Tonight.

My stepfather told me I could have a beer tonight. My mother disagreed but he persisted and she gave. I instead had a Diet Coke, though. I like the taste for some reason unrelated to unhealthy sugar-substitutes. He's gone to bed now, and the twelve-pack of Heineken sits on the counter. Only one is missing. He told me I could have one. Heineken's are tasty. Better tasting than Diet Coke. He was pretty drunk when he told me I could have one. He's gone to bed now. I'm thirsty.

What the hell. I've added up the facts and decided to have one.

So now I'm in front of my home computer, about to drink some imported lager beer, my brother behind me being the God of Halo 2 he is, and myself writing on my internet blog that StatCounter tells me the majority of people who've been to this site spend less than five seconds viewing. This only means to me that I shouldn't have to worry about impressing anybody with the content here. I am a writer. This is my lament.
(the title of my blog makes sense to me right now).

I spent most of today in a car seat. I slept and read. I visited relatives I haven't seen in decades and won't see for at least a decade more. It was my grandmother's birthday. She is 80. I spent most of the time at the party watching movies on cable, inventing a secret handshake with my brother, and not thinking about what a scary number 80 is.
I'm 19 in two weeks.
My dad and his girlfriend wanted to drive down the coast on the way back from Bangor. I slept on the way to Camden, but Dad woke me up when we got there. I saw a pretty mountain behind a harbor filled with large beautiful schooners. It was raining. Fletcher and I walked down the pier a bit, looking at the boats. I heard Camden was really pretty and I agree. I want to go back and see it again sometime soon.

Dad forgot that Camden was very far away from anything he could recognize or know the way to, so we took a bit longer than expecting getting to Portland. It kept raining, and I read a good chunk of Siddhartha while listening to a randomized selection of songs from The Mountain Goats, The Decemberists, Iron & Wine and The Weakerthans. The book made me think a lot, and I was able to see passing glances of the Maine Coast out my rain-streaked window. It was very dark though. Almost like I was having a bad dream about the coast. It wasn't so bad though. I've always liked the rain.

Fuck, this bottle cap isn't a twist-off.

Siddhartha made me think about a lot. Like why people value material possesions so much, and how just one man can change his lifestyle drastically so many times in his life. How do people really understand themselves? How important is money, or sex? What do you really accomplish in life? [Travis finds a bottle-opener] There's a lot of questions out there. Siddhartha, in the book, hasn't answered too many of them yet. I was really scared that he was going to stay with Kamaswami and living like that, and it would end in tragedy. I had gotten so wrapped up in reading I had forgotten all the pages that still lay before me. I liked Kamala, and hope he sees her again. I was really glad he saw Govinda again. I'll read more before going to bed I think.

an excerpt from Siddhartha:

"My dear Kamala," said Siddhartha, "when I came to you im your grove I made the first step. It was my intention to learn about love from the most beautiful woman. From the moment I made that resolution I also knew that I would execute it. I knew that ou would help me; I knew it from your first glance at the entrance to the grove."
"And if I had not wanted?"
"But you did want. Listen, Kamala, when you throw a stone into the water, it finds the quickest way to the bottom of the water. It is the same when Siddhartha has an aim, a goal. Siddhartha does nothing; he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he goes through the affairs of the world like the stone through the water, without doing anything, without bestirring himself; he is drawn and lets himself fall. He is drawn by his goal, for he does not allow anything to enter his mind which opposes his goal. That is what Siddhartha learned from the Samanas. It is what fools call magic and what they think is caused by demons. Nothing is caused by demons; there are no demons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goal, if can think, wait and fast."
Kamala listened to him. She loved his voice, she loved the look in his eyes.
"Perhaps it is as you say, my friend," she said softly, "and perhaps it is also because Siddhartha is a handsome man, because his glance pleases women, that he is lucky."
Siddhartha kissed her and said good-bye. "May it be so, my teacher. May my glance always please you, may good fortune always come to me from you!"

Fletcher had some temporary tatooes of the Fantastic Four logo, for the upcoming movie. The movie looks exciting and fun, and by no means "good" at all. No quality, just a fun time at the movies. Explosions, scantily clad women, stupid jokes. I'm pumped. Fletcher and I made up super-powers for each other, after we put the tatooes on our biceps. I'd have the ability to convert my body into electricity, and I could enter and control all electrically-powered devices, like Electro from the Spiderman comics. Fletcher wanted to be Sandman, but before deciding on that, he thought about being Skunkman. Like Chucky, from that episode of Rugrats. We're both pretty big dorks.

It's late. Heineken is tasty. Fletcher wants the Internet, so he can pwnzzorz teh n00bz and be teh l33t on Halo 2. I've seen him do it. I'm going to go read some. I hope it rains more tomorrow.
Goodnight, Internet.