It's pouring inside

Dude, I typed a long response yesterday to your ruminations, but it didn't go through for some reason.

I like your ruminations. I have never been to a strip club, so I have to take your word for it on the experience. I have a feeling that, because I tend to get kind of self-conscious about sex when I am in public, that I might have a similar lack of emotion in a strip club. I would be thinking things like "Who is this woman and why is she letting me touch her?" Then I would think of the fact that she is getting paid to let me touch her and it would drive whatever potential sexiness there was right out of it.

I hear you on the lameness of keeping up with the hipness. A late-30s guy like me has other proirities, or should at least. I get my new-music exposure from NPR, mostly, with the occasional assist from a stray Web site.

I was listening to the radio at the weight room this morning. The rec center usually has some kind of system that turns down the radio whenever commercials or DJ chatter comes on, but lately it hasn't been working, so I got to enjoy the DJs gabbing this morning. Why is it that, on almost every morning show on a pop-radio station, there is a DJ with a cigarette-ravaged voice who laughs like he or she is about to keel over and die?

C is going out to dinner with us to celebrate the first week of classes. She's a damn riot, I tell you--she is deeply happy that we have yet to accumulate any snow since she's been here. I keep telling her it won't last, but you know, she has this Hawaiian charm that makes things go her way, so who knows? Maybe we won't get anything tomorrow.

I worked my ass off yesterday and now I don't feel like doing anything. But I must, or else I will fall further behind.