I guess I’ll find out when I wake up later on today. I quit my retail job, getting my Saturday mornings back in the process. Tomorrow is the first Saturday without work in a long, long time.
I guess I’ll get some errands done.
Or something. I don’t really know what to do with myself. Maybe I’ll just go to the liquor store and get set up for some Blue Hawaiians.
As some of you may have already seen here and there, there’s a new GBA (Game Boy Advance) model coming out. Dubbed the GBA SP, it adds front lighting, a rechargeable lithium ion battery, and a clamshell design that protects the screen and makes it even smaller when not in use.
Great. It’s the Game Boy Advance as it was meant to be. Why they didn’t put backlight in the first iteration of the Advance is beyond me. The screen is so bad right now that you can’t play it in well lit rooms. I think Nintendo took tiny black holes with six inch event horizons and placed them inside the screen. My room actually gets darker when I turn mine on.
No lie.
If Nintendo keeps the battery user replaceable, then it might be acceptable. They’ve stated that the battery will only last about three years and that’s a worry of mine. Also worrisome are the ergonomics of the SP. I’m also skeptical of the “front light” that they’ve added to the screen. The articles state that the lighting works pretty well, but I’ll have to wait and see. On the “piss me off” list of changes is the removal of a standard headphone jack. Instead, Nintendo (because they love forcing people to buy peripherals) is making people buy a separate cable that connects to the GBA SP and allows you to connect headphones to it.
Damn them to hell.
Now the question is–import from Japan and be “King of Handhelds” for a month and a half? Or wait and be one of those in line at the counter? Ah. Tough decisions.
She always pushed me. When I told her that I’d never eaten raw oysters before, we had to try them. I was skeptical. I didn’t believe in aphrodisiacs. Still, the upscale grocery store that we were frequenting just happened to be offering them among their free samples. I was trapped.
“It’s fate!” She said, with a smile on her face. She sounded positively excited. “They taste like the ocean.”
We walked up to the fishmonger, shucking oysters for the people in line and held up two fingers. He nodded and pulled two unidentifiable lumps from a bucket of ice.
I rolled my eyes. I remained skeptical. A few skillful passes with the knife, and there were two oysters on the half shell staring up at the two of us. She picked up one and waited for me to pick up mine. She gave me a few quick instructions, then before I knew it I was eating a raw oyster.
The smell of the salt air, and the sand and bits of seaweed mingled together on my tongue. I felt the grit of sand between my back teeth, then swallowed.
She was right, it did taste like the ocean. I conceded that on occasion, she did have good ideas and I was a fool to doubt her. She laughed in victory and took my hand.
Three hours later, we were back in The House. I had the master bedroom with its own bathroom. In cases like this, it was a blessing. I rubbed her back and winced as I watched her body convulse over the toilet.
“Hey, you don’t think it was the oysters, do you?” I tried not to laugh as I said it. I failed. A small chuckle escaped from my lips.
She slowly turned her head to face me. She had to breathe between words. “Don’t. Even–“
“–I love you, you know that, right?” I smiled as widely as I could.
She never got to reply as a final shudder welled up from her stomach. She turned back quickly as I held her hand and squeezed. She slowly stood up with my help, and washed up.
Just as slowly, I helped her into bed. She closed her eyes and I smoothed back her hair. I kissed her forehead and got up to leave. Her hand found mine. She asked, in a soft whisper, where I was going.
I squeezed her hand. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“It’s time to make tea.”
We stopped by The House tonight. It was there, silent and dark. There was new paint on the walls. For some reason, The House was always referred to as “The House.” It was the preferred meeting point for a good number of my college friends. I lived in The House for several summers, and for about one year after I graduated from college.
It had central heating and air conditioning, but the vents were in such poor condition that a good majority of the heat never actually got to any of the rooms. Wildlife lived in the attic. Stray cats gave birth in the little wells that housed the basement windows. There was hot water if you got to it first. The kitchen, no matter how hard it was scrubbed–never got clean. There were nine people living in The House at one point, seven of which, actually paid rent. Three of those seven, actually had bedrooms. There were three and a half baths. People lived in the basement, in the dining room, in the laundry room, and in the small pseudo closet that was connected to the basement. You could hear everything that went on in The House.
Everything.
The House was a prime example of the absentee landlord. It was horrible, decrepit, and dangerous to live in.
Naturally, I had a great time. I learned a lot on that piece of property. I fell in love in that house no less than twice. There was the first cigarette. The first time I truly remember being drunk was in that house. Well, as much as one can remember being drunk, in any case.
Good times.
The House is no longer The House now. There’s another family living there now. Now it’s just a house on 45th street somewhere in North West Washington, D.C. Looking at it reminds me that I have a lot of good memories. Looking at it also reminds me that I have grown up, at least a little. I’m a big fan of plumbing. Heat. Non-leaky roofs. I guess I am getting old.
So, last year, I had this great idea for writing daily.
Purchase a day planner with a small portion of the page available for each day. This way, I would not feel pressured to fill up an entire page with inane scribbles. Lo and behold, I found the perfect one. About eight lines per day. Good paper. It came in this great black microfiber case that just felt good. It even had a ribbon to bookmark my current page. The actual planner part was replaceable, so I could just move to the next year when I filled up this one. I’m on the last few days of this one, as it goes to January 5th. Which reminded me to flip through it and pick up the replacement notebook.
It’s nice to see that it’s more full than empty. There are some days I just didn’t get home in time, and there were some days I just didn’t feel like writing. I’ll have to look through it to find out if I wrote anything remotely profound, or just plain funny. It was a great journal, and unfortunately it was a little too good.
I can’t find the 2003 version of the planner anywhere. My initial plan was to just pick up the 2003 version and just replace the notebook part, but of course, it is nowhere to be found. Even the publisher doesn’t make a replacement for it. Typical. Someone designs a decent planner that is simple, not overly complicated, is not related to any sort of seven habits cult, and has no cutesy mascot on the front. They then proceed to produce it for one year, before cutting the product line.
Ah well. Time to move on and find another planner. It was good while it lasted.
Maybe the Covey people are on to something. I’ll just walk in the store and take a look around.