rant is where the heart is

diaryland: sirilyan.diaryland.com: entry for 2003-03-01 (16:19)
In which our plucky young hero also remembers the plastic wall calendar.

Man, my idle fantasies get more and more violent as time goes on.

When I was a kid, a really young kid, I thought how cool it'd be to hang out with Richie Rich (shut up, just shut up, just shut up) or live on the moon or be able to fly.

Now. Well. Let's just say that now, if you remove the parts of my idle fantasies that aren't also mission objectives in the Grand Theft Auto series, you're left with that new townhouse I walk past in Chicago on my way to the office, and how if I won the lottery I could afford $1.2 million, easy. And now that I think about it, Vice City has this whole business with buying spare properties with money you have lying around, so I guess I really don't have any non-GTA idle fantasies.

I'd blame videogames for it, except that I've been playing videogames all my life, and I don't remember ever wanting to run around with three buckets of water catching bombs that an escaped convict is throwing from atop a 20-foot-high green wall. I have a feeling that's something you'd remember.

Or maybe not. There was this one kid who was in Grade Primary with me, his name was Mark Weatherbee. Yeah, like the principal. I think Mark Weatherbee's family moved away halfway through the school year, or something, because I know he wasn't in first grade with me. That is everything I know about his life, if in fact he hasn't died prematurely. But to this day, I remember he had a raincoat that had traffic signs on it, and a traffic signal.

Now ask me when my father's birthday is.

Which is a convoluted way of saying that memory is funny, and that I really don't have anything important to say today, and boy, I bet you wish you were having dinner with me right now.

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