A few weeks ago I stood in my driveway, minding my own business.  I was pouring old gas out of my lawnmower, if you must know.  My enjoyment of the fumes was interrupted by a pothead wearing a sweet jean jacket.  Walking up my driveway with an excited look on his face, he blurted, “John, is this your house?”.  It’s a small town, so yeah, he knew my name.  “You’ll never guess who grew up in your house”, he raved.  Then pausing for emphasis, he slowly enunciated, “Vincent Waller”.  Disappointed by the blank expression on my face he explained, “Vincent Waller is the creative director, sometimes technical director, and writer of SpongeBob SquarePants!”.  The potman went on to explain that he used to play in a jug band with Mr. Waller, etc, etc, etc, etc.

So there’s that.  Every day I breathe trace amounts of SpongeBob’s DNA.  ****Update**** Apparently Mr. Waller was born and raised in Texas.  Random potheads walking down the street are poor sources of information.

When I hear a song I like, I listen to it 30-40 times in a row until I’m sick of it.  As a result, I have a large collection of mp3’s that I never want to hear again.  The last two days I’ve listened only to:

I imagine that I’m sitting around a campfire with my friends. We’ve all brought guitars, and we’re taking turns playing and singing.  It’s my turn, and I’m playing this one.

There are a few issues with this scenario:

  1. I only have a couple of friends.
  2. The don’t play guitar.
  3. They’re not really into camping.