Lethargy sets in.

I have many things to which I could productively put myself today. I even walked out to my car in the bitter cold to drive up to school and ask questions about my job search, yet while I did manage to drop in unannounced on my girlfriend and pay her a surprise visit and stop for lunch, I could not muster up the motivation to do anything remotely beneficial to myself. As I sat alone eating lunch today and going through three weeks' worth of mail, I realized today would not be one of those days in which I conquer my to-do list. I never made it up to school.

Today I want to write. Just write and write and not pay any attention to what my fingers running over little buttons produce.

I finally got my hands around my autographed copy of "Blook," the busblog book by Tony Pierce. I have only delved a few pages into it (stopping ominously around the posts written in early September 2001, waiting to see what Tony writes during these moments), but I'm enjoying it immensely. Reading old posts helps me track the evolution of Mr. Pierce the artist, and in the year plus that Tony has maintained the busblog since producing these pages, he and his writing appear to have greatly changed. When I was messing around with the nav bar on the left and adding some "Greatest Hits" links, I had to go through my archives to link to old pages, and while doing so, I read a bunch of things I had written, and the voice of the author seems barely recognizable at times. How much difference a little time makes.

Men Who Look Like Kenny Rogers.

I noticed over at The Ward the other day that Ryan said he'd like to meet me some day. He notes:

There's a blogger I'd like to someday meet, and his name is Chris Ward. Chris was a big fad before I ever set foot on HoseMonster Blog. I was probably the last of my crew to read his hoseness daily, but after a few days of archive scouring, I got hooked and continued to click around. Eventually, he threatened to block me from HoseMonster if I didn't link him, which would have effectively pinched my morphine drip. I succumbed to the impending torment and gave through. To this day, he remains there.

I didn't know I was a fad, but hey, I could think of worse things to have happen to me. And if we decide to assume that I was a fad, what started it? Does this mean I am doomed to live the high life now and then disappear into exile with the Backstreet Boys, *N'Sync and New Kids on the Block, become an E! True Hollywood Story and eventually end up peddling my soul for a few bucks on the next version of "The Surreal Life" starring Erik Estrada, Vanilla Ice, Kimberly Conrad-Hefner, Deion Sanders and Mindy Cohn from The Facts of Life? Would this be the greatest thing ever? Oh, and I don't recall ever threatening to block the Ward boys from HM, for one reason because I wouldn't know how to do that even if I could, and secondly, I get a good laugh from their site and I'm glad they read me. I also didn't realize that I was a link whore, but it's fine. Half the time we're all making this shit up, and even if we're not, oh well, whatever, nevermind.

I have the most boring name of anyone I know. Christopher Ward. Do you know how many Chris Wards there are out there? Sometimes I wish my name were different, but I wouldn't know to what I would want to change it.

The real Kenny Rogers.

When will I stop posting new pictures from Victoria's Secret?

When the first of the following happens:

  • Someone tells me they find my posting of the pictures objectionable and a demonstration of how my shallow appreciation for beautiful women in lacy wisps of clothing belies the fact that I will never appreciate a woman for who she is and not what she looks like. When that happens I will then post my feeling that when Victoria's Secret asks "What is sexy?" while flashing black and white pictures of pushed-up women walking around half-furnished English mansions, they give each person the chance to define sexy their own way. Personally, I love Victoria's Secret stuff, and just walking by that store makes me horny, but the reason this happens is that I picture people I know, to whom I'm already extremely attracted, wearing things like that. Lingerie in itself is somewhat sexy, but it's only a shell or something, and the real attraction to anything Victoria's Secret is what's filling that shell. I could never have sex with Heidi Klum; I wouldn't know the first thing to say to her, so the hell am I supposed to sleep with her? On the other hand, I've had wonderful sex with girls I've known intimately because I feel like I know what to say before, during and after. But this whole tangent is for another time.
  • When I stop finding pictures I think are sexy enough to put in the HM Blog. I'll be the first to admit that some of the shit they sell from Vicky's is beyond ugly. One of my personal faves is the underwear with the ruffles on the butt. And I've always wanted to make a link out of the words "ruffles on the butt."
  • When I grow bored with it.

Suddenly feeling marginally inspired to do some work. I should jump on this now while I have it. I still need to answer Zak's two-front war question, and I hope some others, but that may be for next time.