At the gym today I watched some sort of ice skating capades where the little girls skate around in their costumes and the douchebags with their giant microphones talk over their performances and then proceed to review their triple luxes on slow-mo and macro-zoom. Leave those little girls alone, dammit. I feel this somehow relates to my dream about Survivorman, in which he decided that for his challenge he would swim out into the middle of the ocean. "I've never been much of a good swimmer, but I've read books." That was the extent of it, because he swam away from the camera.
Bootsy is still working on installation of the new dishwasher. He says there's "more to it than meets the eye"; something about wires and pipes and drywall and hot water. I don't believe those things even exist anymore, what with this wireless and digital world in which we now live. I don't know why I even care since I personally don't wash the dishes anyway. My hands get too dry.
My goal to replace the church organist still needs much developing. My original plan involved replacing her with any other person as long as the replacement had minimal organing talent. Further thought revealed that perhaps I could replace her myself, with myself. In this way I could physically remove her from her podium using some of my learned judo skills and then sit down and execute the most brilliant organ performance ever rendered. I have to first learn how to play. As we suffer through her raggidy playing tomorrow morning I will brainstorm with Dion for reasonable steps towards attaining my goal. This is a passion which stems from a pococurantism unparalleled in any artist I have ever met, much less hired to play (and ruin) my wedding. She must be defeated!
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