Well this weekend there was Star Wars, and Wall Street weasel Martin Shkreli went to jail, and I went to my girlfriend’s burlesque show Friday night and got a lap dance on stage. My first one ever, because I fail to see the logic in paying to not touch someone. I’ve never been to a strip club either, except for that one in Bangkok because we were curious to see if it was true that women can shoot ping pong balls out of their vaginas (it is). Anyway I got on stage and realized I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I went with the behind-the-back configuration like I was being interrogated.
Now it’s Sunday night. Got out of Seoul and back to my Incheon villa for the quiet chore rituals. Then I read Point of Impact, made my snobby-ass vegetable smoothie, listened to JJ Abrams on a podcast where he said something about humans spend their lives trying to distract themselves until they die. I’m with you on that one, man. Before I wrote this I squandered ten minutes of my existence reading some shit about Star Wars gross predictions. The entertainment industry is the only one that outright boasts about how much money they take from us every week. Anyone else did that and we’d be signing motherfucking petitions to hamstring these villainous monopolies, hoping Bernie Sanders would do something about it. While I was in the business of clogging up my subconscious with fluff I got onto ESPN and burned up five irreplaceable minutes of my livelihood there. Basically the Patriots will win over the Titans but by how much is the question; they play at 3:00 A.M. Korea time so I’ll have to wait until I wake up at 6:30 to find out. I care about Tom Brady’s job, it would be funny if he also cared about mine. How my classes go.
On the whole, things are balanced out pretty well right now, I just want to be a little more interesting. A good connection is hard to find. I call my mother and hear her chuckling, hang up and see she’s been sharing Facebook memes while we were talking. Collapsing attention spans — the horror stories are all true. In a conversation it has to be all fireworks or you’re fucked. I’m fucked. I’ll tell you my lap dance story and burn up that material right at the jump, after that I’ll listen to you. You’ll talk about sitting in traffic or something.