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Dave (Rock, paper, ohfu…): wicked awesome.
Alex (Growing up.): This is designed to test …
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+ 2 - 0 | § They're not as cuddly as you thought.

This morning Andrew sent me a link to an image.  This One

That's what we do in the morning. We send eachother funny, interesting links. Funny, right?

If you want to know what was going through my head when I saw it, read about this dream I had a couple years ago

Pause for a moment to reflect on how strange I am for being the kind of person who could even have that dream. It's okay, I know you want to, god knows I would.

Now go back and look at that first link again.

How's THAT for context?


+ 2 - 0 | § Rock, paper, ohfuggitHULK SMASH!

Today is the second official rock-paper-scissors tournament.  We've been discussing tournament styles and methodologies, and it sort of... sprang into existence.

Sometimes I remember what it was like to hang out with Billy and Dave, just the three of us, and it kind of sucks that... well, it just kind of sucks.

That I can't, I mean.

It's weird to think how people, important people, can have the subtlest, most barely noticeable influence on you at some point in your life, and years later, it manages to surface without you even realizing it.

All this is to say, there's a playlist I listen to constantly, hours a day, 5 days a week, because it keeps me where I am when I need it to.  And when I need it to, it takes me somewhere else.

The first two tracks on this mix, the first two things I hear when I get here in the morning, the first two things I hear when I get back from lunch, and often the last two things I hear before I leave for the day, were first played for me by Billy and Dave.

Track 1.  "At least we're dreaming."  by Eve 6.  From Billy.

Track 2.  "In The Orchard."  By the venerable Tiger Army.  From Dave.

It's not that each one makes me think of the respective friend.  It's that each one makes me think of them both.  Playgrounds, porches, houses, trailers, soda, beer, cheeseballs and pizza rolls, sunrises, cigarettes, small children yelling Trogdor at the top of their lungs, being lost in the middle of nowhere.

Being found in the middle of nowhere.