Location: St. Vincent & Grenadines

You were driving home in the dark on one glass-slippered heel, window sliced open and bathing in the snowliquor of the night air. We heard you singing, and couldn't bear to wake you.

13 March 2006

Take a wrinkled raisin, and do with it what you will.

Longtime readers of this

Wait. Stop. I'm not going to do it again. I was just about to use that odious word because it's there and it's one syllable and nothing else comes as readily to mind. But dammit, sometimes you've got to take a stand and say no more. No more lazy half-assed abbreviations of terms that were spiritless to begin with. Not here. This is not a weblog, and it sure as hell ain't a blog, whatever my URL may say. I'll take a tip from the illustrious Neil Gaiman and call it a journal for now, although a quick glance at the dates of the last few entries will show that my level of writerly discipline is hardly du jour. I await inspiration from the Muse, or from one of my readers, as to a better alternative. Meantime . . .

Longtime readers of this journal may remember an entry I made once about my strange next-door neighbor, the obsessive-compulsive one who likes to water the street in front of his house when it's raining. Something about the rain brings out his OCD. Maybe it's a competitive thing, like he's afraid the rain will wash away debris before he gets a chance to. Anyway, he's out there again, this time in his back yard. It's freezing outside, night is falling, it's raining buckets, I'm shaking with cold and grumpiness as I race up the stairs to my front door; as I approach, I see over the fence that Mr. OCD is out in his back yard, which is composed entirely of gravel, raking it into what I'm sure is intended to be immaculate evenness. In the dark. In the cold. In the rain. In a soaking wet sweatshirt and a baseball cap. (Yes, and pants.)

That was half an hour ago, and he's still out there. It's a very small yard. Let me go check.

Yep. Still there. Still raking.

I guess we all have our addictions.

Speaking of journals, when you're done reading Neil's, check out Last Plane to Jakarta, the journal of the amazing John Darnielle (aka The Mountain Goats). Not only is he the most laceratingly brilliant songwriter since Elvis Costello lost his touch, but he's a darn good bl

a darn good


Blogger Jemaleddin said...

Hey, do you have "The Shape of Me and Other Stuff" by Dr. Seuss? It's not very good, but it does have a picture of the "shape of a blogg". I keep meaning to post some pictures on my site, but here's somebody else's:

Anyhoo: your "journal" is certainly not blogg-shaped.

6:48 AM  

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