Recreational aggression and sea urchins
Other than getting my teeth fixed, the best investment I’ve ever made is joining Boston Sport Boxing Club. D. and I completed our first personal training session the other night, which lasted over two and a half hours and has had me limping for two days. Pain before beauty, pain is beauty, what’s the expression? Whatever. Just as long as I can punch a solid hole through a solid wall without shattering all the bones in my hand, I’m happy.
In other news,
I keep having nightmares about octopus. The moral of that story is never watch your friend eat baby octopus — whole — at a sushi bar, or anywhere else for that matter. Last night’s dream was about a girl at a pet shop who took care of this one little octopus and loved it, but I bought it off her, then I didn’t take care of it, then it stung me and crawled on me, then it became a giant spider and the girl picked it up. I returned it to her, told her to keep it and love it because I couldn’t, I didn’t want it after all, it was a scary aggressive octopus for Pete’s sake. [Cue Zak Smith’s octopus drawing! Now!]
In self-oriented audio-visual news,
I still can’t think of a valid film idea, and my editor doesn’t want to do the 48-hr film project again, despite our win last year. I’m crying on the inside. On the outside, I’m just freezing.