Precipitation. And other things that will get you wet.

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Sometimes I succeed at passing myself off as having some semblance of stoicism… the point on the philosophy spectrum I’d ideally like to occupy. But really, I likely seesaw between cynicism and epicureanism, teetering back and forth, in a very uncommitted fashion. Not actual epicureanism mind you, which was quite a serious philosophy and not nearly as frivolous, or indeed gluttonous as the modern incantation of the word has come to mean. Although I tend to channel the more contemporary hedonistic definition thereof. *Joey takes another sip of wine* (which I stole appropriated from my parents house earlier today)

In my defence, it looks like a bottle that I may have gifted them at some point in time previously, the wine in question being woefully out of place in their otherwise… eh… dim collection. In so far as it is has (according to the description) intense black berries and cloves with hints of dried herbs and vanilla on the nose. A combination of blue berries and black cherries with a firm, juicy tannin with a long finish. 

Wine comes with its own particular brand of bullshit. In my humble opinion anyway. Although maybe I’m just challenged in the olfactory and taste bud department* since I  never experience ANY of that. Maybe I need drop acid and then drink wine… because well, I hate to think I’m missing out.

*which might potentially explain my mad cunnilingus skilz. I jest. I’m probably completely average… well I assume I am having never asked for rating on services rendered. Ego however prevents me imagining myself lagging too far behind my peers on the bell curve.

In true Dionysian fashion I’m combining my wine with Easter eggs. I went snuffling around the study cupboard earlier and found my wife’s stash. After my best puppy dog eyes routine (and then when that didn’t work making a high pitched mewling noise) she acquiesced and said that I might as well just eat them, if only I would shut up. This is how I roll. Sad and pathetic. And then pivoting into annoying (depending on results).

And on that noteworthy stratagem on how to succeed in life I will wish you all good night, Godspeed and an auspicious bowel movement.

Fake it till you make it

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Ha ha. No, (usually) not when I’m walking. But a few kilometers into a run when someone comes gliding past me at an easy canter and I’m wheezing like an asthmatic and perspiring like someone pouring water through a colander, I briefly manage to pull it together. That is until I feel enough distance has materialized between us that I can go back to my steam-engine shunting yard noises and general slouched over leakiness.

For some reason I want the person passing me to imagine that I’m three quarters of the way through a half marathon… and if you consider that… I’m doing pretty well. The fact that I’m almost home after my 5mi tour-de-neighborhood, makes it altogether less impressive.

Also this person has likely heard the panting (that approximates a death rattle… and probably also heard me talking to myself) for at least the last hundred meters… so really this is a pretty dumb charade.

Also I will likely continue to feign running prowess. Because this is how I roll.

The quietness of the sheep

‘How can you call your congregation a flock? Doesn’t that say everything about your religion?  That you think they’re sheep?’ – Richard Dawkins

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I find it strange that Mr. Dawkins, an evolutionary biologist, has never (as far as I know) spoken about the built in self defense mechanism found in every flock of sheep. You’d think this would be right up his alley. This inherent ability seems to make sheep way more formidable than one might originally anticipate.

Standby for transmission

I’m eating my three year old daughters chewable vitamins. I’m going through sugar withdrawal something fierce and the pantry cupboard, at this present intersection on the time/space continuum, is the dietary version of the Atacama Desert for anything even vaguely sucrose related.

This is as close as I can get to happiness right now. They’re soft… and have a vaguely gummy bearish consistency. Although practically there may be a finite number of these I can pour into my mouth before I start running the serious risk of vacating my bowels (at some point in the not too distant future) in a violent, hot and foamy manner. My sphincter puckers at the probability, a clarion call to perhaps insert a modicum of moderation into my binge eating of these age inappropriate placebos. (I’m one of those people that are skeptical of the benefits associated with imbibing a daily multi-vitamin)

It’s another wild Saturday night in the domicile of the Jo. In olden times this was likely the point where I would (take twenty minutes to) lace up my Doc Martins and maybe find a clean(ish) black t-shirt, with imprinted ironic cajolery, before sallying out in search of girls, of an indie-rock persuasion, with whom to exchange saliva. And maybe trample (or get trampled) in a rousing rendition of Nellie the elephant. Either circumstance would have suited me just fine and would have likely been pencilled in as a win.

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Didn’t have to worry about smashing your iPhone back then. Your Nokia 3310 was hard as nails. These days it’s reading Roald Dahl to my daughter and then, post slumbering toddler, halfheartedly perusing Netflix… until giving up and deciding to blog instead. (While your basset hound snores loudly on the sofa next to you)

How the mighty have… reclined. And become more monogamous about the bodily fluids they will impart onto the abdomen of another. Circumstances have certainly progressed. I’m not sure I miss it though. You should likely attack each phase of your existence with a certain level of gusto and then move on. As a rule (for life*) you should never loiter on a level you’ve already cleared, not when there is still so much more game to be played.

*See Jordan Peterson, I can make up arbitrary pronouncements too. Ha ha. Although my book will only have ten rules. I don’t think you should ever have more rules for life than you have fingers (that you can then bunch up into fists). The complete guide to Fundamental Joeyism, available soon. (okay, probably not soon, or even ever)

We now return back to our regular scheduled programming.