i watched ‘west side story’ the other day.

i hadn’t watched the film in quite a while, but there’s really nothing more beautiful than pretending that a couple of gangs from new york city can be such beautiful dancers and singers. the combination of twists and twirls and threats and punches makes for quite an experience. i sat there the whole time laughing and grinning. i wasn’t in any mood to laugh or grin neither.

life here seems to keep plodding along like it always does. i wake up in the morning, head off to the coffee shop where i talk to the waitress for a bit about nothing of import and then head off to work. the coffee there is excellent. they use crushed ice. crushed ice should be used the world over because it makes any drink that much better. there are the little bits of ice that crawl into your mouth as you’re sipping along and then the bigger chunks that you can chomp on at the end.

then it’s off to work. mcc bought a new motorcycle and it’s quite a nice piece of work. i zip along. it roars like a frustrated adolescent. angst.

then there’s work.

then lunch at the same coffee shop where i have a plate of tuna and a fried egg with some sauce that is somewhat similar to tomato sauce. i eat it all with a piece of bread, a leftover of french colonialism. i don’t know if all of the suffering and the hundreds of thousands of dead people even out the benefit of having french bread. one would think there would be easier ways of introducing french bread to a culture.

then there’s work.

i then drive home, change and play basketball (if it’s not raining). first we warm up. after warming up and generally joking around with everyone, we play. it’s the old men who play first as the youngsters watch from the sides. everyone’s eager to play. everyone eventually gets in.

then there’s supper. that always depends.

then i fall asleep under a mosquito net that’s been torn to shreds by the dog who likes to fight with it. i don’t have a mosquito problem because i keep my door shut during the day. if i wouldn’t, i’d be bitten to shreds by morning.

then i sleep.

i woke up today and was thinking about meekness and humility. i don't really know why, it was just an idea that was stuck in my head after a long, dreamfilled night.

meak: mild of temper; not easily provoked or orritated; patient under injuries; not vain, or haughty, or resentful; forbearing but submissive; showing patience and humility; gentle.

i'm trying to be meek today, a task that is made more difficult due to the fact that i'm in the office alone. how can one be meek with out other people to see and judge?

well, i'm doing my best to be meek. it says the meek will inheret the earth and that doesn't sound like such a bad thing. i wonder what the meek would do with the earth? there surely wouldn't be any 'war presidents' around.

the rest of the day i will try to be more meek, for what purpose i am not sure. i guess people will be more receptive to me, they will open up more. the meek will inheret the earth may simply mean that those who interact with others meekly will bring about understanding; the meek will be the ones who bridge the gaps that naturally form becuase of historic and cultural differences.

it may pay to be meek. i'm gonna practice in an empty office.

the man who fixed my motorcycle was a beautiful man. he was sinewy. he was covered in black grease, like an exotic bird in an oil spill of the coast of alaska.

i walked out of my room the other day and found my motorcycle standing above a giant puddle of gas. i pushed the motorbike, which i recently named 'abe lincoln' down the road until i found a man who could fix it.

he sat down on his hunches and poked around at the engine with a wrench. he decided he would take apart the fuel filter and he did with ease. he laid everything down in a giant pan dotted with innumerable dents and scratches. i stood beside him along side the road watching traffic flow by.

he pulled everything apart using a screwdriver and a wrench. he started to blow on different parts; he blew and then he spit onto the ground. he found the problem, a rubber seal that was not shutting everything down, and walked inside his house.

he emerged from his home with an ancient pair of scissors and a large sheet of thick rubber. he decided he would cut his own rubber seal from the rubber by simply looking at the old one. he did it with ease.

i paid the man about a dollar and drove off. i haven't had a problem with abe lincoln since.

the man who fixed my motorcycle was a beautiful man. he was sinewy. he was covered in black grease, like an exotic bird in an oil spill of the coast of alaska.

i walked out of my room the other day and found my motorcycle standing above a giant puddle of gas. i pushed the motorbike, which i recently named 'abe lincoln' down the road until i found a man who could fix it.

he sat down on his hunches and poked around at the engine with a wrench. he decided he would take apart the fuel filter and he did with ease. he laid everything down in a giant pan dotted with innumerable dents and scratches. i stood beside him along side the road watching traffic flow by.

he pulled everything apart using a screwdriver and a wrench. he started to blow on different parts; he blew and then he spit onto the ground. he found the problem, a rubber seal that was not shutting everything down, and walked inside his house.

he emerged from his home with an ancient pair of scissors and a large sheet of thick rubber. he decided he would cut his own rubber seal from the rubber by simply looking at the old one. he did it with ease.

i paid the man about a dollar and drove off. i haven't had a problem with abe lincoln since.

the man who fixed my motorcycle was a beautiful man. he was sinewy. he was covered in black grease, like an exotic bird in an oil spill of the coast of alaska.

i walked out of my room the other day and found my motorcycle standing above a giant puddle of gas. i pushed the motorbike, which i recently named 'abe lincoln' down the road until i found a man who could fix it.

he sat down on his hunches and poked around at the engine with a wrench. he decided he would take apart the fuel filter and he did with ease. he laid everything down in a giant pan dotted with innumerable dents and scratches. i stood beside him along side the road watching traffic flow by.

he pulled everything apart using a screwdriver and a wrench. he started to blow on different parts; he blew and then he spit onto the ground. he found the problem, a rubber seal that was not shutting everything down, and walked inside his house.

he emerged from his home with an ancient pair of scissors and a large sheet of thick rubber. he decided he would cut his own rubber seal from the rubber by simply looking at the old one. he did it with ease.

i paid the man about a dollar and drove off. i haven't had a problem with abe lincoln since.