Flapjack Man Craves Ramen

And I suppose my life has never been in such disarray.

And I suppose I've never felt so good about all of the flapping pieces.

My buddy Charles once called me the Flapjack Man. Charles, it was your birthday, as it was mine. Today, I bid you a merry unbirthday. Let's have toast and loquat jam.

I found out that it would be quicker for me to bike the 10 miles to work than it would be for me to take public transportation. And on a good day (at the very best time during that good day,) my automobile can turn me out to the office in about 12 music-enhanced, ass-head driver infused minutes. One day soon I'm going to get onto my bicycle, pull out onto Venice boulevard, and never look back until my sweat is soaking the carpet in the reception area down at the firm. "Hey-- I forgot to submit an official request for a shower. When can we get on that?"

The food we eat makes the joints frolic or frantic. We are what we eat, my ass. The food we eat eats us, is what I'm thinking. Calcium deposits= death by low body-fat. Or something like that. All I know is I need to put on 15 pounds sometime in the Aughts or the Naughts, or the Naughties, or the Nills, or whatever the hell it was we were calling that... that Bush-saturated haziness of time between my high-school graduation and my 1099 filing.

Oh yeah, I have health insurance for the first time in 5 years!

John Pasquina, where are you now?

I am an engine for expectation. I am a vessel for vanity. I am a lotus of love. I am a gunbarrel for growth. I am a kid for kindness.

4 minutes and 8 seconds to say goodnight to my sweety and wish her warm thoughts on a cold night. We just might get to Coachella, yet. And we very likely will not. Young lovers, alone or together, may dream and continue to yearn for the fiscally, practically, foreseeably impossible. It's a certainty. Much like the inevitability of eating ramen noodles. It's going to happen, but when? And where? And in what capacity?

We are the cynical, quirky, hard-talking, Runyonesque Epicurians of the new year. Let's hit em in the mouth with hard-wood.

Goodnight.