Find the Pony Level

The Facebook IPO happened and most people are treating it as a punchline, but in forty years my grandchildren are going to ask why everyone else got rich and I didn’t, and I’d like something to point at. So that’s mission one: buy a few shares. Cover myself for future cross-generational ridicule.

Mission two is the entire weekend spent hunting for the secret rainbow pony level in Diablo III. It exists. I’ve read about it. I’m not turning the computer off until I find it, and only after finding it am I allowed to go outside and make contact with another human being.

Then I’ll pull up that list of 23 things from childhood specifically designed to dissolve every warm memory I have. I’ll regret clicking. I’ll click anyway. After that: unlearn reading. Just let the symbols mean nothing for an afternoon. And for the rest of the weekend, run everywhere with both arms raised above my head. No exceptions. Whatever happens. Arms up.

Somewhere in there I want to know what people who’ve never been to a city think cities are actually like. It’s anthropological, and also very funny. Then I’ll jerk off to photos of women with genuinely impossible abs and take a long honest look at whatever is currently in my bed. Stare at the ceiling. Move on.

If my father calls: I have information he’d prefer I kept quiet. A new car plus a new console is fair market value for my silence. It might work out.

Then the first season of Big Brother, start to finish, because nothing better is on. And finally: cocaine mixed with food coloring, left to dry overnight. Rainbow party trip deluxe. The weekend owes me this.