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I was in the lifeguard chair the other day, when a duck flew down and started swimming about in the pool, about ten meters away. (The metric system remains one of my mortal enemies, but it's easier to think in meters for this, since I know it's a twenty-five meter pool. Regardless, I still feel mildly uneasy, and keep glancing nervously over my shoulder for fear that someone is about to come and make me recite my weight in kilograms or something. I don't know what I would do.) This is unusual only because usually the ducks wait until early morning or late evening to try and usurp the pool; they usually don't try it in the middle of the day when there are actually people swimming. Ducks generally flaunt their disobedience in the face of my whistle's authority, so I skipped the preliminary warnings and hucked a kickboard at it. Didn't actually hit the duck, but it took off and I called it good.
Later in the day, I went to take a breather on the lounge chair we dragged into the pool kitchen-- actually, a breath is exactly what you shouldn't take in there, as it is damp, stale, and sort of toxic. Also, there are rats. There was a rat on the counter, and I hucked a kickboard at it too. I huck kickboards at lots of things. Like ducks and rats and Mark the junior lifeguard and the showerhead that doesn't work and the Coke machine. And also the television, but only that once. I consider it a vital philosophy of life.
I'm sure Louise would advise application of fire in some way, but it is surprisingly difficult to set things on fire at the pool.
( And also, a music meme )
In other news, journalism sucks balls. I've rewritten this article about five times, and I think the editor still wants more patriotic smarm. I'm not sure how to say that the guy I interviewed was way more interested in talking about his music composition than his tour in Iraq. You'd think I could go with that as the focus, but no.
"What's next?"
"Some actual journalism, I think."
"Actual journalism? Is that when you don't commit crimes?"
"Hell, no. It's when we commit really good crimes."
I could quote Transmetropolitan all day, but I need to go to work.
Later in the day, I went to take a breather on the lounge chair we dragged into the pool kitchen-- actually, a breath is exactly what you shouldn't take in there, as it is damp, stale, and sort of toxic. Also, there are rats. There was a rat on the counter, and I hucked a kickboard at it too. I huck kickboards at lots of things. Like ducks and rats and Mark the junior lifeguard and the showerhead that doesn't work and the Coke machine. And also the television, but only that once. I consider it a vital philosophy of life.
I'm sure Louise would advise application of fire in some way, but it is surprisingly difficult to set things on fire at the pool.
( And also, a music meme )
In other news, journalism sucks balls. I've rewritten this article about five times, and I think the editor still wants more patriotic smarm. I'm not sure how to say that the guy I interviewed was way more interested in talking about his music composition than his tour in Iraq. You'd think I could go with that as the focus, but no.
"What's next?"
"Some actual journalism, I think."
"Actual journalism? Is that when you don't commit crimes?"
"Hell, no. It's when we commit really good crimes."
I could quote Transmetropolitan all day, but I need to go to work.
