Sadly, this marks the last weekday of my spring break.

I was unable to fulfill my original plan, which was to go down to one of those crazy Floridian towns and catch herpes from a ugly, drunk sorority girl while Jerry Springer poured honey or whipped cream or irony all over us.

Maybe next year.

Actually, I have to admit I am curious about the whole American spring break phenomenon. A small percentage of me wants to go experience the horror of it firsthand before I'm the weird old guy hanging around the 18 year olds at the beach. But, I probably never will. First of all, I hate being both sweaty and drunk, and second of all, large masses of single-minded idiots controlled by hormones and nothing else reminds me too much of professional sports for me to enjoy it. Maybe there are cafes down there where the pale-skinned can sit and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes while they pity the Greek system, but I doubt it.

In any case, where the fuck have I been? Fair question. My break from la escuela was spent helping my mom prepare to sell her house. This required massive efforts of cleaning and scrubbing on my part. I don't know how many of you have parents who have lived in the same house for over thirty years and then decided to try to sell it. It is not fun. Making it doubly un-fun is the fact that my mom and dad were basically packrats. This is because they are the type of people who attach emotional significance to parking spaces. That is, everything has sentimental value.

Bill: Mom, can I toss this old rag out?

Mom: Old rag? That's a sock one of my college friends gave you at your fourth birthday party. Hmm, what was her name? Anyway, don't throw it out.

See what I mean? When I was a kid, and I wanted to throw stuff out, I would wait until my parents had left for the day.

No joke.

But, my mom's house, which I liken to a mine that yields an endless amount of garbagey crap, does occasionally reveal a few gems.

In grade school, did they ever make you do time capsules? A time capsule is a box into which you place items of interest to you at the time, to be opened at some point in the future. When I was in eighth grade (1989), I made one that was set to be opened in 1996. I have no idea why I chose that date, but apparently I had forgotten all about the box until it was uncovered yesterday.

Inside was a journal which I was apparently terrible about writing in. Here's a sample. In this entry, it was either the day of a shuttle landing or my interpetation of the Challenger disaster some three years later, I don't remember:

Charming child, wasn't I?

Here's an example of how my life hasn't changed much since then:

"9-26-88

Something, anything could have happened."

Yeah, I'm still as exciting as ever.

I'll stop torturing you after this last entry. It's from the day our beloved dog, Bosco, died. I think it does a pretty good job at illustrating my burgeoning sense of humor:

"2-15-89

Bosco went into the vet today. I'm worried he might die. I've got to think positive. I'm confident he'll live.

UPDATE: Bosco had to be put to sleep at 9:30 am. Sad.

(This next part is written in pencil, probably some time after that day)

UPDATE: Bosco is becoming a good zombie. He can speak now."

It's probably fairly typical of me that I was able to make a joke about re-animating a cherished family pet.

Anyway, congratulations if you've read this long entry. Now I'm off to get a much needed haircut and then it's to my mom's house again I go, this time to tackle the attic. Pity me, for I will probably spend the next few hours trying to convince my mom of the wisdom of throwing out old records that have cracked down the middle.

Guh.