I would be a complete dud as a ship captain as well, whether the ship was sinking or not. I would hide in my room, and do a lot of meditating, and sneak up on deck in the middle of the night when no one was around, so I could enjoy the view of the stars. And that would be when the ship was doing fine. Who knows what I'd do in an emergency? Of course, the main difference between me and the Titanic captain and the others is that those other guys were ships captains, and I'm not. They had actually aspired to that position, and achieved it, and were responsible for everyone on board.
Yes, women are different than men. Not only do they have more sensitive noses, they are tougher, more resilient, and crueler. And they are more likely to talk about disgusting things -- like picking up dog shit -- during mealtime.
No, I don't see myself getting hooked by the ipad and all the features it temptingly offers. Mostly, because the features it offers aren't all that tempting. I mean, sure, there are a lot of "cool" things you can do using i-pad apps, but do I really want to do those things? No, not really. Just like most of the objects and stuff in the world seems to me like a bunch of clutter that just gets in the way, most of the nifty options available on the i-pad seem like more unnecessary crap to get in the way and trip over. It's like being on a backpacking trip, and finding pretty rocks strewn along the way. Do I really want to pick up all those rocks and carry them for the next six days?
So did you get the jerky made or not? If so, was it a hit at the party?
We watched Something About Mary the other night. Peggy had seen it once before and didn't particularly want to see it again, but in the end she enjoyed it. I think the reason she didn't like it the first time was that we watched it with our kids when they were ten, or something, and each time there was a gross or indecent part, she probably had a bad reaction, thinking that kids shouldn't be watching something like that. Now, with the kids grown up and gone, she is liberated. I can understand why you would like that movie. No offense -- I guess when someone starts out like that, you know they are about to say something offensive -- but you seem like you could easily be one of those guys, obsessing about Mary and having your entire life revolve around a hopeless pursuit of a Mary. I would not be like that, because I don't have the long range stick-to-itiveness needed for such devotion. A few days after meeting Mary, something else would come along to distract me, and I'd move on to other things.
You remember that time we were boys and we went to that hillside opposite Peter Worden's house in the Berkeley hills and started digging a hole because we bought that cock and bull story about digging to China? I was picturing myself popping out on the other side, with a bunch of Chinese girls looking at me, taking photos of the first American child they'd ever seen. We start out all eager and fresh, pink and rosy faced -- me with my blue eyes, blond hair and cute little freckles, along with my black heart -- and we're thrusting our shovels in the dirt like we're going to get to China any second. About a minute later, we're all hot and sweaty and tired, and we realize the whole thing is a fake. There's no digging to China. Then that great big pain in the ass bully -- what was his name, Bee-low, right? -- he comes tearing down the hill. He was a total dick, but worse that than, he was stone scary and he liked beating up little kids. He was basically a teenager shaped like a full grown man. We scattered into the bushes, and he falls into the hole. A second later, we heard him moaning and roaring at the same time. Then: "What the fuck!" he's screaming as he charges back up out of the hole. "I'm going to fucking get you!" We took off, stumbling and tripping down the hill, and he starts throwing rocks and big balls of mud and these heavy round pine cones. I could hear them whistling past my ears, sucking out the air as they went by. Then we were free, running down the street, and he was bellowing up on the hill, images of blood and violence exploding in his brain. Children.
--edward
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