Every morning at 5 a.m., there is a hum, the freeway outside has a noticeable uptick in the traffic. It is about an hour before i go to bed. Part of me wants to disconnect from the internet and write a novel or book of art theory (for the real world, not the theoretical world) instead of surf surf surf. But I DO get work done.
My birthday was painless. I recounted a horrible Vegas trip from my birthday 12 years ago. Mike and Shelley Horton were participants in that adventure. They were there to fill in some of my memory gaps. A long lost girlfriend who organized it, Maria, is long gone, whereabouts unknown, joining a long line of exes who ceased contact – that kind of miffs me, but I’ll take it as 50/50. for this birthday, one of my exes got me a painting she did of me 7 years ago. It was a successful relationship – no courts involved at any point before, during or after. Why the fuck do we bother? Oh, this was supposed to be a post about the freeway. The trucks make the building shake on occasion, wonder what an earthquake would do, but the hiss, the hum, it is natural, tells me the sun is rising, screws me up on weekends when it doesn’t occur (the 5 a.m. taffic increase, not the sun skipping a day, jeez).
In addition to lovely Maria, Cuban planner of Vegas birthday tours, the whereabouts are also unknown for the drunk friend that the Hortons brought along on the vegas-from-hell birthday who got thrown in jail for pinching the ass of a cocktail waitress. Maybe that would be a good novel. We got the tour bus driver arrested, need I say more to underscore the intensity of the trip?
Countdown to my 20 year high school reunion has begun: 20 days, tick tick tick .. .. ..
.. .. .. and last but not least, the weird photo of the day:
I doubt they really ate him.. .. ..