Yawn. Lazy week. I just laughed out loud at the bit on the Daily Show about Daylight Saving Time. I’m sitting here listening to Regina Spektor’s first album, wishing I had kept taking piano lessons when I was a kid. And thrown in singing lessons for good measure. I just want to sit around and warble about random shit I see. Which is kind of what I do here, but I think I’d rather do…
Why is it that, at 25 years old, I still feel like some sort of 10-year-old pretending to be grown up when I paint my nails? Seems silly.
[for March 8] I’m getting in a bad habit of waiting until the last possible minute of the day to snap a photo. And I’m usually in my car at the last possible minute of the day. And that makes for some pretty terrible photos. And, probably, bad driving. So maybe I can do something better tomorrow (today, Friday, whatever).
There’s a million things I want to write about — like Jimmy and Theresa’s visit this weekend and my trip home — but I’m ass-deep in unanswered e-mails and projects and blah blah communication-hooey. Maybe I’ll be back on top of things by Saturday. And maybe by Saturday I’ll go outside in this gaw-juss weather instead of lying around on the couch, stretching, moaning, reading, photographing my fingers, drinking, and painting my nails slut red.…
• I’ve been reading a lot lately about Tuscan wines, and trying to teach myself how to properly pronounce Italian words and phrases, and it has rekindled in me the long-held hunch that I am an Italian trapped in a Scotch-Irish body. “Sangiovese” and “Brunello” and “Trebbiano” can’t help but sound rich and sensuous as they roll off the tongue. (And to think, I thought it was “san-gee-oh-VEESE” until, like, two days ago.) • Today…
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