Today was National Stand Around and Watch lm Work Day. This national holiday started with a phone call from my dearly beloved sister to inform me that she had unilaterally called the city to schedule a bulk trash pickup. While we had talked about doing this at some point, I would have liked some warning so that I could have assembled a posse to take maximum advantage of the city coming out with a dump truck and a front end loader to take away whatever we happened to throw out into the driveway. But as it was, it was just me, my mom and my sister and I was the only person taking crap out to the driveway.

Total haul: five doors, one utility sink with two large basins made of concrete, one refrigerator made in the fifties, four broken water heaters, five tree stumps that had been painted white, one set of wooden shutters ten feet tall and eight feet wide, numerous steel pipes, a bushel basket full of steel pipe fixtures, a ironing board made entirely out of wood, numerous wood planks and a partridge and a pear tree. After the three hours I spent pulling this crap out my back hurt like a motherfucker and I switched to stripping paint off of windows with a chemical stripper. Consequently in addition to splinters and abrasions, I now have chemical burns up and down my forearms.

Hence, I am presently partaking of a brand name combination analgesic/muscle relaxant of the name Thunder 101.

I did a bit of daydreaming this morning and started looking what philosophy graduate programs are all the rage these days. I think the present plan is to hold off applying until if and when Ye Olde House of Doom sells.

I shaved my beard last night as part of a Faustian bargain with my wife. My wife keeps nagging me about shaving. I hate that. Despite me trying to explain my position to her several times, I don't think she gets it. I just want to be me rather than who she wants me to be. So I promised her that every day that goes by without her whining or complaining about anything, I'll shave that evening. But let it be known that I hate shaving. Not only do I tend to lacerate my face, but as I age I look more and more like my father when clean shaven. I do not think I can adequately express what I feel when I stare into the mirror and see my father looking back at me.

Also last night I watched a PBS special on venom with my youngest daughter. Well, half watched. It was pretty fun. I have to give props to researchers that spend their days injecting four inch cockroaches with various compounds separated out from the venom of the funnel-web spider. And what I would give to get paid to speed through the South Seas on a speed boat at night hunting for sea snakes.

That will be all for now.

Update: It's morning and holy cow! does my back still hurt. Nothing smells like victory like stiff abused muscles in the morning.