윤

By then I’ll be old as dirt (or buried beneath it), but the idea of a super man still makes me giddy. There’s just so little evidence in the world that one could possibly ever exist, and more than enough that we really, really need him.

The Sony’s wore like how I imagine clip-on piercings would, and crapped out like the other $20 disposables, and while I was comforted by the thicker gauge of the Apple in-ear buds, their pendulous weight is unavoidable. So if not for this nagging cough, I’d be reporting back on these Sennheisers, whose cost I justify with an unheard-of two-year manufacturer’s warranty. Cords still look flimsy, exposed as they are in a wraparound track that’s twice the size of the Nike design, but I like how its first “section” is just the right length to my upper arm, and I can do without the rest. The question remains: can I even run anymore?

Crick’s back, compounded by my reluctance to double-dose Aleve and the cold the boy sneezed into my mouth. Serves me right: haven’t run in months, been binging on ice cream, and sleeping through noise on the monitor. This time I make good, for sure.

Don’t call it a Throwback
It’s state of the art
Racin’ my heart, tearin’ my insides apart
Stormin’ my chart like a tsunami
Listen to my health cry mommy
Urination, peterin’
Over the brink o’ death I’m teeterin’
Causin’ shock when I hock these lyrics that’ll make you call a doc…

As out of it as I may seem sometimes, my attention will always be there for a mobile app that purports to take you to another reality of some greater import. Perhaps it goes back to waiting for all my cellphones to ring, beating X in a dingy Japanese youth hostel fortified by warm はちみつレモン, or thinking the low-battery antics on my Mattel Electronics Auto Race meant that something special was happening. To me. This time it’s called “Shadow Cities” and what I like (assuming I’ve read the conceit right) is being able to conquer your own block, virtually, and “call” everything in it, at least in your own mind.

Last time I did this I went a disappointing 2 for 5 (and the visiting one foreign country per year thing, well, that’s not going anywhere anymore, is it), but this time at least I got ahead of myself just before midnight by beating Bane!

But in all seriousness, if I do make a resolution for the year, it’s to have a great one with the wife and child. Let me start by finishing the 막걸리 and joining them.

Season’s over as fast as Sherlock’s. At one point I felt the parallels with Lost, too, but the arc’s looking less curved as the gang moved on at the end. These motley castaways may seem the more likely, but maybe six episodes weren’t enough to make them promising. Then again, had JJ been in charge, the CDC doc might’ve been on the verge of a cure (which doesn’t strike me as too great a challenge for a facility equipped with a Tony Stark-like computer), but killed by one-handed Merle, whose ravenous rampage would only be stopped by the surprise return of the father-and-son team from the beginning.

Serves them right, taking a reservation from a master-thief.

Wunderbar, because Lisa’s ball of leftovers never worked for real:
(2) Designer’s got to be Korean, with a name like that; and (3) not everyone’s converted to that wasteful liquid stuff!