Hey Dullblog,

Didn’t get that much sleep last night. I’m stressed out at work but have hit a point in the “Jivamukti Flow” where I’m kinda waiting for my professional “tennis partners” to return my “serve” so there’s not a lot (urgent) that I can do. So here I sit, furiously sipping cold coffee, digesting different weird carbohydrates, looking into your eyes (via the web). Forcing my office to listen to Candlebox, Danzig, and Sponge. They’re into it.

Little angry scraps of language keep flonking into my perf-view (Nerf-sponsored perforated sex-glasses they were handing out free on the subway this morning. Vancouver is gorgeous in all this sunlight and snow, isn’t it?) and so I lumber up to the web-portal to press them into the blogfoam, where they hang suspended like “gorgeous” little James Cameronmuffins.


  1. Taco Town
  2. annoying woman talking loudly to her pre-verbal infant then singing along to “Poker Face” in coffee shop after her annoying mom-of-infant friends leave
  3. ‘infants coffee. infant gratification. infant shoop’
  4. very beautiful (uh) French-looking woman in Uggs and tights weeping gently on the 67 bus this morning. You can’t make this stuff up! We made brief, bloodshot eye-contact and then I went back to staring at the tiny design book a less-beautiful (SORRY, GUYS, THIS IS MY DIARY) woman was reading. Transferred to the 14 (pretty lazy these recent mornings; I’m turning into one of those morbidly obese guys you see waddling around with a cane and a beret and a wispy goatee and a halo of dried-out sections of the Sunday L.A. Times and a tent-like long-sleeved hawaiian shirt and megalithic jeans with an extra-long custom woven belt, supernaturally bad coffee/fish breath, fingers  two inches in diameter, loud/strong/wrong opinions about local special elections, delicately obliterating triple-stuffed TurkeyBerry sandwiches in shared public indoor spaces, bottles of emergency mustard rattling in a canvas totebag, etc).

Kidz Korner

BlogMan Sam sez: “Eat a tooth. Eat an MFA program. Eat a glass of orange juice, glass-first. Revisit New Mexico. Blame a cherry on the fire.”

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