Tag Archives: exciting

Hey, you wanna go weave some baskets tomorrow?

You know what? Yeah, I do. Now that I’ve cleared my schedule a bit I should be free.

Do I need to get my ears checked, or did you actually say yes to something?

I’m learning not to put too many things on my plate.

Life is a buffet… and I’m hungry.

Then you should put more on your plate.

No; I’m actually hungry. Like, separate from any analogous implications.

You should eat something.

I can always count on you for good ideas.

So where are we going to do some basket weaving?

I honestly didn’t think that far. I thought you’d say no, so I just said something random.

Oh.

So what do you want to do?

Try basket weaving.

I don’t even know how to weave a basket; let’s do something else.

Come on, it can’t be that bad. When we’re done you’ll have a basket, instead of ┬ávideo games or something where all you have is gained weight from eating Cheetos.

But it’s basket weaving. It’s boring, and they have holes. I’d rather just buy a bowl or something.

Don’t you want to be able to say you made it though?

Since when was that ever cool? From what I’ve learned, it’s much better to have people make things for you.

You need to try new things, it’d be good to broaden your horizon.

Eh. My horizon’s pretty broad, I just don’t take panoramas.

I think your camera’s broken.

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Record

I got an audio recorder and figured I’d try to record myself singing just to see what I sound like. I sang a warm up song loud and free, but made a few mistakes. When it came time to press record I found myself holding back because I didn’t want to make any mistakes, but subsequently my singing sounded timid and unimpressive — safe. No one wants to listen to something safe, they want to hear something new and exciting and dynamic and emotional, even if there are parts of it that are awful. I’m just going to say it: the point of life is to sing your lungs out, mess up a few times, and be proud of what you’ve done by the time you hit the last note and listen to the playback.

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