I missed liveblogging the NBA draft and I feel guilty/lazy about it. Bill Simmons covered for me, but he’s a creep and I hate myself when I laugh at something he has written.
Last night, I was terrorized by two angry chihuahuas. I tried to make peace with them by getting down to their ratty eye level and offering words of encouragement, but they were having none of it. I called them tiny pigs and thus burned the olive branch for all eternity. I think their white trash owners will sell them/leave them by the side of the road when they move their sketchy caravan to florida, anyway. too harsh? I care not. It is all true.
Today I will go to the driving range, but only if there are no other golfers there. Other golfers = exponentially better than me and not prone to erratic golf ball flight. I feel like I want to ask other people to sign waivers so that they can’t sue me when I hit a golf ball that freak-of-naturey boomerangs and hits them.
birds seen so far: purple finch, american goldfinches (male and female pair), female cardinal. no fireflies here yet.
I will post something of substance at some point (I’m going to check out all the white trash bric-a-brac tomorrow at the flea market, maybe do some interviews for you) but in the meantime I leave you with this photograph from Jean Luc Godard’s least melancholy and bitter work, Une Femme est une femme:
