There's a rod at the top of which is a bolt that lives on top of my water heater. I believe it's called an anode rod, or something, and its job is to collect the iron in well water like a magnet. Since my hot water smells of iron oxide and sulphur, I need to replace it with a new rod, which entails removing the old one, which I've deemed impossible, considering I've used WD40, PB blast, a blow torch, and the blood of unbaptized jews and mormons. Nothing works. So I've decided to replace the water heater en masse, which scares me on account of my soldering skills, or the lack thereof. Goddamn immovable bolts.
I understand The Church's concern over freedom of religion and birth control. But I wonder if The Church should consider some concerns many folks have with the freedom of young boys not to get ass-fucked out of bible camp.
Tower Heist wasn't very good. I thought it was going to be more ironical. But for the record, I've been in love with Tea Leoni since The Naked Truth. And I realized just recently that every woman I've been in love with, on screen and off [chortle!], has in some way resembled Parker Posey.
The night my mom died was the same night President Obama held his first televised primetime press conference, during which my family decided to ridicule him and anyone and everyone who ever had the least notion that he was a good man who had the chance to be a good president if not a great one. Now, they did this knowing full well that: 1. I really liked him and was hopeful and optimistic, though in my cups at the time mainlining vodka by the mouthful not-so-secretly out of mom's freezer; 2. mom had liked him very much, had voted for him, had watched the inauguration from her hospital bed; 3. mom thought Sarah Palin was not very smart, that Rush Limbaugh was both ignorant and bad for reasonable discussion and disagreement, and that she liked me best.** That was as alone as I've ever felt, and I was made to feel alone by the other kids my mom had raised. Was it intentional? It's my understanding that many better educated people hold that healing begins with forgiveness. But when your own kin starts blaming their own mother's sociopolitical beliefs with which they disagree on cancer and pain medication, I'll take my chances.
I find it hard to fathom that Roger could be past his prime. I don't really care. What I do care about is that my love of watching him play is interfering with my ability to be a straight non-gay male of the heterosexual persuasion. But I'll just add that to the list of things I need to surrender to my higher power, which, currently, is Roger's backhand.
I'm finding it increasingly hard to have to be rigorously honest with myself and others when others neither have to be rigorously honest with themselves nor choose to be.
Where were you when you heard that Kurt had blown his head off? I was at work, at Studebaker's Nursery Farm, in New Carlisle, Ohio. My supervisor kind of made fun of me for how hard I was taking it. Still, working primarily with Mexicans and ex-cons might do that to you. Still, that job remains one of my favorites, the further I get away from it, which is probably why.
**Probably, I should say.