I was fiddling with my new phone last night during Lost, though I tried not to. The episode was compelling and maintained the standard of greatness this season has thus far produced, and, consequently, my attention was mostly on it, rather than the phone. O' Locke, will ye rise from the tragic ashes and claim your birthright?
The phone. My old one lasted me five or so years and was finally starting to succumb to wear and tear. What compelled me to get a new phone, beside the fact that mine had become embarrassingly antiquated, was the certainty that it would soon fall apart. A piece of it, right over one of the hinges (it's a flip phone) came off the other day and, ever since, the phone won't close easily and when open, it dangles. When the word dangle settles into matters, it's time to move on.
So, I got another phone. It's an LG Shine, and I got it free with my plan. I'm still exploring it's features, which include mp3, internet access, and the requisite camera, which my last phone lacked. And there's more, but I haven't gotten that far in my education yet. So far, I can safely say, on a scale of one to rad, this phone is rad. And, as you know by now, I don't bandy about the word rad wantonly. Nor do I the word wantonly. Or bandy.
Along with the phone, McMurtry's The Wandering Hill arrived in the mail yesterday. I was glad I had the foresight to order it last week; I had made quick work of Sin Killer -- finished it a couple of days ago and didn't have much of a wait before the next installment. I started it last night, and I better order the next one soon, because I'm already well into it.
Ken Scholes' Lamentation, arrived in the mail today. These days, the only Fantasy I read is cream of the crop -- Martin, Bakker, Abercrombie, Jordan, etc. -- and this one, Scholes debut, has a heavy buzz around it. Before I bit, though, I read up on the book as much as I could, and it wasn't long before I determined this book has the makings of something impressive. I'm going to try and finish Suttree before I dig into it, but knowing me, I'll cave. Maybe tonight.
Man, that chimp attack that went down in Connecticut has stuck with me. I even had a couple of dreams about it. Y'know, I think I'll move on to another topic; this one's too much of a downer, and I'd rather my mood remained cheery, at least for the time being.
Hope, now that I've been feeling better, to work on some music with Foley. Now that we live so close to each other, this should be an easy enough thing to do.
Mara's been hooked on a particular brand of bacon over the last week or so and has been talking it up so much that I've been craving it. We're having dinner tomorrow night and in an email she informed me that "Bacon Surprise" will be the main course. I don't know what the surprise is, but it looks like I'll be eating some bacon soon.
The other night, I came downstairs to the living room, turned on the light, and grabbed a book I had left on the couch. I then went to the bathroom. A couple of minutes later, I went back to the living room to shut the light off and saw that the TV was on, displaying a Bruins game in progress.
This is what happened. Rich, from his bedroom, heard me in the living room. He wanted to use the living for the purpose, we find out later, of watching the Bruins game. When I went to the bathroom, he took advantage of the opportunity, like any scoundrel would, and tiptoed into the living room, turned the TV on, and scurried back to his bedroom. Like a mangy, duplicitous, street dog, he had marked his territory. That flaxen-haired scamp, that craven wretch!
Initially,I wasn't too bothered because I had no intention of watching TV in the first place. However, when I thought about his skullduggery, I became a little peeved. For all he knew, I was planning on returning to the living room after using the bathroom. I left the light on, after all. So, basically the sneaky little rat, rather than asking me what my intentions were regarding the TV, pulled a fast one on me.
Ah, roommates.
Ok, I'm off to watch some Madmen, play some music, do some reading, watch the Spinal Tap commentary(with the band -- hilarious) -- that type of stuff.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Why can't I be loved as what I am, a wolf among wolves, and not as a man among men?
Taken from a lecture given by Craig (last name withheld, rhymes with Bunpus)
I tell you, my friends: there is nothing for it but to take off your pants and dance. What I'm saying to you is that I think sometimes you need to strip yourself bare, at least below the waist, and let your life start dancing. Let it dance. Let it shine!
Some of you don't want to expose your genitals. You expect that others will look upon you poorly, will think less of you, if they judge you to be inadequate down there. First of all, not everyone will focus on your privates, or acknowledge them in anything but a cursory way, as you dance the dance of life. I bet a good many would get caught up in your sexy dancing. That's what I think. So don't worry about others snooping around in your basement. Most of them won't. And the ones that do, I'm sure, will find your gennies very satisfying.
Do you seek jubilation? Do you seek love? What is it you seek, children? Whatever it is, you can have it. It's yours. How can I say this with absolute confidence? Let me tell you a story.
When I was young, around ten, I watched my mother put frosting on a cake. I wanted the cake, I wanted it badly. I didn't just want a piece, I wanted the whole thing! I sat and watched as long as I could until I couldn't take it any longer. I started crying, and when I say crying, I mean throwing a tantrum. In between wailing like a forlorn tabby, I told her how rotten she was and that if she didn't give me that fucking cake, I was going to do something really bad, something really, really bad. She was shocked at my rapid shift in demeanor. She could only look at me with her jaw open, hung off it's hinges. Finally, probably because my unearthly shrieking and moaning was becoming too unbearable, my mother told me she would have given me a piece of cake -- a nice, big one -- if I had asked her politely. But, because I was acting badly, there would be no cake for me.
Somehow, despite my bawling and shrieking, I was able to hear and process what she said. Do you know what I did, my friends? I spazzed even more, which did not please my mother -- no, it did not. I began stomping on the floor, making the house shake, and gesturing wildly. And I cried harder, I shrieked louder. My mother tried to get me to calm down, but I wasn't having it. I ran out of the kitchen, into the living room, and right through a plate glass window into the back yard. In the movies, when people jump through glass, they never bleed. Well, let me tell you, I bled all over. It ran down my legs, down my arms, into my eyes. I felt as if I had just been stung by a thousand hornets. This, however, did not slow my progress one bit. I ran like I had been infected with rabies twice over.
My tantrum grew into something unstoppable and severely evil. My very soul was at stake.At my young age, I wasn't aware of the old gods; I had no knowledge of the soul and it's enemy, the dark lord and fallen angel, Lucifer. I did, however, as I ran down the street tearing my clothes off as if they were burning, sense something in the periphery of my conscience, something decidedly malignant, black, and oily. The cold, ashen, eye of evil. I willed it closer, begged it to possess me entirely. See, I didn't recoil at the presence of evil, as many would do. I wanted to join with it; I wanted communion, deep and true.
