Stream of Consciousness Vol. IX

After watching a week and a half of coverage on Michael Jackson and all the retrospectives of his career, I see a direct comparison to MJ and the rest of the Jackson Five and David Wright and the rest of the NY Mets offense.

Driving home from the baseball game on the Fourth of July, I saw the ballpark fireworks in my rear-view mirror, the Mid-City fireworks in the distance to the left, the downtown fireworks straight ahead beyond the skyline, and some West Bank fireworks in the distance in between Mid-City and downtown. Pretty awesome.

Second annual Fourth of July Kickball Game went as planned, and I’ve now been on the winning team each year. The MVP was Fatty Boo with a two-run triple, and Meghan rolled a complete game shutout as we won 9-0.

Last night, suffering serious insomnia, I decided to right a chick flick. I had a great idea for a plot, but promptly fell asleep and can’t remember the plot now. So, mission accomplished: I don’t have to suffer through some weak chick flick that will suck (even though I made it) because it’s a chick flick, and I beat insomnia!

I wish I had had an older sister growing up, someone like Zooey Deschanel in Almost Famous, that I could have asked ridiculous questions about girls to. I’m 31 years old, and I still don’t know the appropriate amount of eye contact to make. I know there IS a line between “I’m making eye-contact with you and not checking out your rack, I’m not a pervert honest” and “I’m a creep staring you down and making you uncomfortable.” I just don’t know where that line is.

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