counterjockey
10-12-2007, 06:37 AM
At the risk of being hard on himself, Counterjockey admits that he's not the sort to bring a knife to a gun fight. He's the sort to leave his knife on the table where he keeps his wallet, watch and keys when he goes off to the gun fight.
6:45 AM. I've heard that this is often a beautiful time of day when birds start singing, the grass is wet with dew, and the sun is just coming up. Hell if I'd actually know because I wouldn't be up that early even if one of the neighbors burned down the building. I'm comfortably asleep under the mismatched covers, with the cats cutting off the circulation to my legs below the knees. This is the time of year when they give up the usual hostility and start to appreciate the doughy two hundred pound heat pump sprawled out on the futon. The clock radio has been running "Morning Edition" since 6. It never actually inspires me to crawl out of bed, but it does add a nuanced, analytical, and occasionally confusing as hell current-events leitmotif to whatever or whomever (Jamie Tarabay) I'm dreaming about.
It's about this time that I wake up to "...da da da, da da da BOOM dadadadadaDA! Ba ba ba ba ba da! Ba ba ba ba da!!"
What the hockey puck is that?! Who's playing hip-hop that loud this early?! WTF kind of hip-hop is that, anyway?"
Then I hear my old high school fight song. Ohhh, that's right! I rented an apartment nearly half a mile from a high school. And it's homecoming! And we have a band!
I literally had no idea homecoming was this week. I don't watch the local news, usually sail past the sports page in the local fishwrap, and if I follow sports at all, it's only for the sake of pissing off my coworker at the store, an obsessive-compulsive Cubs fan (as if there were any other kind, though...) It's literally been nine years since I went to the homecoming dance (guess how well that went) and probably six or seven years since the team got their asses handed to them 44-0 for their own homecoming game. I had a study hall with that football coach, and I remember three things about him: one, his name was Todd. Two, he had several Jackson Five albums that he played many, many times. Three, he was already using the school computer to search for a house in the town he was trying to move to--one of our more hated conference rivals.
GO!!!! Fight!! Wi-well, do your be-ah, fug it, let's go get hammered...
6:45 AM. I've heard that this is often a beautiful time of day when birds start singing, the grass is wet with dew, and the sun is just coming up. Hell if I'd actually know because I wouldn't be up that early even if one of the neighbors burned down the building. I'm comfortably asleep under the mismatched covers, with the cats cutting off the circulation to my legs below the knees. This is the time of year when they give up the usual hostility and start to appreciate the doughy two hundred pound heat pump sprawled out on the futon. The clock radio has been running "Morning Edition" since 6. It never actually inspires me to crawl out of bed, but it does add a nuanced, analytical, and occasionally confusing as hell current-events leitmotif to whatever or whomever (Jamie Tarabay) I'm dreaming about.
It's about this time that I wake up to "...da da da, da da da BOOM dadadadadaDA! Ba ba ba ba ba da! Ba ba ba ba da!!"
What the hockey puck is that?! Who's playing hip-hop that loud this early?! WTF kind of hip-hop is that, anyway?"
Then I hear my old high school fight song. Ohhh, that's right! I rented an apartment nearly half a mile from a high school. And it's homecoming! And we have a band!
I literally had no idea homecoming was this week. I don't watch the local news, usually sail past the sports page in the local fishwrap, and if I follow sports at all, it's only for the sake of pissing off my coworker at the store, an obsessive-compulsive Cubs fan (as if there were any other kind, though...) It's literally been nine years since I went to the homecoming dance (guess how well that went) and probably six or seven years since the team got their asses handed to them 44-0 for their own homecoming game. I had a study hall with that football coach, and I remember three things about him: one, his name was Todd. Two, he had several Jackson Five albums that he played many, many times. Three, he was already using the school computer to search for a house in the town he was trying to move to--one of our more hated conference rivals.
GO!!!! Fight!! Wi-well, do your be-ah, fug it, let's go get hammered...