When I drive a spike right into my veins

I know it isn't general practice to click the links that bloggers throw each other like circle jerks... and I have had him linked here for a while.

And it's not like I even so much as get the courtesy of a reach around from him,

but, Kevin Smith, the film maker, you know him- Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy, Dogma, Jersey Girl- has written a pretty moving and powerful account of his best friend's descent into heroin addiction.

You probably know him (the heroin-addicted friend) as Jay, of Jay and Silent Bob fame.

Christ, it is sad, and beautifully written.

If you have the time, check it out:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

It is a long read, but... y'know?

This guy gets paid millions of dollars to write stories and bring them to life on the screen.

There is a reason for that.

God Bless, Jay.

Snootchie Bootches.

If I wasn'ta8 figure nigga by the name of Jigga,Would ya come around me?Would ya clown me?

Yeah, well... whaddya gonna do?

You try and put your dogs in Ten-and-a-halves for a minute-and-a-half.

Mr. President, there's drugs in our residence.

Tell me what you want me to do.

Come break bread with us.

Mr. Governor, I swear there's a cover-up. Every other corner, there's a liquor store...

What the fuck is up?
~~~~
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As I whisper in your ear...

you inhale and wonder why

what who how where what can we do

you pray and you pray and you pray

just hoping it will go away

maybe maybe maybe it will

but i don't think so

neither do you

and we both know

but we pretend like

we don't

keeping the charade

dancing the dance

a fucking fox trot

but we know

the menace

creeps

looms

staggers a bit

but that just shows you

how powerful

it can be

The best things in life are freebut you can keep 'em for the birds and beesNow give me money(That's what I want)That's what I want

Why do I hate golf?

Because I suck at it. If I had any skill whatsoever, I would probably love it. But I don't, so I don't.

See how that works?

Although, I am watching the Masters right now. Mostly, because I love the announcer's quiet Irish brogue.

I overheard a conversation yesterday about how the billionaires are driving the millionaires out of Jackson, Wyoming. I had to laugh. The comment was made in reference to real estate prices.

It is, undeniably, one of the most picturesque spots in the US, but, honestly, I like Bozeman better... as a city. Outdoors-wise, Jackson takes the cake, mainly on the shoulders of the mighty mighty Jackson Hole Resort, which is pretty much the Daddy Mack of the continental US for terrain, and Grand Teton National Park (pictured above, just behind my thumb.)

In that same conversation, the guy said, "Well, eight figures is the new million." In addition to using the hated ________ is the new _________ phrase, dude's a fucking moron. A million bucks is still a million bucks, and god bless you if you've got it. But, then again, as the esteemed scholar, P Diddy once noted, "Mo' money, mo' problems." And "the eight-figure nigga, by the name of Jigga" also chronicles the difficulties of overcoming the burdens of having great wealth by simply being Jay Z, the best rapper alive.

I am going over to my buddy's house later for steak & Sopranos.

With the exception of the second episode's extended dream sequence, the show is on fire in this, its final season.

I have to post Carmela's guest blog, but I am having some html issues converting a funny photoshop she did... I'm workin' on it.