I'm sure you heard the news about JFK, Jr.'s plane crashing. I think you'd have to be living in a hole not to hear about this. As soon as I found out about that, I was praying right along with the rest of the world. Praying that he'd been eaten by sharks, that is.
Honestly, I don't understand why there's such a fuss. Okay, he's good-looking. So are a lot of guys. Has he really done anything worthwhile? No! The only thing he's got going for him is the fact that he's a Kennedy. JFK's son, no less. Is America really this hard up for the trappings of a monarchy? I don't like the Kennedys. The fact that they have a "compound" in Martha's Vineyard reminds me of those people in Waco. Didn't they have a compound, too?
The news is harping on the "Kennedy Curse." I'll tell you what the curse is: God doesn't like inbred, big-toothed idiots. This would describe a great deal of the Kennedy family. Most people simply overlook this fact because they've got a buttload of money and we've had the whole sorry story of JFK getting killed during his presidency shoved down our throats. The whole "Camelot" bullshit.
So, anyway, I hope you guys weren't too broken up about it. If you were, you're probably the same sort of people who were sad when Princess Diana died. I'm just hoping JFK Jr. didn't die on impact. My fantasies focus on him escaping the plane, only to be devoured by sharks.
On that note, Aaron told me this week-end that I'm going to go to Hell when I die, if there is, in fact, an afterlife. We were reminiscing about old times, and he actually asked me if I was the one who fixed things so that Krisco was getting all sorts of offers for anal sex via e-mail. This upset her deeply. I laughed and admitted that it was me, and that when Aaron informed me of my ultimate destination in the afterlife. This is the first time anyone's ever told me that I am going to go to hell when I die.
I suppose everyone else simply assumed that I already knew.
We went out with Jason and Aaron Friday night. Jason actually has a girlfriend, who'd have guessed? And she looks like a human being, no less! According to Aaron and Dirk, that is. I'm astonished, of course.
Practice was very sketchy on Saturday. We've moved our time slot from 3-7 to 7-11. I don't think this dawned on DoShu, who never showed. His father, when we called, said he'd never come home. I have this funny feeling that he waited outside the rehearsal space until 7, then left. Greg had to work, so it was just Aaron, Dirk, and I. We talked to the other band who has the 7- 11 spot. They do a sort of jazz/funk fusion. Nice folks. Dirk and Aaron jammed with them a while, as I talked to their lead singer.
We also looked at guitars on Saturday, and managed to find a Venus guitar (discontinued) in a shop in Manassas. We may be buying it.
Dirk's parents have finally relented, and they moved his bed into the spare bedroom. After a year, he is finally sleeping somewhere other than the floor or a couch. I don't know what made them change their minds — they could have done it sooner. I mean, waiting until he's making preparations to move out is kind of sad. However, a bed is a bed, and I did not see Dirk arguing.
Sunday afternoon was spent moving the bed in; Sunday night was spent shopping. In between those times, I cleaned out my fish tank and brought my hamster outside to play for a few minutes. That didn't last long, because there is something about my body chemistry that mosquitos find unbearable attractive. Most of my backyard is covered with wild strawberry plants, which are very short. The perfect terrain for the hamster to play on. She's not insane anymore.
I've been re-reading my book, "Why Cats Paint," and I've decided that I've been sitting on a neglected gold mine for far too long. A set of three paintings done by cats sold for $19,000. They weren't even astonishingly good paintings. I have seven cats. One of them ought to know how to paint, right? Even if I could only sell the paintings for $25 each, it would still be welcome!
Heck, if Genghis was able to paint, and I could sell the paintings, I wouldn't mind him peeing on the walls at all.
When I was about six, my mother and I were at our next door neighbor's house (we used to spend long afternoons there in the summer, as she could not drive and we lived far from any store). I remember that this neighbor had wild grapes growing in the stand of trees behind her house. They were ripe, purple, and the size of small plums — I begged my mother to take me behind the fence so we could pick them. She told me they were poisonous.
I only recently realized that she only told me that so that I would cease bothering her. She confirmed that.
I've always been suspicious of anything that looks inviting; I always wonder if a pretty surface hides poison.
No more, I don't feel so well. Goodnight.
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