Like a cheap bar the Edwards doers and shakers and mess-makers (before the drop-out) basically papier-mached one of his appeals flyers to the windshield of my Middling City vehicle. So I can think of Edwards with every drive. Which I was just doing, returning from a gig at Middling City U. First item on agenda when Kerry stomps Bush is to appeal to him to rid the country of:
1. cornball musicals with no redeeming social value
2. cornball mod dance with same.
Had to shoot a percussion ensemble. And they're good. Only trouble is my editrix failed to mention the gaggle of mod dancers that were accompanying the bangers and whiskers. In what appeared to be mall attire, garments in that weird stretching shiny sort of textured rayon that was interesting for about five minutes a few years ago, they cavorted onstage. One number had me swallowing my groans, straining to be unloosed. Cutesy, near-mime gestures. It's a freakin' good thing I'm not reviewing that travesty. Drumming: primo. Dancing: barf bucket.
Speaking of such, still recovering from some mysterious bacteria in some food eaten a few days back. My stomach acids are still negotiating the re-acceptance of solids which, at this point, it feels is Martha Stewart to its good will investing.
Analogous Love.

Eavesdroppingly, walked behind two fellas in the rain. One was regaling, the other was smoking/listening. We were rascal kids, it was the 80s. My friend lit up a joint on Prince Street and we were walking down the street...
they turned the corner.
I nearly followed them onwards for the rest of the story.
Watched the Depp interview at Actors' Studio (which I might add is via my excellent New School U) from recently. Mellifluous. Perfect. Shy. Those limpid dark pools of soulfulness watching watching. It was almost unbearable. A whole stream of his Perfection. Different grades of Perfection. My quipping Perfection. Your good-sensed Perfection at blog reading selections. Mr. Hung's Geek Perfection. Darter's Imaginary Perfections. Dorota's painterly Perfection. Beth's positivity Perfection. JR's mentoring Perfection.
And on.
You all have your Perfections.
Wow, and I have mine.
Love Parfait.
Hold the nuts.

Well. Well.
Deb and I partied like rock stars a few nights back. A most cathartic and wondrous time of talk, and more.
Darter from Down Under emailed today to say that it is - in truth - his date of birth. And, by his orders, we his best pals are to do for ourselves something most great for ourselves and get back to him.
I am sad to report I've done nothing great for myself.
Well, except for talking to JR the Mentor.
Attempting to steal wi-fi molecules un-fuckin-successfully from two places today.
By gulping down too many ounces of Americanos in his honour.
Hey, Darter, how's that? I got cranked out in your honour on Americanos.
Caffeine Love.