Saturday, January 27, 2007
The insomnia gnomes reared their ugly little bestockinged heads again, so this morning I got to an early start. While I don’t love not sleeping, I do love observing this little town in the wee hours, just as it’s waking up. Especially on the empty downtown strip. There’s such an air of expectancy, of waiting; it’s as if the pavement has absorbed the energy from the thousands of people who walk it during the day, and stores it up carefully to warm itself during the evening hours. It’s a far cry from walking about in, say, a dead urban area, in which not even the ghosts of past pedestrians linger.
So I was walking along, generally of cheerful disposition (despite the lack of sleep and the slight headache from last night’s bourbon), when I came across the most terrifying tree I have ever yet encountered in my travels.
Ah, the towing notice: the Scarlet Letter of cardom. Sealed indelibly to the glassy surface, it screams of VIOLATION, in angry black capitals, as if the car in question has been implicated in some manner of terrible sex crime, of which there is damning evidence. Oil stains on the abused parking space, eyewitness reports, etc. Clearly, taking advantage of innocent asphalt is a most egregious crime, which demands prompt reparation via the Hook and Chain of Justice.
But what then, swift Justice, if the accused is innocent?
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
I have a love / hate relationship with television, with perhaps a touch of the Stockholm syndrome. No, more like rubbernecking. I won’t go out of my way to get cable or procure a television or anything, but if it’s there, I watch it, whether it be something genuinely entertaining and witty, like a “Six Feet Under”, or something that induces cerebral tumors, along the lines of “I Love New York”. As a last resort, I will flip over to the Food Network to irritate myself out of boredom.
Why the Food Network, you say? Well, in the last few years or so, during my intermittent spans of television watching, I’ve noticed a bit of a transformation: everybody on the Food Network is damn annoying, insane, or an unholy concoction of both.
Internet, say hello to Hildegard: If I knew how to embed an angelic chorus into this post, I’d do it. So shiny, so powerful! (The photo quality is crappy, possibly because Hildegard blinded the lens with its bright beacon of light). This is probably the best computer I’ve owned, and paid with my hard-earned money [...]
