Damn, nobody in this town has Brant Bjork's new album. At this rate, I'll have it (and anything else he releases) in my hands by next spring. At least then the weather will be more fitting to listen to his music.

Brian Wood, comic book creator extraordinaire, said in some update or another that while working on his new graphic novel, Dirtbike Manifesto, he was on a steady diet of Bud talls and gunpowder. I really like the way that sounds, though personally I'd swap the Bud for a Lone Star. I also don't know if gunpowder is edible, but that's not the point.

I'm bored, but I can't think of anything I want to do at all. Maybe I'll try writing. Actually I'd rather be kicking around a football, er, soccer ball, in Meyer Park up in Spring, but seeing as how the only football I have is deflated and there's nobody to invite along, and I have less than two hours before work, it ain't gonna happen.

You know what I miss? The Psycomic website, c. 1999. I remember when it was on its way out, and Gabe Soria wrote one last editorial about comics and the revolution. It got yanked mighty quick, if I recall correctly, and I wish I had a copy of the text. Those were the days I got back into comics, and these are the days I've fallen out of them. Funny how shit goes, man.

Fuckin' A, I lead a strange life. Seems like most folks I know have some sort of linear progression to their interests (not entirely true, but it's an admitted generalization), but I don't. On one hand, I think I suffer from occasional nostalgia- first case I can recall was during the final year of my initial stint in Texas, when I looked back at the first year or so of that same timespan- and I suspect I'm a romantic, too. I'm also intellectually impulsive. If I could casually deposit myself in any number of times and places at will, I'd be set.

But here I am, sitting in an apartment I don't really like, drinking beer and trying to figure myself out. There couldn't be anywhere or anytime else to be.