Monday, January 20, 2014


Not much to report.

Not much going on.

At least in my neck of the woods.

I'm reading one Dean Koontz novel after another, so fast that I soon forget what one was about because I'm already reading the next one.

Not much is going on, yet I feel obliged (or obligated?) to write about things, or something.

I got the pet Schnauzer her haircut today.

It's been at least one year.

She should smell better now.

We know which teams will be at Super Bowl 48 (I don't want to use Roman Numerals).

Jimmy Fallon will soon be King (no offense to Larry King) of the Late talk shows.

He fits the bill.

His comedy, personality, and skits fit the times.

I now subscribe to HULU and NetFlix.

HULU for watching the late night comedy shows the next day.

Netflix for movies.

Climate change is in the air and in the news again.

Predictions are being made.

There may a mini-ice age just ahead.

In addition to the Super Storms.

And seas and oceans rising.

California is as dry as a desert.

It's a good thing that Mexico exports vegetables to the U.S.

Dennis Rodman and Justin Bieber should become roommates.

It bugs me that I'm not able to post pictures on my blogs.

I recently thought about this:

I remember staying up all night (for inspiration and motivation) in college to write term papers that were due the next day.

One time for a philosophy course I wrote two, but was supposed to turn in three.

I told my professor that the third one fell off of my motorcycle as I was riding on the interstate to get to class, and he said “that's o.k.”.

Thank you Professor Weir!

In college I briefly was a roommate in a house with a very nervous student.

We spoke very little.

He stayed up quite late.

He was studying and reading everything about Napoleon, especially his war tactics. 

I was pretty nervous then, too, but not from reading about Napoleon.

I was just nervous.

I am reading and re-reading Sylvia Plath's last book of poetry called Ariel, and for some poems I am sketching little illustrations.

Next, I want to read all of Dickinson's poems again.

Good night and sweet dreams.


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