Picture.

This comic strip defines how I feel about adulthood. I'm apprehensive about it, of course, but at the same time I think the girl here is saying the most amazing thing ever: it really is our turn, isn't it. This makes me wonder what my generation is really coming to. Are we going to be okay? Will we lead this country to success, or are we going to screw the planet and ourselves as bad as previous generations? Worse? What will happen to the Punks of the world, the people who dress in shorts that come to somewhere below the calf, wear chains and mohawks, listen to Blink 182? Not that I have anything against Blink, just the culture they represent, and mostly for the aesthetic reasons. They don't look responsible. And what will happen to the superficials? How will our beauty-focused culture handle wrinkles and aging? Will we regret our lifestyle of decadence?

I will note, at this point: you can have my caffeine when you pry it from my COLD DEAD HANDS! Sometimes I feel I should have a staff of actors to say some things for me. That line is so much more effective when Charleton Heston says it. But I still can't think of where I'm going to use "Soylent Green is People!" at. Any conversation involving luck naturally involves Clint Eastwood.

I wish I would invent time travel. If I ever do, I'll come back to RIGHT NOW (Grand Forks, ND, at 10:10PM Central Standard Time, in my apartment, the one that Crystal used to live in) and tell myself what it's like there. In the future.

I had an intriguing thought today, so I expressed it to a couple of my coworkers. "What if in the future they really do invent time travel, come back and visit us, but every time they have, we've just thought they were crazy and killed them or ignored them until they went away? We'd never know..." When I turned around my boss was staring at me with this grin on his face like "What the hell goes on in your head?"

I bought pants the other day. Cass (a friend and notably a female) complains often of girls clothes sizes (there should be an apostrophe somewhere in there, but I don't know where) and their complete randomness. Then usually I say something about how nice guys' sizes are and we agree and share a laugh. I'd like to take this moment to take back everything I've said about guys clothes and being easy. Shirts come in sizes that may or may not hold true across the brands, and I still don't understand the logic of shoe sizes, but the worst are honestly the pants. It could have been so easy, so incredibly easy. Waistline by inseam, right? How hard could it be?

There's fit. Damned fit. Relaxed fit, loose fit, snug fit, relaxed loose, relaxed comfortable, comfortable loose, loose snug, and carpenter can go in front of everything as well. Carpenter just means it has a little loop of denim for hammer stowage. And possibly some other stuff. And then you've still got to break the damn things in. It's awful, really. I feel like I did after I had long hair: sympathetic to one more thing about girls.

That's all I've got for now. Don't fuck up.

TRH