dreaming of the osaka sun

My more recent pictures bore me, so we're gonna go old school and pick some classics. They don't really have anything to do with the writing...but that's the fun of it, no?

Maybe I was a little harsh on the whole camping business. The whole waxing nostalgic thing takes me a while. Some parts of it were kinda cool.

Looking in the mirror for the first time in five days, you honestly don't recognize yourself. You kinda forget what a mirror is. You poke your face and the reflection pokes back...but you half expect it not to. What time is it? The sun says it's 4. I just caught a fish: it's lunch time.

District 9 was unbelievable. I cried. You may ask what kind of retard cries in an alien movie, but this was one of those films that actually had a really legitimate and moving message. The part where he makes her the flower at the end was what got me.

Moral of the story: I'm an incredible sap. But really, it's genius. And the baby alien will melt your heart.

I'm ripping through my Dad's CD collection and it has a lot of gems. Emmylou Harris, The Cowboy Junkies, The Doobie Brothers, Natalie Merchant and, of course, Miles. I typically don't do much of listening to albums the full way through, since my collection has a lot of holes. It is definitely something that I love, though, so having this much access to complete pieces of artists' souls makes me incandescently happy.

On the music note, David Barclay's show on KSDT is really something else. This kid is a baller.

I wonder if chimeras have more psychological difficulties than the general population. You'd think they might; not only the problem with knowing you had a missing twin but the fact that you have two sets of DNA might just cause problems from the beginning.

It would be interesting to look into that.

(This thought was of course brought on by an episode of CSI.)

Gordon Ramsay is definitely one of my favorites. His appearance on Rachael Ray (the only reason I would watch...otherwise I am not a fan) melted my soul. He is adorable. Their family has a "swear jar" and every time he drops an F-bomb the kids glare accusingly and he has to pay up. It makes sense given who he is, but that image is just precious.

Enough TV rambling! During the summer I catch up on everything I miss during the year (meaning all the reruns on the Food Network, CSI, and lots of Looney Tunes). Thus it occupies much of my thoughts.

I am so relaxed I feel like I am made out of noodles. I'm like one of those toothpick-marshmallow sculptures that you make in preschool where you pick off the incredibly unsanitary marshmallows while the teacher isn't looking. Your sculpture ends up about half the size you started with.

But really, I walk around in a sleepy, contented reverie these days.

Welcome to summer: for reals.