the stray pieces of grass on his back or looking at him at all and I quickly moved my knees so I wouldn't be jabbing it into his back.  Just all the sudden..."

12/6/98

Nathan

"It's so weird.  All last year I saw him in the lunch line.  I was shallow - very shallow a the beginning of the year, and I though he was so ugly, so very ugly, that he could only have ugly friends, if any friends at all.  But I see him at the society and he calls my name, and I feel so mean, evily mean for ever thinking that.  It's not about outward appearance - that's not what saves our souls in the end.  But it can't be overlooked."

[Picture note: I listened to a lot, lot of Jimi Hendrix in these days.  Also, Tori Amos.]

And, since this is the end, I should sign out in my typical high school way:

Blue skies,
A