| Day 6: Thursday) |
[Jul. 27th, 2006|09:41 pm] |
So thats when I said, "thats not African Swallow, hah thats my mother".. oh hey there, didnt see you walk in, say let me tell you about my day.
Today was an early wake up for both me and Ben as we worked down in Chelmsford doing some rigorous yard work. He came over for a little bit and watch about 30 minutes of SportsCenter when we both caught something that caught our eye, a man playing for the Cinncinati Bengals was named Frostee Rucker. Who would name their child Frostee? Have names come to the point where we can't use Jonathan, or William, just some common names? Or do we have to start naming them after icecream swirls from Wendy's? Anyways, so we worked for a couple, hard and long, hours and after we were done we swam in a pool. The pool is tiny yet comforting. Then we just sat around drinking tiny Cokes and reminising of the days of old at Cederdale summer camp. We got paid 30 bucks each and headed on home. The only problem heading home was that my mom was driving. She swerved down the highway, and we just got off 495 at the Haverill Merrimac exit. And while we approached a fork in the road my mom was veering to the right when she should have been going left. So I just mentioned, "Mom, you should go left". So she swerved across the road, nearly missing a stop sign, and hitting a pretty good sized hump. The right side of the car got lifted up about 3-4 feet and came crashing down on the pavement, and my mom thought nothing of it. I swear I thought for those 2 horrific seconds that I was in Dukes of Hazard, I think I heard Ben yell a "Yeehaw Ma'" in the back seat. But was she done, oh no, not yet, not even close. We were taking the turn by the churches on 113 and I was really paying attention until I relized I was head on for the back of a Jeep, now reacting I calmly and politly wanted to say "Mom, if you wouldn't mind moving the car gently to the left so that we do not clip this nice person's car that would just be ever so pleasant", but it came out more like "Mom Jesus fucking Christ"... I had a time restraint give me a break, I was about .5 seconds from crashing through a Astro Van windshield and into Jeep. But then besides that I came home and Ben left, I read my book, and then my mom went out. Ben and Corey stopped by, we chilled, passed a soccer ball around. Andrew also stopped by for just a couple minutes to pick up his ball. And then they all went on their marry way. Well, there are some Classic Bruins on tonight so I got to rap this up. But Ill leave you with a segment from my book "Cats Cradle", I like it, and maybe you will to, and if you don't, well then you can just go fuck yourself. No im just kidding, I'm not that mean, your opinion doesn't matter.
I man is saying a speach of how men who die in war are not men, but children.
""My soul insists that I not mourn a man, but a child. I do not say that children at war do not die like men, if they have to die. To their everlasting honor and our everlasting shame, the DO die like men, thus making possible the manly jubilation of patriotic holidays. But they are murdered children all the same. And I propose to you that if we pay our sincere respect to the hundred lost children of San Lorenzo, that we might spend the day despising what killed them; which is to say, the stupidity and viciousness of all mankind.""
"Cats Cradle" - Kurt Vonnegut (pg. 254)
since I got time (Classic Bruins in 10 minuites), I leave you with the final line in the book...
Think of it is the end of the world, and the world is covered with ice-nine (a form of water that turns any moisture into ice, so if you were to lick it it would make you die, or put your hand on it, and then touch your mouth, you die)
"If I were a younger man, I would write a history of human stupidity; and I would climb to the top of Mount McCabe and lie down on my back with my history for a pillow; and I would take from the ground some of the blue-white poison that makes statues of men; and I would make a statue of myself, lying on my back, grinning horribly, and thumbing my nose at You Know Who"
"Cats Cradle" - Kurt Vonnegut (pg. 287) |
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