And the people that you metAnd it's your first cigarette

Literally illiterate.

Defenestration, is the act of throwing someone out the window.

We've finally decided what we are going to play on Saturday at the Cinco de Mayo party. I'm pleased. We just learned one tonight, "The Littlest Birds," by Jolie Holland. Great song. It's on iTunes, if you are interested. Or defenestrated.



Have you ever taken a nap under your desk at work?

Do you know any slow folk who just love to dig?

If anyone answered both of those questions "yes," please send me an email. I am looking for an intern.

Because, boy, if you have ever seen somebody differently-abled go to town with a shovel... well, then you know what I am talking about. I mean, there is something about watching someone with a double digit IQ slingin' dirt. It's practically feral.

(Don't worry. I know. I'm going straight to Hell.)

Everyone who comes to my house rings the gong now. Even better, most visitors ring it every time they come over. Gonging can become habit-forming.

It is a strangely satisfying thing, striking a gong. Very enjoyable. You don't have to hit it hard, although some do. A slowly shimmering, rapid series of strikes, moving from the outer edge in, produces quite sensation.

Hey, don't knock it, til you've tried it.

Screw you for judging me. And everyone else who bangs the gong.

I'm starting the Anti-Gong Defamation League.

On a mountain rangeI'm Dr. StrangeFor you

I have been listening to a lot of T. Rex since I bought the gong. You know, just followed "Bang a Gong" down the rabbit-hole.

(Did I mention that I bought a gong?



That's right. A fucking gong.

And, I tell you, now I wonder how I lived without it.

It makes for a wonderful punctuation mark to whatever you have to say. It really conveys the declarative, "I have spoken" point that I try to get across at the end of a sentence.

In fact, I am looking into picking up one for the car and one I can just carry around. I think it would be handy for getting the attention of that waitress who spends too much time chatting with other tables when I want the check.

I'm gonna pay a college kid to carrry it and follow me around, like P-Diddy paid that guy to follow him around with an umbrellla.

Nothing really says I have arrived like a servant and a mobile gong.)

Where was I?

Oh yeah, T. Rex.

Good band. For you kids, spend 99 cents, or don't, and download the song Mambo Sun. If you don't like it, I'll give you your money back, or not. If you do like it, then dig deeper, Jeepsters and Planet Queens.

The real reason I wrote though, was this guy at the gym today.

He was about 21-23 years old, maybe 5'10", blond buzz-cut, and an earring in the top of his ear.

He was getting dressed in the locker room when I walked in.

He had "C A N C U N" tattooed across his upper chest in large, maybe 3" stylized letters.

((I amn not making this up.))

So much went through my head. Too much.

I wanted to throw him a huge thumbs-up, slowly nod and say, "Dude. Cancun."

Holy douchebag, Batman.