In my absence, I was apparently nominated for an urban food blog award. I have no idea how they found me. I guess it's because I'm so edgy. This is funny because I am monumentally suburban. Verging on Sac-ish. It would have been funnier, I admit, if anyone had voted for me.
This morning, while enjoying a pseudo-urban bus commute, I observed a crazy man talking to himself. After a while I realized that he was basically practicing a conversation. Because he was crazy, no one would talk to him, so he had to conduct his conversations with himself. This is how you write a blog -- wander around constructing "observations" in your head to later unload on your absent interlocutor, the internets. It is only because you don't do this out loud on the bus that no one notices that you are crazy.
These days, I'm not making up those conversations the way you're supposed to. A little too much real world on that last vacation, I guess. I was starting to fear my lack of content would drive away all two of my readers. Then I remembered the papers.
At this point, you'd think I'd dive eagerly into DI/DO looking for cannon fodder. Oh, it's there, don't worry. I just can't read it yet. I did, however, drag my sorry ass through another pinnacle of New Times journalism to read all about the brown fairy. Well, not all about it. Just the important stuff: no one knows what's in it; they drink it in SF (edgy! urban!); it's very indie rock. Bonus: stupefying misuse of the word Romanesque.
All right, this is my stop. I've got to go abuse myself with Jenny 8. Lee's book deal.