scott (banjopwhistle) wrote,
scott
banjopwhistle

  • Music:

"I am my father's son..."

The roomie is now spending a couple of weeks in Hawaii with her family (after her grueling stretch of tourism in New York). Rough life, I tell you. In the meantime, somehow she must've coordinated a siege timed specifically upon her leaving.

Spiders. Everywhere.

At least four or five a day. If I were a better man I'd trap them and let them frolic back outside. But I'm weak. And scared of damn spiders. Plus, an ample wasp (or hornet, I don't much know the difference, other than they're both big and mean) flew out of my closet the other day. Spraying is supposedly in order, but nobody's come a knockin'.

As much as I prefer playing basketball at the park (it's oddly rarely done here in Arkansas as opposed to California; maybe not oddly, heat + humidity) or a little beach volleyball, I've had to pick up golf. I have clubs now. Cheap. Wow, I'm getting old.

And when I say I'm golfing, I somehow feel like a dirty Republican.

I lent "Jesus' Son" to one of Laura's friends yesterday. It's my bible, as far as writing goes. In fact, I might stock up, put on a white shirt and tie, ride around, knock on doors, share some testimony as to the power of fiction (or poetry, if you must). Yes, this will be my plan. Will you accept "Jesus' Son" into your life?
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