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had a dream that I was being attacked by a belligerent bumble bee on a holy war, except I wasn't really being attacked, I was just being told the story, and still it was indistinguishable from being the chief protagonist in the story. Not only that, but the story was on America's Funniest Home Videos, so I knew it was going to be bad for me. I had to wake myself up to get away. My injured fingers were throbbing a little so I thought I'd rebandage them. The wound on the index finger isn't so bad and is in a different place than I'd thought, but the thumb wound is nasty looking. Thank god for Neosporin, or else I'd surely be spending hundreds of bucks at the hospital with a dangerous infection. Supposedly the New Orleans gutterpunks will be going to Washington DC in the next few days, catching a ride with (you guessed it) Manic Michelle. I advised Josh the Gutterpunk that he'd better wear a seatbelt. Morgan Anarchy values his life too much to go on that trip and will instead be riding with the Boy Jesse the moment he returns from this semester at Virginia Commonwealth University.
That's Nicholas the Cat, captured for all posterity by my digital camera. Today Jessika was complaining about all the socks that Deya and I leave lying around in the living room, socks that usually get consigned to a brown paper bag we refer to as "sock hell." Jessika suggested we have a "sock barbecue." At that point Nicholas came hopping through the door. "Is that what they become when you leave socks lying around too long?" I asked, indicating our furry feline friend.
ith the exception of the gutterpunks (who may well have left Charlottesville today), all the usuals hung out at Kappa Mutha Fucka all day: Morgan, Cecelia the Brazilian Girl, Peggy, the Baboose (and occasionally Zach), as well as little Jason. Our house is the setting for so much socializing these days that I find myself reclused in my room much of the time. I got out of the bathtub in the afternoon to find Zach having trouble with the car (the "new" car). I came out to see if I could figure out what was wrong, but it was fuel-injection and I had no idea what the problem was. Somehow the car eventually fixed itself, round about the time the case of Schlitz arrived. I took the following photo shortly after this happy turn of events:
Note that the Baboose is reaching for Peggy's Schlitz.
y fingers are causing me some irritation, but I'm doing everything I normally do with only mild inconvenience. I dumpster dived lots of electronic prototyping equipment and a vintage Hewlett Packard VHF oscillator, for example. I found the environment at home uncomfortable for some reason. The guests were nice and courteous, but Jessika was nothing but bitchy to me. I got so sick of it I just went to my room and here I am. They're watching Eraserhead and I'm boycotting it. That movie (and even the mention of that movie's name) just makes me feel like a dope. I'm the same way about names. If I meet one horrible person with a certain name, all future acquaintances with the same name will be forever tainted. I'll never like anyone named Rachæl, for example. I hate it when "under the ocean" is referred to as "Inner Space." That's so completely flawed I don't think I even need to say why.
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