I knew instinctively that fresh, pure blood, was needed to lure evil out of it's cave. I saw a schoolmate of mine playing in his yard. I jumped him and chewed on his wrist. He bled into my mouth. The effect was exquisite. A surge of energy overtook me. I felt invincible. I supped on his wrist like a pup at the nipple as my victim pleaded for mercy, which he received in the form of my mother, who pulled me off of him, allowing him to flee and provoking my ire.
My mother brought me back home in a hurried embarrassment. She tended my wounds, bathed me, and dressed me in clean clothes. She looked at me lovingly and said "Now, you can have some cake."
So you see, my friends, that is why I can tell you with absolute certainty, absolute conviction, that you can have anything you want in this life.
Thank you for having me. T shirts are on sale in the lobby.
I tell you, my friends: there is nothing for it but to take off your pants and dance. What I'm saying to you is that I think sometimes you need to strip yourself bare, at least below the waist, and let your life start dancing. Let it dance. Let it shine!
Some of you don't want to expose your genitals. You expect that others will look upon you poorly, will think less of you, if they judge you to be inadequate down there. First of all, not everyone will focus on your privates, or acknowledge them in anything but a cursory way, as you dance the dance of life. I bet a good many would get caught up in your sexy dancing. That's what I think. So don't worry about others snooping around in your basement. Most of them won't. And the ones that do, I'm sure, will find your gennies very satisfying.
Do you seek jubilation? Do you seek love? What is it you seek, children? Whatever it is, you can have it. It's yours. How can I say this with absolute confidence? Let me tell you a story.
When I was young, around ten, I watched my mother put frosting on a cake. I wanted the cake, I wanted it badly. I didn't just want a piece, I wanted the whole thing! I sat and watched as long as I could until I couldn't take it any longer. I started crying, and when I say crying, I mean throwing a tantrum. In between wailing like a forlorn tabby, I told her how rotten she was and that if she didn't give me that fucking cake, I was going to do something really bad, something really, really bad. She was shocked at my rapid shift in demeanor. She could only look at me with her jaw open, hung off it's hinges. Finally, probably because my unearthly shrieking and moaning was becoming too unbearable, my mother told me she would have given me a piece of cake -- a nice, big one -- if I had asked her politely. But, because I was acting badly, there would be no cake for me.
Somehow, despite my bawling and shrieking, I was able to hear and process what she said. Do you know what I did, my friends? I spazzed even more, which did not please my mother -- no, it did not. I began stomping on the floor, making the house shake, and gesturing wildly. And I cried harder, I shrieked louder. My mother tried to get me to calm down, but I wasn't having it. I ran out of the kitchen, into the living room, and right through a plate glass window into the back yard. In the movies, when people jump through glass, they never bleed. Well, let me tell you, I bled all over. It ran down my legs, down my arms, into my eyes. I felt as if I had just been stung by a thousand hornets. This, however, did not slow my progress one bit. I ran like I had been infected with rabies twice over.
My tantrum grew into something unstoppable and severely evil. My very soul was at stake.At my young age, I wasn't aware of the old gods; I had no knowledge of the soul and it's enemy, the dark lord and fallen angel, Lucifer. I did, however, as I ran down the street tearing my clothes off as if they were burning, sense something in the periphery of my conscience, something decidedly malignant, black, and oily. The cold, ashen, eye of evil. I willed it closer, begged it to possess me entirely. See, I didn't recoil at the presence of evil, as many would do. I wanted to join with it; I wanted communion, deep and true.
I knew instinctively that fresh, pure blood, was needed to lure evil out of it's cave. I saw a schoolmate of mine playing in his yard. I jumped him and chewed on his wrist. He bled into my mouth. The effect was exquisite. A surge of energy overtook me. I felt invincible. I supped on his wrist like a pup at the nipple as my victim pleaded for mercy, which he received in the form of my mother, who pulled me off of him, allowing him to flee and provoking my ire.
My mother brought me back home in a hurried embarrassment. She tended my wounds, bathed me, and dressed me in clean clothes. She looked at me lovingly and said "Now, you can have some cake."
So you see, my friends, that is why I can tell you with absolute certainty, absolute conviction, that you can have anything you want in this life.
Thank you for having me. T shirts are on sale in the lobby.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
But, it's alright, 'cause some enchanted night I'll be with you
Sick most of the weekend and didn't do much. I feel much better than I did last week, and hope to return to good health shortly.
I read from Sin Killer and Suttree on and off. I'm almost done the former and about halfway there with the latter. I stopped over Mara's for a visit today, and while she took a call, I saw The Road resting on a table and commenced to reading from it. As I did, I wished I was reading it for the first time. What an experience that was for me. Bleak, gray, and chilling, yes, but a vivid, wonderful, read. Mara's almost through with it and, as with my co-worker Diane, who is also reading it, desires to read something light and fluffy next. I would have suggested Blood Meridian, but considering it makes The Road look like a David Sedaris offering, I stilled my tongue.
Just finished watching the first disc of Lonesome Dove. Never saw it before, but as astute readers of mine know, I read the book a couple of months ago. Surprisingly faithful to the novel, I figured since it was made for TV, they'd have to skirt around some of the dicier moments, but so far they've been on full display.
Ok, I'm off to greener pastures. Perhaps some song writing, perhaps some PS2 B-ball, perhaps, perhaps. Cheers.
I read from Sin Killer and Suttree on and off. I'm almost done the former and about halfway there with the latter. I stopped over Mara's for a visit today, and while she took a call, I saw The Road resting on a table and commenced to reading from it. As I did, I wished I was reading it for the first time. What an experience that was for me. Bleak, gray, and chilling, yes, but a vivid, wonderful, read. Mara's almost through with it and, as with my co-worker Diane, who is also reading it, desires to read something light and fluffy next. I would have suggested Blood Meridian, but considering it makes The Road look like a David Sedaris offering, I stilled my tongue.
Just finished watching the first disc of Lonesome Dove. Never saw it before, but as astute readers of mine know, I read the book a couple of months ago. Surprisingly faithful to the novel, I figured since it was made for TV, they'd have to skirt around some of the dicier moments, but so far they've been on full display.
Ok, I'm off to greener pastures. Perhaps some song writing, perhaps some PS2 B-ball, perhaps, perhaps. Cheers.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
I'm a boy, I'm a boy, but my mom won't admit it
Yesterday was a day of head pain, fever, fatigue, dizziness. Watching Lost with Mara wasn't easy. Even though it was a great, informative, episode, I struggled against nodding off.
