It looks as if my best friend from middle school, Bennett Dunn landed a role as a race car driver who gets his face eaten off on CSI miami.

Link.

Right on Bennett! He’s always been “that guy” who was more talented than I could ever hope to be. He made Eagle Scout at like 7 years old, could play more instruments than Prince, and is one of those genuinely good natured people who is nice to everyone. Secretly I hated Bennett.

At lunch we’d all compete to see who could make him spit his milk out his nose. We’d wait until he took a sip and then land our best material.

Good luck, man. I know you’ll do great.

Update: He also landed a part in the gothic figure skating musical, Sneaux.

I used to think that if I was black I would like to be huge. Like a big old club bouncer at some blues place. With a deep scratchy Barry White kind of voice. Always makin’ obscure musical and historical references that only other older black people understood. And I’d get the newspaper every day from the same street-wise vendor, who would trade musical trivia questions or odd funk-sounding riddles just before we tapped fists in a cool, black secret-handshake sort of way. Plus, I’d know everyone in the whole city, and they’d all say “whaddup” as they passed by- and we’d exchange knowing glances. At my place I’d have all kinds of hard-to-find jazz recordings on vinyl, and a few black-and-white pics of me with people like Maya Angelou or Thelonious Monk.

Now I figure I’d just wanna be the smoothest man alive.

Everyone seems to do one of these, and I figure that the following story should count as mine.

I have no idea how long I have. It scares me when I think about wasting my life. It should scare me out of laziness, but most of the time it doesn’t. I think I ought to take a lesson from Fred, and simply enjoy the act of living. It may seem like it would lead to little, but it’s usually what motivates me to achieve. Worry and laziness waste time, and show that I’m not all that excited about the time I have. Thanks Fred- Here’s to an incredible 2004.

(An exerpt from an internal dialogue from earlier today)

EGO: That’s my man.

So at 27 I’ve started to think about getting healthy. Not the kind the vegan/granola weirdness healthy, but longevity healthy. Heidi works at this retirement home and comes home with all these stories about old people and their oldness, and I’ve started wondering, “just how long can is this body gonna make it?” An old Bloom County strip had Binkley’s Dad wondering how his heart kept pumping when his car couldn’t go two months without busting something.

I’ve decided to quit crack.

So admittedly I’m starting small, but it’s not proving easy. The other day I thought, “If I stop some of my bad habits now, maybe I’ll be ahead of the game come 30- and I’ll be able to cheat death a little. Now, I’m a big cracker- wait, that’s true on so many levels. But the point is, I like to crack stuff: my knuckles, my neck, my back- I even get my shoulders, toes and knees once in a while. And I know it’s not good for you- so I’m trying to quit-but man, it’s tough.

I thought smoking was supposed to be the toughest habit to break- whatever. cracking stuff has got to be the worst. There’s Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, even Over-Eater’s Anonymous- but just try to find Crackers Anonymous. You can’t- because no one’s got a death wish big enuf to try that. It’s stinkin impossible to quit. I’ve cracked my knuckles three times already just writing this.

The best I’ve managed has been almost a week before I fell head first off the wagon. I can’t decide which is harder to quit- my neck or my knuckles. It just feels so darn goooooood to do a nice neck crack. And you know what I’m talking about- when you’re all tense, nothing feels as good as the cik cik cik cik craaack as you twist your head left to right and back again. And then there’s the one where you impress everyone cause it sounded like you broke a frozen cat in half. But you don’t dare look around the room to address your fans- you just act like it’s business as usual. Dangit- I’m not supposed to glamorize the habit- I’m trying to kick it.

Oh well. I’m trying and I guess that’s all you can ask. I’ll keep you guys updated while I continue to get my healthy on. Your job is just to keep pouring in all the support and stories of how you’ve overcome this terrible burden yourselves.

LEFT-HANDERS OF THE WORLD UNITE! Click on this article about left handed day. That’s right- “DOWN WITH RIGHTY” What’s up now fool? I bet I’m tickin’ off a whole bunch of good right folks with this post, but you need to know the plight of the left-handed man. We have to use YOUR spiral notebooks, YOUR corkscrews, YOUR CARROT PEELERS! Dangit. It gets me all worked up just thinking about what I’ve been through livin’ in a right-man’s world.

August 13th may mark international left-handed day, but I tell you- my lefty brothers and sisters- I live it every day. Every time I walk into a schoolroom and see all the desks for right people- where’s the lefty desk? In the corner, all broken down and graffiti covered- THATS what I gotta go through. And don’t even get me started about those STUPID gel pens- rightie invented that goofy thing, I’m glad they don’t work for me.

It hasn’t always been like this. we used to be on TOP! Ever heard of a little somebody named Napoleon Bonaparte? How ’bout Benjamin Franklin, Alexander the Great, Charlemagne or Julius Caesar? All lefties. Take that righty! Also, Ron Reagan, George Bush Sr., Harry Truman and James Garfield. And it just goes on and on… watch yourself righty.

Here’s some links for all my left-handed brothers and sisters in the fight:

• The Left Hand Store

• More Left-Handed Products
• The Left-Handed Experience
• Famous Left-Handers
• Left-Handed Writing Tips