Carving Out the Time

Friends,

I used to be a post machine. Even when I had that pesky thesis to write, I still think I managed to routinely post interesting (at least to me) things on here. But lately, since the j-o-b started, I just feel sucked dry of anything interesting. Part of it is that I spend 8 hours a day in this classroom that is in total lockdown because of confidentiality agreements. And it is apparently an iron clad agreement. If I slip up, even a little, I get fired. The agreement is pretty intense, too because I can't confirm or deny if any other people even work where I work. Like, say you answer the phone in the cubicle next to me, and you say to me, "Hey, Sexy Bryan (oh and for the purposes of this example, you're Phil...back to the show) yeah, Sexy Bryan, I haven't seen Michael in a few days, does he still work here?" I gotta say to my co-worker "I'm sorry, I don't have that information." So, all the cool stuff I've run into at this job, and really there's only been one or two things at most, I can't tell you about it. Now, can I tell you about potentially cool stuff that could happen at this job, hypothetically, making my examples a total work of fiction, well, that's a horse of a different feather...but let that stand as a tease. The job did give me an idea for a short story though, which is completely unrelated to a call I took, or didn't take. Seriously.

Anway, I found out something about Madison/this-apartment I don't like...my pants situation. See, I'm a no-pants kind of guy. Maybe that makes me old, but rocking in the boxers, well, that's the high life right there. However, here, I gotta wear pants all the time. In our living room the only window we have is our patio door, so in order for us to have the window open and keep the electricity cost down, we need the patio door wide open. And in my adult life, I've never known a neighbor well enough to let them see me in my underwear. So, I can't blog in my boxers. Watch TV in my boxers. Read or write in my boxers. Every page of my thesis was written sans pants, so this writing with pants on is going to be a whole new dilemma to cover.

Oh, and one more thing that makes Mankato better than here...wildlife. It's a small thing, but I like that outside my apartment, on any given morning, I could see a groundhog, rabbits, deer, a fox, turkeys and strange birds I've never seen before, like black-capped chickadees or yellow finches and a few other strange ones. Here, I put out a bird feeder a couple days ago, so far the only bird has been one yellow finch. And that same straggly bird has shown up here the past couple days, but nothign else. Not even a friggin robin or sparrow.

But the beer here is better. So much better. Schell's is a fine brew, particularly Rag Tops from Pub 500, but lord, you haven't drinked until you've had a Spotted Cow from New Glarus Brewery. That beer is so good, it has to have like 2,000 calories in it, or made with four sticks of butter or something truly awful to make you pay for enjoying such a nice lager. Now I'm thirsty.

viva el mustache