Today, not as much head pain, but I hurt everywhere else. The fever came in spurts and so did the stabbing pain behind my right eye. I was so fatigued throughout the day that I was constantly wiping tears from eyes. Add the running faucet of a nose, and you've got one un-sexy day at work.
I made an action-packed salad for dinner, accompanied by a tall glass of OJ, which I hope will help combat the illness. Presently, I feel alright, but who knows what's around the bend.
I haven't had the strength to practice yoga or run this week, which couldn't be helped, but still bothered me. I wish my body was as pure as my heart.
Watched The Fall with Janelle tonight. My third and her first viewing of the film. She really enjoyed it and so did I, as much, or more than the first time.
Probably could write more, but it's getting late and I probably should have been in bed an hour ago. How invested am I, really, in getting better? Hmmm...
Today, not as much head pain, but I hurt everywhere else. The fever came in spurts and so did the stabbing pain behind my right eye. I was so fatigued throughout the day that I was constantly wiping tears from eyes. Add the running faucet of a nose, and you've got one un-sexy day at work.
I made an action-packed salad for dinner, accompanied by a tall glass of OJ, which I hope will help combat the illness. Presently, I feel alright, but who knows what's around the bend.
I haven't had the strength to practice yoga or run this week, which couldn't be helped, but still bothered me. I wish my body was as pure as my heart.
Watched The Fall with Janelle tonight. My third and her first viewing of the film. She really enjoyed it and so did I, as much, or more than the first time.
Probably could write more, but it's getting late and I probably should have been in bed an hour ago. How invested am I, really, in getting better? Hmmm...
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Three years fold through your lies untold, innocence undoes her blindfold
At work today, I etched some ideas for this post on a sticky note. Usually, I don't do this, but it was kind of slow and my mind was wandering. On the note, I wrote "I'll be in tomorrow, jokes/magic, Tokyo Story, Sick?". I'll explain.
I'll be in tomorrow
I don't know how I arrived at the thought, but I started thinking about bad form when calling in sick. I've always felt that when you're playing hooky from work, it's never a good thing to say "but I'll be in tomorrow" at any point during that uncomfortable morning phone call. How can you know you'll be in tomorrow, unless you're faking? If you're sick, how can you determine the duration of the illness? Oh, don't worry about me, I'll be over the stomach flu in approximately 15 hours. The better course of action is to take off another day. Then, people start thinking you're really sick. And you get another day off out of the deal, don't you, Sporto?
jokes/magic
I've always thought that knowing a few cool magic tricks is social gold. Man, if I could perform a few Chris Angel type tricks, I'd have a ton of friends, would be invited to all the happening parties, and would be getting laid constantly. Spira once told me that being a musician would get me a lot of women. Holy Christ was she wrong, but she meant well, that sweet lil' thing. I should have learned magic, damn it! Maybe it's not too late. Stay tuned!
And jokes, I was thinking about how I never hear anyone telling jokes anymore, which is not to suggest I'm seeking a Renaissance. I'm just curious about where all the jokesters have gone to. Have we lost joke-telling as an oral tradition? I know I, meaning me and not you, never tell jokes, but I never really did in the first place. Not my style. Anyway, I wouldn't mind hearing a joke now and then. Most of them suck, but I generally laugh no matter the quality. It occurred to me that if hearing a joke is like having sex (stay with me, now) then the punchline is the orgasm-- the money shot, if you will. I've had sub par orgasms, but even the lamest one was still pretty good. Maybe that goes toward explaining why I tend to laugh at bad jokes. I was also thinking about the type of mind that constructs these jokes. Different than mine, I concluded. That was about as far I delved into it. Sometimes thoughts peeter out and don't make it to their logical conclusion.
Tokyo Story
I watched Tokyo Story last night and throughout the film I kept thinking Janelle would enjoy it and that I should have waited to watch it with her. It was so good, though, I couldn't turn it off. The reason I thought she would enjoy it was because I felt the story of an aging couple traveling to Tokyo to visit their children and the way in which Ozu paced it would appeal to her. Not to Baby Boy Z, though; I think he'd rather see a movie about an aging couple of dogs roaming the streets sniffing everything in sight -- shit, asses, urine stains, plants, rotting carcasses -- learning in the process the recent comings and goings of everything alive. And when they're not sniffing, they're devouring raw meat with vigor; humping, humping, humping: each other, humans, half eaten road kill, discarded diapers, holes in the dirt -- pretty much anything they can squeeze their peckers into; sleeping soundly 'neath the sun of the day; and gnawing on rawhide with the glee of prosperity. Actually, I think I might want to see that movie, too.
Sick?
I think I have sinus issues. I've had a slight headache for the last week or so, nothing too bad and not constant, but over the last couple of days, it's gotten worse. I feel it behind my eyes and in my sinuses. My body has felt weak, too, and, as a result, I went another day without exercise. I'll try to get as much sleep as I can tonight and hope I'm soon on the road to recovery.
So that's what was on the note. Another thought I had didn't make it to the sticky note, which would have been too bad if I had forgotten about it. The thought centered around the idea of referring to people, especially contemporaries and elders, as children. To their faces. Not, "You're such a child", but more "It's good to see you're learning, child". You see what I'm getting at? No? Ok, I don't know what to tell you. I just know that picturing people's reactions to being called child amused me to no end. Guess it should be the other way around, eh? You know, because I'm the one who's the child for constructing such an immature scenario. See how I twisted it? Nice!
I'm out, bitches. Ciao.
I'll be in tomorrow
I don't know how I arrived at the thought, but I started thinking about bad form when calling in sick. I've always felt that when you're playing hooky from work, it's never a good thing to say "but I'll be in tomorrow" at any point during that uncomfortable morning phone call. How can you know you'll be in tomorrow, unless you're faking? If you're sick, how can you determine the duration of the illness? Oh, don't worry about me, I'll be over the stomach flu in approximately 15 hours. The better course of action is to take off another day. Then, people start thinking you're really sick. And you get another day off out of the deal, don't you, Sporto?
jokes/magic
I've always thought that knowing a few cool magic tricks is social gold. Man, if I could perform a few Chris Angel type tricks, I'd have a ton of friends, would be invited to all the happening parties, and would be getting laid constantly. Spira once told me that being a musician would get me a lot of women. Holy Christ was she wrong, but she meant well, that sweet lil' thing. I should have learned magic, damn it! Maybe it's not too late. Stay tuned!
