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Stock up on flared jeans now.

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I’m back, mostly unpacked, and exhausted. I’ve uploaded some photos to Flickr, and I’ll update the photoblog one of these days. Right now, I’ve uploaded mostly photos from our trip out to Montauk, at the very tip of Long Island. It was beautiful. If you look closely enough, you will see something in my teeth, which vindicates me for all those times I bared my pearly yellows and asked, “Is there something in my teeth?”…

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Yesterday evening Amber and I took to the Long Island Expressway and made our way through the hazy rain into Queens. Craig was already busy cooking and his apartment — a large three-bedroom flat — smelled wonderful as we trudged up the curling marble stairs. There were steamed clams* for appetizers. I tried one — first time for everything — and had a bit of trouble chewing it because I kept imagining it was just…

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I’m here on The Schlong, where nothing is really springy and green yet, and the houses all have wood shingle siding and boats under tarps in the yard. Amber’s at work; I’m just stumbling out of bed (I had to make up for my three hours of sleep Wednesday night). I’ve got the whole house to myself. And all I can do is think about playing The Sims 2. The house she lives in is…

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Phlowers that will, hopefully, still be alive when I get home. When my clothes are finally done drying, I’ll be able to throw them into my suitcase and throw myself into my bed and get maybe one REM cycle before I get up and get going. I can sleep on the plane, once I quiet the roar of fear in my head. It’s going to be fun!

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Today I was hanging out in the crotch aisle of Walgreens (where they keep the Monistat and the tampons and the condoms), picking out party supplies for the monthly celebration my uterus is having, and I happened to glance over to the condom area and notice that the rubbers were locked up behind some mean-looking Plexiglass. And I made a mental note: That’s weird. Then, when I got to work, I read yesterday’s Broadsheet item…

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Conservative Sidelines columnist Matthew Hurtt (the extra T makes my eyes bleed) offers up another priceless ditty this week putting The Coloreds in their place. Quotable: The only people (so far) who have returned to New Orleans are the affluent white Americans who actually care about their homes. On a related note, I would go to Louisiana to help rebuild if I was through with college. There is money to be made in that area,…

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But you can bet researchers are working hard to determine the equation for the perfect ass. The magical figures are (S+C) x (B+F)/T = V. Though the equation looks rather complicated, it is, according to the scientist, simple. It assesses shape, bounce, firmness and symmetry – all factors that add up to the bottom line. S is the overall shape or droopiness of the bottom, C represents how spherical the buttocks are, B measures muscular…

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• The new Built to Spill record is excellent. The album cover is disappointing and the typography is uninspired, but the inside artwork is kinda fun. • Soul Fish Cafe makes a helluva chicken po’boy. • It’s laundry time. • It’s also time to sort of start thinking about packing, maybe. I have to leave Memphis for Nashville at the asscrack of dawn tomorrow, and stumbling around in the wee hours of the morning, rubbing…

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Kids, I’m sorry for all the moody bullshit I’ve been slapping up here for the past few days, weeks. It’s a drag to read and reread and think about. It’s all transient anyway. I’ll tell you what I’m excited about: 1. The plants and chairs I got for the balcony. 2. New York. 3. Built to Spill‘s new record, which I will own and have memorized by tomorrow night. 4. Watching some cable. Yes, friends,…

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