Maria’s going to Austin tomorrow morning to see Guster and Wilco and “R E M” (I have
not heard of them) and other people with guitars, and I am not. Anybody who wants to drop
by and smack me around in her stead so I won’t play (cough) dead or
alive xtreme beach volleyball all day, please do. Just knock real loud.
As of tonight, I have baked banana nut bread. I have also assisted in the
production of quiche. When people tell you that real men don’t eat quiche, you tell them
to shut the hell up, right? Quiche is manly. Quiche is testosterone in a fucking
Bisquick crust.
My mother is a hobo. I was trying to send her a check for last month’s cell phone bill
tonight, and you know what? I have no idea where she’s living.
I found all the webcomics I had taped to my door junior year (man, that was a great door)
and posted them up on my wall, along with a whole bunch of
AZWPs. It’s quite a wall. Come over and see it. We can have banana bread.
Something new:
That’s… that’s great, there, Amazon. Thanks.
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