the man in the orange sweatsuit who plays the flute

Every day, between my 12:05 and 2:20 classes, I take the long walk from the southeast dorms to the peak of Bascom Hill. On the way back to the dorms, besides the fruit stand and imported food vendors, the men handing out bibles and the socialists, the library and the University Book Store, I see the man in the orange sweatsuit who plays the flute.

Who is this mysterious white-bearded man with the tiny lizard companion(also in an orange sweatsuit), playing the Star Wars Suite, Hey Jude, and various mid-sixties Motown hits? He is such a staple in my day, it's like a ritual seeing how far away I can hear him. Truth be told, the kid can play. The weirdest part of the whole situation is the man's apparent success. To his credit, he's wearing a bright pair of orange Crocs, has real suitcases for his clothes rather than just University Book Store bags, and his white beard is neatly braided. I've decided I consider him more of an occupational hippie rather than the standard Madison vagrant.

For that matter, there's a wide variety of homeless here at Madison. Every profession from "I sell stolen backpacks" to "I can make a rythmic can of change sound better than Keith Moon" can be seen on State Street. Then you have your grunge hippies who look so unkempt you can't tell if they work at the feminist book/pipe store or just smoke all their weed outside them. In any case, I still say that shoeless lesbian hippies are the spice of life, but I guess I'm just old-fashioned that way.

i just blogged my pants

The funny thing about a blog, you see, is that the site is based on the principal that people want to read to what you have to say. I don't really have anything to say. Avoiding Italian homework at 2 a.m. is a good enough reason for me, however, to start a website, so that, friends, is what I am doing.

First and foremost, though, who chose the word blog? Seriously, what a stupid fucking word. That has probably been my biggest challenge in my new blogging career. Coming to terms with the stupid ass word blog. Why not "e-log" or "o-log" or "masturbation machine diary thing"? I'm proposing a swift and orderly change, or coup d'etat as the French call it.

So anyways, it's fair to assume that at this point if you are reading this you already know me, but let me give you an idea of who(how awesome) I think(know) I am. I'm 6'3, 170 lbs. of unadultered hot. Too hot for tv, in fact. Just hot enough for a blog, though. I'm pretty awkward to speak with because I have a tendency to offend your ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, odor, or any combination thereof the first time I meet you. After that, though, I'll have you eating out of the palm of my unwashed hand with witty catchphrases and a "Why is he wiping his bare ass on the carpet? Genius!" feeling. You know you like the sound of that.

Honestly, I don't know what I'll write about. It's like an adventure without the excitement! As the retarded hyena from Disney's The Lion King says, be prepared...