News of the weird. Bullets not boobs, or “pornstars can talk?”
I went to a kung fu class at the kung fu palace up the street. The trainer seems like a pretty reasonable guy, but I barely even broke a sweat. Clearly he was being nice, but we’re going to need to step it up if I’m to stay with this program. I want either (a) God’s own workout or (b) Real hand to hand training. It’s “Shotokan (sp?)” school, for the record. I may start showing up for the cardio session he has the hour before the class. Sure, I’d have to suffer through working out with a class full of women, but there are bound to be up-sides too.
My father gave me a rather nice box of cigars for my birthday. I’m looking for cost-effective advice on the care and maintenance of high grade stogies for those of us who smoke, maybe, one or two a quarter. Suggestions that they be shared will be met with a baleful glare of “I don’t see you coming to visit, do I?”
My new T-shirt says “HARVARD – The Michigan of the East.” I wore it on the T today, and nobody had the nerve to comment. Wusses.
I’m going whale watching this weekend! Jen’s parents will be in town, and we’ve got tickets for an afternoon on a boat with the big mammals. I think that whales are cool.
On a related note, I filled the thistle feeder, and the same day saw a goldfinch and a chickadee eating from it. Talk about positive reinforcement.
Click here for my response to simianpower‘s infantile poop story.
And in case you’re tired of reading:
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