What the French might call "le rambleage"
Though they’d likely use funny lines and little hats over some of the vowels.
And, yes, I know what those little dealies are called and what sounds go with them. I took French every year K-12. And even took a class in university. I needed a language credit. And German just sounded way too angry all the time.
For Christmas I got this jobbie that converts my mountain bike into a pseudo-exercise bike. It is pretty slick and very simple. It basically jacks up my back wheel and… well, it’s not really much more complicated than that.
It is pretty sweet. Good exercise, and you don’t have to deal with pesky things like people or (shudder) nature.
One problem is that when using things like exercise bikes, threadmills, etc. I get insanely bored. I am not so good with repetitive activities. I could never work on an assembly line. My mind wanders and my hand would get lopped off on my first day.
When I used to lobster fish in the summer, I’d be emptying out traps. Crabs get chucked back overboard (quickly) and the lobsters get put in a box for banding. On more than a few occasions, I was replaying scenes from my favourite movies in my head while chucking crabs into the lobster banding box. I even tossed a lobster or two overboard. People don’t like it when you do that.
My mind can go anywhere. I could be writing haikus or horror musicals featuring singing cockroaches in my head. No, really. I’ve done both.
So, I came up with a plan for my basement mountain biking excurions. I put my portable DVD player in front of my bike, so that I have something to watch. This morning I was enjoying some of Season 2 of Seinfeld. Good times.
But, this plan isn’t perfect. Because I’ve seen all these episodes of Seinfeld dozens of times, my mind still wanders a bit…
This morning it spent some time thinking about how last night’s episode of “The O.C.’ was the worst… episode… EVER. And I never thought that I would say that for a Taylor-focused episode. I wouldn’t hire Regis Philbin’s daughter to write my grocery list.
The fun beginning to this season was just an aberration. A little post-Marissa honeymoon maybe. The plot was lost – quite literally – after season 1. Too much melodrama, not enough snarky fun.
Now they are just damaging the legacy (such that it is) and crapping all over my good memories. It’s like when Michael Jordan came out of retirement to play with Washington. Or like when you take a nice young lady home with you one night, and the next day you see her pistol-whip a priest. Or something.
I started my “morning pages” for The Artist’s Way this morning. Whoooo!
Essentially, these are three pages that you have to write every single morning. They can be about anything at all. And there are no “wrong” things to write. The purpose is to trick our enternal censor. Because there is no “wrong” answer, that whiney sumbitch has nothing that he can complain about.
I don’t remember what I wrote. I can’t show them to anybody. And I can’t even read them myself. That’s not what they are about.
I thought it would be harder to do that it actually was.
Of course, the fact that I can prattle on for three pages shouldn’t surprise any of you.
In fact, I just mentioned that in an e-mail reply to fellow blogger Mood Indigo. I remarked that I had nothing to write in my blog this morning, but yet my e-mail was longer (and better) than War & Peace.
And now this post is also stretching out pretty well.
But, I know that blog posts are more about quality over quantity (of words.) It’s not like sexual conquests or anything. (I kid, I kid.)
Still, even I am amused by my own verbosity from time to time.
But, seriously, Summer’s hallucinations on “The O.C.” last night?