And jokes, I was thinking about how I never hear anyone telling jokes anymore, which is not to suggest I'm seeking a Renaissance. I'm just curious about where all the jokesters have gone to. Have we lost joke-telling as an oral tradition? I know I, meaning me and not you, never tell jokes, but I never really did in the first place. Not my style. Anyway, I wouldn't mind hearing a joke now and then. Most of them suck, but I generally laugh no matter the quality. It occurred to me that if hearing a joke is like having sex (stay with me, now) then the punchline is the orgasm-- the money shot, if you will. I've had sub par orgasms, but even the lamest one was still pretty good. Maybe that goes toward explaining why I tend to laugh at bad jokes. I was also thinking about the type of mind that constructs these jokes. Different than mine, I concluded. That was about as far I delved into it. Sometimes thoughts peeter out and don't make it to their logical conclusion.
Tokyo Story
I watched Tokyo Story last night and throughout the film I kept thinking Janelle would enjoy it and that I should have waited to watch it with her. It was so good, though, I couldn't turn it off. The reason I thought she would enjoy it was because I felt the story of an aging couple traveling to Tokyo to visit their children and the way in which Ozu paced it would appeal to her. Not to Baby Boy Z, though; I think he'd rather see a movie about an aging couple of dogs roaming the streets sniffing everything in sight -- shit, asses, urine stains, plants, rotting carcasses -- learning in the process the recent comings and goings of everything alive. And when they're not sniffing, they're devouring raw meat with vigor; humping, humping, humping: each other, humans, half eaten road kill, discarded diapers, holes in the dirt -- pretty much anything they can squeeze their peckers into; sleeping soundly 'neath the sun of the day; and gnawing on rawhide with the glee of prosperity. Actually, I think I might want to see that movie, too.
Sick?
I think I have sinus issues. I've had a slight headache for the last week or so, nothing too bad and not constant, but over the last couple of days, it's gotten worse. I feel it behind my eyes and in my sinuses. My body has felt weak, too, and, as a result, I went another day without exercise. I'll try to get as much sleep as I can tonight and hope I'm soon on the road to recovery.
So that's what was on the note. Another thought I had didn't make it to the sticky note, which would have been too bad if I had forgotten about it. The thought centered around the idea of referring to people, especially contemporaries and elders, as children. To their faces. Not, "You're such a child", but more "It's good to see you're learning, child". You see what I'm getting at? No? Ok, I don't know what to tell you. I just know that picturing people's reactions to being called child amused me to no end. Guess it should be the other way around, eh? You know, because I'm the one who's the child for constructing such an immature scenario. See how I twisted it? Nice!
I'm out, bitches. Ciao.
Monday, February 16, 2009
I put my fingers against the glass and bowed my head and cried
Even though I got plenty of sleep, I woke up this morning feeling as if I didn't and was not able to shake my fatigue for the rest of the day. Maybe it was because it was Monday or because I had leftover pizza for breakfast or because Ann wasn't in, but my feeling was that it was a cold I was catching. I came home a little early and took a nap. I didn't run or practice yoga, not wanting to overdo it in case I really was getting sick. Post nap, I feel pretty good; let's see what the next day or two look like.
My weekend was low key. On Friday, I paid close to twenty dollars for two roses -- one for my mother and one for grandmother -- in Andover and cursed the place for fleecing me. I didn't have the time nor the inclination to pursue a better deal, though I'm sure they were out there.
On Saturday, I stopped at my grandmother's house to visit. My parents were there to take her out to lunch and my sister and her kids were present to collect their Valentine's Day booty, which was of prime importance to my mother and had caused some friction between mother and daughter, the details of which are lengthy and won't be recounted here, praise God. I was there to drop off some flowers and see a family I see less and less frequently these days.
I stopped off at Mara's afterward and gave her a box of chocolates. I had debated whether to get her anything at all; I didn't want to give her the wrong idea, but I also didn't want her to go gift-less on Valentine's Day.
I finished Valdez Is Coming and 1984 . I enjoyed both books. As I approached the end of 1984, I thought "He's not going to get out of this, is he?". I knew the book was going to be bleak, but not to the degree it was. 'Tis why it's a classic.
Sin Killer, the first volume of McMurtry's BerryBender Narratives, arrived on Friday and I put a significant dent in it on Saturday and Sunday. So far, it's been a great read. Love McMurtry!
Watched The Thief of Bagdad the other night. It was a visual treat, it was. Loved the technicolor.
Luke Warm and I helped Foley with some light moving yesterday. His new place is less than a mile from mine and I walked over after breakfast. It went well, except we couldn't squeeze his queen-sized box spring up the stair. He resolved to buy a saw, cut it in half, bring it upstairs, and then join the halves together with metal clamps.
We walked over to Tags in Porter Square for Foley's supplies and then over to Sugar & Spice, where he treated us to Thai food. I had a delicious chicken avocado curry dish. Upon our return to the house, I left the lads to the box spring and walked home.
A good part of my evening was spent on the phone with my sister. I was trying to walk her through the setting up of her Ipod. She doesn't have hi-speed internet where she lives, so she has to use dial-up, and that is why it took so long. We waited over an hour for her computer to download Itunes, until we decided to call it quits. I told what to do when it was completed. For all I know, it's still downloading.
My weekend was low key. On Friday, I paid close to twenty dollars for two roses -- one for my mother and one for grandmother -- in Andover and cursed the place for fleecing me. I didn't have the time nor the inclination to pursue a better deal, though I'm sure they were out there.
On Saturday, I stopped at my grandmother's house to visit. My parents were there to take her out to lunch and my sister and her kids were present to collect their Valentine's Day booty, which was of prime importance to my mother and had caused some friction between mother and daughter, the details of which are lengthy and won't be recounted here, praise God. I was there to drop off some flowers and see a family I see less and less frequently these days.
I stopped off at Mara's afterward and gave her a box of chocolates. I had debated whether to get her anything at all; I didn't want to give her the wrong idea, but I also didn't want her to go gift-less on Valentine's Day.
