You know it’s too hot when
The little woman has started to wear your boxers for comfort. Not that I’m complaining or anything.
To all the pagans and wiccas out there
Get a life. BFD if this is the summer solstice, nothing is going to happen. Nothing. Fairies don’t exist. Elves don’t exist. Astral alignments will not ensure that you get the girl with whom you can prepare macrobiotic brown rice and daikon. Dropping water from pansies onto the eyes off your object of desire will not make her/him love you. (I’ve tried. Shut up!)
That is all.
You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot
Question: Do you know how to tell when you’ve been out of the loop?
Answer: When you learn only four years after the fact that a singer you enjoyed—in this case Kristy MacColl—died in a boating accident.
I really need to get out more.
But first…
I know it’s wrong, incredibly wrong, but I find myself looking forward to Big Brother. I mean, nothing brings the crazy than getting 16 (or however many) famewhores to live together for over a month. Christians, sluts, slutty Christians, cheesecakes, beefcakes, and let’s not forget Julie Chen. Aw, good times.
But, but what about the death pose?
I used to practise yoga up until a few years ago, sivinanda to be exact. I liked it; strike a pose, stretch, relax. Helped with my concentration, breathing, getting centred, blah blah new-agey cakes. I also found that it helped with my climbing. Gave it up and, along with an increasingly self-indulgent lifestyle, the climbing it is not good.
So, I looked around, and signed up for an ashtanga class, figuring that, since it seemed to focus more on core strength and cardio, I would get more out of it. A couple of problems: the class is open, therefore folks have been doing it for a while. I feel like a freshman in a graduate course. Also? When partaking of something new and active for the first time, never do so when it’s 30 degrees in the room.
Damn, was that ever embarrassing. I swear, the sweat was running down my nose in a stream. Everyone else, mostly fit women decked out in the latest Prana and Lulu Lemon clothes, were hardly glistening. I had to wring out my tee after the session. All the while, I’m hoping for the suggestion that we all lie back and “centre” ourselves. It never happened. At one point, I was lying face down on the mat, slurping the sweat that had pooled there. Salty.
Two days later, and I’m walking around like an old man. Well, an older man. Shut up!
New member in the club
A few weeks ago, while at a hardware store, I decided to pick up some supplies to build another pinhole camera, in case the need arise. Got home and said to the milliner, “Milliner, if you feel like making a camera, these might help.” A few weeks passed, and then on Saturday she finally decided to get one done. Little did I know–though I should have, what with her being a designer and all–that the end product would be kick-ass and put my efforts to shame.
I suggested she document the process, so if anyone is interested, here is what she did.
The Tinman's Thoughts 