If I have but one talent, it is running decent things into the ground until every drop of goodness have been squeezed out of them. It’s a talent and I’ve always had it and I don’t suspect I’ll ever really get tired of flexing it. If brobelfish.com doesn’t get up and running soon, I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself. I spent the day near windows, feeling the breeze and contemplating every molecule of…
There’s this abandoned homestead on Highway 100 between the 64 junction and Chickasaw that I pass every time I drive to my parents’ house in Saltillo. Every time I speed by, my mind goes into overdrive thinking about what used to be there. What kind of house, what kind of people, what kind of stories. Where did the house go? Where are the people now? All that’s left are these two little brick walls framing…
For a few hours now, I’ve been nursing cup after cup of Jamaican coffee. I guess that’s what it’s called — it’s coffee plus brandy plus rum. That’s what The Internet calls it, anyway. I have to add milk and sugar because I don’t want hair on my chest. Well, more hair. It’s a delicious concoction for a chilly autumn night and it makes me want to wear ridiculous multi-colored socks and wear a slanket.…
I’m so excited/nervous/barfy/worried about how today is going to unfold. I have my hunches and my hopes, but we all know those don’t amount to a hill of vomit-flavored jelly beans. I remember being so full of hope in 2004 and then feeling all that slip away like sand in my fingers. Dirty, stinking, fickle sand that I clearly never had a grasp on anyway. Waking up and knowing Bush had managed to pull it…
I find cracking open a pumpkin and scooping out its guts to be soothing and meditative on the level of peeling pomegranates. It’s not always been this way; when I was little, I’d balk at the concept of gutting my own pumpkin and make mom do it. But now? If I want that pumpkin to have a face, I have to get it done myself, guts and all. The process has become so familiar now…
Last night as I was leaving work I saw two rockabilly dudes with tight jeans and plaid shirts and slick black hair peering into the windows of Sun Studio, taking pictures through the glass because the place was closed. It made me smile. I get a kick out of living in a place that’s a mecca for a lot of people searching for some cultural roots. My co-worker David wrote this this morning and it’s…
Thanks, chums, for the CDs. I dig, a lot. Today I’ve been a big sack of lazy. I don’t know why it is that on the one day a week when I have a crap ton of time to get stuff done, I lie around in pajamas the longest. Oh, wait, yeah, I do know. Because I am human. Hear me doze. Also, I spent the morning recuperating from last night’s inaugural Yarbro–Dill potluck, which…
I don’t know how I feel about the hair but I am kinda digging the silly clothes and I’m pretty sure that had I been a twentysomething back in the ’70s, I wouldn’t have felt like such a tourist on this floating rock of a planet. Then again, I could be completely full of crap.
So last week sucked on toast and, consequently, I busted up into this week with some sort of deluded optimism, thinking it would be better just by virtue of being new. Hoo boy. Ain’t that cute? Granted, I have been more or less in better spirits overall, but it’s still been a fucking trying week, what with the project from hell going apeshit and imploding on me, requiring a from-the-ground-up rebuild, among other things. (Seriously,…
[for Monday, Dec. 31] Okay, so I got the issue all figured out. Turns out I had duplicated Day 318, so it’s been off since then. As far as I know, I’ve gone back and renumbered everything since that day, so we should be kosher. I had some days in there that were just crazy off. Like, 224 instead of 324. Etc. Proof that you can blog in your sleep! So this last photo —…
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