Robbo Blog

I used to shave my head a lot.  Like BIC it.  I have a rather smooth cranium so it was a fairly usual looking.  Well.. no.. that’s bullshit. 

I used to shave my head a lot.  Like Mach 3 it.  I have a rather smooth dome so it was round looking.  I could pull it off.  Half of my friends loved the new bald look.  Half were disappointed because they liked my old Elvis wavey style.  I’m not even sure what I thought about it.  To be honest, I didn’t do a lot of thinking back then.  I did a lot of trying.  I tried to be cool.  I tried to look good.  I tried a lot of things.  I eventually tried to be myself.  Nowadays, it seems like I don’t try much.  That’s not necessarily a good thing.  I would say it is indicative of complacency.  And I am anything but satisfied with my current station, so something has to change.  My hair has gotten long again.  I cycle through thoughts (see.. nowadays I think too much.. and less try) about shaving it or growing it long.  For some reason I keep thinking about poking smot again.  I haven’t in like five years.  It got in the way.  It became a burden and messed with my already delicate mindstate.  This somehow sounds like maybe I’ve matured.  However.. Now I just drink too much.  Great compromise.  I think about giving that up entirely… but, it’s almost more of a hassle to deal with the questions.  Also, I believe absolutes to be harmful.   Absolutes disgust me.  Anything that’s prohibitory in nature, and exclusionary in design serves as an obstacle to progress.  Odd justification but, logical I think.  I just turned twenty-eight.  That blows.  From twenty-two on, life is downhill.  I really need to focus and dedicate myself to progression toward my dreams.  Rather than lurching pathetically day to day, dragging my sorry carcass through the banal routine of slow death, I think I’d much rather get busy pursuing the sorts of things that will positively impact my world and as a result positively impact my down payment on a 1957 Chevy Bel Air. 

My betta fish Jeremy Fischer is sick.  I think he’s depressed.  My new betta Jabu may be the cause. 

A tale of love.  Intrigue.  And possible transvestitism.

SO.  Working hard and hardly working, AJ and I were mirred in the pleasantry of internet meandering.  He was busying himself in a prolific manner, clacking away at another stellar blog (I don’t know what you’re doing reading this one.. you should be reading his).  I was no doubt holding down the L button on the keyboard and watching the letter fill the screen.

About halfway through filling the monitor with the letter L, I hear AJ become quite excited.  Not an uncommon occurence, so I just initially ignore because I am really into getting this letter L work completed. 

Well, the clamor increases and I decide to inquire.

"Shut the fuck up!  I got an L thing going here!"

Okay.  So I didn’t inquire at first.  He continues commotioning… 

"Okay dooder… What the heck is up?"

"Dude, Robbo, you gotta see this message I got on friendster"

"A’ight.  Forward that shiz to me"

"werd"

He sends it.  It is a bizarre message from a bizare source.  In broken English, some strange gal was inviting him to the Timberwolves game via a friendster message.  Her profile was vague and fairly empty.  The picture… sultry..  shadowy..  in a hotel… possibly a man… i mean, a good looking gal.. kinda..  one of those gals, that you’d red flag at the club and make certain all of your buddies was aware of just in case.

AJ responded to her email.  He mentioned that while he was a Timberwolves fan…  all of his finances were tied up and he couldn’t liquidate anything fast enough to prepared for the game the next night.

She never responded. 

We had high hopes.  He checks daily.  Where is she…he? 

We envisioned scams.  Murder schemes.  AJ tied to a bed in a hotel room, some long-haired Russian girlman riffling through his empty wallet cursing in a foreign tongue and lashing Adam with a cat-o-nine. 

If you’re out there Marie.  Please reply to AJ.  We’re bored and the letter G is just not that fulfilling anymore.

Barely holding on here.  Brain wanting to jump out of the top of my skull.  It’s these sorts of moments that remind me that I am special.  Like special ed special.  Like how close do I come to the border before I finally wind up in a ward.

Why do people HATE rap music so much? ..  I mean.. I don’t especially like country.. but, I can appreciate that someone may…  I like true country artists and can respect people’s musical taste.  I tend to like every different sort of music because I consider myself to have fairly discerning taste, I love to discuss music and may insult some styles and artists, but I don’t truly HATE any music.. it’s far too subjective of an art to make glaring generalities based on anecdotal evidence.  Meh.  Fu** ‘em… they don’t know all that they are missing.

SO…  BLAH.. BLAH… BLOG.

Let me start this by saying Blogs are stupid.

End of interview.

Okayokay.. I’ll submit to more questions…  Okay, you in the back, with the strawberry sparkle chapstick on.  No not you, tap the person to your left.

//well mr. sidenberg, we’ve all heard about how totally radically cool you are..  SO… why are you starting this blog?  //

Good question good question.  Security please remove that person. 

//  mr. sidenberg?  mr. sidenberg?  what are the intentions behind this blog?  //

Good question also…  but, not great like me.  Basically …  I think it’s a chance to waste time and vent the steam from my brain. 

END OF INTERVIEW