progress and pizza


As they say in Hollywood, cut to the chase! I’ve never been there, but apparently its a catchphrase that has spread to modern use to tell whoever is telling a story, to get to the action-packed chase scene. Thus, my interpretation. And have I cut to the chase yet? Absolutely not!

How would one write a chase scene anyway? I have a feeling it’s almost like writing directions from point A to point B, except you break as many laws as possible in the process of the trip. That isn’t always true since I managed to get myself in a chase scene one morning. Good times. Well, not at the time. Had an amusing conversation with a grocery store clerk moments later while I was trying to take cover. Okay, it wasn’t really funny ha-ha… just awkward, perhaps. I felt endangered, paranoid while still clever and mildly witty, and she didn’t want to be awake nor did she care of my peril. She just wanted me to buy my Cinnamon Toast Crunch and leave. And I did. And it was delicious… whenever I ate it.

None of that has anything to do with the Sam Cooke project. I’ve written technically 25 pages. My creativeness is done. Now I must type out the lyrical portion of the historic yet unknown/underrated concert. Like Arrested Development, my feelings are you either love it, or don’t know about it. My mission is to alert the world and spread the word of Sam’s greatness. We’ve heard about Ray, we’ll get a taste of Marvin, we just lost Isaac and we recently honored Al. When is Sam going to get his? Huh? HUH?!

Allow me to calm down. Still taking my anger out on those trees over the weekend. I hope that saga is over as of tonight. I’m so tired of outside. The last tree my dad cut down I had to help move across the 1000 acre woods which is my yard, to the side of the street. Fortunately we found a little red wagon. Wheels make the world so much better. Let that be the invention of the era.

I finally started using my little Moleskin notebook. And once again, my dad proves where I get my personality from. A co-worker asked him: “Why are you so mean?” Dad: “Why do you ask dumb questions?” Yep, that’d be something I’d say too.

Oh yeah! I went shopping today. Not that it’s that exciting, but I bought a pair of jeans that I swear were placed in the wrong department. The tag says “Mens”… but they make my legs look like a woman. And not in a good way. They also feel like low-rise. Which are super-sexy on women. But me? No. In any event, I do shop like a guy, and I made good time considering I went into a busy store, in the middle of the day on a Saturday at the end of tax-free week. Picked out 3 shirts and 3 pants. Well, 2 pants… one is going back because I think they were built for women. Or men skinnier than me. Like Snoop Dogg.

I’m rambling… yet again. The pizza reference in the title? I have a couple slices in front of me that I regret taking big bites of. I need to roll over and probably keep rolling. And probably in the direction of the gym. It’s hard being friends with both the gym and the pizza place. They missed me though. The pizza place that is.

Mmmm. Cheese.

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Posted in babbling, blogging, food, memories, nature, sam cooke, scripts, writing
3 comments on “progress and pizza
  1. Kim says:

    are you getting a gut i dont know about?….lol…they make ur legs look like a womens and not in a good way…lol…low rise…eww…lol…men like snoop dogg

  2. Melissa Donovan says:

    How could you regret taking bites of pizza? All that gooey melted cheese goodness! As for the women’s jeans — well now you know why we try everything on before leaving the store!

  3. t.sterling says:

    Rest assured, I’ve returned the possibly womenly tight fitting pants. They may have in fact been men’s jeans, since it said “slim fit” on the tag. I MUST read more carefully next time. I don’t know why, but I just like to get in and out as quickly as possible. Of course it’s different if I’m with a female friend, but at the same time, I’m usually not the one trying on clothes. Maybe its the fact I’m undressing in a strange place?

    And the pizza was cold by the time I ate it (not that that’s stopped me before). The regret only came after it hit my stomach.

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