Marc
The problem is, whitefolks is allergic to beer. -- from a man named Clive, speaking about half-price Tuesdays at Comiskey Park ... er, US Cellular Field
One. My bed is a mess of papers. Strewn about the covers, I tell you. Strewn. No time for crossword puzzles this weekend, as I had to spend too much time playing catch up with the papers I've been writing. It feels good to have it done, though. It feels very good.
Two. I haven't written much lately because there hasn't been much to write about, truthfully. I'm only doing it tonight because I don't want to have to look at that "I loved you guenivere" crap that Matt wrote. Ugh. I may be mistaken, but I think he pulled that same shit like a year ago. What a deuche.
Three. I spent yesterday reading, today writing, and tonight cooking. We had Sunday Dinner here at the apartment, and invited the close ones over for a piece or two of the ham we cooked up. I'll say one thing -- I'm going to be eating ham sandwiches until we move out of this apartment. An eight pound ham doesn't necessarily feed five people, it seems. And, as a result, we've got a whole plate stacked with the shit sitting in the refrigerator. Beyond that, my Mom sent my sister back to Blormal with a tupperware full of ham for me. And, beyond that, our roommate Ryan, who was at home for Easter Dinner, brought some ham back with him. So, if you crave ham and if you live in the area, give us a ring. We've got ham. And that's not an understatement.
Four. I also downloaded a whole bunch of new albums this weekend. I've quietly been listening to them in my spare time. I woke up this morning, hungover like a freshman, and perused my selections and was suprised to find greatest hits albums from both Louis Armstrong and Frank Sinatra stored safely on my harddrive. Talib Kaweli. The Roots. Three Queen albums. A Clash box set. And so on. Note to self: never again will I download while drunk. It's going to take me a while to burn all this shit. I'm an idiot.
Up Next: You Are A Ghostly Presence by the Mt St Helens; He Who Holds You by Rollo Tomasi; and, Our Time Down Here by First Grade Crush.
Tomorrow: Wheaties. Census. Ham. Class. Class. Ham. Class. Ham. Sleep.
The problem is, whitefolks is allergic to beer. -- from a man named Clive, speaking about half-price Tuesdays at Comiskey Park ... er, US Cellular Field
One. My bed is a mess of papers. Strewn about the covers, I tell you. Strewn. No time for crossword puzzles this weekend, as I had to spend too much time playing catch up with the papers I've been writing. It feels good to have it done, though. It feels very good.
Two. I haven't written much lately because there hasn't been much to write about, truthfully. I'm only doing it tonight because I don't want to have to look at that "I loved you guenivere" crap that Matt wrote. Ugh. I may be mistaken, but I think he pulled that same shit like a year ago. What a deuche.
Three. I spent yesterday reading, today writing, and tonight cooking. We had Sunday Dinner here at the apartment, and invited the close ones over for a piece or two of the ham we cooked up. I'll say one thing -- I'm going to be eating ham sandwiches until we move out of this apartment. An eight pound ham doesn't necessarily feed five people, it seems. And, as a result, we've got a whole plate stacked with the shit sitting in the refrigerator. Beyond that, my Mom sent my sister back to Blormal with a tupperware full of ham for me. And, beyond that, our roommate Ryan, who was at home for Easter Dinner, brought some ham back with him. So, if you crave ham and if you live in the area, give us a ring. We've got ham. And that's not an understatement.
Four. I also downloaded a whole bunch of new albums this weekend. I've quietly been listening to them in my spare time. I woke up this morning, hungover like a freshman, and perused my selections and was suprised to find greatest hits albums from both Louis Armstrong and Frank Sinatra stored safely on my harddrive. Talib Kaweli. The Roots. Three Queen albums. A Clash box set. And so on. Note to self: never again will I download while drunk. It's going to take me a while to burn all this shit. I'm an idiot.
Up Next: You Are A Ghostly Presence by the Mt St Helens; He Who Holds You by Rollo Tomasi; and, Our Time Down Here by First Grade Crush.
Tomorrow: Wheaties. Census. Ham. Class. Class. Ham. Class. Ham. Sleep.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home