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8/18/2003

Not a good day. I would say that it's because it's Monday, but that's for dorks. Read the title, dorks.
I'm sorry, Brent didn't mean to yell at you. He'll buy you some ice cream.
First off, this little kid with way too much hair keeps knocking on my front door while I'm writing this asking me if he can play video games. Usually I'd say yes. They're good kids; but, it's adult time. That means movies with cussing and Marlboro Reds.
Second, I just got back from a horrible game of disc golf. I started out strong by paring the first hole, which I had never done. On the second hole I got caught up behind a 4some and decided to repeat the hole after a double bogey. My chance for redemption, right? No, my time to throw a jackass hook that landed me right in the middle of a blackberry patch the size of my truck. Scratched up and soar I decided to go onto the third. Redemption song time? No, again. I hook again and go over a fence and land in someone's back yard. After retrieval I attempted teeing off again. The damned thing goes shorter than the first time I ever played. That's it, I'm done. I packed up the discs and sped home. My C.D. player was on the skids in the truck so I had to listen to the 80's station and a recount of the Butterbean/Larry Holmes pugalist spectacular on talk radio instead. Man, that sounded like one lame fight. A 50-year-old plus man beats the crap out of a super fat 30 something pop icon. It's like Rocky 3 without the soundtrack.
Before that I got a lovely letter from the Devil's cell phone company telling me that I had to pay a very large sum of money because Robocop now had my address and had been ordered to "Fuck the prime directives". Curses, I knew this day would come. So long cool new tennis shoes and premium whiskey and hello adulthood.
And before that I had a very long and sleepy day at work. Actually, work was all right, comparitively. It was a slow day but I managed to stay very busy in spite of others mulling about the coffee machine chanting "There's nothing to do".
The salmon rocked last night. Here's the recipe:

1/4 cup pineapple juice
2 TBS fresh lemon juice
4 (6 oz) salmon fillets

2 TBS brown sugar
4 tsp chili powder
2 tsp grated lemon rind
3/4 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp cinnamon

Cooking spray
Lemon wedges (optional)

Combine first 3 ingredients in a ziploc plastic bag, seal and marinate in refrigerator 1 hour, turning occasionally.

Preheat oven to 400°F. Remove fish from bag; discard marinade. Combine sugar and next 5 ingredients in a bowl. Rub over fish. Place in an 11x7" baking dish coated with cooking spray. Bake at 400°F for 12 minutes or until fish flakes easily when tested with a fork. Serve with lemon, if desired. Serves 4

After dinner I walked around with my redheaded sweetheart looking for the moon to try and spot Mars. We couldn't find it. But, isn't pointless wandering with a newfound someone always the best? I think we reached a definite mile marker in the relationship. She broke the Terms of Endearment barrier yesterday.
"Wait, how do we get to Seattle?" I asked.
"Honey, we're in Seattle," she replied.
This B is someone's honey. Actually, I feel a little better now. Fuck the promise of ice cream, reader person, I'm going to go make a phone call.
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