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.