Day 44

Wednesday | April 11th, 2012

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Wednesday morning I got a call from a neighbor wondering if I could come by and fiddle-faddle with his computer and if 10.00 was too early to be calling me on my day off. Anytime is too early to be calling me. Lucky for him, Gyeongju is forcing me to stick a CEC kind of scheduling where I’m awake earlier than what I would consider normal. Triple lucky sevens for him, that because of the new job, I’m not completely blown out and therefore asleep when I answer phones in the morning.

(I can carry a whole cognizant conversation on the phone and you might think it’s all kosher and we have a plan or that I’m on my way to work, but really, 90% of my head is still in some dream and 10%, the part which regulates breathing and not shitting the bed, is handling the faux reality trip I’m being forced to endure. If this ever happens to you … we have no plan, everything I say is a lie; I’m in bed, my eyes are closed, and I will not remember you even called mostly because I’m so anchored in the dreamscape that I don’t know who you are, or care, and don’t take it personally, you see … I don’t even know who I am.)

About an hour before I’m supposed to go nether and will probably curse the day Bill Gates was born many times, I get up. The problem with this is that the dogs see me. Their mood has been happy the past several days because it’s gotten warm enough to leave our front door open and block open the door to the roof. This means dogs go amok. It’s like those Girls Gone Wild® videos you used to be able to order from the tube before the internet was able to serve its masters of sloth properly. Except there are no wet t-shirts. That’s really the only difference between Dogs Run Amok and Girls Gone Wild™.

Running amok is good, but it’s not going for a walk and the dogs know, when I drag my ass out of bed, it’s time to go for a walk. Plus they are aching for it. At this point, they have not had a walk since Saturday. They have had plenty of hot roof woofing around action, but no smelling where other dogs number one and number two action. Dogs first, computers second; I bumped the meeting by an hour and out we went because for the first time in a few hours it wasn’t raining.

Outside is dreary, but I’m more used to it now and the wind is warm and the flowers are out and the cherry blossoms … The cherry blossoms should be shaved off with a weedwhacker. They are worthless. Pure overkill. Everywhere I looked today there was a puffet of white popcorn flowers fluffing themselves off a tree. Cherry blossoms have begun to infere in the sport known as “landscape appreciation”. Cherry blossoms, boo. I much prefer the magnolias.

Magnolias smell better, look cooler, and run faster. And, like all the cherry trees here, do not produce any fruit, so if you want to enjoy them over a lean winter and not just a few weeks each spring, you’ll have to eat the bark.

The next two parts of my day were spent in the “loving” care of computers. I managed to fiddle-faddle a working system for my neighbor, then retreated upstairs to my office to play CIV IV and watch the remaining episodes of Buck Rogers. My one sentence summary of the show goes like this:

The first season is boring and very weird (Jack Palance as the Jim Jones style cult leader; Gary Coleman as the supergenuis from the 1980s; and boobs, boobs, tummies!) and the second season is too scary (crystal thieving mummies; satyr attack squads; and melting people) with much less Buck is a playboy sauce in each show—all I need now is a smart reimagining of the whole concept.

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