Phew… almost midnight. Made it safely through another Ides of March.
Oh, the Ides of March. The one day of the year when your best friend has society’s permission to stab you to death.
me: howdy ho!
me: actually, that came out wrong.
me: i don't mean to imply that you are a "ho".
Some poor woman (@nancwithants) on Twitter has confused me (@claysmith) for her friend (@smithclay). She has already commented twice with my name about the antics of my globe-hopping doppelganger. I’m starting to wish I was this other Clay Smith, because he’s in Paris taking a knife class. That sounds like more fun than what I’m doing…
Part of me wants to stop losing weight as I have only just discovered that right now I’m exerting against the Earth a force of about 1 kilonewton. That’s a nice round number.
(You’ll definitely have to click to view the large photo in order to see what I’m talking about.)
This evening I watched “Without a King” (on Netflix), a documentary about Swaziland, the last absolute monarchy in Africa. In one final scene, I noticed something awesome. When HRH First Princess Sikhanyiso goes out to see an HIV/AIDS orphanage, a crowd of children gathers around her. For a brief moment, you see a kid wearing a white t-shirt with the words, “CLAY SEX”, emblazoned on the back. That’s all.
Anyway, I recommend this film. The country is predominately Christian, and for all of the complaints the people and the international community have about the king, the filmmakers follow his first wife to church where she worships with sincerity. Plus, the First Princess attended Biola in the mid-Naughts. Be warned that a few scenes have National Geographic-style nudity. (Some people may recognize my appreciation of this film to be the result of my interest in monarchy.)
IM-rony
me: hey
her: hi
me: sorry, firefox froze
me: so, i figured i'd move from the desktop to my laptop in the meantime
her: ooo
me: we never have complete conversations
her: yeah that's true
me: one of us is always leaving
her: yeah
her: speaking of which, brb
me: k
I want you to shave your face off. It tickles you. You will get a new one.
— Joy, commenting on my beard
The volume control on the BBC video player goes up to eleven. It’s one louder!
Bless her heart. The girl taking my order at El Pollo Loco spelled my name, “Cley,” on the the check.
