For all things Tooks, and some things, er, relating to other people. As well as to other things. You get the picture.

10 August 2007

When we were in sixth grade, guys, as I'm sure you'll remember (I address myself particularly to the fellow 'Crofters in my reading audience), we were heavy into Seinfeld. I mean, heavy. Justin Leroux could quote just about every line from every show ever, and Mr. (A.) Stein was not far behind him. If you missed the new episode for some reason on a Thursday night--some lame reason, like doing your homework--then you were completely, pathetically lost all day Friday since at the proverbially middle school water cooler, that's all they were talking about. Then you just had to pray that they would re-run it soon.

Anyway, we were heavy into Seinfeld. And I remember that for me, aside from the overall wackiness and "show about nothing" charm, which is a very funny idea to a sixth grader, I loved the monologue at the beginning of the show. And so much of Jerry's schtick was of the "Didja ever notice?" variety. "Didja ever notice that no one pays attention to the stewardesses when they explain the safety procedures? What if one day they decided to shake things up and throw in some unexpected lines? 'In the event of an emergency, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling, and I'll be the first to parachute out the door--you suckers are on your own.' " And hilarity ensued.

All this by way of saying, this post is about to become a Seinfeldian 'didja ever notice.' Bear with me, even if sixth grade is long gone and little lamented:

Didja ever notice how sad and lonely the last pickle is? As the other pickles are eaten, and the juice level goes down, those last few pickles really start to suffer. They start leaning every which way, then they start slipping down, and their seeds start to fall out, and the exposed part goes all soft. The last little guy, who started out just as proud and straight as the rest, ends up all crumpled at the bottom, hopelessly waiting there for someone to put him out of his misery. And when you finally eat it, it tastes just a little of despair.

Now, some of you might be saying to yourselves, how quaint! He's anthropomorphizing pickles in his desperate bid to procrastinate further. Everyone knows that the pickles get that way because the juice level goes down and they get wrinkly from the air.

But there's a point I'm trying to make, juice levels aside. I believe that in some way, pickles are like peoples: They need friends to stand beside them, keep them upright and keep the juice level high. The more isolated a pickle in, the more exposed it starts to feel, and the last pickle standing can't stand too long.

So let us draw wisdom from the pickles. Stand up straight, stick close to the ones you love, and when your day comes, try to stay crunchy.

Believe in the power of a delightful dill with me,


07 August 2007


I disgust myself.

I got off to a good start. I was up on schedule at 7, had my coffee, chatted with Nurse Betty before she left for work, and got in front of the computer in time to check my email and get cracking at 8.

I managed to get a little bit done straightaway. I finished what I had left from yesterday, and then started onto another proficiency.

But then I lost a little momentum looking for a book I couldn't find. I waded through tons of readings and binders and papers and started to get that icky feeling. I shook it off until about 10:30, but I realized that I needed to drop off my bike at the shop and return library books. So I rounded up the hound and we ran those little errands. When we returned, it occurred to me that I had forgotten to eat breakfast, and I figured I would eat an early lunch and then rest and get back on schedule at 1.

But Harry Potter was sitting next to the bed, and I figured I'd read a bit to make me sleepy in preparation for a cat nap.

That was probably, in retrospect, an error in judgment. As predicted, I went ahead and finished the three chapters I had left. Now I know how the whole saga ends (no spoilers, but it's pretty good), and I should be satisfied and ready to work.

But now I feel more icky and unmotivated and frustrated than ever. The house is very quiet and lonely and Papi is lazy except when he barks at the mail lady. He makes me want to be lazy too (except when he barks at the mail lady). I'm thinking about if it's too early to walk him, or if I should wait until it gets cooler after dinner. I'm thinking of doing some reading for my class so at least I can procrastinate productively. I'm thinking of napping, but I'm wondering if I will be too overcome by self-loathing to sleep, or if I do, I will sleep too long and then all my feelings of guilt and shame will cause me to combust and blow a hole in the roof of our new house.

So you see, I've got some issues. Mostly, they have to do with my lack of motivation to tackle this master's portfolio that I've run out of time to work on. I hate it and it's not going away. I know I can do it, but it is so boring and stupid that it's an ongoing struggle to muster the will to even write a few paragraphs.

I am sucking at life right now.

I think I'll go stare out the window in case there's someone whose life I can save and be minorly injured in the act. Then I'll have a legitimate reason not to do work, what with the recuperation and press conferences and youtube recreations.


While away the lonesome hours of not-working with me,