I think my body is taking this extra hour and choosing to write.
A half hour ago I woke to the usual sounds of the city, and I haven't been able to go back to sleep. How does one just add an hour of life?
After not blogging for three months, I could probably suck that hour right out of Dear Reader. Perhaps the hour is already devoted to something else.
Suffice it to say, I will gesture and begin to write plus que ça change...I will end up trailing off because I want to write about how I noticed the other day that Raquel Welch has absolutely no dialogue in 1966's "Fantastic Voyage" until nineteen minutes have passed.
So you see, what is an hour? When in some forty years, there are still so many of us fighting the good fight.
I voted, barely. I should have registered in New York but I floated on the blue blood of this town. I'm interested to see what will happen in the two years of a political body that has evolved into something of a Hydra, but what a beautiful beast she is.
Here is my current literary sound-track:
Scott Pilgrim, A+ for Awesome in the skateboard sense.
Witches on the Road Tonight, V for very good and very hard to sell.
Graveyard Book, G++ for Good Golly Gaiman.
and the marvelous Nina Simone.
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