I get kind of silly on my birthday, and today is no exception. I've been trying to stay away from writing today because the muse has been driving me further and further into a mildly amusing, but sometimes bewildering form of multiple personalities, which means I'm never sure who's writing whom anymore.....
Willie Nelson's 'Stardust' album's on the stereo and I'm thinking about all the girls I've loved before.....
I'm also reading Pynchon's latest mind-bender 'Inherent Vice' which is a hell of a lot more interesting than his 'Mason and Dixon', which was probably a better book. Hey, I managed a BA, and MA, and most of a PhD being this way, not to mention thirty years serving the american military-industrial complex as an overpaid lackey and toady and process improvement specialist extraordiaire (it's always been easy for me to find something wrong with other people's stuff, as easy as it is to be blind to my own stupidity) so bear with me here. I get to say goofy things. I'm sixty-four.
So, on to goofy things. It's grey, and cool, and damp here today, kind of like a giant brain you get to play inside of if you've got goretex stuff or an umbrella, otherwise, you'll catch your death of cold, or something equally as boring. Anyway, Happy Birthday to me. I'm off to eat some rice, and maybe a fish.
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