No...Shit, no, man. I believe you'd get your ass kicked saying something like that.

Monday entry! I know. Weird. This past weekend was half-exhausting, half-relaxing. Friday night we painted the town red. I hadn't gone out in a couple weeks, and apparently I needed to make up for lost time by drinking 73 beers. I was up til 4:00 in the morning and woke up to excrutiating flashbacks of dancing the night before. How embarrassing. I can still picture my giant, wiggly ass poking its way though the dance floor. Although my shenangians did lead to a phone number! This hasn't happened in quite some time. I may call it too. And by "it," I mean "her." Take that, OK Cupid! Though, there's no telling if the girl I'm remembering from that night looks anything like the girl herself. Booze has a funny way of altering these things. But it's better than the alternative (see Saturday's posting).

Saturday I went down to Houston for Father's Day. We went and saw "The Lives of Others" and had Vietnamese. This is a little uncharacteristic of me, considering a.) I don't typically go to movies and b.) Sushi is really the only kind of "far eastern" cuisine I enjoy. But the movie was good (if not a little long) and dinner was good. See, I'm branching out.

When I got back to Austin, I hurried over to my gym, only to discover that they close at 6:00 on Sundays. No good. So I did something I hadn't done in about two years. I went jogging. Now, it's possible jogging is the perfect barometer for just how in shape/out of shape you truly are, but maybe it's one of those things you just need to practice. I mean, I can do 40 minutes of the eliptical (yes, I realize that the eliptical is a "feminine" workout machine, but I don't care) without wanting to fall over and die. But after running for about ten minutes, my shirt was soaked, I was gasping for breath and my legs were getting sore. Maybe it's something about actually being outside and running along a track? Maybe it was the heat of the day? Whatever it was, I was exhausted when I got home. A lot more exhausted than I am after I get off the eliptical.

Anyway, after I ate, I put my feet up on the couch and waited for bedtime to come. It was only about 7:00 and there is absolutely nothing worth watching on Sunday night during the summer. So I picked up "Catcher in the Rye" (which I'd never read) and dug in. So far, I like it. It's different from what I expected (something about the title led me to believe there would be a rural setting - who knows). Also, when I borrowed it from Cory, he told me that "Catcher in the Rye" is found on more serial killers' bookshelves than any other book. This colored my expectations as well, since I was expecting something like "American Psycho." On top of that, my dad mentioned that the book caused a pretty big stir back in his day because (and I quote) "they talk about s-e-x, oh no!" So here I am expecting to read about some sex-fueled, murdering farmer and all I get is a prep school dropout hanging around New York. Huh. But I'm only half way through, so there's no telling what the second half will bring.

Anyway, Cory bought the book on Amazon, and somehow got a copy that was printed in 1951. Somewhere around chapter twelve, I stumbled upon someone's old bookmark, which was a newspaper column about an upcoming book burning at a high school football game. The victim of this book burning (naturally) was going to be "Catcher in the Rye." The article was dated April 20, 1960. How that bookmark managed to survive is beyond me. Kind of cool though. Anyway, nothing in the book seems even remotely offensive to me, but I guess the candid sex talk was controversial at the time (side note: I really like reading the outdated slang, especially when he refers to sex as "giving her the time." I may start using that).