2004-06-18

Hello my little crispy fried morsels of deliciousness. In some of the darkest hours of my supreme stupidity, I stayed up until one-fucking-thirty in the morning on Wednesday watching, get this, Miss Congeniality on television. Why, God, why? I have not yet recovered from both my compounding weekly exhaustion and my disgust and shame over what I�ve done. And that, friends, is what a diary is for.

Other than that? Hmph. Another week down, 1621 to go until retirement. I�m serious. I used me a calculator and everything. That�s assuming a 60-year-old retirement age, because WHAT THE FUCK is wrong with people who don�t WANT to retire when it�s time? You don�t know what to do with yourself? Are you INSANE? Sleep, nap and siesta, fools! Anyway, it ain�t me, babe. No, no, no, it ain�t me babe (it ain�t me you�re lookin� for�)

Speaking of being a total schmucky cheese ball (mmmm, cheese ball) and quoting Dylan� I read a lot, which I don�t normally talk much about here, but I just started Gabriel Garcia Marquez�s Living to Tell the Tale and it is totally taking my breath away. It�s strange when you read translations, because you don�t know how much of what you�re reading is unique to the writer, the translator or the original language itself. In this case, the turns of phrase, the sharp and strange observations and the poetry of it all is really extraordinary. It is, however, a bit like eating really rich fudge. Small, delicious, savored bites over a longer-than-normal period of time. I guess that makes sense for the autobiography of a Nobel-prize winner.

As opposed to THIS autobiography. But here�um�.sometimes I can make you snot soda out of your nose, and that�s kind of cool too.