"But ah'm not afraid of dyin'. Cause I know that when I get to heaven there are gonna be these wonderful trees, and ah'm gonna climb them. But you know what? Instead of leaves and flowers, those trees are gonna have fried eggs, and delicious Virginia ham, and big heaping bowls of biscuits and sausage gravy. And one day, Sammy, you're gonna meet me there, and we're gonna climb those breakfast trees together, and it's gonna be delicious and we're gonna be happy until the end of time."



Ahhh...sweet, glorious, editable text. That audio stuff is for the birds. Especially when you're drunk all the time, and sharing a room with five other people, two of which can't seem to stop fucking. We arrived from the decadent city early this morning, and I've been instructed that "what happens in New Orleans stays in New Orleans" so the juicy stuff won't be here. We had a freaking blast. The closing night party involved a badass latino/salsa band, and the entire conference of the certifiably insane got down, as it were. Jenny is crossing her fingers about a very promising job in New Orleans, and since she's certain she would die of heat stroke working there, she's pretty sure she'll get it. I'm still processing the trip, so I may never get around to posting the highlights. I do have one item of newsworthy interest, however. I found three gmail invitations in my inbox just now. I already sent one to Adam, because I'm hoping one day he'll let me have his lovechild, but I'm having trouble with whom to send the others to. If you want one, please feel free to contact me, and your request will be considered with the utmost objectivity. Bribes will be most helpful in making your case.
Here's a poll: What one album makes you want to stop everything and get it on with the next available body? I'll start: Massive Attack: Mezzanine.
It's good to be back!