I finished Valdez Is Coming and 1984 . I enjoyed both books. As I approached the end of 1984, I thought "He's not going to get out of this, is he?". I knew the book was going to be bleak, but not to the degree it was. 'Tis why it's a classic.
Sin Killer, the first volume of McMurtry's BerryBender Narratives, arrived on Friday and I put a significant dent in it on Saturday and Sunday. So far, it's been a great read. Love McMurtry!
Watched The Thief of Bagdad the other night. It was a visual treat, it was. Loved the technicolor.
Luke Warm and I helped Foley with some light moving yesterday. His new place is less than a mile from mine and I walked over after breakfast. It went well, except we couldn't squeeze his queen-sized box spring up the stair. He resolved to buy a saw, cut it in half, bring it upstairs, and then join the halves together with metal clamps.
We walked over to Tags in Porter Square for Foley's supplies and then over to Sugar & Spice, where he treated us to Thai food. I had a delicious chicken avocado curry dish. Upon our return to the house, I left the lads to the box spring and walked home.
A good part of my evening was spent on the phone with my sister. I was trying to walk her through the setting up of her Ipod. She doesn't have hi-speed internet where she lives, so she has to use dial-up, and that is why it took so long. We waited over an hour for her computer to download Itunes, until we decided to call it quits. I told what to do when it was completed. For all I know, it's still downloading.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
I'm no one you can trust, all little boy lonely, and curious lust
I've gotta tell you, I've watched that cupcake video a ton since last night. There was a period when I was laughing so hard, it sounded like I was bawling my eyes out. I just watched it again; still hilarious.
Slowing down at work. I hope it's temporary, and given the economic climate, I better hope hard. Marcy seems to think we'll come out on top, however lean things get, and I'm going to share her mindset. I'm happy I have job right now; if the shit hits the fan, I'll deal with it when it happens.
Ann was more talkative and playful with me than usual today; she initiated almost every conversation. I didn't know what sparked it -- believe me when I tell you I tried to figure out what did -- but it was nice and it reminded me why I find her so appealing.
I just listened to Cheap Trick, Joni Mitchell, and Satie back to back. Can you say the same?
Ok, I'm done, but I'm going to leave you with a passage from Elmore Leonard's Valdez Is Coming. This man writes with flow, simply, and with terrific insight. He makes it look easy. Anyhow, I'm a big fan, and below is one of the reasons why.
St. Francis of Assisi was the kindest man who ever lived. Maybe not kinder than Our Lord; that was different. But kinder than any real living man. Sure. St. Francis had been a soldier once and got wounded and after that he wouldn't step on bugs or kill animals. Hell, he talked to the animals; like the time he talked to the wolf -- probably a big gray lobo -- who was scaring everybody and and he told the wolf to stop it. Stop it or I'll skin you, you son of a bitch, and wear you for a fur coat. You would talk to a wolf different than you would talk to other animals. But he had talked to all of them, birds, everything; they were all his friends he said. He even talked to the stars and the sun and the moon. He called the sun Brother Sun.
But not today you couldn't call it Brother Sun, Bob Valdez thought.
Slowing down at work. I hope it's temporary, and given the economic climate, I better hope hard. Marcy seems to think we'll come out on top, however lean things get, and I'm going to share her mindset. I'm happy I have job right now; if the shit hits the fan, I'll deal with it when it happens.
Ann was more talkative and playful with me than usual today; she initiated almost every conversation. I didn't know what sparked it -- believe me when I tell you I tried to figure out what did -- but it was nice and it reminded me why I find her so appealing.
I just listened to Cheap Trick, Joni Mitchell, and Satie back to back. Can you say the same?
Ok, I'm done, but I'm going to leave you with a passage from Elmore Leonard's Valdez Is Coming. This man writes with flow, simply, and with terrific insight. He makes it look easy. Anyhow, I'm a big fan, and below is one of the reasons why.
St. Francis of Assisi was the kindest man who ever lived. Maybe not kinder than Our Lord; that was different. But kinder than any real living man. Sure. St. Francis had been a soldier once and got wounded and after that he wouldn't step on bugs or kill animals. Hell, he talked to the animals; like the time he talked to the wolf -- probably a big gray lobo -- who was scaring everybody and and he told the wolf to stop it. Stop it or I'll skin you, you son of a bitch, and wear you for a fur coat. You would talk to a wolf different than you would talk to other animals. But he had talked to all of them, birds, everything; they were all his friends he said. He even talked to the stars and the sun and the moon. He called the sun Brother Sun.
But not today you couldn't call it Brother Sun, Bob Valdez thought.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Requiem for an almost lady
Lightning quick post because it's getting late and I'm not really in the mood to write. So why write at all? Maybe doing so will stoke the fire in my belly. Or something.
Lost was good this week. They'll need to soften or freeze the pace soon, though, so the viewer has a chance to exhale. Too much tension is not good for anyone.
Seemed like Ellen was coming on to me today. She was wearing a short skirt and I noticed she was bending over in front of me a lot. This alone isn't what made me wonder-- there were other, but not as overt, indications -- but it helped solidify my suspicion that she was up to something. I mean, I'd be at my desk and she'd be there in front of me bending over with her ass practically in my face. And I'm not talking about bending over quickly to pick something up off the floor, but suggestive, drawn-out postures that were, especially in the context of location, peculiar. So what happened? We had sex with most of our clothes on in the storage room.
It was Marcy's birthday yesterday so we had a little party with Bertucci's pizza and cupcakes made by Ann. It's been slow lately, but there was plenty of work to do. I felt secure in numerous ways and felt lucky that I work with people I like and respect. Today, it was slow and less festive. No pizza, no cupcakes. I did get to talk with Ann some, which was nice, but other than that, kind of a ka ka day
Ok, I've written more than I intended to and must stop. Goodnight bitches.
Post script: We didn't have sex, Ellen and I, but you probably already guessed that. You did, however, form the image in your mind of me knocking boots with someone, didn't you, you sick fuck? Well, I suppose you enjoyed it; how could you not, right?
Lost was good this week. They'll need to soften or freeze the pace soon, though, so the viewer has a chance to exhale. Too much tension is not good for anyone.
Seemed like Ellen was coming on to me today. She was wearing a short skirt and I noticed she was bending over in front of me a lot. This alone isn't what made me wonder-- there were other, but not as overt, indications -- but it helped solidify my suspicion that she was up to something. I mean, I'd be at my desk and she'd be there in front of me bending over with her ass practically in my face. And I'm not talking about bending over quickly to pick something up off the floor, but suggestive, drawn-out postures that were, especially in the context of location, peculiar. So what happened? We had sex with most of our clothes on in the storage room.
