I am a reflective motherfucker who always likes to evaluate where I am in life and where I'm going. I like to evaluate the incremental changes that occur in my life as part of this process.  One thing for certain is that the higher volume and greater intensity of my workload lately has made me more driven by necessity. The way that trickles down to my personal life is that my natural sense of nostalgia seems to have been pushed aside to make room for the present.  Like a sand sculpture slowly but steadily being swept away by the wind.  It's not really even that dramatic or dire, but it's just something I've noticed recently.

One of the scenes in "Election"--that great flick featuring Matthew Broderick and the lucky-bitch-who-got-to-have-Ryan Phillippe's-penis-inside-of-her-at-least-twice Reece Witherspoon--that has always stood out in my mind because it is so authentic, is when Matthew Broderick's character is at that motel, preparing to sleep with his neighbor's wife.   He's rushed home from school, done whatever to set the mood, and there's this scene where he quickly splashes some soap and water on his genitals to clean them right quick.  Like he wants to be fresh for the imminent whoopee to occur, and is short on time.  That had to come from someone who has been in the same situation.  A piece of brilliant writing, I'd say.

In one of my classes in college, one instructor actually asked us all what we wanted to be after graduation.  I can't remember the class or precisely the circumstance that this sophomoric topic was broached, but I'll never forget that one guy, this scruffy, sort of tell-it-like-it-is in stonerstyle guy said, with no trace of irony, that he wanted to be a film critic.  I suppose he could have been a film studies major, but that always stood out to me as a particularly unusual and perhaps brave admission of a major.  

Not that I didn't--and don't still--get my fair share of laughs for having majored in English, mind you.