I've checked repeatedly, but today is in fact not April 1. So I guess this is the real thing.
"The gas was very odorous and created contact of an insulting or provoking nature with Patrolman Parsons," the complaint alleged.
I probably won't even read the rest of the news today, because there is no way it'll get any better than that. Nothing like starting the morning off with a good fart joke.
Sorry I missed you guys yesterday. I thought I'd take the day off from writing after being so particularly inspired on Tuesday. What can I say: I have an affinity for the bisexual peoples of the world. Their kind are truly an inspiration.
Besides, I was busy: after having lived in Knoxville for two uninterrupted years (holy shit!), representing myself in this space as a rock climber the whole time (or at least in the eleven months since I've owned this blog), I finally paid a visit to the local climbing gym. Alright, so technically that's plastic climbing, as opposed to rock, so it doesn't change my status as a non-practicing rock climber, or, as I prefer, a hibernating rock climber (because I will one day awaken from my slumber and take to the rocks again.) Anyway, I finally got off my ass and went to the gym.
Did I mention I hate climbing gyms? Well, I do, but the genetic influence of our hairy forebears who swung through the trees can only be ignored for so long. The hairy part takes care of itself (in other words, I am quite; although I wish the top of my head would get back in line in that regard), so sometimes I just hafta go climb something.
So I saddled up the Curtlo and pedalled across town with my shoes and chalk bag swinging wildly from my Camelback, a man on a two-wheeled mission to thrash his dainty fingers and hopefully earn a little muscle soreness in the process. My fingers were even daintier than I'd hoped after two years of relative inactivity. My tendons were aching after just about 15 minutes of easy bouldering and within another ten I'd ripped a flapper on my right hand (as in flap of skin; skin is not supposed to flap), all for the bargain price of $8 (that last part is sarcasm; before yesterday I'd never once paid to climb indoors.) I gamely continued pulling down on ever bigger holds, determined to at least get an hour out of my 8 bucks, until I could no longer close my hands around even the biggest jugs.
I don't know what I expected. Okay, that's a lie: I expected to instantly make eight new best friends who all wanted to go on weekend trips with me to the Red River Gorge. But since I, as a rule, don't talk to people, that didn't happen. Also, everyone else there looked like they'd have to get their moms' permission first. I'm so freakin' old.
But I'm glad I went. It's actually a really nice gym, if you like that sort of thing. There's no substitute for the real thing, though, and it looks like I'll need a different approach if I want to finally find some people to climb with around here.
So how about you guys: Anything you enjoy that you've been neglecting for far too long?