Tossin' bread and all of a sudden...

I was nearly attacked by two foxes tonight, and I'm not ashamed at the fact I know only the words, "Fame... makes a man take things over" and then I trail off into quieter song.

With the foxes though, luckily Greg was outside smoking a B&M, having a quilting circle on his phone.  He hung up just in time to yell my name, and the foxes scampered off into the hills.  You see, they're attracted to the bread.  They can't get enough of the stuff.  Scott was throwing loaves out into the rushes while I emptied the end of the day barrels.  He told me that, around ten the previous night, those same foxes had barked at him with that creepy electric fox bark (the name of my solo project).

Lifting the barrel up and into the dumpster I began to cogitate on how to deal with the fox.  When one is attacked, often the attacker has the element of surprise.  Now, if an attacker got the better of me by surprise, it wouldn't say much for the time I spend thinking at work.  I spend eight to nine hours a day thinking about anything and everything.  I work out arguments in my head, bending them to suit my goals.  I balance my finances.  I compose.  Certainly, the skirmish between a fox and myself isn't beyond my realm of design.  Get low.  By spreading the arms one makes oneself look as big as possible.  Like the eyes on a butterfly's wings.  This opens a person to attack or retreat by the fox.  If the fox retreats, then the bread is dumped and the time clock is waiting.  Clock out.  Get a sandwich.  If the fox attacks, feeling Napoleonically threatened, you're in the perfect position to distract it with your waving hands.  Treat it as a cobra.  Kick it in the mouth.  Or just the head in general.  Disgust it with speed.  If there are two, don't rely too heavily on putting that foot down.  After the first fox is kickticated, swing the kicking leg back to throw your body in a jumping fashion, backwards.  Land and kick again, for the other fox will most certainly be lunging by now.  Side swipe him.  The dumpster is right there.  Use it to your advantage by kicking the foxes body into the can.  You are strong.  You are swift.  I can't see how fast you're moving, but it's pretty fast.  These foxes are no match for your defense mechanisms.

Notice how I don't use my hands.  Leaves a person open for rabies.  The only time I want to be foaming at the mouth is when someone gives me a virgin Apple Pie Shot.  Mmm.

So, other than getting attacked by rabid xenomorphs in the disguise of foxes, things have been chill here.  Work is getting to that summer point.  The days are slow.  Only about 1200 cases a day.  Not bad at all.  When the weather gets to the same point, things should get pretty awesome.  Yeah, grammar/spelling nazi.  I used "pretty" as a modifier.  Sit on it and spin pretty fast.  The guys like to play hackie sack, and I just happen to have one with me in my bag at all times.

New to the team at work are Clay and Bonnie.  Both have kind of brought me out of my shell a little more.  I feel comfortable around them for some reason.  They're wicked nice and always have something cool to talk about.  I didn't get to vote on them due to a ballot mishap, but I would have voted positively.

Outside of work, I've been playing a lot of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.  What an endeavor.  It's fucking huge.  Should take forever.  I have Star Wars: Battlefronts 2 and Predator: Concrete Jungle as backups for when I get tired of trying to beat an impossibly long game.

I went to see Arlo Guthrie the other week.  He was playing in Durham, and I got tickets as an unbirthday present.  Fucking awesome show!  One of the best ever in my whole life.  Ever.  He played my favorite song, "My Darkest Hour."  He did some ragtime stuff, Alice's Restaurant, City of New Orleans, This Land is Your Land, and one of his dad's unreleased songs.  God it was a good show.  Oh, and by the way, I shook his hand after the show!  How often do you get to shake the hand of a man that knew an intimate side of Woody that no one else ever saw?  A man who knew Leadbelly and Pete Seeger.  A man that took part in shaping a generation of seekers and wanderers.  That took a part in shaping my childhood as Uncle Larry would sit me down and recite the story songs to me, helping me learn them and make them my own to entertain my friends later on in life.  I actually got a CD signed for Larry.  He should enjoy that a lot.  And I got this for myself:

Pretty cool, huh?

It's late.  I need to get some sleep, kids.  More posts are on the way as my brain is bursting with things to talk about.  Stay clean.  Use jimmy hats.