Thursday, November 11, 2010


I'm drinking a big, gigantic beer. It is important for everybody to know that. I spent my day doing laundry, 'n' stuff. I really feel like I have nothing to offer the readers, tonight. Nothing at all. I feel a little pissy, to be honest. Peevish and pissy.

I took my dog for a walk, earlier, and he tinkled on a tree and also in some crunchy leaves. He took a tinkle. He piddled all over some dirt.

I am reading a memoir, by Haruki Murakami, called, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. It's cool. One of the things I really like about that author is how he makes regular exercise a part of his life. He's got the right idea.

I recently finished his novel, South of the Border, West of the Sun. It was okay, but I lost interest in one of the female characters when she became ill and needed medication. She suddenly became unappealing to me. Also, the author kept describing her thin lips and red lipstick, which grossed me out. I used to hate when my mother and I would be at the movies, and she would take a sip of my soda and leave red lipstick on the straw. Gross. And in the book, the protagonist finds it sexy how this woman leaves her lipstick-stamped cigarettes in the ashtray after they have had a flirtatious encounter, and I couldn't relate to that.

I'm psyched about the new Conan show. Conan's funny.

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