12:27 am

Saturday night Live was not funny. I'm not sleepy. I am sitting on our couch. Lounging, really. I am reading The Time Traveler's Wife, and I knew if I stuck with it I'd finally become interested. It took about 100 pages, which is my rule of thumb. If, after 100 pages, I still don't feel a connection with a book, I stop reading.

I'm hearing people stumbling to their cars after an evening at Fitzgerald's, and F and Christian are sleeping. F, soundly. C is working out his subconscious demons, all twitchy in bed.

This blog entry sounds entirely too much like a diary page. so I will leave all 6 or so of you chumps to your lives.

.....But not without first treating you to a visual melange of some photos completely unrelated to this post: Food things. Because that is how my brain functions. Bite me.