There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


I know I'm a bad driver, but...

OK, I've been drunk before, sloppy, shit-faced, fall-asleep-on-the-crapper drunk, make bad judgments drunk, say stupid things, act like an ass drunk. But I don't think I've ever been as drunk as this guy. Now that's drunk. That's an achievement.

This weekend's movie: Napoleon Dynamite. Very funny, very quirky, very shitfaced cheap bastards at Regal Cinema didn't show the added scene after the credits. Boo.

I also drove to Houston and back on Saturday, saw and drove through some craptacular thunderstorms. I rather enjoyed the trip back because I have an embarassing weakness for crappy pop top 40 radio music and I got to both listen to it and sing along the whole way. I didn't have to pretend to like good music; I just sang along with Britney. I do have one standard, though. No Ashlee or Jessica Simpson. I mean, I have no taste in music but I'm also not deaf. One of my most humiliating confessions is that the very first album I bought was Crystal Gayle. I don't really know why I bought it. I had just gotten a turntable as a graduation gift (note to parents everywhere: If you have a kid who is not particularly musical, a turntable is a very shitty gift) and I didn't have a damn thing to play on it, so we drove into Madison and I went to the "record store" and bought me a Crystal Gayle album. It's not that I don't like music; it's more that I'm just indifferent to it. I'm probably just brain damaged.

The Austin City Limits Music Festival is coming up in a couple of weekends but I will miss it because I will be in Oxford by then, living like I'm in a Merchant and Ivory film. Getting drunk in a much more intellectual setting. Barfing in the same hallowed alleyways that Tolkien and C.S. Lewis barfed in. The last detail to work out is the health insurance. I almost never get sick, but I frequently injure myself, so it's a necessity.

The kittens that were birthed in my home are about ready to go to fabulous homes, but there isn't exactly a huge demand for them, which sucks because they are ridiculously cute and funny. They are all 3 just as black as can be. Apparently kittens begin to make dander at about 6 to 7 weeks of age, because Greg almost sneezed himself to death this weekend.

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