Today tastes like . . . bananas and nail polish remover. Sweet. Sweet in a way that you thought would be good (and might have been good at one time) and is now just way too over the top one-note, and nasty. Sometimes you get what you thought you wanted, and it isn't at all what you were after. But enough about my off-line life.
Listening to: Dress Your Family In Corduroy and Denim. I actually like essays, and am enjoying the writing style; it's just the occasional paragraphs of subject matter that set my teeth on edge. Scat stopped being the height of humor for me about the time I was potty-trained, and this author still hasn't gotten over the delights of finger-painting with the stuff; metaphorically speaking. And all I can think is that this book spent time on the bestseller lists (and when he's not in the bathroom he's got an eye for detail and an ear for dialogue) and is adored by those whose political agenda I abhor; who tend to spend a lot of time in eternal digressions for those living in the flyover states because we're all a bunch of pig farmers who can't be trusted to think for ourselves. (And did I just do the same thing? Why yes, I think I did. So what? At least I freely admit to my bursts of hypocrisy.)
But first, another digression.
I hold myself to a limit of five works in progress at any given time. More, and nothing gets done; I just spin my wheels. Fewer, and I get bored. If I get bored, I go and start a bunch of things all at once looking for the perfect project, and suddenly I'm back in the quagmire again.
So what's on the needles now?