Go Joe.

The Unaddressed

It has been unaddressed, at least in the public forum, that all my writing buddies have defected. I had gotten wind of this sometime before break. A lot of writers were looking at the Creative Circus to polish off their writing books. I didn't know I was going to walk into class this week and be one of only three students in the whole room.

Adrian, you must be devastated?

Not really. Actually, I'm a little heartbroken I didn't get my Wii for Christmas. It's true a few of those writers have talent, and the Creative Circus should be proud to have them aboard, but my last tear dropped with James Brown. Good luck to you, I'll miss shoot'n-the-shit in PC lab 1.

In other news, Elaine's car got broken into. Thursday night somebody broke the rear, driver's side vent window and attempted to steal the car. There wasn't anything valuable in the car so nothing was stolen. They must have been morons, amateurs at best. They ripped out the steering column thinking that they would find the ignition wires. They obviously didn't know what they were doing. Idiots! Can't even steal a car.



Thanks for trying to clean our windows.


The police said it's probably the same group of kids that performed a hard robbery at Colonial Homes a couple months ago. The officer said to be on the look out for three guys: one short, two tall, and one has dreadlocks.
I think they look like this:





...but black.

I'm Back.

Is it just me or does my face look kind of long in this picture? I promised that i would start blogging again. So i have to keep my promise.

I'M BACK. Not that it really matters. I think the only people that read my blog were my parents and the writers at school. I'm going to make a deal with myself. If I start blogging again, and I mean ideally every day, but probably more like every 4 days, then I have to let myself blabber on about the silliest, most uninteresting, crap that loses its way into my head everyday. Is that a deal? Maybe I should fold up the laptop for now and answer that question in the morning. I tell you what, if your reading this then you'll know whether it sees the light of day or not. I would rather watch the sixth day right now, anyways.

Good Night.

Where Was I? Oh, Yeah...

All I could do was look at this lady. She was separated from me by a pane of glass that kept me from reaching out to her. At the very least, I wanted to wipe the drool from her lips or turn off the windshield wipers. I couldn't even get her to turn to me. I tried moving into her line of sight, pointing at the lock on the door. I could see her chest heaving up and down very slowly, almost calmly. Still, there was nothing I could do. I have never felt so completely helpless in my life.

Cars moved all around us and people stared blankly out their window. Horns were honking, people were tapping the glass, some guy is slamming a jack into her back window, I'm on hold with 911, its freezing outside, and for a few seconds I thought of something. This lady was going to die blissfully, sunk into the heated leather cushions of her cream-filled raspberry jaguar, probably listening to the soothing sounds of Celine Dion while life revolved around her at the corner of Peachtree and Piedmont. The irony slapped me in the face each time I jumped at the crack of the jack.

The sirens got a little louder until they were silenced at the intersection. Firemen moseyed out of their truck and discussed how they were going to pull her from the fortress of solitude. One of them walked back to the truck and pulled out the biggest pickax I'd ever seen. The kind of tool that ONLY a fireman would have. The back window shattered with one blow. He reached in and unlocked the door. That was it. They pulled her out and she was still breathing. She started regaining consciousness and I'm pretty sure she was okay after that.

The coppers wrote down my info and story because I was the first one at the scene. I haven't heard anything since.

True Story...I Swear!

I stared at her through a window as she jolted and drooled, suffering in her seat. It was a beautiful Jaguar with gold trimming and soft, beige leather interior. It looked like a cream filled raspberry donut dropped in the middle of Piedmont. I kept knocking on the window and screaming, "Hey, mam!" Knock, knock. "Hey, Hey!"

Becca and I were on our way to Binders sometime during Studio Week. I'll never remember what day it was. The Sun just seemed to slip up and down from behind the trees all week long while I sat at my desk window. We made a left onto Piedmont after sitting in traffic for 30 minutes on Peachtree. Immediately we were bumber-to-bumber again.

We were behind some lady in a raspberry red Jag just as traffic began to move ahead. I couldn't help but wonder how much money she made. She must have been so comfortable in her cream filled donut that she could care less whether she was holding up traffic. She hadn't moved. It was so shiny like a JollyRancher stuck to the street that was too big for us to go around. I wanted to jump out and run my tongue along the side of it to guess what flavor it really was. Maybe it wasn't raspberry after all. Maybe it was cherry.

I could see the lady through the rear window waving her finger at whatever hidden person was in the passenger seat. She was scolding them good I thought. And then I realized nobody else was in the car. She was having a seizure.

I jumped out the truck. Just as I ran up to the rear of the car her foot slipped off the break. The car moved forward and I jogged along side of it trying to open the door. SLAM! The jag plows into the delivery truck in front of her. My hands are pulling on the door handle as she jerks forward and back into the cushions of her seat. The car comes to rest as she shakes violently under the straps of her seat-belt. All the doors are locked.

Knock, Knock. "Hey, mam! Can you hear me?"

She's unresponsive. I called 911 and they tell me to break open the car window. Becca gets the iron jack out of her Xterra and this big black dude swings away at the small back seat window. SMACK! We all turn away anticipating a shower of shattered glass in every direction, but nothing happens. SMACK! Barry Bonds wouldn't have been able to break through the window of a Jag. It was impossible to get in.

I'm still trying to get her attention. She's leaned forward, the windshield wipers are screeching back and forth, and her shaking has stopped. Blood and bubbles slowly ooze from her mouth. She's completely unresponsive.

To Be Continued...

Good...Morning?

Whew! It's been like two weeks since I've blogged. I don't know what happened. I've had this enormous amount of pressure on me to finish my writing assignments for school that I just completely blew off my blog. Luckily they're all done now, edited, and sent off as of sometime yesterday. I feel pretty good and I think it's time to continue just where I left off. Where was that? Oh yeah, Ambien. Man, that thing knocked me out. Maybe that's where I've been. That Ambien was so strong I've been asleep for the last two weeks!

I just got the new Seinfeld Season 7 DVDs at Target the other day. It's awesome. There's so many good shows in that season: the Soup Nazi, the Wink, the Rye, and the Sponge, a personal favorite. In high school my friends and I would argue which was a better show: Friends or Seinfeld? Really there's no argument. Friends doesn't hold a candle to Seinfeld. That show is just a bunch of pretty faces with bad jokes and good deliveries. Seinfeld had substance, ugly people, and tacky coffee shops. The writing carried that show...as a show should be carried.

My friend Josh named his dog David Puddy. Here's the pic to his myspace. And yes bitches, he's single.