[originally posted 14 June 2006]
y eyes are swollen and red and have been for the past several days—allergies I suppose, but it's difficult to focus on the screen. I’ve written nothing for the past several days, not that it matters I suppose, but it feels frustrating. Today I got one thing off my list of things to do—I got most of the front lawn and parking strip mowed, wh …ich makes the place look less abandoned, or at least so I fondly think. The internet runs sluggishly for me today. My head buzzes with random quotations—“It’s all very strange and mysterious and I’m sure it’s leading up to something,” (Mrs. Drudge in The Real Inspector Hound); “What’s the bird’s-eye lowdown on this caper, whatever that means?” (Nick Danger); “If you didn’t know the difference, you couldn’t tell the difference” (a long-forgotten advertisement); “There aint much you can do with a bag of shit except bury it” (Huck Finn’s pap according to Seelye)…. It’s like one of those scenes in old movies where voices from the past echo in some guy’s mind (or at least on the soundtrack) except that these voices mean nothing. Brusha brusha brusha, get the new Ipana … You can be sure if it’s Westinghouse … I can’t believe I ate the whole thing … You hate that cat, don’t you?
Do they even make Ipana any more? Then what is the point of having this loop stuck in my head? It’s talent round-up day, folks, or maybe we’re going to have a special guest.
Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear when Lucky Strikes brings you The Lone Ranger and his faithful Indian companion Tonto—or was it his Japanese valet Kato? Well, the Shadow knows. And the Death March of a Marionette means it’s time to go to bed.