rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

alright, let’s get on top of some shit.

I’ve got football highlights on, on mute. Ravens are an interesting team. usual dynamic has the quarterback as the team leader, but not in Baltimore. I bet Ray Lewis and random members of the defense make Kyle Boller tuck his sack when walking around the locker room.

it’s been an interesting week.
I now have a Virginia driver’s license, and I look like a convict in the picture – orange t shirt, not smiling, full beard.
I joined a gym. Gold’s Gym. not kidding. and if the guy who signed me up and took my credit card information is to be trusted, I’m going to be fucking huge within a month. it said so on the brochure. but it’s a good idea; anyone who knows me knows that I’m a cheap fuck. so if the gym is sucking 39.95 out of my bank account a month, my drive to be frugal becomes motivation to use the membership. I know how I work, just as well as anyone does.
and I’m gonna die alone. yeah, I know, bummer.

so why have I been slacking on writing?
well, there’s a paradoxical, hypocritical, naive answer to that question. I’m afraid of Google and am becoming more concerned with internet privacy. less’n you didn’t know, Blogger is a Google entity. all of this, all you’re reading, property of Google. Google, that tracks your searches, so as to better advertise to you.
I mean, come on. come on. that doesn’t bother you at all? it bothers me, that all of my tastes and interests and searches and desires and thoughts are put up here. becasue it’s one thing to have a blog that my dumb asshole friends can enjoy; and it’s something else entirely when it’s used to collect my personal information and place ads on my computer that some fucking algorithm has determined I’m more likely to click on.
yet, here I am. I’m writing all of this down, via Google’s graces. I obviously get something out of all of this. I’m obviously narcissistic enough to belay my concerns and continue updating this thing. which is why I’m dicking around, looking for another online blog option. am seriously considering registering my own domain name, going barebones. learning HTML for toddlers. I mean, as dumb and unnecessary as this experience has been over the last couple of years, I’d like to think it would amount to something. I really don’t want to just delete it. right?
and even if I were to delete this whole fucking thing, Google keeps a backup on their servers. for who knows how long. for reasons of their own. and christ knows how much information has or could be gleaned from the fact that I’ve been writing, nonstop, in some desperate attempt to be relevant, to be heard, in my early twenties.
I should just, you know, do it, and stop being such a lazy piece of shit.

I have the next three days off. Local H is playing here, in Charlottesville, Wednesday night. and what kind of superfan would I be if I missed it? so I took a day off. fuck it. that’s what vacation days are for.
so what am I planning on doing over the next day or two?
well. update the resume, go to de sto’. the gym. put the new plates on the truck. buy “Demon Days” for the dozenth time. clean this sty (didn’t do it last time). maybe baseball tickets? sleep in. pay the gas bill. maybe the cable bill, too.
and not necessarily in that order.