It was Marcy's birthday yesterday so we had a little party with Bertucci's pizza and cupcakes made by Ann. It's been slow lately, but there was plenty of work to do. I felt secure in numerous ways and felt lucky that I work with people I like and respect. Today, it was slow and less festive. No pizza, no cupcakes. I did get to talk with Ann some, which was nice, but other than that, kind of a ka ka day
Ok, I've written more than I intended to and must stop. Goodnight bitches.
Post script: We didn't have sex, Ellen and I, but you probably already guessed that. You did, however, form the image in your mind of me knocking boots with someone, didn't you, you sick fuck? Well, I suppose you enjoyed it; how could you not, right?
Monday, February 9, 2009
If being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side, at the swinging party down the line
Just came back from getting my hair cut. Carla, the woman who cuts it, told me she had run ten miles today. She said she started running a month or two ago. Carla is attractive, but she doesn't appear to be very fit. Ten miles after only a few weeks of running? I don't think so. Of course, that could my jealousy protesting: ten miles is not on my radar, and won't be, I suspect, for a while yet.
--
The brunch went well. I got to meet Mara's father and stepmother, both pleasant, and see Alister, Ed, and his wife Elaina. What prevented it from being lame was being in the same room as two basketball fiends in Ed and Mara's father, Ernie. We talked a ton of Celtics, even delved into the backups, reviewing the pros and cons of Big Baby and his bench brethren.
Since I was the only gentile, I didn't have a say regarding what we ate. No pancakes, french toast, eggs, or bacon, the king of the jungle in Breakfast Land. Instead, it was bagels and lox and yucky cranberry juice. And, what's with the untoasted bagels? They've got to be toasted, son!
Anyhow, the average-at-best food selection notwithstanding, it was a good enough time and I didn't pout once. I drove Mara home and went grocery shopping. Upon my return home, I played music, a game of basketball on the Playstation, and finished Elmore Leonard's wonderful Hombre. I called my sister later in the day and let her vent her frustrations with my mother and talked about Lost.
Poor Janelle has taken ill. Those of you who understand we are all woven into the same fabric, that we are me and me are we, I'm requesting you get together with some candles and robes and pray for Janelle's recovery, because, as you know, Janelle is not like you, she is you. In effect, you'll be praying for yourselves, and given how selfish you can be (I've seen it), this should come easy to you. And when you're done praying for her, I want you to pray for Luke Warm to have a bottle smashed in his eyes. Just do it, I'll explain later.
I think it's time for a soak and I'm just the guy for the job. In the shower I will ponder why it's not always a drag to be alone, but it's always a drag being lonely. I bet before I rinse off, I'll have taken things to an even more profound level. It's how I dooz it, son!
--
The brunch went well. I got to meet Mara's father and stepmother, both pleasant, and see Alister, Ed, and his wife Elaina. What prevented it from being lame was being in the same room as two basketball fiends in Ed and Mara's father, Ernie. We talked a ton of Celtics, even delved into the backups, reviewing the pros and cons of Big Baby and his bench brethren.
Since I was the only gentile, I didn't have a say regarding what we ate. No pancakes, french toast, eggs, or bacon, the king of the jungle in Breakfast Land. Instead, it was bagels and lox and yucky cranberry juice. And, what's with the untoasted bagels? They've got to be toasted, son!
Anyhow, the average-at-best food selection notwithstanding, it was a good enough time and I didn't pout once. I drove Mara home and went grocery shopping. Upon my return home, I played music, a game of basketball on the Playstation, and finished Elmore Leonard's wonderful Hombre. I called my sister later in the day and let her vent her frustrations with my mother and talked about Lost.
Poor Janelle has taken ill. Those of you who understand we are all woven into the same fabric, that we are me and me are we, I'm requesting you get together with some candles and robes and pray for Janelle's recovery, because, as you know, Janelle is not like you, she is you. In effect, you'll be praying for yourselves, and given how selfish you can be (I've seen it), this should come easy to you. And when you're done praying for her, I want you to pray for Luke Warm to have a bottle smashed in his eyes. Just do it, I'll explain later.
I think it's time for a soak and I'm just the guy for the job. In the shower I will ponder why it's not always a drag to be alone, but it's always a drag being lonely. I bet before I rinse off, I'll have taken things to an even more profound level. It's how I dooz it, son!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Make him watch me take his place, night has brought him something worse
Janelle, Baby Boy Z, and I went to Barnes & Noble last night. I picked up Suttree and saw on almost every shelf books I want to read. If I live another thirty years, I doubt I'll have read all the books on my wish list, as it is now constituted. Can't get to everything, but I'd like to try. What else am I going to do on this earth?
At work yesterday, Ellen and I were discussing Bogart films. We expressed our admiration for his costars; in particular Sydney Greenstreet, Lauren Bacall, and an actor's name we couldn't summon until Ellen burst out "Peter Lorre!". I always forget his name, though I admire him so. Later, at Barnes & Nobles, I opened up Catcher In The Rye and the first two words my eyes landed on were Peter Lorre. Whatever the attendant meaning, if there even is one, I always like it when things like that happen. Reminds me to be in awe of and puzzled by the machinations of existence.
--
Today, I ran a few miles -- more than I expected. I thought yesterday that I was coming down with something --- I was lethargic all day --- and was doubtful I'd have enough energy for a run in my immediate future. I managed fine, though, and enjoyed the warm weather that brought everyone out of their domiciles and teased of things to come.
--
I'm listening to Arise Therefore, the first album I ever heard from Will Oldham, and among my favorites of his. Luke Warm turned me on to it years ago when we were young and our hearts were open books, and ever since, I've been a big fan of his output.
--
My Elmore Leonard books arrived in the mail on back to back days. The first one to arrive was Hombre, and I'm almost halfway through it. Leonard is great with dialog and keeping things lean, like Robert Parker with his Spenser novels. Valdez Is Coming, the second of the two books, looks to be good, too.
--
Sure, the Lakers beat the Celtics the other night, but it was still a wonderful game to watch. The Truth/Kobe matchup was tight and Eddie House was dropping threes like a man who could do naught else in his life. I hope they meet again in the finals.
