I hate it when someone asks me if I blog. I'd rather they ask me if I golf, so I can answer 'no' truthfully..
I also hate California, in general, and having awkward social encounters with snooty ghosts from my past, in particular. I often wish I could hang out in a group of people who have spent the day dressed as lobsters or cell phones or Uncle Sam on the busiest street corners of Your Town, USA, because that's how I feel in California, in particular, and in almost any social situation in general.
Currently I'm in Las Vegas. Returning from my nephew's wedding (Calif). It was nice. Chabela, my sister-in-law, knows how to throw a wedding and my nephews and brother are all funny and great, as is the rest of the family, both sides... I love weddings. Like I love Jesus and Santa riding on the same sled to Disneyland with new donor kidneys for all the sick children.
I've been gone for a week, though, and ...it's late.
I'm only going to be home for a few days before I have to go to Reno for a work meeting. Nevada makes me negative. All the cigarette smoke and people like evolution failed parasites clutching these machines that never shut up.
Some sad old man in duct-taped shoes sits down and puts what looks like the last ten dollars in his world into a megawatt slot machine that screams WHEEL OF FORTUNE in 3 minute intervals. Gone before the next interval. Wheel of Fortune. Shit. Do they have a green casino around here? Could the hopeless lose their money quietly in dimmer light?
Hi Mark. Dave? Tata?
More later, I promise... I'll be happier once I can breathe. Once I find my inner foam lobster.
