I have a pen tablet, but no pen of my own. Fortunately Kevin let me borrow his! It looks like this.

It makes my drawrings a lot smoother and better. Here’s me with the tablet.

I’ve gone through about three of them so far, and pens for Wacom Bamboo tablets are not cheap.

But it’s my fault. I’m like a three year old who keeps killing goldfish after goldfish. I just don’t do well with pens. I chew them constantly. I borrow them compulsively, and lose them instantly. If the IRS found out how much I owe in collective pen debt, I would have to declare Chapter 11 before my junior year, which is early even for a Philosophy major.

At the start of the school year, I bought a pack of like 50 pens from Target. It was the Bataan Death March of office supplies.

In fact, I sent my first tablet pen in for repair, but they actually called me to tell me that the warranty was void because it looked like I bent it in half.

But don’t worry, Kevin. It’ll be safe and sound.

For those of you in Alabama who don’t know what Kevin looks like…

He runs his own blog in the comments section of my blog. Check it out.

Toodles.

Billy Elliot is in town. It gets out at eleven, and the rush is almost always good for a pedicab ride. As an aficionado of the theatre (spelled with an -re just so you know I’m not one of those non-pretentious theatre people), I feel like catching this rush sets me just a little bit above those other uncouth, philistine pedicabers.

It is a delusion I can live with.

Problem is, for me to actually be high enough in the pedicab line to catch one of the rides, I would have to get there so early that it wouldn’t be worth it. So I take a break at ten fifteen, go to the DCPA (DPAC? hell…), plant my cab at the front of the line, go to a nearby coffee shop, and pretend like I’m a sophisticated patron of the arts for forty five minutes.

But last night I didn’t get a ride from a single one of those bluebloods. Even with all my best jokes. I took some pictures with my phone, but the quality isn’t the best.

5 minutes after show lets out.

10 minutes after show lets out.

37 minutes after show lets out.

Donald O’Connor rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette.

So I drive a pedicab now. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to a real job in years. I like the arrangement. You rent a cab, take it out, and keep what you kill. You do this whenever you want. Plus, it’s an unexpected pleasure to not worry about a boss finding out that I’m just doing the job until I earn exactly enough money to go somewhere else.

But there are some drawbacks. First of all, most jobs pay by necessity. As long as you flip the burger, stand by the register, or keep the kids alive, you’ll probably get paid. But pedicabbery is more like fishing. You’ll probably catch something, but staying out all day and still having nothing to cook in the igloo is always a possibility.

Working for Greenpeace was the same way. And Greenpeace made me despise the world and everyone in it.

So I gotta look out for that.

Sometimes the clientele isn’t great. See, pedicab drivers would never hire a pedicab. In fact, I don’t know anyone who would use a pedicab, which probably means nobody reading this blog would use a pedicab. There are two kinds of customers. Daytime customers.

And nighttime customers.

Though sometimes they come in strange combinations.

But that guy paid me $20 for four blocks, so I guess it’s ok.

Some of you may remember my old blog, Jared’s Daily Green – George Washington High School Edition! – except without the “George Washington High School Edition!” part. It rose to prominence, once even topping 20 regular visitors. Then I forgot to pay my host and it got deleted.

But now, like a phoenix, it shall rise from the ashes into a sputtering baby bird! And then grow into a grown up phoenix, fly into the Chamber of Secrets, and save Harry Potter!

I also have a bouncer now. His name is Sparty. Here he is with his bros.

He thinks he’s kinda a big deal. He was even in a movie.

I also have a blog robot this time around. She’s called WordPress.

She does the chores for me, like comments boxes and archiving. But it’s hard to get it to do anything it doesn’t already do. It’s like, yeah, WordPress will fix me a glass of orange juice, but if I want a half a glass? Or maybe one with ice? And she freaks out!

Feminists…