love.

Lots of thoughts.
Utopia would involve lots of sweaters.
Another marriageable fella? Sweaters get me everytime. A man with sweaters is utopia.


I'd sit with my feet ankle deep in garden earth. Even if you had flock of seagulls hair. It's spring, Mister, we should be enveloped in it.


Talked a lot about sci-fi film music this week. I've got nerd knowledge. Knowledge is power. I've got sci-fi nerd power. All I can think about is how I know I need to be a film major because I've never been good at remembering dates but I know that Tex Ritter singing "Do not forsake me" for High Noon in 1952 changed the way film scores were written.


It's destiny.

bless my beautiful hide

Well. Today, Mr. Leprechaun, I wanted to pull up roots, find a little idyllic spot on the outskirts of town near that sunny golden field over by the river and take up subsistence farming. I was missing all the loverly spring day because of donut glazed windows. Oh just curl me up and put me in the back of your wagon, please? We'll get out of Dodge and get splinters from our wooden plow and I'll break my back under the unromantic weight of trying to grow crops. Don't worry, we'd get by.

I suggested this idea to coworker J today and she said, "I like to eat meat, Marge."
"So go hunting. I'll clean the meat for you."
"Would you eat it?"
"Probably not, but I would clean it. I like dissecting and cleaning things... That's not disturbing."

There would be no more frosting. Ever.