Hypodermic Hippo Hippie Hopeful

Yo,

It's with a renewed vigor that I come at y'all this time. Better buckle up, this motherfucker's about to get wild.
Actually I always want to start every blog off with that and never do, so now that it's done I guess I can move onto to other topics that don't involve calling the Andrones mother'a a fuck, but beware it is about to get wild.
So how have you been? I've been okay, although my typing skills seem to be somewhat deterioting. It's interesting, so much (actually very little) goes into this blog but it's something that you, the reader, might never be aware of. You know, the haphazard keystrokes, the indefinable love, the stopping to read Tom Tomorrow's new comic, all of this is the process in which you are, hopelessly and forever, in the dark about, is what makes this what it is.
However, I guess there is something that I could do about it. I suppose I could share what goes into a blog, but that, taking note from countless droning sitcoms, smacks of both Sabrina the Teenage Witch and bad ratings, and despite having both of those going on at this time I'm putting it into my personal manifesto to not reveal the Fountain of Blog Secrets. Sorry Squad de Leon.
That being said though, I suppose it brings me to the topic of today, city living. While admittedly Athens is no Gotham there is something to be mentioned regarding living in a place that neither has a front or backyard; or anything that might in any fashion resemble step by step (for you out there counting that's two TGIF references in this update so far, see if you can catch the previous one and I think I'll try and drop one more in). Chiefly, that something is difference. It's not huge, sometimes its barely noticeable, but just like the illuminated Miller Lite sign, glowing neon above your booth, it adds and detracts to your experience's without really leaving a lasting impression on the scene.
That is not to indicate at all, that there aren't some glaring impressionable differences. Most notably is the necessity of clothing. A certain disclaimer I feel is in order here. I have never, to my face, been labeled as anything close to an exhibitionist (although most times I fancy myself one, but it really just means I like pre-season football) but living in the the context of everyone else's "workaday," world means some things up front. First, pajamas are exposed. Whilst I've never been called an exhibitionist something that I have been called with a certain amount of regularity is a man whom doesn't exactly plan out his bedroom attire. What makes that important is that, and I'm sure I am not the only one out there, when there is a need to go out doors, to take the trash out for example, one must now be aware of the fact that you are in the middle of everyone else's day. What worked in the spaces and shadows of your bedroom, no longer cuts the mustard at 12 noon on a busy street. Sorry tickle me elmo but you're going to have to stay upstairs.

There are, of course, several other distinct drawbacks, but most of them have other positive sides. Yes there is the sounds of the outside world, but although I freely admit it would drive some people crazy (just so you know as I type this I just heard a man passing my window talking on the phone about how he has to take a piss) but for me, it makes me feel vital and connected. But then again, I do have notoriously low self esteem, but at least I have a tickle me elmo. In your face Christmas of 2001.

I suppose that's about all for now sports fan, but keeps your eyes and ears tuned. Stay Keen Jelly Bean.


A.J.S.