--
Mara's father and stepmother are in town this weekend from NYC. Her friend Alister, who is friendly with them, is hosting a brunch for them tomorrow because Mara's place is too small to accommodate everyone.
I'm invited and plan on attending the event. I've never met her family and wonder how I'll be received. I suspect things will be fine, but I did break up with her and because we still hang out (a sometimes complicated affair, as you might guess), they might be suspicious of my intentions. No, as I said, things should go fine; he's a big basketball fan, for Pete's sake! I doubt I'll be ambushed --- her father, by all accounts sounds friendly and caring --- and if I am, so what? I'm not even seeing his daughter anymore. Not as if I'll have to contend with him during the holidays.
--
Will try to watch some MadMen episodes and Tokyo Story this weekend, in case you're wondering. And if you're also wondering when this post will reach its conclusion, I have news for you: we have reached the end. So go down tankards of ale at your local tavern and tell everyone about me, the sexiest, most pure-hearted son of a bitch you've ever encountered. Doing so will get you laid. Trust me on this one.
At work yesterday, Ellen and I were discussing Bogart films. We expressed our admiration for his costars; in particular Sydney Greenstreet, Lauren Bacall, and an actor's name we couldn't summon until Ellen burst out "Peter Lorre!". I always forget his name, though I admire him so. Later, at Barnes & Nobles, I opened up Catcher In The Rye and the first two words my eyes landed on were Peter Lorre. Whatever the attendant meaning, if there even is one, I always like it when things like that happen. Reminds me to be in awe of and puzzled by the machinations of existence.
--
Today, I ran a few miles -- more than I expected. I thought yesterday that I was coming down with something --- I was lethargic all day --- and was doubtful I'd have enough energy for a run in my immediate future. I managed fine, though, and enjoyed the warm weather that brought everyone out of their domiciles and teased of things to come.
--
I'm listening to Arise Therefore, the first album I ever heard from Will Oldham, and among my favorites of his. Luke Warm turned me on to it years ago when we were young and our hearts were open books, and ever since, I've been a big fan of his output.
--
My Elmore Leonard books arrived in the mail on back to back days. The first one to arrive was Hombre, and I'm almost halfway through it. Leonard is great with dialog and keeping things lean, like Robert Parker with his Spenser novels. Valdez Is Coming, the second of the two books, looks to be good, too.
--
Sure, the Lakers beat the Celtics the other night, but it was still a wonderful game to watch. The Truth/Kobe matchup was tight and Eddie House was dropping threes like a man who could do naught else in his life. I hope they meet again in the finals.
--
Mara's father and stepmother are in town this weekend from NYC. Her friend Alister, who is friendly with them, is hosting a brunch for them tomorrow because Mara's place is too small to accommodate everyone.
I'm invited and plan on attending the event. I've never met her family and wonder how I'll be received. I suspect things will be fine, but I did break up with her and because we still hang out (a sometimes complicated affair, as you might guess), they might be suspicious of my intentions. No, as I said, things should go fine; he's a big basketball fan, for Pete's sake! I doubt I'll be ambushed --- her father, by all accounts sounds friendly and caring --- and if I am, so what? I'm not even seeing his daughter anymore. Not as if I'll have to contend with him during the holidays.
--
Will try to watch some MadMen episodes and Tokyo Story this weekend, in case you're wondering. And if you're also wondering when this post will reach its conclusion, I have news for you: we have reached the end. So go down tankards of ale at your local tavern and tell everyone about me, the sexiest, most pure-hearted son of a bitch you've ever encountered. Doing so will get you laid. Trust me on this one.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
And you won't make me jealous if I hear they've sweetened your night
Until I was woken up by the sound of Steve shoveling around five thirty(!) this morning -- which, by the way, happened yesterday, too -- I was dreaming about Ann. It felt so real that, at times, especially later in the morning, it's residual effects made interacting with Ann a challenging affair. The dream felt real not so much in terms of clarity, but because it was bereft of the usual phantasmagoria and catered to the feel and pace of my waking life.
In the dream, I was in the middle of a conversation with Ann and, seeing a small opening, asked her if she'd want to get together outside work sometime. There was a pause before she responded; her expression turned thoughtful, at the crossroads of a decision (which I determined to bode poorly for me) and then she surprised me and said sure, that would be nice.
The rest of the dream went as follows: we went out to eat; she excused herself and upon her return to the table, placed her hand on my back and held it there; then, more happened, much in the same vein.
I woke up pissed and a little hopeful. Pissed because I was awake and in the same boat I was the day before, and hopeful because dreams and prophecy can be synonymous -- I've had a few that have bore fruit -- and if this one were to come true, well, happy days for me, right?
It didn't help matters that Ann was looking particularly good today. Her long, black hair was down, and she wore a flattering black sweater. The way her hair framed her face....I must have gawked at her almost every time I saw her today. It's possible I drooled, but there's no way to confirm whether I did. Will I ask her out? Oh, hell, I don't know.
I let Maureen borrow Blood Meridian yesterday and today she told me she was deep into it and loving it. Throughout several stolen work minutes, we discussed McCarthy's mastery of the language and various literary allusions found in the book. I still marvel at the fact that this matronly woman would be so into McMurtry and McCarthy. After the conversation, I knew that I wouldn't be able to go very long without buying Suttree. Perhaps I will tomorrow, though I'm pretty hardcore into Moby Dick right now.
This morning, on my way downstairs to make breakfast, I saw that Janelle's door was open and Baby Boy Z was spread out at the foot of her bed. Of Janelle, there was no sign. I made breakfast and went back upstairs. After I ate, I stopped to say hello to Baby Boy Z, still at the foot of the bed. Janelle must have gone to work early today, I thought.
While play-wrestling with Baby Boy Z, I heard what I thought to be farts pillowing out of his ass and laughed at him. Baby Boy Z was getting rambunctious and our wrestling became more intense. Then, I heard the farting again, only this time it was accompanied by the shifting of a lump under the blankets.
It was Janelle, and those weren't farts I heard, but her soft, sleepy moans. I got up and went downstairs, thinking she must be wondering why I woke her up in the manner I did. I consulted with her later, and we laughed about the experience, though I'm still puzzled why I didn't notice her in the bed. Maybe I only have eyes for Baby Boy Z.
I could do worse.
