Friday, January 14, 2011

my system.

Dear Reader,
Happy weekend. Let the sleeping in and lack of showering begin. As I write this, I'm reminded of a classic Saturday morning cartoon titled "The Weekenders." Just to jog your memory, Lor and Tino were the blondies that secretly had the hots for each other, Tish was the weird ginger vegetarian chick, and Carver was the athletic heart throb. In each episode a problem would arise on Friday, escalate on Saturday, and find its resolution on Sunday evening. It was something you could count on.

I realized on my way home tonight that I have a system. A sequence of events that I compulsively do when I make the voyage home from work. It goes a little something like this:

Leave Millville elementary at approximately 5:42.

Go to track 10 on whatever cd is in my player.

Sing at the top of my lungs during vocals, and dance during instrumental breaks.

When passing the Korean BBQ on Main Street, peer through the glass windows and see if business is strong. I have a certain creepy warm spot in my heart for the old, small-framed Korean man who owns it. I have the utmost desire for him to have a long and happy life. Ironic aspect of this? I refuse to eat there. My tummy is too much of a precious, sensitive jewel.

Further up on the right is the Logan Tabernacle. Every Friday, a compilation of old folks and hippies gather with freshly made signs and protest war. Although I don't necessarily agree, I highly support their efforts at being politically active and making use of their rights. I share my admiration with a rousing honk as I drive past. Pathetic as it may seem, it makes my night every week.

Pull into my parking spot at approximately 5:54, and absolutely must finish listening to the song that is currently playing.

There is no lenience in my routine. But I rather like having a controlled aspect in my wild and crazy life. I encourage you to set your own quirky routine. Whether its shimmying when you pass Mcdonalds, waving your hand out the window at the local hobo, or listening to cheesy Lionel Richie songs on Thursdays, I promise the silliness thereof will make your day a lot brighter. So shine on, dear Reader, shine on.

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