Just drove like a maniac to get back to Pittsburgh from Fairfax, VA. Visited my dad there for the weekend and unpacked all of my books that had been lying in boxes for going on 5 months now. Also had an epiphany: "home" -- a concept which has been sadly uncertain the past few years -- seems to be the place that houses my books, which are the largest John-nostalgia containers around.
Time for a 30-minute essay writing session. This is quality work, folks; you can tell by the hastily misspelled words and information-in-a-list style of writing. PSMT had better appreciate me.
Bought the new Matchbox 20 cd, played mercilessly on repeat for four hours on the road. The first half is much better than the second half, but the whole CD is sadly a step down from their first.
Henry Miller kicks ass. From the first book in the Rosy Crucifixion trilogy:
"As for Kronski, the moment he laid eyes on her he dropped his leer and banter. Even more impressive was his silence. Usually, when I presented him to a female, he became garrulous and made a sort of fluttering noise with his invisible wings."
He makes me laugh.