In the dream, I was in the middle of a conversation with Ann and, seeing a small opening, asked her if she'd want to get together outside work sometime. There was a pause before she responded; her expression turned thoughtful, at the crossroads of a decision (which I determined to bode poorly for me) and then she surprised me and said sure, that would be nice.
The rest of the dream went as follows: we went out to eat; she excused herself and upon her return to the table, placed her hand on my back and held it there; then, more happened, much in the same vein.
I woke up pissed and a little hopeful. Pissed because I was awake and in the same boat I was the day before, and hopeful because dreams and prophecy can be synonymous -- I've had a few that have bore fruit -- and if this one were to come true, well, happy days for me, right?
It didn't help matters that Ann was looking particularly good today. Her long, black hair was down, and she wore a flattering black sweater. The way her hair framed her face....I must have gawked at her almost every time I saw her today. It's possible I drooled, but there's no way to confirm whether I did. Will I ask her out? Oh, hell, I don't know.
I let Maureen borrow Blood Meridian yesterday and today she told me she was deep into it and loving it. Throughout several stolen work minutes, we discussed McCarthy's mastery of the language and various literary allusions found in the book. I still marvel at the fact that this matronly woman would be so into McMurtry and McCarthy. After the conversation, I knew that I wouldn't be able to go very long without buying Suttree. Perhaps I will tomorrow, though I'm pretty hardcore into Moby Dick right now.
This morning, on my way downstairs to make breakfast, I saw that Janelle's door was open and Baby Boy Z was spread out at the foot of her bed. Of Janelle, there was no sign. I made breakfast and went back upstairs. After I ate, I stopped to say hello to Baby Boy Z, still at the foot of the bed. Janelle must have gone to work early today, I thought.
While play-wrestling with Baby Boy Z, I heard what I thought to be farts pillowing out of his ass and laughed at him. Baby Boy Z was getting rambunctious and our wrestling became more intense. Then, I heard the farting again, only this time it was accompanied by the shifting of a lump under the blankets.
It was Janelle, and those weren't farts I heard, but her soft, sleepy moans. I got up and went downstairs, thinking she must be wondering why I woke her up in the manner I did. I consulted with her later, and we laughed about the experience, though I'm still puzzled why I didn't notice her in the bed. Maybe I only have eyes for Baby Boy Z.
I could do worse.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
In 1941 a happy father had a son, and by 1944, the father walks right out the door
More snow. At least once a week, but I have adapted to the deluge and will ride it out till spring. Jeff and Marcy left early today to tend to their respective daughters, both ill from some winter malady. The rest of us left at four. The driving was sloppy and upon my return home, I witnessed Steve shoveling his driveway. No surprise there. I practiced yoga and tried not to become distracted by Steve, who was positioned right outside the window, clearing snow from the sidewalk. I ate dinner to the scratchy rhythm of his shovel. I made coffee, put clothes in the dryer, and went outside to shovel my driveway. Steve was still at it. We exchanged hellos and small talk and went about our business. Mine was finished in less than twenty minutes. Here I sit, over an hour later, and Steve is still outside shoveling. I bet he's been in relationships that have dissolved over his Ahab-like obsession with clearing snow. "Honey, I'd love to spend more time with you, but this is my busy season", I can hear him say.
--
My heart grieves for Frank and his family. They have experienced something terrible and will get through it because they have each other and friends that care about them, but right now I'm sure they are shocked and devastated and in the rawness of anguish.
--
When I finished Blood Meridian the other day, I found online a two part lecture on the book given by a professor at Yale. Fascinating, absorbing stuff. I stayed up well past my bed time Sunday night listening to part one. Last night, though, I fell asleep in the middle of part two. I woke up a little after five and found the place on the video where I nodded off and listened from that point onward. I fell asleep again, but managed about fifteen more minutes worth. I'll try again tonight.
My Elmore Leonard books have yet to arrive, so I've been reading from Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell and Moby Dick, two books I was enjoying but put down a while back. I'm itching for more McCarthy, and might redeem a Barnes & Noble gift card towards the purchase of Suttree.
--
It was slow at work today and I talked with Ann whenever I could. There have been moments within a conversation when I've found myself on the verge of asking her out. Happened a couple of times today. Of course, I didn't do it, else I would have begun the post with the news, but I think I'll do something about it at some point. I think about her often; not in a crazed, urgent kind of way, like you might think, but in an easy, serene, way, like any thought that provokes a smile. Sure, there are moments of, dare I say, yearning, but they aren't prevalent, and even if they were, do you think I'd tell you? You'd just tease me over it.
--
Watched Juliet of The Spirits with Janelle the other night. Fellini sure knew how to dazzle with the visuals. Good stuff. I'm looking forward to watching Tokyo Story when it arrives.
--
Nothing more to say, except that I've been listening to a ton of Fleet Foxes, something I recommend everyone do.
--
My heart grieves for Frank and his family. They have experienced something terrible and will get through it because they have each other and friends that care about them, but right now I'm sure they are shocked and devastated and in the rawness of anguish.
--
When I finished Blood Meridian the other day, I found online a two part lecture on the book given by a professor at Yale. Fascinating, absorbing stuff. I stayed up well past my bed time Sunday night listening to part one. Last night, though, I fell asleep in the middle of part two. I woke up a little after five and found the place on the video where I nodded off and listened from that point onward. I fell asleep again, but managed about fifteen more minutes worth. I'll try again tonight.
My Elmore Leonard books have yet to arrive, so I've been reading from Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell and Moby Dick, two books I was enjoying but put down a while back. I'm itching for more McCarthy, and might redeem a Barnes & Noble gift card towards the purchase of Suttree.
--
It was slow at work today and I talked with Ann whenever I could. There have been moments within a conversation when I've found myself on the verge of asking her out. Happened a couple of times today. Of course, I didn't do it, else I would have begun the post with the news, but I think I'll do something about it at some point. I think about her often; not in a crazed, urgent kind of way, like you might think, but in an easy, serene, way, like any thought that provokes a smile. Sure, there are moments of, dare I say, yearning, but they aren't prevalent, and even if they were, do you think I'd tell you? You'd just tease me over it.
--
Watched Juliet of The Spirits with Janelle the other night. Fellini sure knew how to dazzle with the visuals. Good stuff. I'm looking forward to watching Tokyo Story when it arrives.
--
Nothing more to say, except that I've been listening to a ton of Fleet Foxes, something I recommend everyone do.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
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