I shall now eat a rubber tire to the music of The Flight of the Bumblebee... music, maestro!

Last week, I forgot to say thanks very much for the kind birthday wishes. They were terribly nice to read, considering it was a bit of a downer of a day. Spent most of it in a museum-- Louise would be horrified, but there was gelato, which I hope would pacify her-- and the rest of it at a violin concert. (Honestly, I would have rather spent the day doing something a little less cultured, but I'm sort of a philistine that way. I did get to see life-sized replicas of The Swedish Chef and The Electric Mayhem, which cannot be anything but positives in the grand tally-up of life.) Anyway, so. Birthday happened, cake was eaten, next year I'll plan things better. I even wrote a poem about it.

( On Turning 23 )

And that's why I don't write poetry, you see.

( Anyway, some meatworld wanking and a conversation I had in a bar the other day )

Well, that's one thing ticked off the list of things I've been meaning to mention. It's raining hard outside. I think I should sleep.