I understand that there may be many readers out there whose parents have AIM or some other chatting program, but as of this day I am the only one in my nuclear family with AIM.
Maybe not for much longer though.
My mom is thinking of getting AIM and thus disrupting my whole online world. She'll have access to my friends and me and even (gasp) this blog!
I wonder if there's anything incriminating in here. Things like "Well, I was fuckin' this chick last night and doing lines of coke off her back..."
Shit. Well, she'll probably wind up reading this at some point. Be one of the only people.
But I can't grasp the concept of Mum using AIM. Can't wrap my brain around it. I should, there's nothing wrong with it and its certainly not out of place in this day and age...but still.
I'll have to censor my away messages and stuff.

The setting: 9:35 PM, Tuesday Night.
Krister has just returned from going to the gym, he's sweaty and wearing his gym shorts, soaked T-shirt and running shoes. He leans over his computer. There's a message. It's from Tristyn. It reads "Hey, we're all going to see Mystic River at Movies 10 at 9:45, you should come, too."
Krister stares in slack jawed awe. Ten minutes to make it to the theater.
He quickly glances through the rest of the messages left on his computer in his absence and grabs his day clothes.
"I'm gonna jump in the shower," he proclaims as he darts for the door.
He strips off his gym clothes and steps into the shower, immediately turning the showerhead on, no testing the water through the bath faucet this time. A surprisingly warm blast hits him, but it quickly turns ice cold. He adjust the temperature and it switches to scalding hot. Finally he gets the temp right and reaches for the shampoo. Flips the top. Squirts a gob.
'Lather, rinse,' he thinks, 'no time for repeat tonight, baby, I've got a date with an angel.'
He dumps some facial wash into his hand and quickly rubs it into his skin. Rinses.
Now the body wash, only hit the essential parts. Quickly rinse.
Shower off, jump out, towel. Deodorize, dress.
He's out of the bathroom.
He stalks into the living room and grabs his wallet and keys, chapstick and phone and he's off again. Slips on clogs.
Checks his clock as the door slams shut.
Out of the house in nine minutes.
He drives between five and ten over all the way to the cinema. Gets there four minutes in line. His friends are still in line.
He joins up with them and walks into the theater. Its still the previews. Haven't missed a second of the show.
"Tonight," he says to no one in particular, "Tonight I am a god."
He shakes some water from his hair.

The End.

Omphaloskepsis is my favorite word.

I've created a new slogan for taxidermists (if they had one before).

Taxidermists: Shoving sand up dead animals' asses so you don't have to

What do you think?

Alright, did some research. Turns out they wandered in the 1100's and the 1200's. Please don't hold it against me. Troubadours are much cooler, though, than I had imagined. My source here is the World Book Encyclopedia, electronic edition. Under the entry "Troubadour" written by Paul B. Diehl.
Troubadours based their lyric verse on the works of Spanish Arab poets and classical Roman poets like Ovid. Who was not a large ovary or egg, it turns out. They often wrote in a language called "Provencal" or "langue d'oc." And one of the song styles they did, the canso d'amor, sang of the perfect attributes of some lady that particular Troubadour was hot for. He sang a lot about her physical attributes and her virtue, and I guess said a lot of things that would make Christians red in the face.
That's kinda neat.

I fixed my iPod. It had been broken, as I dropped it in a certain female's parking lot. It was a weird sort of broken, though, it played music and was completely packed full, but it wouldn't get mounted by my computer.
Tee hee. Mounted.
But I fixed it! All by my lonesome! I'm amazing, I know.
So it works, now. And I renamed it from the lame "Krister Rollins' iPod" to the lame "Troubadour." Troubadour's, of course, were the wandering minstrels of France in the...time period. 1500s? 1400s? I don't know. Wandering minstrels, at any rate. Which means they were portable music, much like the iPod itself. I'm pleased with the connection.

I would like to make so many clones of myself that they collapse into each other and make a black hole. I would then have a KriStar to wield. Plus, being a rip in the space-time continuum has always been a goal of mine, and I think with gravity like that I'd be able to grease the right gears to get the job done. Or maybe it'd just be cool to be a part of the universe that no one will ever forget.
I would like to be a part of history. I guess I am already, technically, but if people could read about me at some point in the future, that would make me happy. Especially if its nice things, a Picasso situation, as opposed to a John Hinkley Jr. situation.