January 27th

January 27th, 1978. It was 15 degrees outside. January 27th, 2014. It was 15 degrees outside. A clairvoyant, ironically named Claire, once told me I would be dead at 35. She was obviously wrong. While she was correct that I would go on to achieve international greatness, her inability to be accurate beyond guessing has led me to believe she was not authentic. I went to the hospital where I was born. They no longer deliver babies there, having finally perfected the art 36 years ago, so I instead talked with people there in administrative capacities, and a few getting dialysis. Stopped by my PO Box for presents. Hit up C&D's record bar and Phil's Records, both places the Hipsters forgot, I guess because they weren't opened by people with dark-rimmed glasses, beards, flannels, and shit taste in music. Oh, and they've been there since forever ago, having shopped the former with my mom as a kid, and the latter with my uncle as a teen. Had to go to the doctor's office for my controlled substance prescription and drop that off. I headed to the court house to get my tags renewed. Only in Kenton Count can you NOT take care of all your car needs in the same building. Plates and registration is in the old building. Driver's License and renewal is in another building a few blocks away. Makes sense. The sheriffs always eye you like you're a criminal; get a real job, desk jockey. Then to the butcher shop for pork steaks. They taste like ribs, but with less bone, more fat and meat. Butcher shops tend to sell them cheap. Places like Kroger tend to rip you off and charge a dollar (US) more a pound. Normally I would do something outside, but it's too damn cold. Now dinner with the family. That's a day in my life. 

This is all that matters.