"Yeah, I got my flannel dirty and I'm gonna whine about it."
My friend Aaron's treatise on the Grunge scene

There's a tool outside my window.

I'm working from home this morning because I've got my first doctor's visit in seven years at 10:00am. I'm a little nervous about it. Not for any good reason: I'm in good health, but who knows what she'll tell me. What if I've come down with something like Irritable Redhead Syndrome or Cranial-Rectal Inversion? Or what if its something that they've never seen before like Scott-Pox?

Anyway, I'm sitting here coding when I notice this guy sitting on a balcony across the alley. He's about my age, and he's just sitting there in the 30-something degree cold smoking and playing his guitar. He's one of those guys I used to see all over my college campus playing Creed-sounding crap on his guitar in a whiny voice that implies he really believes one of two rediculous things. Either 1) he believes the lyrics he's singing *SHUDDER* or 2) he believes that this is a good way to meet girls. Yeah, good luck with that buddy.

I'm tempted to get my pellet gun out of storage.