Ain't No Matter....

First off, I apologize I haven’t been all that diligent about posting entries.  Sometimes its tough to stay focused when you don’t have a consistent workspace.

This week Ghost Hunters is investigating at Mark Twain’s house in Hartford, Conneticutt.  The house is fully renovated and restored to its original state when Mark Twain lived there.  Supposedly the Ghost of Mark Twain’s daughter inhabits the house and terrorizes anyone who disturbs her.  From what I hear, the team has gathered some very interesting evidence, that of which I am not at liberty to discuss. When I had some down-time on Tuesday night, I went into the house by myself. It was a rather stirring feeling walking around a museum in pitch black with only a headlamp to guide me. It reminded me of the book, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.  If you aren’t familiar with the story, it is about two children who secretly live at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art for a month and get into all sorts of shenanigans.  I thought of how cool it would be to covertly reside in Mark Twain’s house.

Sleep in his bed.

Use his bathtub.

Play with his toys.

Smoke his corn cob pipe.

On Wednesday before work, I went to a bookstore and bought Huckleberry Finn. That night I sat and read the book on my lunch break in the very same 4x4 foot spot where it was written. His desk was in the corner of a third story room and he sat facing the wall so he wouldn’t get distracted. “You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter….” (opening lines of HF) I had read it before when I was in middle school, but this time the words held so much more meaning and wonder. Perhaps it’s because I have slightly matured since then and can appreciate his usage of southern slang. However, I’d like to think it was because Mark Twain’s ghost was there with me assisting my intellect.  Sitting there on the floor(because you’re not allowed to sit on the furniture) was one of the moments where I couldn’t help but admit I was glad to be doing what I was doing where I was doing it.  Not exclusively in the moment, but also on a larger scale.

When I got back to my hotel room, I moved my desk away from the window and into a corner of the room.

That’s all for now.

-Charlie

Haiku of the Day:
If onions could speak,
They’d only tell sad stories,
Please don’t fear the tears.

Yo Mama Joke of the Day:
Yo mama is so fat, her DNA strands are made of cinnamon twists.