An exercise in futility. When I think of exercise, I think of an activity that will eventually make me healthier, stronger or smarter. An exercise in futility is something that makes me better at something that has a negative outcome? An outcome that is already determined before I even begin the exercise? Calling it an exercise is kind of insulting. I don’t want to become better at having absolutely no effect on anything. What’s the point of that? That won’t even make eligible to become a question on Jeopardy.
I want to be a question on Jeopardy. I just have to figure out how to build a sandcastle with only sand.
If you continually stay in the shadows and run away from the spotlight, what right do you have to complain? Let’s face it, I’m going to complain no matter what. But, those that want the glory, yet don’t want to open themselves up to all its trappings… nothing… nothing to complain about. Learn how to see in the dark.
Are you enjoying these little strolls down memory lane? I have so much I want to say but unfortunately, I need Frank for the images… despite my hours and hours of practice, I can’t seem to get the line that Frank gets. He’s got his hands full with a bunch of different things at the moment so I feel bad demanding images from him. Don’t get me wrong, I still demand them… I just feel bad about it. As in this panel from back in the day, I played rock paper scissors with him for a new drawing… he obviously won. The first time I ever used paper…I never use paper.
If i wanted a mouth full of mush, I’d make a bowl of mush… I don’t want a bowl of mush, I want to taste the tropics with my buds… I want to hear the crisp unzipping of those fresh banana peel. Is that so wrong? Is that asking too much?
Frank is creative. I’ll just put that out there. I wouldn’t have adopted him if he wasn’t. Sometimes, the creative flow can lose a bit of its pressure. it could be from anything: overuse, under use, just tired, just really tired, wondering how you’re still upright tired… anything. He didn’t make me up… that’s how real I am.
Just in case you were wondering. A lot of people ask if Frank lives with a squirrel… how come not nearly as many people ask me if I really live with a bunch of humans? Maybe Frank is the fabricated phantom and I’m running the show… Seriously! I know for a fact that Frank couldn’t possibly do all this by talking to himself… because once you really get to know him it’s better that you DON’T talk to him. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy to death… but there are times when i throw the life preserver out to him as hard as I can and he just throws it right back…
Good thing he’s documenting it all in the strips each day and I’m doing my own thing with squirrelosophy… otherwise no one would believe it.
Thought we’d mine the archives for a nugget or two. I distinctly remember this like it was yesterday… even though it was April 29, 2010. I really wanted that sandwich. My mouth had been watering all day to get that sandwich. I even had the two best middle sliced of bread in the loaf all picked out for it. The knife was surgically clean, the peanut butter… well, it was fresh chunky goodness waiting to be spread. All the variables were lined up perfectly. I said that word… excuse me while I slap myself around.
Long story short, my clumsiness and a hefty dose of gravity took what probably was going to be a pretty significant moment for me. A couple of lessons are apparent here. The first one is that you can never prepare for everything. No matter how air tight you think your situation is, leaks can still be sprung. They seem to happen when the guard is nearly down. If you want to let your guard down, you have to expect problems… sad but true.
The second lesson is: no matter how great the ingredients, Frank doesn’t like hairy sandwiches.
Bob Seger never really gets the credit he deserves. A hard working dude who plays hard working music that takes you back to places in your life every single play. If that wasn’t enough for me, he’s got a great name.
Game, set and match.
Even if you don’t think you know Bob Seger, his music and stories have this knack of knowing you… from the upper of the upper class right down to the working stiff. It’s dudes like him and Springsteen that make me really want to get this squirrelosophy thing out to the masses… a blue collar philosophy. In my case it’d be a furry tail type of philosophy.
I love to complain. Logic tells me that I shouldn’t either complain or like to complain, but you all know what my deal is with logic.
Even if I know how to do something, I like to complain…mostly because I think if I know how to do it, then everyone should know. That being said, if everyone knows how to do it, then why should I even bother learning? I was not given the gift (or curse) of infinite brain storage capacity… the real estate in there is pretty precious and way too pricy for any run of the mill, mundane data.
If I learn something new, that means that something has to be purged. I don’t like that. Just the other day Frank taught me how to empty the shavings out of his electric pencil sharpener… not that it was a complicated procedure or anything. Still don’t know why he can’t do it…
Anyway… I got the steps down, with minimal shavings spillage (say that three times fast with a marshmallow in your mouth). In doing so, my brain had to purge something.
I have forgotten all of the lyrics to the “Gilligan’s Island” theme song… thanks to logic, Frank and my limited storage.