The Rolling Stone. And The Moss.

This will be the first weekend in what seems like an eternity that I will a) be in Boston, and b) not have anything remotely resembling 'plans'. I've been looking forward to it - as my apartment could use a once-over before the next imminent changing of the guard, and I have several building manager-related Schneiderish tasks that need my attention. I only wish I had a Miss Romano to compliment the handlebar 'stache.

As the weekend creeps closer, however, I'm starting to wish I had something tangible to do. I'm not saying I feel like traveling somewhere again - not at all. But a tabula rasa of a weekend, even in the midst of the most hectic summer in history, still seems a bit depressing. So here's what I'm going to do - I'm going to make it the most productive fucking weekend of my relatively young life so far.

I'm going to get up early on Saturday and head straight to the Beanstock Company for legal drug-induced energy. I'm going to sweep, mop, spackle, paint and re-arrange. I'm going to throw away a ton of crap I've been hanging on to like a sad, sentimental packrat. I'm going to spend a couple hours on the roof and keep this tan going. I'm going to go for a run. At night - I'm going to put my figurative nerd cap on (which I imagine would have a Deep Space Nine logo on it somewhere) and work on some of my websites - Goonblog in particular is doing really well traffic-wise and has already been linked to from 4 prominent hockey sites that have noticed it. Then Sunday I'm going to wake up and do it all over again.

So there's my weekend laid out like marzipan. The somber, sober, salacious Schneider.