Jay Junior

He really

wasn't trying to

take advantage

of anyone.

He just wanted

to be certain

that he was

getting enough foods

from the Meat Group.

libraries are so gay

Go, Sweden! First off, I loved the whole Ikea idea. I'm a big fan. And my Volvo is purring like a kitten. So you didn't really have to do anything special for me... but I'm glad ya did!

Sweden managed to do one-up itself by having a library that lends out gay people. Yes, that's right. Next time you visit the ol' library, you can check out a stack of best-sellers, a few CDs, a movie, and now you can even borrow a gay. Nope, not a book about gays. You can borrow a human being.

The Malmo Library, decided to do something a little bit different. It's just their way of combatting prejudice and putting it in the center of the community -- and that's a great service to their public. Sure, you can check out a Gypsy or an Imam, but why would you bother with one of those when you can have a gay? I know I can't wait to visit Sweden so that I can check out one of the gays. And now I won't even have to go to a bar!

So you go, you crazy Stadsbiblioteket!



(Interview with librarian.)

such a hunk!

Thinktronic musician and complete charmer, Hunksten Proudfoot, is my first acquaintance to get a real album deal. He's in the midst of putting finishing touches on said album. He got signed on by a label after a series of fortunate accidents and tons of talent.



Kudos to you, Hunk! Oh, and thanks for the great music, the comaraderie and the nice compliment. You are off the hook.

good at sports

Finally, after many years, I've realized that I'm actually good at sports, from start to finish. And, in the real world, I'm getting ready for the Army Ten Miler.

Good thing, too. According to this, I could have been at risk for becomming one of those homo sodomites.

Thank God that I'm a True Christian™ and a member of Landover Baptist, where I learned why even Jesus had certain homo sodomite tendencies. Amen!

perfect sunrise

I'm out of the house, tap my keys, lock the door. Start my morning run under a golden sky. The light of sunrise greets me, filtered by windblown dust and the smell of freshly mowed grass.

The senator's son from Wisconsin is mowing. Looks 17. He's as tan and careless as a highschooler should be on a perfect summer morning. Wipes his brow and nods at me, swats at a fly and wipes the splattered remains off his hand. I smile and nod back. Friendly, unlike his dog. The family dalmation is furiously barking at me, keeping the stranger off their boulevard property.

And I'm considering the perfection of the sunrise. One perfect sunrise.

It could be my last, just like the bug's. I consider that for a few more moments -- what if this was my very last day to live? For every mile of my route, my feet hit the ground a thousand times. What if one of those thousand is my last step? What if my timeline is ending? Terminus: the endpoint.

What will it be? A 747 dropping on me? Avian flu? The overworked, drowsy driver of a glass transport truck? A gas main explosion? A sewer hole cover-turned-projectile? Or could the danger be from within? Heart attack? Spontaneous combustion? Who knows?

The smell of cut grass comforts me and I continue my run, toward the university campus. It is quiet there. The only work I can see outside is the work of the sprinklers, clicking little bursts of diamond drops toward a bed of purple and red flowers.

Click-click-click-tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa.

Perfect soundtrack to summer.... My timing is just right and I catch a quick spray. Summery and comforting. The spray hits me in the pants. I look down and I see that, while I pass the elderly care facility, I will look like I've wet myself. How perfect. Maybe I will brighten the morning of a lucky early riser.

Past acorn strewn brick paths, past bumpy asphalt sidewalks littered with ketchup bottles, past the flight plans of cardinals and suspicious squirrels, past the Lynn House Plastic Surgery Center, I continue.

Eventually, I U-turn, head home and see how far the senator's son has gotten. He's all done. And my usual 45 minute run has turned into an hour and a half journey. Was it seven or eight miles? Or was it just five plus plenty of sticky summer heat?

I'm not sure. But I am sure that it was one perfect sunrise. And I survive it. And it will not be my last.