A couple of years ago I read a book on Zen and it was overwhelmingly cool. It wasn’t like, “stand on your head and wiggle your toes for 76 minutes to obtain fireball abilities,” or anything like that. Apparently Zen is a philosophy, not a religion, and just happens to fit nicely with Buddhism. In any case, I thought it was fascinating and was interested in learning more about that genre of thought, so I signed up for a History of Buddhism class this quarter. Little did I know that “History” actually meant “Practice” and “class” meant “intensive torture session.”
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I think a year or so ago it was a crazy-cold winter and I said something like, “Man, I wish global warming would hurry up.” I take it back. 800 percent back. I mean, this is ridiculous. It’s almost the middle of October and we’re still sweating 95-degree days. I’ve got long-sleeve shirts and jackets that I want to wear. Come on. I shoved my shorts in a box when September hit and they’re in there laughing at me now. On the upside though, I’ve been able to get tons of still completely wearable T-shirts for pennies at all the fall clearance sales.
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Not too long ago I was leaving work at the restaurant and found my car battery stone dead. It was that pit-of-your-stomach “Uh-oh” feeling when I opened the door and the inside of the car was still pitch black, and then the dreaded confirmation when turning the key made no sound or spark. That night I learned how to jump a car and unintentionally stole an innocent bystander’s cables.
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