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01/30/2007: "Okay, so where were we."

Greetings from the eye of a three-and-a-half-week depression sustained only by the fumes of delivery food, alcohol, LPs and TV-on-DVD. Things, as they say, have been better.

Early this month, Carly left the melodrama that was her time in Pittsburgh and moved back to St. Paul, leaving one two-foot-eleven individual with a gaping hole in his ever-so-fragile heart.
Around the same time, a sensible junior exec at Prentice/McTiernan Publishing decided to cancel the audio book version of Hello Future Me... ...Hi There since we'd managed to record only chapters 2, 4 and 27 before the studio kicked us out.
Shortly thereafter your faithful author ensconsed himself in a foxhole of Pabst cans and refrigerator-cool spring rolls to wait out a heady squall of emptiness and melancholia the likes of which are spoken of in hushed tones by Western Psych interns on coffee break.

Along for the ride is Grogan P. Tumble, on paid leave after administrators noticed their best substitute teacher had overworked himself into what could only be described as a case of the "I-don't-give-a-shits" (Rumor has it he showed up to a class in shower slippers and told everyone the world had it in for them before leaving to take a nap in his car). He has been a misery Sherpa of sorts, going on taco reconnaissance when supplies are low and breaking out his crate of superduper heartbreaking vinyl from Cohen to Ochs. Chestnut, on a business trip since week two, just called to ask why the answering machine message had been changed to a garbled duet of The Earth Died Screaming sung by Tumble and myself at the top of our lungs.

Tumble has just popped in disc two of Cheers Season Three, and if we're to reach the Kirstie Alley years by daybreak, we must get a-watchin'. And if we're to endure them, Tumble has pointed out, we must get a-drinkin'. My best to you, from the face of the earth I've dropped off.

-F