Exploding Nun Orgy!
Ha! Just joshin'. I mean, I'm as big a fan of exploding nuns as the next guy, but this isn't really that kind of site.
I had a dream last night that Steve Martin* showed up in my white Calvin Klein suit, and it didn't fit him at all. I could see his ankles, and the coat was sausage-tight, and I wanted to know how the hell he got into my closet in the first place. I was all worried that he would do risky things while wearing my suit, like ordering cherry pie. So I pointed at him and said, "OK, Martin, you can wear it, but the dry cleaning bills are yours." There was other weird dream stuff in my head when i woke up this morning, but I don't recall much of it, which is fine by me. That was basically an anxiety dream anyway, as I can no longer fit into the suit myself, which would be fine if I was famous and rich, but I'm not, so it's not fine, and if those catamites don't get their pert asses in here with my grapes and my champagne there's going to be some serious Ken Russell-style violence.
All of which is sort of a vaguely surreal gloss on the day so far, which I'm spending at mum's house. Mum's in the hospital, with yet another Random Health Issue. How serious remains to be seen: serious enough to be in the hospital with uncomfortable tubes and so forth, of course. "Surgery serious" is an open question at the moment. In any case, not much fun for her, worrisome for me, and not at all what we were planning to be about this weekend. Feh.
One of the things I'm doing, in addition to absorbing some television--a rarity for me--is beginning the process of emancipating myself from windows and OS X. With Ubuntu! Free, open source frivolity on my Dell 700m. Right now it's just a big experiment...unlike OSX, or even mod'ren Windows, drivers are a real crap shoot, particularly for more specialized laptop components like teeny WiFi cards and so on. Still, it's diverting, although I really should be writing, or editing some of the stuff I'm supposed to be editing for other people. I call it avoidance! Laziness!
Where the fuck is my champagne?!
See, you think I'm manic. But I'm just writing manic. It's like acting, only you have to do the work. Like a movie with subtitles, only without the movie, or the theater, or any kind of visual stimulus whatsoever.
So...like a book, I guess.
Hey! Thanks for letting me waste your time.
*And of course, Steve Martin is all over the television today. Because I am psychic, and improbable.
